Felicia shook her head slowly. “I won’t.”
Suze sniffed and stood, extending the envelope. “Thank you. Let me know when you’ve had a chance to review the changes.”
Still a little stunned, Felicia nodded. “I will.” She sat in her chair, so grateful for the gift of Suze’s words. Jerry had loved her—she hadn’t imagined the intimacy, and she knew she would be able to recognize it again if she was lucky enough to find it. She held the envelope for a few minutes as an idea unfurled in her head. After consulting her Rolodex, she dialed a number.
“Futurestar,” a voice said.
“Jané Glass.”
“Just a moment.”
“Hello—this is Jane speaking.”
Felicia frowned at the dropped accent on the woman’s name—she was back to plain old Jane. “Jane? This is Felicia Redmon.”
The woman paused, probably wondering about the purpose of the call. Felicia hadn’t talked to Jane since the murder charges had been dropped.
“Hi, Felicia,” she said, her voice wary. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been thinking about that manuscript, the fantasy murder mystery with the e-book reader element.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Are the print rights still available?”
“Yes.”
“Will you have a copy couriered over to me?”
“Sure,” Jane said, clearly surprised. “But, Felicia, I have to be honest with you. I wrote that book.”
“Even better,” Felicia said cheerfully. “When should I expect it?”
“This afternoon,” Jane said, her voice buoyant.
“Looking forward to reading it. Bye, Jane.”
“Bye.”
Felicia set down the phone, feeling good about offering an olive branch to Jane. And it was crazy, but she was hoping against hope that the courier would be a familiar tall man with excellent hazel eyes. But when the package came later that afternoon, the courier wasn’t Jack Galyon. Felicia tried not to read too much into her disappointment; she had finished reading the book he’d given her, so she could always use it as an excuse to call him. It was strange how much she’d thought of him lately, realizing that no man had ever come to her aid like he had, without question. He fascinated her, especially after reading The Immortal Class. And she wanted to know more.
After dinner she was feeling nostalgic, so she dropped by Final Vinyl on the way home to see what they had to soothe her soul. She was looking at Etta James’ Stickin’ to My Guns when a voice next to her said, “Her best one, in my opinion, is Red Hot and Live.”
Felicia looked up and did a double take—Jack Galyon, not in courier garb, but in jeans and a lovely olive green sweater. Had she conjured him up, or was he, once again, simply where she needed him to be? “Hi…I almost didn’t recognize you.”
He grinned. “I’m not on my bike twenty-four/seven. I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Oh, I love this place,” she said. “Do you have a big collection?”
“Getting there,” he said. “You?”
She smiled. “Getting there.”
“I’d love to see yours sometime,” they said in unison, then laughed.
Jack grinned. “If you’ll show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
A little electric jolt went through her heart. “Sounds like fun.”
“What are you doing right now? Have you had dinner?”
She nodded ruefully. “Yes.”
“Me, too—but there’s a great dessert place around the corner.”
She smiled. “Dessert place?”
“Yeah, I kind of have a sweet tooth,” he said sheepishly.
Her smile widened, and her heart beat happily. “Really? That’s…wonderful.”
Chapter 37
Tallie picked up her ringing phone. “Tallie Blankenship.”
“Mrs. Blankenship?”
“Um, miss,” she corrected gently.
“Miss Blankenship—this is Richard Wannamaker.”
A memory chord stirred, but she couldn’t place his name.
“I sent you a manuscript a few weeks ago about my life as a tax accountant.”
“Oh! Yes, Mr. Wannamaker. I mailed the manuscript back to you with some suggestions for revisions.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” he said. “The cover letter is addressed to me, but this isn’t my manuscript.”
She squinted. “Pardon me?”
“My manuscript was called Journal Entry, and the one I got back was—let’s see—Whole Lotta Trouble.”
Tallie’s breath stalled in her lungs. Her mind reeled—she must have switched the manuscripts and the envelopes…no wonder the counteragent had come looking for her.
“Are you there, Miss Blankenship?”
“Mr. Wannamaker, listen to me very carefully…”
Keith looked up from fixing the bookshelf and shook his head. “What do you know? It was a simple mistake that might have saved the world.”
Tallie grinned. “Well…I wouldn’t go that far. Lives, maybe…but not the entire world.”
He gave the bookshelf a final shake to make sure it was solid, then he came over and gave her a long kiss. “You’re my hero.”
She grinned up at him. “What a coincidence. You’re my hero.”
He pulled her close against his hardening body and groaned. “I knew when I first laid eyes on you that I was in big trouble, and that was before the bullets even started to fly.”
She laughed and melted into him, loving that tingly anticipation of knowing they were going to have great, heaving, noisy sex. They undressed each other slowly, and Keith wound up sitting in the green chair, with her astride. A much better use for the chair, she decided as he thrust into her, than a holding place for laundry. He kissed her breasts and brought her to a great crashing orgasm with his hands, then drove himself into her until he climaxed, gathering her around him and moaning into her hair. When she fell forward on his chest, Tallie was struck by a heady sense of rightness. It was scary how much she wanted to be close to this man, to see him, to talk to him. Scarier still…what would she do if he changed his mind…decided to leave? A small voice inside of her said that she couldn’t lose herself, couldn’t relinquish control. That was how women became pathetic.
“That was…incredible,” he said. “You wear me out, Tallie.”
She gave a little laugh and climbed off him gingerly, then fell onto the couch. “Does that mean you’re staying here tonight?”
“I was hoping I could get you to come home with me,” he said, standing to stretch. “Don’t you want to see my house sometime?”
The voice, the voice, the voice. “I’ll think about it,” she murmured.
“Well, while you’re thinking about it, I’m starving.” He headed toward the kitchen. “Got any leftovers?”
Tallie stared at him, naked and silhouetted in the light of her refrigerator. Her stomach pitched—and not from hunger.
“Oh, wow, ravioli,” he said, holding the bowl high. “Mind if I have it?”
She averted her glance, her heart pounding. He was moving in…to her heart…crowding her…their parents would expect…things. Then her gaze landed on the bookshelf he had so thoroughly repaired and her heart opened wide.
Tallie looked back and laughed at how ridiculous he looked, and how ridiculous her fears had been. “No, go right ahead.”
Epilogue
THE BLANKENSHIP BULLETIN
OUR BEAUTIFUL, SUCCESSFUL DAUGHTER IS FINALLY GETTING MARRIED!
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my agent Kimberly Whalen for brainstorming the idea for Whole Lotta Trouble with me. Thanks, too, to my editor Lyssa Keusch and to her assistant May Chen, both of whom went above and beyond the call of duty to get this book where it needed to be when it needed to be there. My appreciation to all the people behind the scenes at HarperCollins who touch my manuscripts on their way to becoming finished books. And finally, thanks to
the readers for allowing me to be a part of this fascinating industry that I simply had to write about in Whole Lotta Trouble.
About the Author
STEPHANIE BOND walked away from a corporate career in computer programming to write romantic fiction full time. These days she uses her computer keyboard to produce fast-paced novels with a comedic twist. Stephanie lives with her husband and her laptop in midtown Atlanta. You can contact Stephanie in care of Avon Books, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022 or via her website at www.stephaniebond.com.
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By Stephanie Bond
WHOLE LOTTA TROUBLE
PARTY CRASHERS
KILL THE COMPETITION
I THINK I LOVE YOU
GOT YOUR NUMBER
OUR HUSBAND
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHOLE LOTTA TROUBLE. Copyright © 2004 by Stephanie Bond Hauck. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
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Microsoft Reader September 2004 eISBN 0-06-075278-5
First Avon Books paperback printing: October 2004
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Whole Lotta Trouble Page 27