Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers Page 4

  Oh, shit. This is bad. Not only does he work two blocks away from me, but guest lecturing at PSU? The wash of acid gurgling up into her throat made her feel nauseated. But she had to ask the question. “You guest lecture in the history department at the university?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly I do a session on research for writers for Dr. McNulty in the English Department.”

  Ann McNulty? My boss? Can it get any worse?

  He went on, “But you’re still avoiding my question. Will you have dinner with me?”

  Now that she knew he was from Portland, that he knew her boss and taught sometimes at her university, he was even more dangerous than he’d been as Mr. Hot and Handsome. There was no way in hell they should have dinner together. More time with him would give him more opportunities to find out who she really was. No matter how attractive she found him or how sexy those shoulders, eyes, and hands were, it was risky. Maybe too risky.

  She barely knew this man. Suppose he notched his bedpost with his conquests or bragged about the women he bedded? Maybe he viewed conquering the Queen of Steam as the ultimate prize. One word to the wrong person—her boss, for example—and it would be all over for her. She’d never get tenure. At any college or university in Portland. The city was a small town like that.

  Fortunately, she had a ready excuse—at least for tonight. “I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m having dinner with my agent and editor.”

  “The people I saw you with in the bar the other night?”

  “Yes. And were those women I saw you with the eager young writers you referred to?” The acid in her stomach seemed to have spilled over into her attitude and tone of voice.

  He laughed. “No, they were members of the organizing committee. I think they were amused at having a man on the program. It’s one of the advantages I have of being one of the only males in a female world. I get lots of opportunities to be a token. I like it.”

  “You did seem to be enjoying it.”

  “Right now, I’m enjoying the tone in your voice that gives me hope you would have liked to have been one of them.”

  Her stunningly snide retort—at least she thought it would have been—was cut off by the sound of hundreds of readers surging into the ballroom as the doors opened and the signing began.

  Claudia couldn’t help notice the lines at Brad’s table were long, and most of the women in the lines stayed for quite some time talking to him. He certainly knew how to relate to his readers. Not one of them left without at least one book, a smile from him, and some of the candy kisses he was handing out. She could only imagine how many of them would have preferred kisses of the nonconfectionary sort from the perfect cupid’s bow mouth of the man who sat casually in his chair, inhabiting his space as if he owned it and was only too happy to bestow his favors on the women paying him court.

  Not that she wasn’t doing well. Once she tore herself away from watching him with his hordes of admirers, she found she also had a steady stream of readers to talk to. Most of them bought a book. All of them took something from the baskets of goodies. A number of them got into conversations with her about her work and how she dealt with the attitude about romances so prevalent in the literary community. She resurrected some of her answer to the obnoxious man from the afternoon session. It sparked a lot of discussion among the people at her table.

  By the end of the three hours, Claudia was ready for a nap and an hour of silence but had to admit her agent had been correct. The contacts she’d made with her readers had been valuable. Not only had she sold almost all the books displayed on her table, but she’d expanded her newsletter mailing list by a couple hundred. Several people had asked her to do a Skype guest spot at their book club, and she’d agreed to think about it.

  Surprisingly enough, she’d even had fun. It had been easier than she thought it would be to slip into the persona of April Mayes when a dozen readers were at her table telling her what a difference her books had made in their lives. One woman even swore she had gotten the courage to begin dating again because of one of Claudia’s heroines. How could an author not love hearing such a happy story?

  After he had packed up his table, Brad Davis joined her at hers. She was still gathering up her remaining books and swag. When she smiled, he returned it with one of his that, she swore, could have melted the plastic coverings on the tables. “Did you do as well as it looked from where I was sitting?” he asked.

  “Not bad at all. How about you?”

  “About as well as I usually do. I enjoy these things. Not everyone does.”

  “I’m afraid I’m one of those people, but you seem like a natural at it.”

  “Thanks.” He touched her arm, and the tingle was there again. “Can we get back to the conversation we were having when we were so rudely interrupted by the people who came to buy our books? If you can’t have dinner with me, how about a nightcap after dinner?”

  “I have no idea what time I’ll be back from dinner. We’re going someplace outside the hotel. And you don’t know what time the dinner here will be out.”

  “I imagine we’ll both be back here by nine thirty or ten, don’t you? Why don’t we meet in the bar then?”

  “I’m not sure.” She was tempted. Maybe it was because she was a little high from playing April Mayes for three hours, but in spite of knowing it was risky, the desire to get to know this man was strong. Stronger than any attraction she’d ever felt before for anyone. But was it worth the consequences she feared?

  “Tell you what,” he said, apparently resigned to her not responding, “I’ll be in the bar until ten thirty, looking hopefully at the door every time a redhead walks in, waiting for you. If you don’t show up, I’ll drink myself into oblivion before staggering to my cold and lonely bed where I’ll pass out until the morning. Which will mean my presentation and lunchtime speech tomorrow will probably be disasters, and my career as a writer will be over. But don’t let me influence you. Join me for a drink if you’ve got nothing better to do when you get back. And are feeling sorry for me being so alone in a sea of strangers.”

  By the time he’d finished his speech, Claudia was unable to keep a straight face. “So this is what it’s like to cross swords with a writer. You’re good.”

  “I’ll only believe that if you show up tonight for a nightcap.”

  “I promise I’ll do my best to meet you.”

  “I’ll take it.” He touched her face. “And I’ll look forward to it.”

  For a moment, as he leaned closer to her and she felt his breath on her cheek, he appeared to be about to kiss her. But he merely tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, saying, “That’s been driving me crazy for hours. It’s the only curl out of place.” He patted her cheek and sauntered away without a backward glance.

  The warmth from his touch lingered on her face, and the sound of his baritone voice echoed in her ear.

  What had she gotten into?

  Chapter 5

  The dinner wasn’t bad for a conference meal, and Brad had been to enough of them to be a competent judge. For a change, the chicken wasn’t rubber and the staff managed to get it to the table while it was still hot. The salad greens appeared to have been recently harvested, and the rolls were soft and, if not warm, at least room temperature. Brad had been seated at a table with the other speakers, which meant the conversation didn’t revolve around his opinions on how to break into the business. Instead it was another discussion about the state of the publishing industry and how authors are getting screwed. Nothing new.

  The after-dinner speaker, a rom-com screenwriter, had been funny. Which was also a pleasant change. He told wonderful stories about his experiences in Hollywood turning his and other people’s books into movies. However, as amusing as he was, he seemed to drag on for hours. Brad looked at his phone to check the time so often, one of his fellow authors finally leaned over and whispered, “You got a hot date or something?”

  He was tempted to say, “If I’m lucky.” Instead, he laughed and shook h
is head. He did stop looking at the time.

  Finally, the event was over and he was free. Sort of. A group of his dinner companions asked him to join them in the bar for an after-dinner drink. When he couldn’t figure a way to get out of it and still wait there for Bambi … ah … April, he joined them. His attention glued to the door, he didn’t add much to the conversation, which several people commented on. He brushed it off saying he didn’t sleep well in a strange bed and continued his surveillance. But no hot redhead appeared.

  His feelings about the lovely and elusive Bambi had been all over the map during the course of the day. She was obviously sexy. The way she presented herself was as hot as he imagined her books would be. On top of that, she was smart, if her presentation was any indication. When he’d heard her speak, he’d been impressed. She commanded the room, made an excellent case for their genre, and did it with a sense of humor. He wondered if her day job, whatever it was, had given her the experience to manage a room as she did. He was sorry he hadn’t found out what she did when they were talking before the book signing.

  On the other hand, as much as he agreed with her about not assuming that an author had to have had all the experiences he or she wrote about, he had to believe anyone who wrote explicitly sexual romance was likely not an untouched and blushing young virgin. But, in spite of her outer demeanor, she didn’t seem very forward. Maybe she’d learned to tone it down. Her reputation as a steamy romance writer might scare men off. Not that she frightened him. More like challenged him, which meant he tried to be at the top of his game when he interacted with her.

  If he ever got any further than public interactions, however, he would really have to make sure he used his best moves. He was now sorry he had never asked one of his bed partners what they were.

  However, by ten o’clock, he began to face the fact he likely wouldn’t have to sort out what his best moves were, in or out of bed. She wasn’t there yet and probably wouldn’t be showing up. With a sigh and an order for a second brandy, he gave up and tuned back in to the conversation.

  • • •

  Dinner at a hot new sushi place to celebrate her contract should have diverted her attention, but all Claudia could think about was the delicious man who had set her imagination on fire that afternoon. Although she hadn’t decided whether she would meet him in the bar after dinner, she was having a hard time putting him out of her mind.

  The thing was, she wanted to meet him. Wanted to see what it would be like to behave like one of her heroines. She’d actually written a scene in one of her books where her heroine met a man at a conference and began a torrid affair with him. Of course, it was fiction, so by the end of the book, they rode off into the sunset in his cute little convertible for their happily-ever-after. Claudia wasn’t so foolish as to believe something similar would happen with Brad Davis. But still.

  What if. That favorite phrase writers use to think up plot points kept coming to her. What if she had the nerve of the heroines she created? What if she fully and completely embraced the persona she was projecting? What if April Mayes took over the life of Claudia Manchester for the evening and did what she bloody well wanted to do? Took the chances Claudia had her heroines take. Walked into the bar with the explicit aim of doing Brad Davis. As thoroughly, completely, and exhaustively as any woman had ever done a man.

  No, not possible. She could never do that. Granted, he had a kissable mouth. And he smelled good. Like a freshly laundered shirt overlaid with something subtly spicy. A freshly laundered shirt covering a body that looked amazing clothed but begged to be seen naked. And those eyes. They had never let her out of his sight in the airport, and she had caught them watching her at the book signing more times than she was comfortable admitting.

  Claudia Manchester didn’t do things like have a convention hookup. She dated perfectly appropriate men who she met through work and only landed in bed with a few of them and only after the appropriate number of dates. It was an insult to her dignity to even suggest otherwise. But she wasn’t Claudia Manchester this week, was she? And April Mayes sure as hell would have grabbed him and dragged him off to her lair the first chance she had.

  “Claudia? Are you all right?” Mary Lynn asked.

  Her agent’s question cut through her haze of lustful imaginings. “Sorry. Thinking about something I heard today. What were you saying?”

  “I was asking if you wanted to go someplace for dessert or an after-dinner drink.”

  Claudia looked at her watch. It was a little after ten. If she left now, she could make it back to the hotel by ten thirty. “No. Thanks. In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll go with you,” Mary Lynn said. “I just have to finish up one little piece of business with Tom.”

  Her agent’s offer to accompany her, which was the last thing she wanted, was met with a surprisingly desperate look from Tom Anthony. “Do you have to go already?” he asked.

  Claudia almost laughed. Perhaps the dinner hadn’t actually been to discuss her contract after all. Maybe it had been to give Tom a chance to spend time with Mary Lynn. Was she seeing romance everywhere she looked because she was in the most romantic city on the West Coast and at a conference where all they talked about was romance? Or was it possible she hadn’t seen what was in front of her all along? She decided the only thing to do was encourage the match. If it was to be, it would work. If it wasn’t, it would flop.

  Come to think of it, that might work with Brad, too.

  “You stay,” she said to her agent, brushing off what she was sure would be an objection. “I’ll cab back and see you in the morning.” She left before Mary Lynn could stop her and with the full approval of her editor.

  But the conversation had taken more time than she wanted. As the cab pulled up to the hotel, she checked her watch again and saw it was 10:35. She was late. She threw money at the cabbie, sure from the grin on his face she’d overpaid him, and ran into the hotel as fast as she could given her sky-high heels. She was Cinderella in reverse—running to get back to the ball instead of away from it, hoping Prince Charming hadn’t gotten tired of waiting.

  Out of breath, she stopped in the doorway of the bar to regain some sense of control over her raging hormones and rapidly beating heart. While she tried to calm down, she scanned the room but saw no one she recognized. The conference participants were long gone, it seemed. All of the tables and booths seemed to be occupied by couples who had begun to move closer to each other, touching, hand-holding, making promises with their eyes the rest of their bodies would be redeeming in a short while.

  Brad wasn’t there. At least he wasn’t anywhere obvious. She took two steps into the bar, trying to decide if she should turn around and head for her room or make a full inspection of each and every booth. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t waited.

  • • •

  At 10:35, Brad walked out of the bar. Alone. His colleagues had left him fifteen minutes earlier nursing the last of his second brandy and the tattered remains of his hope that April would show up. It was apparent she had decided not to. He’d been pretty sure she would be there. Although at the age of thirty-eight, he was experienced enough to be realistic about his instincts regarding women. Most of the time, he was right. But not always. It wasn’t as if he thought this connection with a sexy woman would find him his mythical soul mate. He didn’t believe in soul mates.

  Truth be told, he was happy with his life the way it was. He had a great job with a decent salary. His writing brought him additional income so he could travel whenever and wherever he wanted. He owned a house in Southeast Portland and an almost-new Audi. And he had a group of friends, both male and female, to hike, bike, and go to the theater with.

  What he didn’t have at the moment was anything like a romantic diversion. He didn’t think it was his current dry spell that was spurring his intense interest in April Mayes—or whatever her real name was. But it could be. He did know he wa
s fascinated by her and the mystery of who she really was. He’d Googled women’s names beginning with Cl so he could try them out on her, if she ever showed up.

  All he knew for sure was, he was consumed by curiosity about her because he was convinced she wasn’t the henna-haired goddess she was pretending to be.

  However, no matter how fascinated he was by the puzzle she presented, he had struck out in getting the chance to solve it. At least tonight.

  The elevator arrived; he got in. But as he was about to punch the button for his floor, he saw something that made him lunge for the “door open” button. He missed. As the door began to close, he used a shoulder to stop it, grunting at the impact, knowing he’d probably have a bruise there in the morning.

  But it was worth it. Across the lobby, standing in the doorway to the bar, was Bambi.

  It was all he could do to keep from running to her, to reach her before she disappeared again. When he got to the entrance, she was standing in the middle of the bar looking around.

  For him.

  Walking up behind her, he put his hands on her waist, leaned in, and whispered, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Chapter 6

  A shiver she couldn’t hide confirmed her worst fear. This man was dangerous. Merely whispering in her ear, he gave her goose bumps and caused her nipples to perk up and hope something good was on the way.

  “Oh, you startled me.” She turned and took a step back. If he had been sexy in a leather jacket and jeans and hot in trousers and a sweater, he was completely swoon-worthy in a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and red paisley tie. She could barely get her tongue to form something intelligent. “You weren’t here.” Nice work, Claudia. Great response.

  “When you weren’t here by ten thirty, I gave up on your coming.”

  She swore he said the final word with a smirk.

  “I apologize. I’m late. I know. My agent and editor kept talking and talking, and I couldn’t get away.”