Chapter Three
Allie showered and dressed in a daze. What had happened here? When he’d ordered her on her knees, why had she done it, and why had it turned her on so powerfully? She was sure she’d recovered from the groupie dreams she’d fueled her masturbatory fantasies with, but Donovan had proved her devastatingly wrong. He’d brought some of those dreams to life but she shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. Even as she’d wielded her B.O.B., she’d known the fantasies were degrading and just plain wrong. Even if they were so fucking hot.
She’d humiliated herself. She’d avoid Donovan Harvey for the rest of the conference and hope their paths never crossed again. Conventioneers had filled this hotel and the one next door so it shouldn’t prove too difficult. Besides, he had a suite in the security wing and she’d never have occasion to go there. Firmly pushing the feeling of regret that it wouldn’t happen again to the back of her mind, she went in search of Carl, only twenty minutes late.
Dressed in a white shirt, black pants and a black velvet jacket, Allie thought herself the epitome of business chic, while the dragon necklace and earrings gave a clue that she was part of the fantasy convention. She’d tried the outfit on in front of the mirror at home, but it didn’t look or feel the same now. It felt ordinary, boring even.
She wasn’t the only one waiting for the elevators.
Others had gone full-out, goths in stark white makeup and outrageous outfits, space pioneers in silver plastic suits carrying bubble helmets, so if anything she seemed out of place and strange, not the other way around.
Ignoring them after exchanging smiles she tried not to make judgmental or embarrassed, she made her way to Carl’s room, only to find he wasn’t there. Well, there was one place Nancy told her that everyone congregated, and she’d been there last night. The bar.
Work would help, she told herself. It had to, because she sure as fuck didn’t want to think about anything else right now.
Nancy sat at a table with a few of her colleagues and an author Allie vaguely recognized. She should be better informed, she should know these people. She had once made sure she knew the faces of all Casterbridge’s writers attending the con. That was before this afternoon, which had wiped other memories from the forefront of her brain.
Concentrate, Allie.
She tried, she really did, but nothing clicked until she saw Carl. He was sitting at a table with six women and one other man, and from the color of the badges they wore in the pouches around their necks, they were readers. Dammit. Carl wore his Hawaiian shirt open over a dazzling T-shirt. Together, they were a sight for sore eyes, or rather, they made her eyes sore.
Relieved, she hurried across to the table. “Carl, you have a panel in five minutes.”
“Plenty of time.” Carl waved a hand vaguely in her direction. “You worry too much.”
The readers laughed. “Someone has to,” Allie said grimly, “because you sure aren’t.” She grasped his shoulder lightly, trying to urge him up.
He fell silent and turned his head slowly before staring at her hand. Everybody looked and Allie realized Carl did have some authority, after all. So far he’d shown her only a pleasant, happy exterior, but now she froze. If he took offense, the rest of her time here could turn into complete shit. Together with what happened earlier.
She stopped her wayward thoughts right there and removed her hand from Carl’s shoulder. The women laughed and applauded and Allie frowned. “What’s the joke?”
“Haven’t you read his books?” one of the women asked incredulously. “That’s what F’tan does in chapter three to the king. That’s how everybody knows the king is losing his grip.”
She was right. Normally, Allie would have gotten the reference straight away. She’d helped Carl hone that gesture, for heaven’s sake, made it F’tan’s signature. To touch someone’s shoulder, very gently, but to transmit his authority.
Fuck. She forced a smile. “Yes, of course. Carl, are you ready?”
Carl, having shown off his move, got to his feet. “Whenever you are,” he said.
Unfortunately, at that moment, she caught sight of Donovan crossing the large space between the bar and the reception area. It shook her enough to take her off her stride. “Hey.” Carl touched her elbow and guided her away from the table. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Yes, fine, thanks. Just a minute’s dizziness. Jet lag residue, I guess.”
“It can be rough on some people.” Carl sounded sympathetic and sober and at that moment, she saw the man who’d written such a great book. “Come on, show me where the panel is.”
Back at the table, she heard one of the women. “Isn’t that Donovan Harvey?”
It had begun. Soon everyone at the conference, and thanks to social networks, beyond, would know Donovan was there.
*
Later that day, Allie went back to her room and suffered Nancy’s teasing, but inside all the words came the reminder. Donovan Harvey could be a real asset to her job. Bring him in and she’d be safe.
Nancy could go fuck herself.
They dressed for the ball that night, the first time this year’s costumes would come out officially. The “Out Of This World” ball was for the space fiends, the spaceships and ray gun fans, although Nancy had warned her not to use those terms in front of them. “They’ll spend half an hour telling you how many books there are with spaceships and ray guns and they’ll give you the plots.”
Allie wore a vaguely futuristic dress in white with patterns of interlocking circles, and blow-dried her hair into a glossy sheet, curled under at the ends.
“Very nice,” said Nancy, who’d gone the whole hog of silver spacesuit and weapons belt, with a symbol on the front taken from one of her author’s books. She grimaced. “Maylie says I have to wear this. I’m sitting at her table tonight. You should find Carl and join him.”
“I’m meeting him outside the ballroom.” Allie checked her watch. “In ten.”
Nancy bent and picked a postcard off the floor, handing it to Allie with a broad grin. “You missed this one.”
She’d spent ages picking up the detritus and sorting it out again. It had taken her mind off precisely what had happened in that room, on that bed, but of course Nancy had noticed. Allie took the card with a muttered, “Thanks.”
After stuffing a pen and some notes into her convention nametag pouch, she set off for the ballroom. She’d taken a little time to acclimatize herself to the hotel but she didn’t need a map to know where the ball was taking place. People in red T-shirts with “I’m proud to be a redshirt” imprinted on the front, people dressed more elaborately and people in more conventional evening outfits headed in the same direction.
The line for entry was long but cheerful, and people with cameras toured it, snapping the participants, who happily posed. Allie found Carl, not difficult, since he was a walking advertisement for his book, and they joined the line. A flash took her by surprise, half-blinding her, and she turned to bury her face in Carl’s shoulder for a moment. Unfortunately when she lifted her head, Carl kissed her.
She pulled away quickly, her mind going into overdrive, her instincts rejecting him before her reason kicked in. It’s not him,her treacherous libido told her, pushing through any rational denial, and right then, she knew she’d lost. She wanted Donovan and more of his games. Or was he just angry? Did he use women like that? Again, deep inside, something said no, but he was a rock star for fuck’s sake. Of course he did.
Giving Carl a half-apologetic smile, she started to move up as the doors finally opened and the line began to shuffle its way inside, but Carl pulled her back. “I meant it,” he said. “Offer on the table. You’ve done a lot for me. Let me do something for you.”
As if he was doing her a favor. Luckily, the noise had increased, so she could only shake her head against the sudden cacophony of a fanfare from inside the ballroom and the raised voices of the fancons. Confans? She was forgetting her terminology. He tried to grab her arm but
she moved forward as if she hadn’t noticed.
Stuck for an evening with him, she found spaces at a table reserved for them. The publisher had sent in a request, and all the major authors plus their editors found themselves at the same table. They also had extra swag, bookmarks, pins and other giveaways set in a basket at the center of the round table.
Nancy arrived shortly after and it was obvious from her slightly higher voice and excitement that she’d put the extra time to good use at the bar. As soon as she arrived, she seated her author and headed for the bar setup. Carl had already done the honors, so Allie didn’t have to join her.
She tried to forget the events of the last day and sat back to enjoy the evening.
For the most part, it went well, but Carl’s wandering hands grew even more of a liability the more he drank. Two hours later, she was heartily tired of fending him off and trying to make it tactful, so she suggested they join the throng on the dance floor. Apart from his propensity to touch, Carl had behaved like a seasoned trouper, signing bookmarks, ebook cover flats and even someone’s stomach. All with smiles and a few jokes.
His counterparts were discovering that an elaborate costume didn’t always help with eating, drinking or being recognized, which was what they were there for. Space helmets lay on the table with masks and other face-disguisers. The fans had found them, and they were doing good business, but the event Allie had looked forward to for months was overshadowed by what had happened earlier in the day. She couldn’t get her mind off it, going through the events, getting hot all over again, even though she knew she shouldn’t. But no matter how often as she told herself it was wrong, she remembered going down on her knees for Donovan Harvey.
She didn’t see him here. Probably a blessing. It gave her time to get over what had to be delayed shock. However, she couldn’t get away from him, because the table began to discuss it. “Why is Donovan Harvey here?” demanded Carl.
“Is he?” One of the authors perked up and raised a brow. “Is he with us?”
“No, he’s with Edsel.” Nancy shot Allie a sly glance. “We’re hoping to attract him. Obviously we can’t poach directly, but we can chat to him.”
“Are there rules?” demanded the woman to Allie’s left, the one dressed as a sexy alien. Animal-print bikinis were obviously hot on most other planets this year, because she wasn’t the only woman—or man—rocking the leopard. This one was almost rocking out of hers. “Why shouldn’t you make him an offer?”
Nancy gave her a wry smile. “It’s not done.”
The woman snorted. “We do it all the time in my line of work.” She frowned. “At least there’s a clause in my contract that forbids me working for a group of named competitors for six months after I leave them.”
“It’s something like that in publishing, but officially he has to approach us.”Nancy sounded patient but she spared Allie a sly glance. “We have to entice him without asking him.”
“He’d be hard to entice with all those groupies who cluster around rock stars.” The tableful or people erupted in laughter at the quip, but Allie had to force hers. Right back in the action she saw herself, saw his eyes dilate when she sucked in his cock as deeply as she could. Then he’d told her he’d pass her on to someone else. She should be appalled. She wasn’t, and that in itself horrified her.
“Not that kind of entice,” Nancy protested, but she didn’t need to look at Allie now, who found herself profoundly glad for the dim lights. Perhaps nobody had noticed she must be red as a beet. “But tempt him. You all know how good we can be to our best authors.”
Two of the authors rolled their eyes then laughed. Carl just laughed. His shark of an agent had squeezed the company until the pipes squeaked, and Carl’s advance for the third book had already taken a good chunk of the budget. Casterbridge needed him. Their finances weren’t too hot right now and they needed a healthy injection of cash like the kind a bestseller could bring.
“So if he’s at the con, where is he tonight?”
Nancy leaned forward. “Word is getting out. That’s what. He’s making his first scheduled appearance at the signing tomorrow, after the parade through the city. That doesn’t mean he won’t appear tonight or tomorrow. Keep your eyes open.”
“Not hard to spot him. He’s over six feet tall, isn’t he?”
“Allie?” With seeming innocence, Nancy turned to her. “You’re a fan of the band, aren’t you? How tall is Donovan Harvey?”
“About six two, I think.” She shrugged in an attempt at insouciance. Six two and a half, according to the fan site. “I don’t really know.”
“Liar.” Nancy winked at Carl. “She’s crazy about the band. Has everything they’ve ever done.”
“All three albums?”
Allie shrugged. “I also have all the Beatles’ output, and most of Radiohead’s. I like music, that’s all.”
She’d hoped to divert the discussion to music in general, but they refused to let it happen. Murder City Ravens became the subject of the moment, and however much she tried to turn it, nobody was interested. They discussed the upcoming appearance on the Today, Tonight show, the concert next week in San Fran and the huge ones in L.A., and the albums.
Allie gritted her teeth and determined not to give away more information because she had it. “I fell for the music,” she said at one point. “Pure and simple. It’s so complex, so beautiful and sometimes scary.”
One person nodded but the others went on to discuss the hotness of the members of the band. Sure, they were hot, but she had told the truth—she’d heard a track and fallen heavily for the music.
Eventually she couldn’t stand it anymore. The day before she’d have joined in the conversation with alacrity, glad to find other fans, but last night everything changed—and today it had changed even further. She wanted time to think, get her head on straight.
“Drink, Carl?” She shook the empty wine bottle. “Oh dear. Time to hit the bar?”
The bar outside the ballroom had a line a mile long, so they went to the main bar downstairs, which was also thronged with partygoers, but at least the waiting area was only two deep. They had a chance. Carl had been drinking steadily since the waiters had cleared away the snacks and he didn’t show any sign of letting up. She’d get him a drink here and then take him up to his room, run the gauntlet of his roaming hands and shove him onto his bed—alone. Probably leave him a note about the morning and reinforce it with a text.
When the barkeep saw her badge, he presented them with two blue drinks with silver umbrellas perched on the edge, courtesy of one of the authors sponsoring the event. But only to conventiongoers, naturally. And only one each.
It turned out that one was all anyone would need. The drink tasted of cough medicine and the alcohol content must have been sky-high, because after her first sip, she nearly choked. Carl drank his and then swapped glasses with her. “Maybe you shouldn’t, Carl,” she protested.
He waved away her concerns. “I’m used to it. Long lunches with potential clients. It immunizes you.”
Impressed that he could still say “immunizes”, she didn’t try to stop him drinking hers. A few half-full glasses lay on nearby tables but to her relief, after a lingering look, Carl decided to leave them alone.
“Getting close to bedtime,” she said.
Carl winked. “Sure is. You know what they were talking about, that enticement thing?”
“Yeees.” She leaned back a little.
“How about a little enticement upstairs?”
She’d feared that. Carl Morano of the busy hands could get a lot worse with alcohol. “We have a professional relationship, Carl.”
He made a strange sound, halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been coming on to me all day.”
Nice Carl had disappeared, replaced by Sleazy Carl. Both had busy hands, but one had difficulty taking no for an answer. The other, the sober one, desisted when asked to. She tried again. “Busy day tomorrow. How about I see
you to the elevators?” She laughed but it sounded forced even to her. “This place is a maze.”
“Oh I can find my way around just fine.” He winked. “Usually.” He moved closer. “’Specially around a woman’s body.” His breath on her face, he murmured, “Wanna find out?”
“Not particularly.” She’d reached the end of her tact. It seemed only “No” would do now.
“Is this man bothering you?”
Crisp, cool and sexy, and the last voice she wanted to hear right now. She didn’t turn around to face Donovan. “We’re just fine.”
Carl glanced over her shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour. How are you, buddy? And what you doin’ here?”
Now she had to turn around. She stood awkwardly between the two men, afraid to meet Donovan’s gaze—afraid of what she’d find there. Not difficult, when he was so tall, but she felt a compulsion to look at him and she didn’t know where it came from. Him or her.
“I’m at a convention.”
“I thought you’d be busy with the band.”
“Yeah,” Donovan drawled the word. “Very. But a man’s got to have some time out, hasn’t he?”
“My editor says you have a book out.”
A sharp movement told her he’d turned to stare at her. “Is that right?”
“It’s common knowledge,” she mumbled.
“Do people know which book and which author? Sweetheart?”
He didn’t sound in the least fond. She felt his fingers under her chin, gently urging her to look up at him. She had little choice. Steeling herself, she raised her head and her gaze clashed with his.
She knew it would be like this, falling into his orbit. He had charisma that knocked her out every time, sex appeal that seeped through to her very bones and his touch sent fire through her whole body. Treacherous body. “No.” She owed him the truth but only about the book. Not about anything else. Not after what he’d done, she reminded herself, firming her resolve.
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