As if she’d become part of me.
Jason blinked at the outrageous thought. They’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours. Truth be told, they didn’t know each other, period. After a brief conversation, they’d slept together, an impulsive—arguably reckless—decision. He should be wrestling with regrets, not feelings of devotion. But it was what it was. And he knew he had to find her.
“Shit.”
It suddenly occurred to him he was missing a rather key piece of information about Melinda. Eyes wide, he scanned the room before remembering his cell had never made it out of his back pocket. Retrieving it, he called his assistant.
Gray-haired and diminutive, Steve Carr had often been mistaken for Jason’s relative, an aged father or kindly uncle. In reality, he had more energy than most men half his age, with a cache of friends in the oddest places. No matter how outrageous the request, Steve would do everything in his power to deliver. If he couldn’t help, there was a pretty good chance Jason was good and truly fucked.
As usual, Steve answered before the second ring.
“J. T. How’s it going?”
“Steve. I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“Whatever I can do…”
“I was wondering if you could find a name for me.”
“A name?”
“Yeah.” Jason faltered. There was no way for him to ask without sounding like a dick. It didn’t matter. He had no other option. “I met a woman last night and, well, I never got her last name. I know she’s attending the convention. Any way you could track her down for me?”
An uncomfortable silence followed the stilted explanation.
“I’m sorry, J. T. I don’t think—”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Jason cut him off. The guy had always been great to him. He didn’t want to stress him out, least of all because of Jason’s own stupidity. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t say that. No harm in asking.” He was quiet for a moment. “You okay, J. T.?”
Jason ran his fingers through his hair, giving the strands a bracing tug before switching to kneading the knot which had been tangling at the base of his neck ever since he’d heard the hotel door slam shut.
“Yeah,” he answered absently, though he had the unnerving sensation if he didn’t think of something fast, he’d never be okay again. Even if it was just a chance to say goodbye, he had to reach Melinda somehow. He got an idea. It was a long shot, but the only one he had left. He let his hand fall to his side.
“I’m gonna come down.”
“Sure thing. Everything’s set the same as yesterday.”
“No. I mean I’m coming down.”
Twenty minutes later, dried and dressed, Jason sat in the main hall behind an impressive, if embarrassing, display of merchandise. He had to hand it to his publisher. Not only were there several copies of each of his novels, but bookmarks, keychains, mugs, and t-shirts. Each bore his author photo and a list of titles, as if he were some kind of rock star. And to one side, so humiliating he could barely look at it, a life-sized cutout of his posterior, his tattoo on garish display.
Jason grew hot at the memory of the shoot. Packed into a pair of jeans at least a size too small, he’d stood barefoot. Arms spread wide, he’d been spray tanned and then lit, closing his eyes as the lights had begun to flash around him. It had been a humbling experience, to say the least.
But nothing compared to how he’d felt when Melinda had told him what she’d gone through trying to meet him. He hadn’t considered there might be people like her, willing to spend precious resources for the simple chance to have a picture taken with him. She’d taught him his fans deserved better than celluloid-covered cardboard. He planned to honor the lesson, no matter the cost.
“This isn’t going to work.”
Steve hurried in his direction, indicating the entire set up with big swirls of his stocky arms. Jason got to his feet and took a couple of steps back, out of range of the other man’s nervous energy.
“What’s up?”
“They just announced that you’re here and the women are…well, let’s just say you’re about to have a banner day. Okay.” Steve brought his hands together before pointing at Jason. “You’re going to be behind the podium.”
No sooner had Jason opened his mouth to ask, “What podium?” when three men appeared, one of them pulling a rolling platform cart which they immediately began unloading as Steve gave direction.
“Yes, that’s right. Put that there. Move the display table to the side. John, you’ll sit there doing sales and signing info. Mark, of course, you’ll do pictures. We’re going to need to transfer the laptop to the other table. We’ll do photo sales there. Dave, you can handle that, right?”
“You got it, boss.”
Jason just stood there, numbly, as the men worked around him. Once they had everything in place, Steve stepped up behind the podium.
“Okay, so you’ll be here, J. T.” Jason tried to concentrate on what Steve was saying and doing. “I’ll be right here next to you. Let me keep them moving. You just…well…” He smiled. “You just be you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, they’re going to love you,” Steve enthused as if Jason hadn’t spoken. “Sign the book. Make a little chit-chat. If they want a picture…they’ll all want a picture, obviously. So when you’re done signing, step to the side.” He demonstrated and then looked toward Mark, who’d positioned himself several feet away. “Take one when he hands them the book. Another with an arm around the shoulders. Then direct them to the cutout and take another. Okay?”
Mark nodded and then went back to adjusting his camera.
“You got that, J. T.? Two with you, then we’ll be moving them on. If necessary, let me be the muscle. You just suggest. Okay?”
Jason nodded, taking his place behind the podium and gripping the edges.
Steve put a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay?”
Only if sweaty palms and shortness of breath qualify.
“I will be.”
“Try to relax.” Steve gave a bracing squeeze and then released him. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“Right.”
Just then, the doors to the hall were opened. He inhaled deeply as the excitement of the crowd rolled over him.
“Steady,” Steve reassured him before stepping out front, a broad smile on his face. “Ladies! Ladies!” He waved his hands in the air, redirecting the stream of women headed in their direction. “The line to meet J. T. Wright starts there.”
Jason watched, fascinated, as the crowd obediently lined up in front of the table. No doubt Steve excelled under pressure. Jason could only hope the man also had a plan for when his author dissolved into a puddle of sweat and tears.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispered, mantra-like, as he pulled a signing pen from the breast pocket of his shirt.
When it came to anxiety, faking it till you made it was the name of the game. And Jason was determined to put on a good show.
“Oh my God! J. T. Wright! Is it really you?”
Plastering a tight smile on his face, and clutching his pen like a life-line, Jason turned to face his adoring fan.
“In the flesh,” he quipped, taking the book the woman thrust out to him and placing it on the podium before opening the front cover. “And who would you like me to make this out to?”
“Me!” she told him enthusiastically. “Jen. Jennifer, actually.”
“J-e-n-n-i-f-e-r?” he asked carefully as he positioned his hand.
“That’s right.”
Focusing his attention on the task at hand, he started writing, nearly ruining the inscription when the woman suddenly shouted, “Diana! Diana! He’s here!”
Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hand shook slightly, but he managed to finish.
“Thank you for coming, Jennifer.” He stepped out from behind the podium as directed, looking toward Mark as he handed the woman back
her book.
“Thank you,” she gushed. “I can’t wait to read it! I can’t tell you how much I loved Flowers at Midnight.”
Jason smiled and then turned, placing his arm around the woman’s shoulders and guiding her to his side for the second photo. Book clutched tight to her chest, she smiled up at him. He thought of Melinda, climbing onto a barstool, ordering a drink, asking him to go somewhere private. The camera flashed, bringing him back, though a low drone had begun in his ears, drowning out the other sounds in the room.
He tried to steer Jennifer toward the cutout before releasing her. She resisted, though, lips moving quickly, eyes lit with excitement. Jason nodded numbly, glancing over the woman’s head, the roar giving way to a dampening buzz as he caught his assistant’s eye. Steve hustled toward them.
“…such a wonderful woman. She deserved a man like Paxton, especially after the way her fiancé had treated her.”
“Yes. Quite the love story, wasn’t it? But wait until you read this one.”
Steve thumped the cover of the woman’s book with his pointer and middle fingers, getting her attention and freeing Jason to slip behind the safety of the podium. He shot a look of gratitude at Steve. The other man nodded and then took the woman by the elbow, steering her toward her final photo op.
Jason gathered himself and then surveyed the ever-growing line in front of the purchase table. One down, only a few hundred or so to go. Giving himself a mental, as well as physical, shake, he reaffixed what he hoped was a welcoming smile and then turned to greet J. T. Wright’s public.
Chapter 6
Melinda swiped at her cheeks between tossing clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. Her only thought? She wanted to get home, nurse her wounds in private. Being in the same state as J. T. Wright, never mind the same hotel, she’d never find peace.
The distinct chime of glass hitting an unforgiving surface brought her up short. She peeped over the edge of the bag, braced to find splattered clothing. Instead, she saw the bottle of perfume she’d lobbed across the room, miraculously intact, but leaning against a can of hairspray. Taking a deep breath, she worked to straighten the haphazard contents.
To be honest, the previous night’s ill-fated liaison almost felt inevitable. For months, she’d been caught in a self-destructive spiral, making one unfathomable decision after another. Spending hard-earned money and precious vacation time to travel around the country like some starry-eyed groupie, drinking in hotel bars, sleeping with a stranger after a thirty-seven-minute conversation, none of it was her. The Melinda Barnes she knew was, above all, practical. Cautious and dependable, she was the person friends and family turned to for reasoned advice. Problem was, she had no one to turn to when she’d taken a sabbatical from good sense. She supposed she should thank J. T. Wright for hastening her trip to rock bottom.
But the betrayal hurt too much. He’d acted the part of a hero from one of his books, treated her like a heroine. He’d made her feel special…desired…cherished.
Cherished? She laughed out loud at herself and then shook her head. A stranger being able to make her feel cherished? She hadn’t been just reckless; she’d been delusional.
The harsh train of her thoughts did little except cause tears to prick at the backs of her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them. I’ve got to stop crying. Sniffling, she lowered her hands to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost check-out time. If she wanted any chance at recouping her money for the night, she had to get down to the front desk. Taking a quick scan of the room, she saw she had everything. She made a few more adjustments to the contents and then secured them beneath the straps before closing the top and zipping her suitcase.
Getting to her feet, she put the bag on the floor and pulled up on the handle. Then she grabbed her purse and the room key and headed down to reception, prepared to do battle.
Melinda marched to the front desk, repeating to the clerk she was directed to the excuse she’d worked up in the elevator for her early departure.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Barnes. I do hope everything here was to your satisfaction.”
“It was,” she assured the young woman. “I’ve just…I’ve got to get home, I’m afraid.”
The woman smiled without lifting her gaze, keeping her attention on her fingers as she typed in Melinda’s information. When she looked up, she had an excited twinkle in her eyes.
“You’re here on the Romance package. Aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Well, before I check you out, I want to be sure you know…J. T. Wright is here.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Oh. Have you already been in to see him?”
Melinda could only stare at the woman. Was she saying Jason was in the convention hall? Signing autographs? What the hell?
Disoriented, she nodded.
“Oh my goodness! Really? Tell me everything. Is he good looking?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Please tell me he’s good looking.”
Despite everything, Melinda had to smile at the other woman’s babbling enthusiasm. It was exactly how she might have acted if she’d met J. T. Wright yesterday afternoon, instead of Jason last night.
“He wears glasses,” she blurted.
“Like sexy, “I’m a hot author” glasses, or more like, “No one would date me in high school” glasses?”
Melinda chuckled.
“The first one, I think.”
“That’s good. What else?”
“Well, he has brown hair.”
“Short? Long? What?”
“Medium, wavy.” Perfect finger tangling length. “And he’s definitely good-looking,” she offered before the other woman pressed further. “I’m not sure if he’s as sexy as his tattoo but definitely good looking.”
“Oh! The tattoo. I heard he isn’t showing people. Is that true? Did you see it?”
Oh, she’d seen it, all right. But how she wished she hadn’t. Perhaps instead of standing at the front desk plagued by regrets, she’d be in his bed wracked with pleasure.
She shook her head.
“Oh.” The woman wrinkled her nose. “I guess it would be strange for him to be standing around in there shirtless.”
Melinda tried to laugh, but it came out strangled.
“But he’d sell a lot more books,” she quipped as cover.
“Ain’t that the truth.” The woman laughed. “I really shouldn’t do this…but I don’t think it’s going to be a problem rebooking the room for tonight.” She winked as the printer beside her came to life. “You’ve only been charged for the two nights,” she informed Melinda, smiling as she slid the receipt and Melinda’s credit card over the counter. “And thanks for the scoop.”
“Ah…thank you.”
The woman nodded.
“You have a great day, now.”
“You too.”
“And a safe trip home.”
Melinda smiled and then turned, allowing her shoulders to sag as she got out of range of the desk clerk’s sunny smile and inquisitive eyes.
As she shut her luggage into her trunk, Melinda couldn’t help glancing back at the hotel. He’d been a no-show for the first two stops on his book tour. But after spending a night with her, suddenly he’s raring to face his fans. What the hell? Did it, somehow, have something to do with her? Had bagging a strange woman given him the boost of confidence he’d needed? She shook her head. The man she’d spent the night with had confidence to spare. It made no sense.
Sighing, Melinda realized she wouldn’t be leaving until it did.
Chapter 7
Melinda heard the women before she saw them. Their excited tittering surged into a din before reverting to acceptable levels and then building once more. When she turned the corner, she wasn’t surprised in the least to find the majority of the crowd gathered in front of J. T. Wright’s display. The mysterious writer’s first public appearance—of course, it would cause a stir.
She wandered closer,
stuttering to a stop as the crowd parted before her. Jason stood at a podium, pen in hand, and a smile on his face. But something wasn’t quite right. She could see it around his mouth, a strain in his perpetual grin. He looked a bit gray, a fine sheen coating his skin as if he were sweating. Was he sick?
Who cared? Melinda reminded herself what she was doing there. No need to feel sorry for the bastard. Pulling herself up to her full height, she started forward once more. She marched straight to him, cutting off a woman holding one of his books open in her hands like a psalm.
“Hey!”
Melinda showed the woman the flat of her hand.
“I’ll just be a second.”
She turned toward Jason. His mouth twisted into a strange combination of smile and grimace as his eyes met hers.
“Pardon me, miss, but the line starts over there.”
“I don’t want his autograph,” she hissed at the short, white-haired man who’d somehow managed to insinuate himself between her and her target.
The man didn’t budge.
“I’m afraid that’s all J. T. has time for today.”
Melinda gritted her teeth together.
“Well, he had time for me last night.”
The man’s eyes went wide at her brash implication.
“Steve,” Jason called. “Let her through.”
Immediately, the man stepped aside.
“My apologies.”
He gave her a little bow of concession to which she didn’t bother responding. Her focus shifted to Jason, who intently watched her approach, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there.
“Melinda.”
“J. T. Wright, I presume.”
He sighed. The defeated slope of his shoulders was such a stark contrast to the silhouetted stance of masculine confidence she remembered so clearly from the night before, Melinda had another moment of hesitation. Determined to get some explanation, she shook it off.
Craving Forbidden (Craving Series Book 8) Page 16