Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers Read online

  He wasn’t sure what triggered his next reaction. It could have been the carefree laughing he heard from the group she was in. Maybe it was because he thought surely she would sense his presence and turn to look but didn’t.

  Probably it was his temper getting the better of him. Whatever it was, he ran to close the distance between them, shouting her name as loudly as he could. The name, that is, she had given him. When she didn’t respond to “Claire!” he changed tactics. Coming up behind her, he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her and said, “Aren’t you April Mayes, the steamy romance writer?”

  When she turned and registered who was talking to her, she got so pale he thought she was about to faint. He was almost ashamed to admit how much satisfaction he got from her reaction. Almost but not quite.

  Chapter 16

  It was a scene from Claudia’s worst nightmare. She’d been feeling good about her presentation on commercial fiction. It had been well received. Even the two curmudgeons who didn’t like “that sort” of writing said she’d done a good job presenting her case, although they hadn’t changed their minds about the value of genre fiction in an academic setting. She’d gotten lots of applause, and her presentation had inspired good questions. Even as she’d worked her way out of the building, she’d gotten congratulations from colleagues who had already heard from other faculty members how thought provoking her talk had been.

  In short, she felt like a success, something she hadn’t felt like since, well, since before Denver. On top of everything else, it was a crisp fall day and she was walking through the Park Blocks laughing with colleagues who had no idea what hell she’d been going through for weeks. She felt free and happy and unburdened. Her colleagues were impressed with her work. The women’s studies professor who had ratted her out in Denver hadn’t surfaced since she got back. And she was unstuck writing her book. It was all going so very well.

  Until someone called her by her pen name and she turned around to see Brad. The recent lack of attempts to communicate with her had led her to believe he had finally given up trying to contact her, which had been both a relief and a disappointment. She wanted to believe he’d walk through fire for her, and at the same time, she wanted him to go away so she wouldn’t have to face him again.

  Now, the worst had happened. Somehow he had tracked her down. She was facing him, all right. Here. On her home grounds. In front of the world—or at least, her world.

  His sudden appearance made the blood leave her head and the muscle strength leave her knees. She took two steps back, feeling as if she were staggering, and tried to form a response that would get him away from her colleagues before he did any more damage. She hadn’t yet found the words to respond to him when the chair of the English Department, Ann McNulty, came to her rescue. “Brad, what’s wrong with you? This is Professor Manchester, not April Mayes.” She pulled at Claudia’s arm to get her to continue their walk.

  Brad’s smile barely moved his mouth and certainly didn’t reach his eyes. “No, Professor McNulty, I’m afraid you’re the one who’s mistaken. This is April Mayes. Or maybe you know her as Claire Mason, the name she gave me.”

  “Claudia,” Ann said, “do you know Brad Davis?” She was clearly confused, as were the five men standing around watching the interchange.

  “Uh, yeah, I do. He teaches history at St. Mary’s. Oh, you know that, don’t you? I forgot, he teaches here sometimes, too.”

  Brad ignored her babbling. “You want to tell me what the hell’s going on, Claire … Claudia … April … whatever the hell you’re calling yourself these days? I understand why you wanted to keep your romance writing secret and wrote under a pen name, but what I don’t understand is why you gave me a fake name and lied about living in Seattle.” He took a step closer to her.

  “Although I guess this masquerade explains the New Seasons bags and how you knew so much about Abigail Scott Duniway.”

  New Seasons bags? What the hell is he talking about? Is he drunk?

  Ann McNulty wasn’t very big. She barely broke five feet and a hundred pounds. But she was a pit bull when it came to protecting her friends and colleagues. She stepped between Brad and Claudia and shook a finger at him. “Brad, I don’t know what you want with Claudia, but I’d prefer you resolve whatever issue you have with her privately, not out in the middle of the Park Blocks and in front of all these people.” She indicated the small groups of students drawn to the clutch of teachers by the raised voices. “If you can’t get yourself under control, I’ll call campus security.” She waved a cell phone in front of him so he could see she was able to carry out her threat.

  It didn’t dissuade him one bit.

  “I’d love to ‘resolve our issues,’” he said. “But ever since we were together in Denver at the romance writers’ convention this woman …” He was tired of throwing all her names in her face. “This woman has refused to answer any of my texts or e-mails.”

  “Romance writers’ convention?” one of the curmudgeons said. “I thought you were in Colorado visiting family. What were you doing at a romance writers’ conference? Surely you don’t …” He stopped. Claudia could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he processed what Brad had said when he first accosted her. “My God. You write that trash?”

  “It’s not trash. She’s a talented writer. Don’t make judgments about her work until you read it,” Brad said. But Claudia could see from the curmudgeon’s expression the damage had been done. “Claire … Claudia, talk to me.”

  “Talk to you? Why? You’re filling the air with enough words right now for all of us. Enough words to … I don’t know … sink my career, for example.”

  “Tell me why you lied to me. I deserve an explanation.”

  If Claudia had hoped he would give up or her colleagues would whisk her away from this horrible scene, her hopes were being hammered into the ground with every sentence Brad spoke. She was now not so much horrified as she was angry. “You deserve a slap in the face for what you’re doing. Don’t you understand? This,” she swept her arm out to take in the whole scene, “this is exactly why I couldn’t tell you the truth. I was afraid you’d do something, say something to out me. And, boy, was I right. Thanks to your little temper tantrum, a number of colleagues in my department and a healthy percentage of the student population of the university now know I write romance novels. You have made me the object of gossip and embarrassed me in front of faculty and strangers alike. If it was what you were aiming for, congratulations, you succeeded. You should be proud of yourself.”

  Tears began to form, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry over him. She had to end this confrontation before she broke down. “Go away, Brad. You’ve made your point. You found out who I am and where I work. Good for you. And you outed me to my colleagues just like you wanted to do. Hurray. Your job here is done. Now leave me alone.”

  She strode off, her colleagues forming a flying wedge around her. She hoped he wouldn’t follow her to her office. Not only did she not want to talk to him but she knew the colleagues who were now protecting her would be full of questions when they were safely in the office. She had a lot of explaining to do.

  • • •

  How the hell had his confrontation with Claire … Claudia … gone so wrong so fast? He had every right to be angry about the lies she’d told him. He had thought they were developing a loving, trusting relationship, but it turned out it was all phony. At least, on her part, if not on his. He’d bared his soul to her. Told her the secret he most feared being exposed, shared things about his family he’d never told anyone else. What he got in return, apparently, was nothing but a fabrication. Wasn’t he entitled to an explanation of why she’d done it? Of course he was. But somehow, over the last few minutes, he’d been changed from wronged lover to the villain in the piece. How had it happened?

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand. So he turned to the more important question: What did he intend to do now that he knew how to
find Claire … damn it, Claudia? His first impulse was to follow her to her office, but it didn’t take much reflection to reject the idea. The entire English Department was probably on alert for him if they weren’t cross-examining Professor Manchester about her extracurricular activities. He supposed he could wait until she left her office for home, but he didn’t know where she parked her car, if she drove to work, where she’d exit the building, or when she usually left. He could be sitting outside on a chilly fall day for hours.

  There was nothing to do but go back to his office.

  On his way there, it occurred to him that, since Mary Lynn probably knew everything about the masquerade Claudia had tried to pull off, he could vent some of his righteous indignation at her. He called her as he walked along the street.

  The call went immediately to voice mail, usually an indication she was on the phone with someone else. He left a message for her to call him and went back to his office where the papers from the first quiz of the year awaited grading. Luckily, it was a multiple-choice test and all he had to do was follow the key with the correct answers. If he’d had essays to grade, he’d have been sunk.

  • • •

  Mary Lynn hadn’t called back by the time he left school, so when he got home, Brad poured himself a stiff drink and called her. She answered right away.

  “Brad. Sorry I didn’t return your call. I’ve had my hands full with another of my authors who’s had an extremely bad day. Oh, wait. You already know about my other author since you’re the cause of her problems.”

  “Her problems? How the hell did this become her problem? She lies to me, gives me a fake name, a fake address, hell, a fake life she’s invented, and when I try to get an explanation, I’m the bad guy? I feel like a fool for falling for her … falling for her story, that is. And don’t try to get yourself off the hook. You must have known what was going on all along.” By the time he was finished with his rant, he was pacing the floor.

  The silence at the other end of the call stopped him in his tracks. She was going to try to evade his question, he was sure.

  “Don’t you lie to me, too. You knew, didn’t you?” he prodded.

  “Yes, you’re right. I knew.” Mary Lynn sighed. “I even helped her create Claire Mason. I got her a cheap phone in her name and loaned her my house for you two to have a place in Seattle to meet.”

  “At least she told me one truth. She said the house was yours, and I assumed she meant she rented from you. It also explains why the house didn’t look like I expected her place to look.”

  “I don’t want to hear complaints about my taste in decorating, thank you very much. I love cabbage rose slipcovers.”

  “Your taste in slipcovers isn’t what I want to talk about. Why, Mary Lynn? Why did you two do this? What did I ever do to either one of you to deserve this kind of treatment?” By this time, he was almost yelling into the phone, he was so frustrated.

  “If you’ll dial back the temper and the tone of your voice, I’ll try to explain.”

  He took a deep breath and dropped into his favorite leather chair. “I’m listening,” he said in as controlled a tone as he could manage.

  Mary Lynn explained in detail how she and Claudia had created an identity for her to keep him from connecting her with Portland in any way so there was no risk of her colleagues finding out about her secret life as a romance writer. She ended the long story by saying, “And now, all the effort she’s put into working for tenure would seem to be down the drain because of what you revealed to half the tenure committee this afternoon. Including the two members of the committee who hate commercial fiction and don’t believe a tenured professor should be writing it.”

  “It’s not a good explanation, but at least it’s some explanation.” Brad wasn’t about to give up his status as the aggrieved victim easily.

  “Claudia has been working for tenure forever. It’s her holy grail, the sign she’s made it, that she’s secure in her job. And now she’s sure—with good reason, I might add—it’s slipped out of her reach. Maybe for good.”

  He groaned. “Shit. I didn’t mean to mess things up. When I found out her real name by accident, my first reaction was she’d played me for a fool with her lies. I couldn’t think of any reason for what she did. All I wanted was an explanation.”

  “How did you find out who she is? She was crying so hard I didn’t have the heart to ask too many questions.”

  “I imagine she thinks I ran across her walking in the Park Blocks, but what really happened was I chanced on a lecture she was giving and recognized her.” A lump in his throat was making it difficult to speak. “She was crying?”

  “In all four phone calls this afternoon and this evening. I’ve never seen or heard her cry before. It sounded pretty messy.”

  “Jesus. All I wanted was the truth. The last thing I wanted was to make her cry. I have to do something to make this right. Can you think of anything I can do?”

  “Yes. Nothing. She has to work this out herself.”

  “Then you think she can still find a way to convince the tenure committee …?”

  “I doubt it. I talked to the head of the English Department myself an hour ago. She was very apologetic but said tenure was no longer likely for Claudia this year. I tried telling her how successful Claudia was and how well respected she was in the business, but I couldn’t make her reconsider. It’s all over for now. Maybe for the foreseeable future.”

  “If you can’t do anything, I have to. I love her. I can’t sit back and let her life be ruined because of me. I have to do something.”

  Very softly, Mary Lynn said, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?”

  It didn’t occur to him until much later that she never questioned his saying he loved Claudia.

  Chapter 17

  It took Brad a few days to figure out what he could do to help clean up the mess he’d made by confronting Claudia—he was beginning to get used to calling her by her real name, which surprised him at first until he remembered he’d never thought she was a Claire to begin with. When he came up with his plan, it took a few more days to put it into action. But less than a week after the disastrous scene in the Park Blocks, he was dodging raindrops and students doing the same on his way to Neuberger Hall where he had an appointment with the head of the English Department.

  Ann McNulty left him sitting in the reception area almost twenty minutes past the time of their appointment before coming out of her office to greet him.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone with the president of the university, following up on the little scene we were both involved in a week ago.”

  Brad hoped he kept the guilty flinch he felt from showing. “I apologize for what happened. I really don’t have an excuse for my behavior except to say I was caught off guard by … well, by learning Professor Manchester was someone I knew under another name.”

  “Yes, she’s explained it all to me. If you’ve come to apologize, you’ve done so and I accept it.” She put her hand out to him as if to dismiss him with a handshake. “Now, I need to get back to …”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” He shook his head in frustration. “Well, it’s part of why I’m here.” He held up the carrier bag he was holding. “The other part of why I’m here is in this bag. Can we go into your office so I can show you?”

  The look of concern—fear, even—on her face brought him up short. Did she really think he was holding something dangerous? Did he look like a carrier bag bomber? “It’s nothing harmful. Only books,” he said, opening the bag and tilting it so she could see inside. “I’d like to talk to you about them in private.”

  She stared at him for longer than he was comfortable with before saying, “All right. I have ten minutes until my next appointment,” and led him into her office.

  He closed the door. The nervous look on the professor’s face hadn’t relaxed, and she was now playing with a letter opener in a manner that made him think of how it could
be used as a weapon. He had to bring down the anxiety level in the office quickly. Slowly, keeping eye contact with her the whole time, he took four books out of the bag and began to lay them on her desk, one at a time.

  “This one is based on Pride and Prejudice.” He put the second book on top of the first. “This one retells The Tempest.” The third and fourth ones joined their companions. “This one uses the story of A Christmas Carol and this one Sense and Sensibility.” He reached in the bag for two more books. “Here we have a story based on Twelfth Night. Last but not least, and one of my favorites, a retelling of The Importance of Being Earnest.”

  “And your point is?”

  “My point is I want you to look at the author’s name.” When she looked up rather sharply at him, he added, “Please.”

  Professor McNulty picked up one book after another and skimmed the back cover copy. He saw the exact moment when the penny dropped.

  “These are all Claudia—Professor Manchester’s—books.”

  “Exactly. There are a couple more, but these are the ones I’ve read so far. She’s working on a rewrite of Romeo and Juliet, by the way. It gives the kids a chance to have a life together in the end.”

  “Why did you bring these to me?”

  “I created the problem she’s having, and I want to try to straighten it out. I’m guessing she hasn’t said much about what she writes other than to say it’s romance so I thought I’d be the one to give you the pleasure.” He sat in the chair opposite the professor’s desk. “You know I write historical romances in addition to teaching at St. Mary’s. I’ve never had a problem with my writing life interfering with my teaching life, and I don’t understand why it should be a problem for her.”

  Ann snorted. “Your work is a bit different, don’t you think? I’ve read several of them. They’d not the kind of steamy romances Claudia says she’s written.” She was flipping through one of the books as she spoke. Perhaps he had caught her attention after all.