Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  “Making love is an obsessive American topic,” Dr. Baghri observed. “Everyone has an opinion. Everyone wants to go on television and talk about his opinion. When do they have time to actually make love?”

  Georgeanne heard this with relief as she fled toward the waiting room and the front entrance. Dr. Baghri was sure to favor the group with an Indian male’s position on America’s idea of sex as public recreation. If that didn’t put everyone back to work, nothing would.

  “Here, Georgie, let me get that,” Zane said from just behind her. “Since I’ve usurped your position as official slave driver, I may as well pay for the slaves’ food as well.” He produced his wallet before she could fumble through her purse and received the four large pizza boxes and the cardboard caddy of soft drinks. “Are you, by any chance, running out on the discussion back there?” He indicated the laboratory, where loud voices issued forth in passionate disagreement.

  “Of course I am. Aren’t you?” Georgeanne managed a weak smile. “Denise has been reading pieces of that book to us all week. If I hear one more word about it, I’ll go nuts.”

  She’d go more than nuts. She’d go ballistic. She’d suffer a core meltdown. She might just flat die.

  “It sounds like an interesting book.” Zane handed the cardboard holder of soft drinks to her, his smoky eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll have to buy a copy. From what I heard on TV last night, it’s got every talk show and every psychologist and sex therapist in the country up in arms.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell Denise.” Georgeanne knew she must resemble the bottom end of a thermometer. “Authors make their money by writing controversial books that give talk show hosts something titillating to talk about. Fritzi Field probably researched the market for two years before she conceived a sufficiently controversial idea and sat down to write the actual book.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sandra chimed in.

  Georgeanne started. She had forgotten Sandra’s presence.

  Sandra shoved back the paint-splattered blue cap on her soft blonde hair. “I read the foreword of Denise’s copy this afternoon, and my impression is that Fritzi Field is a woman who has suffered personally. It’s the only way she can write the way she does.”

  “That’s how authors always write.” Georgeanne knew she ought to shut up, but somehow she found it impossible. “If they can’t connect with their audience on a very personal level, they don’t sell many books. It’s that simple.”

  Sandra laid her brush aside and came toward them to lift a couple of pizza boxes off the stack in Zane’s arms. “Well, you would probably know more than I would about that. You’re an author yourself, aren’t you? Dr. Gant said you’ve sold lots of magazine articles.”

  Georgeanne wished yet again for a laser-targeted meteor, one that would zip right through the roof and land on her head. She had to stop talking. The more she spoke, no matter how innocuous her statements, the damning evidence added up. Already, Zane gazed at her in a fascinated way now that he had learned the one thing she’d rather have kept a secret from him — that she was a writer who knew the rudiments of selling her writing. If he should put two and two together, the expression on his face when he looked at her would alter radically.

  “Magazine articles are vastly different from books,” Georgeanne stated and hoped she sounded like an authority. “That particular book probably had an agent hyping it to all the publishers, and it probably garnered a huge advance when it sold. The author is very likely well-known within the publishing industry, even though she — or he — is remaining anonymous to the public at large.”

  “But the principle is still the same.” Zane smiled warmly at her. “The best writers have a very personal style. From what I’m told, Fritzi Field has a style somewhere between a mother and Dr. Marcus Welby.”

  Georgeanne paled and hurried to speak, but it was too late.

  “That’s what we all agreed this afternoon.” Denise appeared beside Zane. She sniffed the air enthusiastically and lifted a pizza box from Sandra’s hands. “Fritzi writes exactly the way Georgie speaks. One minute, she sounds like your doctor and the next minute, she’s your mother. You feel like you’re being personally instructed.”

  “Is that right?” Zane’s interested gaze rested on Georgeanne’s burning cheeks. “In that case, I’ll definitely have to buy a copy of that book. I’ll read anything that sounds as if Georgie could have written it.”

  These words would have sent Georgeanne’s heart into a pleasant flutter if they’d referred to anything she had written other than Faking It. “I hardly think — ”

  “You’d better buy a copy then,” Denise said, “because Faking It sounds exactly like something Georgie could write.”

  Georgeanne considered quitting her job and moving someplace where she had no friends to embarrass her. Say, the North Pole. Or better yet, the South Pole. It was further away. “Thanks a lot, Denise. If I get a call next week from Oprah Winfrey, I’m handing it over to you.”

  “I wish you would.” Denise sat down on the newspaper-covered floor and popped the lid off a cup of soft drink. “I’ll say I’m Fritzi’s manager, and that I simply must meet Oprah personally before I can allow Fritzi to come on the show.”

  The cheesy smell of pizza permeated the clinic, overriding the odor of paint and enticing the workers into the waiting room. Soon, people sat all over the floor eating pizza, sipping soft drinks, and arguing about Fritzi Field.

  “You can mark my words,” Bobby Whitney said. “She’s a feminist-man-hater with hairy legs. She’s probably ugly on top of that.”

  “You should read the foreword of her book,” Sandra smiled fondly at Bobby. “I think she must have suffered a lot in her own marriage. She sounded like she was speaking from experience.”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” Denise proclaimed. As the only person present who had actually read the book, Denise’s opinion carried weight. “The whole time I was reading, I was just crying for her. You could tell her poor little heart had been broken, and that she was lamenting that she hadn’t known then what she knows now.”

  Georgeanne stared at the floor. Lord, why hadn’t she realized how exposed she’d feel with that book in print?

  Because she had never really expected anyone to publish her book, much less read it — that was why. Writing it had been wonderful therapy, but the problem with being a writer was that said writer didn’t know when to let well enough alone.

  She’d just had to query an agent after doing all that work. When the agent showed interest, she’d been stupid enough to submit the manuscript. When she received an offer, she’d been so surprised, she automatically said yes to everything.

  The whole thing just went to prove what she had suspected for some time. The only fate around was a thing of evil that had it in for Georgeanne Hartfield.

  Georgeanne looked up and discovered Zane’s interested gaze resting on her cheeks. She was probably changing colors like a strobe light. She just hoped she could think of some believable reason for it. Something told her he wouldn’t buy the idea that talking about sex embarrassed her.

  “Georgie, I want you to read it next,” Denise said. “When you get through, I want to know what you think about what Fritzi has to say. You’re the only one of us who has the same training Fritzi has.”

  Georgeanne lost what was left of her appetite. The more likenesses of her opinions to those of Fritzi Field her friends spotted, the more tenuous her position. What if Zane should realize who Fritzi Field really was?

  Georgeanne sucked in her breath. Surely she wasn’t expecting a man like Zane Bryant to remain interested in her for long just because he’d kissed her and said he wanted her.

  She let her breath out slowly. In spite of her training in psychology and her personal experience, she was just like any other woman. She wanted happily-ever-after every time a good-looking man made a mild pass at her.

  “I’ll be glad to,” she said, with credible calm. “As soon as thing
s settle down with the clinic — ”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re going to read this book, or I’ll come sit on you personally.” Denise sounded determined on that much. “I’m going to hear some intelligent discussion of the ideas in here if I have to go on a talk show myself.”

  To Georgeanne’s relief, attention shifted from her to Denise as a possible guest for an Oprah Winfrey interview. She nibbled a slice of pizza with a total lack of appetite.

  “In that case, I’ll be a gentleman and buy a copy of the book myself,” Zane said. “If Georgie’s going to read it, I’ll read it along with her. What do you say, Georgie?”

  He had linked the two of them together into a couple. Georgeanne’s cheeks reddened yet again. “You’re going to have about as much free time as I will these next few weeks. Are you sure you want to buy a book you won’t have time to read?”

  Zane chuckled and reached for another slice of pizza. “Far be it from me to deprive an author of her royalties.”

  “Good for you,” Denise said. “Believe me, Fritzi Field deserves support. You can mark my words, lots of women are going to owe their marriages to her.”

  Naturally, this statement provoked another argument over whether or not a man could detect a woman’s deceit in intimacy. Georgeanne maintained silence. Not for anything was she going to get involved in that again.

  To her increasing discomfort, Zane listened to the argument eddying around them and watched her face. No doubt he had never seen a woman before whose complexion registered her thoughts so clearly. He had to realize Fritzi Field’s book embarrassed the living daylights out of her for some reason. Now he intended to read the book and find out why.

  Georgeanne wondered, with a sinking heart, what he would think if he ever found out the truth. If, that is, he stuck around long enough to find out the truth.

  *

  Georgeanne spent the next day in a haze of happiness. Zane lost no opportunity to let everyone know she was his, and to her surprise, everyone connected with the clinic accepted the situation without surprise. In fact, her friends seemed to think Zane just might be worthy of her. It provided Georgeanne with a whole new outlook on herself as a desirable woman.

  Zane hadn’t cared who had been watching when he walked her outside to her vehicle the night before. Around them, the other volunteers were climbing into their cars and preparing to leave, but Georgeanne might as well have been alone with Zane for all the notice either took of their surroundings.

  “You’re tired, whether you know it or not,” Zane had said. “I’ll call you to make sure you get home okay, then I want you going straight to bed. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Far be it from me to ignore a doctor’s orders,” Georgeanne had replied lightly.

  Her heart beat rapidly in a manner totally unlike itself. Georgeanne wondered what was wrong with her. Perhaps she was developing an arrhythmia.

  Zane laid one large hand on her shoulder and let his fingertips caress her neck. “That’s what I like to see, a patient who knows when the doctor has her best interests at heart.” He brought his hand around, cupping her neck lightly while his index fingertip stroked her full mouth and outlined her lips. “But you’re looking at a doctor with a problem,” he added.

  Georgeanne’s breath was almost gone. Who could breathe while having the tender edge of her lips teased by an expert finger?

  “What,” she halted a moment to savor the sensation, “seems to be the problem, Doctor?”

  “I need a kiss.”

  What remained of Georgeanne’s breath left in a hiss. “You do?”

  “I do. Do you think you could oblige?” He smiled the smile of a dark angel who offered temptation in a most enticing package.

  Georgeanne stared into his eyes, mesmerized. “I could try.”

  “I have a feeling you’re the cure to any problem I’ve got.” Zane slipped his arms around her waist. “Georgie, you’re so beautiful.”

  Georgeanne started to deny any claim to beauty, but Zane’s mouth covered hers before she could speak. She forgot her beauty, or lack thereof, in testing the warm silky texture of his hair and the hard feel of the muscles in his neck.

  Zane’s tongue stroked hers, encouraging her to explore his mouth the way he explored hers, and his big hands molded her against his body. She felt his desire for her and trembled. The amazing thing was, she liked knowing he wanted her, and she wanted to satisfy that desire.

  Georgeanne broke away from the spell cast by his mouth, blinking with dismay. She’d never wanted to satisfy a man’s desire before. She had feared that desire, because she knew she lacked what it took to satisfy it.

  “What’s wrong, Georgie?” Zane touched her face gently. “Am I scaring you?”

  Georgeanne looked away. “Nothing is wrong, Zane. It’s just that I — that I — I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve been kissed. I don’t quite know how to behave.”

  “You’re doing beautifully, Georgie. You’re perfect.” Zane proved it with another gentle kiss. “This is between us. You and me. No ghosts, and no regrets. Okay?”

  She swallowed, breathing hard. “Okay.”

  His words registered at last. Zane thought her hesitation lay in memories of her marriage. In a way it did, but not the way he thought. She would have groaned aloud if his mouth hadn’t covered hers in another tender kiss.

  “Now get home and get to bed, or the doctor will have to write you out a stronger prescription.”

  Georgeanne had done as he instructed, largely because she was too bemused to do anything else. Zane was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. The problem was, Georgeanne liked obeying orders from him a lot more than she should, especially when she knew she would see him again on Sunday.

  *

  Georgeanne glanced around, well pleased, at the Sunday afternoon activities. While the other volunteers finished painting the inside of the clinic, Zane had brought a stack of ropes and saws and worked steadily at removing the crop of fast-growing tallow trees that had sprung up around the building and encroached on the edges of the small shell-covered parking lot.

  Georgeanne joined him outside, where she scraped and painted the woodwork around the windows. The beautiful late spring weather held, and the sun shone brightly, bringing out the bright green of the tree leaves surrounding them.

  Georgeanne enjoyed watching Zane silhouetted against the sky as he stood on the clinic’s flat roof and worked an electric power saw. He removed limb after limb from the trees that grew beside the roof, then began work on one big limb that stretched across the roof.

  Georgeanne tried not to stare at him. He wore a blue T-shirt that accentuated the powerful muscles of his shoulders and arms and made his smoky eyes look blue. The rippling motion of those muscles as he worked the saw and the ropes fascinated Georgeanne. She forced herself to concentrate on her paintbrush.

  “Would you mind calling one of the men out to help me with this, Georgie,” Zane called.

  Georgeanne glanced up. He had hooked a complicated series of ropes to the limb and was prepared to saw it through. “What do you need?”

  “I need a man to pull this rope to swing the limb away from the roof when it starts to fall. Not you, Georgie.”

  “Be reasonable, Zane. I’m taller than both the men present, and probably stronger. Throw me that rope.”

  Zane scowled down at her. “I will not. Call Dr. Baghri or Dr. Gant.”

  “Now, Zane, if you weren’t present, I’d be sawing those trees down myself. Throw me that rope.” She laughed up at him, enjoying the way he tried to take care of her, even though anyone could see she didn’t need it.

  “Georgie, you’re about to witness some of my unreasonable behavior brought about by your failure to follow my orders.”

  “What is it with doctors? They seem to have a problem with thinking they can snap orders at people when they aren’t in a medical setting.”

  “This is a clinic, isn’t it?”

  “It won’t be a
clinic until the dedication ceremony one week from today.” Georgeanne gazed up and marveled again at the picture he presented.

  “This was a medical clinic, and it is about to be a medical clinic again. This is a medical setting, and I am a medical doctor. I have the degrees and the years of penal servitude to prove it. Therefore, when I speak, underlings such as yourself should hop to obey.”

  “Sez who?” Georgeanne put her hands on her hips and came to stand directly beneath him, grinning.

  Zane seized a pair of ropes that were slung over tree limbs in his large hands and grinned back at her. “Sez me. Punishment for this insubordination awaits. Look out below.”

  To Georgeanne’s astonishment, he used the ropes to rappel down from the roof as he spoke. The next instant, he was beside her on the ground. He let go the ropes and grabbed for her.

  Georgeanne did the only thing that occurred to her. She broke and ran, laughing with newfound joy and excitement.

  Zane followed on her heels. Georgeanne soon realized that he was letting her escape capture long enough to reach a secluded spot among a grove of tallow trees lining one of the rice fields. The moment she was out of sight of the clinic, Zane’s big hands closed around her waist and he jerked her off her feet.

  Georgeanne shrieked with surprise. She was no lightweight, but Zane didn’t appear to know that. No man had ever actually lifted her off her feet before. It was a novel sensation, to say the least. The next thing she knew, she lay full length on a grassy area behind the trees, with Zane stretched out beside her.

  The afternoon sun behind his head cast a halo and made him look like a particularly handsome angel. The dark angel, she decided dizzily, as she stared, mesmerized, into his smoky eyes. She saw the promise of pleasure there, along with a raw, masculine power that was all too human.

  His pupils had dilated and he was gazing at her in a way Georgeanne instinctively responded to. Her breathing quickened and every muscle she had tightened with excitement, because the man she desired found her desirable.

  Zane gazed on her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. That excited her further, and she bent one knee to turn more fully toward him. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing, breathing that accelerated when he leaned toward her and cupped her chin with one hand.