NicenEasy
Page 3
At last he opened his eyes. “Wow, you are good, lady.”
“We are good,” she said. She’d had a few seconds more to recover, but that only meant she’d recovered the voluntary use of her vocal cords.
They stared at each other and for once, she didn’t know what to say. Something profound seemed to pass between them, but she couldn’t let it fool her. Her previous feelings for Donovan Harvey had disappeared, blasted away by the reality of the man. Nobody and nothing had prepared her for this.
She moved and he rolled to one side, completing the movement to get out of bed and head for a door she presumed led to the bathroom. “Be right back,” he said. He sounded almost normal, just a slight tremor to his voice.
He returned in a matter of seconds and got back into bed. “I’d suggest a shower, but I don’t have the energy.” He drew her closer and kissed her, the kiss long and lingering. Fuck, the man knew how to kiss. “Let’s sleep some, then shower, and maybe I’ll have the energy for another round. Maybe you can go on top next time.” He caressed her breast, gentle now, his thumb sweeping over her nipple.
She snuggled closer, felt his arms go around her and drifted. So easy to sleep in his arms.
Chapter Two
Donovan couldn’t remember when he’d last slept for seven hours with only one break and fuck, it had to be the night he didn’t want to sleep so long. He could sleep anywhere, a necessary skill engendered by his regular job, but not for more than four or five hours. Then he’d wake and pace until he felt sleepy again, or get up and draw. He’d done most of the work on his book then, in the small hours when the rest of the band was asleep. Or in the morning, at a time when many people were getting up and going to work but the members of Murder City Ravens, having worked all night, were catching up on some well-earned shut-eye.
Worst of all, he woke up alone. He remembered her saying she had work in the morning but on this, the first day of the convention, the official program didn’t start until noon. He’d hoped to get at least one more session with Allie before they had to part for the day. And only for the day. No way was he letting her get away from him now. He got up, restless until he spotted his sketchbook and pens.
He showered alone, the ledge at the back of the shower giving him ideas about the next time he saw her. Nothing he could fulfill on his own.
After slinging a towel around his waist, he headed for the desk and the drawing he’d started before he took his shower, stopping when he saw a keycard on the floor. After picking it up, he realized it wasn’t his, but she’d mentioned an early start, so she’d probably got a new one by now. He’d give it back later. Perhaps call on her.
He gazed down at the sketch and decided he’d done well with this one. That was her. Lying in his bed, fast asleep, her sweet curves outlined by the sheet that barely kept her decent. He’d woken up in the night and visited the bathroom, fully intending to wake her on his return, but the sight of her had changed his mind. She looked too good to wake. Too good to eat, he recalled with a smile, because that was how he’d intended to wake her.
He’d watched her for a while only to fall asleep himself, certain he’d wake again in an hour, as he always did, but he’d been wrong.
He added a stroke of the pencil to her hair, one dark curl creeping over her shoulder to touch the top of her breast. Smiling, he recalled her hair, so carefully tamed earlier, so wild after lovemaking.
He turned his mind to the coming day, wondering if he’d get away with nobody recognizing him as a Murder City Ravens member again.
It wasn’t usual for him to notice when people were staring at him either. Not these days, when so many people did. That was why he’d enjoyed being here so much. Most of the attendees, especially the early birds, were confirmed fantasy fans, and if he hadn’t appeared in Farscape or Battlestar Galactica he didn’t mean anything to them.
He liked that. The sudden adulation that Murder City Ravens had attracted recently unnerved him. Some people followed them from gig to gig. Would they follow them out of the United States, on the next leg of their world tour? He hated to imagine they would. It went beyond music, verging on stalker behavior. Fuck, it was stalker behavior. As a rock band, they’d attracted attention from a select portion of fans, but their recent single had crossed over to the main charts and to attention on major TV shows. Now the album was bursting through as well and the resultant attention was getting hard to handle. This was probably the last time he could get away with going incognito.
Adding a light shadow to the crease of the sheet tucked under her breasts, he remembered how it felt to touch her there, to cradle her breast in his hand. Bloody good. He’d go in search of her soon. See if she wanted lunch or breakfast. Brunch, that was it. For people like him who ate when they were hungry, he was never sure what to call it.
He glanced back toward the bed. Tomorrow he’d have his first event as a published author. He’d used his mother’s maiden name for his pen name and called himself D. G. Ford, although his agent had used extreme persuasion to try to get him to use the name thousands of fans knew him by. But he’d wanted the book to succeed on its own. Wanted it badly, and only now that it had was he willing to come out of the closet.
So maybe his last chance at anonymity came today, before the book signing over the weekend. With one last glance at the image of the girl who’d given him such an incredible time last night, Donovan headed for his closet and the neatly folded jeans the maid had put there for him.
Some things about fame and fortune didn’t suck. Someone to tidy after him was definitely a plus. Not knowing whether a woman wanted him or Donovan Harvey, member of Murder City Ravens, was firmly in the negative column.
Allie tapped her foot on the shiny floor at the airport. He was late. She’d dragged herself out of bed at an unnatural hour, left a rock god sleeping by her side, only to discover a text after she reached the airport telling her that “her” author had missed his plane and would arrive an hour late. She could have used that hour. Styled her hair properly instead of blasting it with the blow-dryer, had a decent breakfast—or woken Donovan Harvey.
This morning she was past groupie. He’d been fantastic, surpassing all her fantasies, so different from what she’d expected but delivering in spades. Interested in what she did, funny and, holy hell, so good between the sheets that he’d knocked her out cold. She hadn’t slept so well since forever.
The announcer told everyone that they shouldn’t make stupid jokes in security and then another one broke in to announce the arrival of the plane from New York. Thank the Lord. Allie prayed he was on this one.
He was. Carl Morano, a middle-aged man wearing a Hawaiian shirt with parrots rampaging over it, hurried out of the exit, toting a huge briefcase and dragging a small case on wheels.
She smiled and stepped forward, every inch the publishing professional, or the best she could do after the best sex of her life. “Mr. Morano? Hi, I’m Allison Bartz.” She held out her hand but Carl was having none of it. She found herself grabbed and pulled into a male chest. The second in two days. Whoop-de-doo. Things might be looking up, if Carl weren’t solidly married and definitely off-limits.
“Hi, Allie! After working with you, I feel like you’re one of my closest friends.” He winked. “Maybe more, hey?” He released her and grinned. “Thanks for coming to meet me. I could have just got on the shuttle to the hotel, you know.”
“Nonsense. Besides, we have things to discuss. It’s your first panel this afternoon, so we need to get you settled in and registered. Anything I can do to help, I will.” Briskly she set out for the cab line, her heels clicking on the hard floor. “Actually, I’m here because of you.”
“Why?” Carl panted slightly, hurrying next to her. She figured he could wheel a case and tote a briefcase on his own, however, hotfooting didn’t seem his style. She took the briefcase from him.
“Ever since you hit the New York Times list, people have wanted to meet you and you’ve kept yourself quiet.”
He grimaced. “I was working. Insurance agents don’t get a lot of time off.”
“You’ve kept the day job?” Considering how well the book had done, she’d have thought he’d give it up. Especially now he had a three-book contract.
He huffed. “Well, it was nice to pay off the house, but I still have to put the kids through college. Four of them, all bright enough to go, four of them all wanting Ivy League. I gotta have a regular job until I’m sure.”
She hustled him into the taxi, handing his bag in after him and letting the cabbie take care of the wheeled suitcase. “The second book should take care of that. And you’re writing the third on time, so you’re good.” When she’d brought his deadlines forward to take account of the sudden popularity of the first book, he’d hit every one. He’d seemed too flustered, too disorganized to keep to a tight deadline when he’d first written the book, and she suspected that was one of the reasons Nancy had passed him on to her. But he’d got the hang of it and then, proving her assessment of him when she’d first read his manuscript, his book had become a runaway success.
The cabbie took off, nearly throwing her into Carl’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind, helping her to sit with a gentleness that belied his burly appearance, his hands lingering on her body. Her senses went on alert. Donovan Harvey was a fantasy, but this was work and she never confused the two.
“I’ve had the series in my head for years,” he confessed. “Scribbling all the time. I could never get on the family computer long enough to get it done, but then my wife bought me a laptop for Christmas…”
She let him rattle on while her mind wandered yet again to the vision she’d woken to. A broad expanse of chest, a strong shoulder forming her pillow, one arm around her waist, holding her securely. It had taken five minutes to extricate herself without waking him. She had a fifteen-minute drive to think of Donovan and make sure Carl wasn’t divulging any important information before they reached the airport hotel where the convention was taking place.
By the time they reached it, she’d realized that Carl could drive her seriously insane if she saw him on a daily basis, and since she was based in New York and so was he, that could happen, especially if the series continued as successfully as it started.
She soon found that the way to cope with Carl’s chatter was to tune him out and return occasionally to check in with him. He’d talk for hours, but he was one of the restful kind who didn’t necessarily need an answer. She had to treat him well, even if he did have a tendency to put his hand on her knee and try to slide it up her thigh. Three times in that journey, she had to move away or simply move his hand. He didn’t seem to take offense, although had it been anyone else, she would have.
The taxi drew up. “We’re here,” she said brightly. “Let’s get you checked in.”
In this huge barn of a hotel, she was slightly relieved that they couldn’t find a room for Carl close to her, considering his propensity to let his hands wander. The place had been letting conventioneers check in early as rooms became available, so Carl had to be satisfied with one a floor above the room Allie shared with Nancy. Who’d given a sleepy, Cheshire cat smile when Allie had rolled in at 6:00 a.m. to get ready for the day ahead. She’d had to stop at the main desk to get another keycard. Either that or go back to Donovan’s suite and wake him up, something so tempting she didn’t do it. She’d slipped in the room and given Nancy a sheepish smile. Lucky Nancy had turned over and grabbed a bit more shut-eye, but Allie couldn’t afford to do that.
Carl looked like a man holidaying from his day job, but he should start to look on this as employment, take it a bit more seriously. She’d have plenty of time to tell him, since he was her primary concern here. He couldn’t take this first appearance too lightly. This was a big convention and they’d chosen it deliberately. The company had actually allocated a publicity budget to Carl, and she wanted him to make the most of it.
On the other hand, the readers might love a middle-aged lecher who had a laugh that could rip fabric.
With relief, she left Carl to settle in after exchanging telephone numbers. Only then did it occur to her that she hadn’t done that with Donovan. He probably wouldn’t have let her. Security concerns.
On her way out, she’d noted his wing had access through one hallway only and the fire exits were all alarmed. She’d had to go up a couple of floors using a service stairway before she could get the elevator, since this wing was served by card-operated elevators and her room card didn’t work. It also meant she couldn’t drop by.
Despite her decision to make it a one-night stand, she wanted to see him again. But the way she felt this morning was far distant from the night before. She’d spent a night with a man, not a fantasy, and she’d never feel the same way again about her B.O.B.
She couldn’t have him. Murder City Ravens was on the final part of the American leg of the tour and they’d go to Europe next. She had a job that was just taking off, and if she took time out now, she’d lose it.
Laughable. After one night? Who was she kidding?
She wouldn’t have the decision to make, that was for sure. But she did have one perfect night to remember.
Back in her room, she found Nancy busy on the phone. She raised a brow and Nancy nodded and held up a finger for her to wait. She hung up and beamed at Allie with a knowing expression in her eyes. “So how did it go? Are you a full-fledged groupie now?”
Allie couldn’t laugh, didn’t want to. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Nancy held something out to her and Allie took the small black object. “It’s a portable speaker,” Nancy informed her. “Put on some of this band’s music. I’m curious.”
“You’ve never heard it?” As far as Allie was concerned, Nancy must have been living in a vacuum not to have heard Murder City Ravens. Until recently, they’d had a large but specific audience—the kind who liked rock bands. Then they had a hit, one single, shoot into every chart they qualified for, number one over the world.
She opened her laptop and navigated to her music file, finding the famous single and a few other tracks, the ones that usually made a good initial impact, rather than the ones that benefitted from close, repeated listening. Both of which she’d done. That was one of the things she loved about the music. Murder City Ravens had a song for every mood.
The music began to play and Nancy chose that moment to start talking. Allie consoled herself with recalling Nancy’s famed ability to multitask. Not many people could manage three simultaneous phone calls and make sense to each person she was talking to, but Nancy could. Allie’s mind tended to snap to a current project like an elastic band around a bunch of pencils, but Nancy wove her way around several at the same time. Probably why Nancy was the boss here.
“I’ve put some postcards on your bed. During the signing tomorrow, we have to get around to the authors from our house and distribute these. Have a word or two with each author and ask them if they want anything. Then concentrate on the big names.” Of course, Allie’s collection was larger than Nancy’s.
A particularly poignant lyric came out of the speakers. “Listen to that, Nancy. Listen to the way he backs up that last word, ‘loss’.”
“Sure, yes. They’re very good.”
Very good? Fuck, Nancy had cloth ears. “I thought I was here to concentrate on Carl?”
Nancy made a face. “You are. He’s your first priority. At least—” She bit her lip and stopped. “I was just talking to the office, and they’re very pleased with us so far. I managed to snag Stephanie Roberts in the bar after you left. She sounded interested in putting her new series with us, so I’ll be courting her while we’re here. Duane wants you to go for Donovan Harvey.”
Allie stopped gathering her cards together to turn to her boss. “What? He has a publisher.”
“As soon as word gets out that he’s here, fans will come. So he’s written a book, has he?”
“He’s written a book, yes, and he’s signing it tomorrow.”
“I guess. But I’m here for Carl first.”
Nancy bit her lower lip. “Difficult, I’ll admit, to juggle the two. Carl’s a rising star. We never expected him to do this well.” Otherwise, Nancy would have taken him. She still might, unless Carl insisted on keeping Allie. Since Allie had worked very hard on the first book’s edits, she hoped he’d stay loyal, but she wasn’t betting the farm on it. “But Donovan Harvey is too good to let go.” Nancy motioned to the speaker. “I don’t get this. It’s okay, I guess, but I’m a hip-hop girl. Listen, if Donovan is only signing book to book with his current publisher, find out what he’s getting and offer him more.”
“Isn’t that poaching?”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “D’oh. Everybody does it.”
No they didn’t. If Allie wanted a job with Edsel someday, they might take a dim view of her stealing their top author away. Especially after sleeping with him. But she was the new girl here, and she felt she couldn’t say more. Still feeling her way in this business, the dream job she’d always wanted. It wasn’t turning out quite like she’d imagined, but what job did? “Don’t you want to see the book?”
Nancy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what he writes, as long as it’s current.”
“He draws as well.”
Her boss’s blue eyes brightened. “You don’t say. Fuck, that’s awesome. We can edit the rough stuff out and create a package that will knock the readers’ eyes out.”
Allie hoped not. Her cynical side registered that Casterbridge only wanted the name. They’d ghost the rest. She wasn’t sure the man she met last night would be into that.
Outside the room, Donovan had stopped when he heard the familiar strains of Sex and Diamonds, the single that had hit number one shortly before the album had followed it. Something had stopped the door from closing and he bent to pick it up before he heard them talking. He straightened, leaving the object in place. A shoe, he registered dully, with a spiked heel.