Romancing the Author

by Kali Willows

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Romancing the Author

  Copyright © 2015 by Kali Willows

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-833-9

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

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  Also by Kali Willows

  Designing Passion

  Damnation and Desire

  Savannah’s Ghost Tale

  Terminal Lust

  Double Dragon Seduction

  Dragon Temptation

  Tantric Storm

  Dragon’s Breath

  Dragon’s Bond

  Dedication

  To friends and lovers of romance, those who are able to attain their desires, and to those who continue to strive for them. Don’t give up, romance is but a heartbeat away…

  To JoAnne Kenrick, my continuous sounding board, and to Kate Richards, my never-ending inspiration, thank you both for your encouragement.

  Romancing the Author

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Kali Willows

  Chapter One

  You’re beautiful. I know you’re taken, just saying.

  The endless barrage of messages from strange men and women in remote places had infested her inbox for months, peppered with communications from an unknown stalker who seemed to hone in on her status as a bestselling author. She peered at the sender’s name on the instant chat. Connor Caine.

  An actual old high school acquaintance, Connor, who retained a dry but potent sense of humor, the same as he had in their glory days. He possessed broad, athletic shoulders and abs a girl could scrub her laundry on. Sports magazines featured photos of him tossing footballs—often shirtless—posed to capitalize on his rugged good looks and virile physique.

  He had worked hard for the last fifteen years to become a football star and maintained a radiant social media presence since his recruitment in his senior year of high school. His regular upbeat posts and witty repartee had helped lighten her spirits through some of the most dreadful moments in the last ten months of her private life.

  A nomadic author on a worldwide tour, Gemma had little time for genuine interactions outside of book signings and release parties. Online communications with people who knew her before the fame, held a sense of comfort and inclusion which had evaded her in her public profile. She hesitated then clicked the reply box, unsure if this would be another bout of antics to make her chuckle.

  A trickle of giddiness fluttered over her, and then doubt.

  Gemma: LOL, you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?

  His reputation as an online prankster preceded him. His fans hung on every word he typed. Although she had indulged in occasional banter with him, she had thought nothing of it, believing he considered her another among the masses.

  Connor: Not at all! I’ve wanted to tell you for years, but never had the courage to say it until now.

  Gemma: Come on, you’re kidding, right?

  Connor: I’m dead serious.

  Gemma: *Blushing* An author rendered speechless? No other words came to her.

  Connor: I’ve been scanning over your online pics for years.

  Gemma: *Blushing again*

  Was he trifling with her? Wouldn’t this very hot, single guy with ebony hair and smoldering brown eyes have better things to do, late on a Friday night? How many women did he send these messages to?

  Connor: I know you’re capable of a broader vocabulary. He added a smiley face.

  Gemma eyeballed the screen in disbelief. No one was supposed to know about her divorce from her husband of eight years.

  “Who will want to buy romance novels from a divorcee, Gemma? Honestly, what would you do without me to maintain your professional image?” When Candace had laid down the law about announcing the split, Gemma hadn’t disputed the logic. After all, her publicist had handled some of the biggest names in romance.

  You still there? Another message popped up on the screen.

  Gemma bit her lip. Would her old friend Connor participate in a ruse to get her to spill to the media about the break up? Candace had warned her against any admission online—even telling a friend could be her career ender. Fans could not learn about the abusive asshole her husband had turned out to be. But could he be pulling a prank?

  Gemma: Why me?

  Connor: Why not you? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and sexy.

  Gemma: How would you know? We haven’t seen each other in more than a decade? What a dangerous road she trekked.

  Connor: Your online pics, Twitter, Facebook, your author site. You’re gorgeous. Your sense of humor, your writing, Gemma, you’re incredible! I remember you from high school. You haven’t changed at all. You have those incredible blue bedroom eyes.

  As a recluse recovering from a failed marriage, she felt neither sexy nor gorgeous. Being a cerebral person, physical beauty had never been at the forefront of what she considered her personal attributes, but she couldn’t complain about her genetics either. An author must maintain an online presence and continue to build her fan base, but she never viewed her photos as enticing in any way.

  Connor: What are you up to tonight, beautiful? The screen brightened again.

  Gemma: Trying to hammer out the next book, with little success. In other words, wasting time on social networks. LOL. Why would she answer? Gemma sucked in a breath. A ravenous urge awakened inside her, and the temptation to prolong the tease coursed through her veins.

  Connor: Wanna play?

  Gemma: With whom? She snickered.

  Connor: Me, your biggest fan.

  Playing with Connor bordered on sinful. She struggled with the deep-seated urge to continue this chat, but the potential for betrayal stung her heart. Connor had been a level-headed, decent guy, even in high school. She didn’t sense any threat from him, but Candace had her convi
nced anyone was capable of treachery. She’d tolerated a profound emotional gap of human connection even before the split with her psychotic ex. Along with being limited by her professional expectations of deadlines and media frenzy, she had fallen prey to a depressive slump with little interest in trying to socialize. Gemma hadn’t reached out to a single living soul all year. Did Connor sense her vulnerability? He had swooped in with compliments satisfying her hungry soul.

  Her ex-husband had complained about her late nights writing in her office. The stronger her desire to travel and experience more things, the worse their relationship became. He was bitter and vengeful until they parted on atrocious terms, resulting in a large portion of her royalties awarded to him by the courts provided he not speak publicly about their relationship. If he did, he’d lose every dime. Even though divorce was a matter of public record, few people knew her real name, enabling her to keep her private pain just that.

  Gemma: I’m speechless. Thank you.

  The necessity to adhere to her publicist’s heeds of caution persevered, but her desire to maintain a connection to someone who was interested in her clung to her like hot glue.

  Connor: You’re humble, too. What a turn on.

  What was her peculiar draw to continue this conversation? She should end it now and avoid a scandal that might cause financial ruin.

  Gemma: I’m a loyal wife but oh so very flattered.

  Connor: I respect that

  She typed a smiley face.

  Connor: We haven’t done anything. It’s only a chat, there’s nothing wrong is it, is there?

  He had a point; she hadn’t crossed any boundaries, had she? He flirted, she blushed. She didn’t reciprocate. She also didn’t disconnect the conversation.

  It’s late. I should go now… she began to key in then paused. A hermit with writer’s block and insomnia should appreciate a man who wanted to talk with her. What could a little more conversation hurt?

  Connor: Do you wear jeans, Gemma?

  Gemma: Sure, all the time. They’re 90 percent of my wardrobe, LOL. Why?

  Connor: I’ve got a thing for belt loops.

  Gemma: What do you mean? And were they crossing a line?

  Connor: Have you ever had a guy slip his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans and pull you so close to him, he could taste your lips?

  Gemma: No, but I like the sound of that. Had she really typed that?

  Connor: Maybe one day, I can pull you by the belt loops.

  Three hours flew by and, finally, despite her fascination, her eyelids grew heavy.

  Connor: I have a confession to make. I’ve bought your books and read them. You’re such a gifted author.

  Gemma: You have? Her breath hitched.

  Connor: Yes! I can’t get enough of your stories. You’re brilliant.

  Gemma: Thank you. A weak response given he had just hit her cerebral G-spot. Connor loved her writing? He’d read her books? Incredible. No longer tired, she held her hands over the keyboard.

  Gemma: I…have to come clean with something, too.

  Connor: What?

  All or nothing.

  Gemma: I’m a sapiosexual.

  Connor: Come again?

  Gemma: A person sexually attracted to the intelligence in others. She held her breath for his response.

  Connor: And where do I fit into this orientation of yours?

  Butterflies somersaulted in her stomach.

  Gemma: Top of the list.

  Connor: We’re quite the pair, then.

  A message popped up on her screen from a new sender.

  Getu4me: I see you. You’re mine, bitch.

  Gemma recoiled with a sharp gasp and slammed the lid of the laptop. “What the hell? Not again.” Tears of frustration and fear welled up.

  Chapter Two

  Gemma sucked in a long whiff of fresh-baked sweets. The cheesecake displayed on the counter by the cash register of the trendy little New York coffee shop snagged her attention. “I’ll take one of those as well.” She gathered her drink and naughty treat and headed over to a stained glass bistro table.

  “Sweetheart”—her publicist plopped into the rustic metal chair across from her—“I don’t know what you’re so freaked out about. You get bizarre messages online all the time. It comes with the limelight.” Candace sipped her latte.

  Gemma peeked over her shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to hear then propped her elbows on the table. “Because they said ‘I see you.’ I worried someone hacked the camera or something,” she whispered. “But I had the computer checked, and the technician said it wasn’t compromised. I covered the camera with a Band-Aid, just in case.”

  “Well, you can’t be too careful. Maybe you should stay offline for a while.” Candace cupped the massive mug with both hands.

  “Wait a tick. Did I hear my drill sergeant correctly? Did you tell me to stay offline? ”

  “Don’t be a smart ass. If you’re freaked out, then don’t be accessible to creeps.” Candace fired off a sarcastic glare. “Yes, you heard me right. Take an Internet hiatus. You’ve already fled your apartment in the city for a cabin in the mountains. You even took self-defense classes. You’re safe as a kitten.”

  “Thank you.” Gemma exhaled a sigh of relief.

  “For a week,” the publicist clarified. “Don’t go getting crazy or anything. You still have fans who want interaction. Do you have any idea the hurdles I had to jump to get you decent Wi-Fi up there?”

  “Yes, Candace, I am well aware.” Gemma slumped.

  “Fine, I will have my assistant, Louise, take over your social networks for a few weeks, answer messages, and so on.”

  “Halleluiah!”

  “However”—her bossy publicist leaned forward again—“I expect you to meet your deadline for the first book in the new series.”

  Gemma cleared her throat. “About the new book….”

  “Don’t tell me.” She pursed her lips.

  “With all this self-promo on the Internet, I seemed to have lost my focus.”

  “Oh, doll, it happens to every author. I assure you, once you go off the grid and re-read the last few chapters, you’ll find your mojo again. You’re prolific.”

  “I hope so. This dry spell sucks. Following your bright idea to switch from paranormal romance to suspense for this series is killing me.” Gemma brought the cup to her mouth and blew against the creamy froth.

  “Fine. You’re such a diva! You can have more than one sub-genre.” She smirked. “Does that make you happy?”

  “It does.” She straightened her back and exhaled. “I have three chapters already plotted out for a paranormal element that will perk this story right up.”

  “I thought you might. Impossible temperament. It’s always gotta be Gemma’s way.” Candace scrunched her nose.

  “It’s the creative process, love. I can’t force the words to flow if I’m not inspired to write them.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You won this battle. Let’s move on, shall we?”

  A loud chime sounded from her handbag, and Gemma pulled her phone out. Hey beautiful flashed across her screen. Her dictator sipped her coffee and put it down again with a sharp inhale. “Listen, if there are any personal contacts on your accounts, let them know you’ll be offline.”

  “I’ve given my cell number to a very select few. Text messages I can handle.”

  “Fair enough.” Candace winked. “Did you book your room and flight for the Ottawa conference? You know, it’s only two weeks away.”

  “Uh, well….” Gemma hunched her shoulders.

  “I figured as much.” She nodded. “I had my assistant do it last week.” Candace handed her an envelope. “There is a first-class round-trip ticket in there, and we booked you the penthouse suite because I’m that good.”

  “Awesome.” She sank down into her chair.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m feeling a little blue.”

  “You’re lonely, I get it.” Candace wave
d her hand in a dismissive manner. “I know all about it. Open the envelope, doll.”

  Gemma pulled out a packet of papers and envelopes and fished through them. Then she opened a bundle of papers. “What’s this?”

  “My gift to you. You’ve been an angel with how you stuck to our agreement about the divorce, and I figured you’re all isolated and such….” She shrugged.

  Gemma read the first page and cringed. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh shush, it’s a chance at a private romp while you’re at the conference.”

  “What, with a prostitute?” Gemma glared at the title. “A one-night stand?”

  “Hell no, I’m not a pimp!” Candace swiped the papers away from her. She tucked them back into the envelope. “Read it when you’re alone. It’s a dating service. I filled part of the online application out for you, but you can go in to finish with specific traits you’re interested in for the best match. It’s discreet, very private, and Madame Eve has the best reputation.”

  “You’re all about reputation.” Gemma grabbed her drink and sucked up a mouthful.

  “Of course I am. It’s my job to be. Trust me; Madame Evangeline knows what she’s doing.” Candace flashed an uncharacteristic grin.

  Gemma choked mid gulp, and spat out a mouthful of java. “You?”

  Candace squinted hard as the liquid splashed all over her face then grabbed a napkin on the table. She dabbed away the foamy liquid. “Me, and I’ll tell you, it was the best night of my life!”

  “Huh,” Gemma huffed. Her phone dinged again in her purse. She bit her lip and let the device remain where it was.

  Candace’s eyes gleamed. “Whoever those messages are from, they’ve got you all hot and bothered.”

  “No, it’s nothing,” she fibbed.

  “Your red cheeks tell me different.”

  “Shut up,” she hissed.

  “You can’t start a fling with anyone right now,” Candace said. “But with this one-night stand, I guarantee you’ll have mind-blowing sex and no one to spill the beans.”