Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers Read online

  She needed to swallow hard and moisten her lips again as she watched, a memory of how it felt to have him lick her quickening her heartbeat.

  “It’s delicious. No wonder it’s your favorite.”

  Leaving her holding the spoon in the air, wearing what she was sure was a stunned expression, he returned to his perch across the room.

  “So,” he said, “this is your home. It’s lovely. But I would have never guessed you were a fan of cabbage roses and still life art.”

  She was relieved at the change of subject even if it was to Mary Lynn’s terrible taste in decorating. Not that she could say much on the subject without giving the game away. But at least she could focus on something other than his mouth, her lips, and the two meeting in another of his blazing kisses.

  It was safer to answer his question with her back to him so she returned to the task of covering the chicken breasts with sauce in the pan. “Oh … um … really? What would you have guessed my home would look like?”

  “Let’s see. I thought your furniture might be more sensual, tactile. Velvet? Maybe burgundy colored. Something like that. And the art would show lots of feeling. Not be so formal. Photography, perhaps.”

  She was stunned at how close he was. The antique love seat in her living room was covered in dark purple velvet, and her walls were hung with black and white photographs of scenes with emotional appeal for her. Some were dramatic shots of scenery. One was of lovers silhouetted in the moonlight. Several were shots of children. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Not disappointed. Surprised. But then you are constantly surprising me. How long have you owned the place?”

  She could have kicked herself for focusing so much on where things were in the house and not preparing herself for the most obvious of questions. “Not long. That is, I don’t own the house.” She was so nervous, the chicken breast she was burying in the sauce slid across the pan and splashed tomato sauce on her.

  Before she could reach for it, he had a paper towel ready for her. As she blotted the sauce off her sweater, she tried again to answer his question. “What I mean is, Mary Lynn owns the house.” At least in the grand scheme of the con she was trying to pull off, something she was telling him was true.

  “You rent from your agent? You must be awfully good friends to have such a close relationship.”

  “We’ve become good friends as well as agent and author.”

  “She’s Seattle-based, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, although she’s gone a lot at conferences and back to New York pretty regularly.”

  “Is she in town this weekend? Maybe we could have brunch or something tomorrow. My agent is about to retire. I’ll be looking for a new one shortly but I haven’t clicked with any of the other agents he’s suggested.”

  Brunch with Mary Lynn would be the very last thing on the list of things she’d suggest they do this weekend. “She’s actually in Portland right now. Not sure if it’s business or social.” And not sure if she’s having as nervous a time in my house as I’m having in hers. “But I’ll certainly tell her to get in touch with you. She’d love to talk about representing you, I’m sure.”

  “If you knew she was headed for Portland, you could have carpooled down with her and stayed at my place.”

  “Both of us?”

  He laughed. “No, I meant you. Just you.” He finished off the glass of wine and poured himself another one. “But maybe next weekend, you’ll come see me. What do you think?”

  There was no way in hell she was going to agree to see him in Portland. Not next weekend. Not the weekend after. Not ever. But kissing him had reminded her she was living her heroine’s life. Regretting what she did. Not what she didn’t do. Although she had to admit she was storing up future regrets for what she did in an impressive way lately.

  Maybe there was a way to get around his request. With her back to him, she couldn’t see the expression on his face, wasn’t sure she wanted to see how he reacted to what she was about to say. “Actually, I was thinking of going to the coast next weekend. A friend has a place on the Long Beach peninsula I borrow sometimes. It’s a good place to write, I’ve learned.” And it has the advantage of being far enough away from Portland to be safe.

  “Could I join you? I promise I won’t interfere with your writing too much. I’m working on a new book myself.”

  It had taken him exactly five seconds to respond to her invitation to come to Seattle. And even less to ask if he could join her at the coast. She knew she was probably going to hurt his feelings if she took too long to answer, but she had to consider the possible consequences of seeing him two weekends in a row.

  Then she remembered the kiss in the entryway. Dear God, he was good at kissing. What harm could come from one more weekend of playing the game out? If she was successful, he’d never twig to the truth. Or maybe they’d get to be on such good terms she could find a way to tell him the truth about who she was. Make a big joke about it. Let him in on the secret so he felt special. Yeah, that’s what she’d work for. Making him feel special.

  “Sure. I’d love company. I can give you directions before you leave.” She finished settling the chicken in the sauce and covered the pan. “It’ll be about twenty minutes before we eat.” Turning back to him, she asked, “What do you …?”

  The rest of the sentence was lost as his mouth claimed hers once again.

  • • •

  Damn, the woman drove him crazy. She had actually thought about whether they should spend next weekend together before she answered. He needed to kiss her until she knew, as he did, that every minute spent away from each other was a wasted minute and every chance they had to be together should be grabbed with both hands and held tight. It had only taken a couple days with her in San Francisco to realize how much he wanted to have more time with her.

  He deepened the kiss, slicking his tongue over hers, exploring her mouth, nibbling at her lips. She moaned against his mouth, and he felt her mold her body to his. His erection was now rock hard and ready to explore her body the way his hands were. They were busy moving under her sweater, reminding him how soft and smooth her skin was.

  “Can I take this thing off?” he asked, tugging up on her sweater.

  “If I can do the same with you.”

  She had his shirt unbuttoned before he could get the sweater over her head. When he did, he was delighted to discover she wore no bra. She returned to kissing him when they were both bare-chested. Her nipples were tight and hard against him.

  He reached between them for the snap on her jeans, trying to maintain the kiss while he struggled to get the zipper down. She giggled.

  “Stop laughing and help me, woman,” he said.

  She shimmied out of her jeans and panties and tried to kiss him again, but he wouldn’t let her. “I want to look at you.” He picked her up and set her on the nearest counter. She gasped, as if surprised, and licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss. But instead of her mouth, he claimed the pulse at the base of her throat, then moved up to her jawline, then to her ear where he whispered, “Sweet Jesus, mother of God, you are beautiful.”

  He pulled her hips forward and spread her legs. Taking her mouth in another kiss, he slowly caressed her thighs, moving ever closer to her sex as he did. When she moaned against his mouth again, he turned his attention to her breasts, going from one nipple to another, massaging, turning them to tight peaks.

  She was arching her back and her fingers were tangled in his hair as he dropped to his knees and carefully parted the folds of her sex before dipping one finger, then another, into her hot, wet core.

  She gasped again, her head fell back, and she opened her legs further.

  With his tongue he stroked her clitoris as his fingers massaged inside. He felt her internal muscles tighten, heard her breath quicken, saw her eyes close, and then heard her call his name as she climaxed.

  He quickly stood and gathered her into his arms. Her head sank onto his shoulder; her arms went aroun
d his waist. For several minutes, they stayed entwined until her breathing was more regular.

  She finally sat up straight and sighed. “I’ve never done that before.”

  He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. “Done what before?”

  “Had sex on a kitchen counter.” She slid off onto the floor, shook her head as if to clear it, and looked around.

  He handed her the jeans and panties from where they’d been dropped at his feet. “Ah, that. Well, I’m happy to have given you a new experience.”

  She returned the favor, picking up his shirt. “But it doesn’t seem fair. I had all the fun.”

  “Oh, no, lovely, not true. I’ve been thinking about tasting you again for days. I couldn’t wait any longer. And it was just as good as I remembered.” He buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his jeans.

  “Well, I’ll make it up to you after dinner.”

  He snagged her arm as she walked past and gave her one more blazing hot kiss. He thought she was about to make good on her promise right then and there. Until he heard her stomach rumble. Apparently the aroma of the garlic-infused tomato sauce simmering on the stove had given her other ideas.

  “Sounds like you need dinner first.”

  “Yes, well, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” She was dressing faster than he’d undressed her, which he thought was a miracle in itself.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “How about you get the salad out of the refrigerator and put it on the dining room table? There should be a little jug of dressing right next to it. I’ll dish up the chicken and join you.”

  Chapter 10

  The dinner was everything she wanted it to be: The food was delicious, the conversation fascinating. They exchanged stories about their week and filled in details about themselves, their backgrounds, and interests. She was able to be completely honest about her work because she’d spent the week writing. And she shared enough about her real background—like where she’d done her undergrad work and how she had taught middle school English while she worked on her master’s—to make her comfortable in the knowledge she hadn’t lied to him about everything. Only a few things. She quickly dismissed the little voice in her head whispering, “A few things? A few key things, don’t you think?”

  He pitched in after dinner and helped clean up the kitchen. By the time they were finished, it was, he said, late and he was ready for bed. The look in his eyes didn’t seem to signal he was tired. It did look like he was eager for bed. So was she.

  • • •

  The rest of the weekend flew by in a haze of good food, a lot of laughing, and almost as much lovemaking. Claudia was on a high for two days, able to keep the horrid voice in her head from reminding her she was lying to this man with every minute about who she was. Even the few times she remembered, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. It was the best two days she’d had since … well, since San Francisco. And those were the best two days she’d had in years.

  The only thing she regretted about the masquerade was he didn’t call her name, her real name, when they were in bed.

  After Brad left on Sunday afternoon, she went through Mary Lynn’s house making sure everything was in order and all traces of the pair were gone. She did the laundry, returned all Mary Lynn’s shoes and boots to her closet, and put the crap her agent kept on the refrigerator back in place. Then she headed south.

  Mary Lynn was still at her house when she got there.

  “So, how’d the dirty weekend go?” was how she greeted Claudia.

  “Dirty weekend? What the hell do you mean?”

  “What I said. Surely an English lit professor recognizes the main plot point from The Norman Conquests.”

  “Of course I know those plays. But I’d forgotten that bit.” She dropped her overnight bag on the steps to the second floor. “Besides, it wasn’t a dirty weekend. It was …” She stopped, not sure how to accurately describe what the weekend had meant to her.

  “So, there was no sex?”

  “Mary Lynn, for God’s sake. If you want me to tell you about my weekend, let me tell it in my own way. Yes, there was sex. Fabulous, fantastic, mind-blowing sex. He’s-better-than-any-hero-I’ve-ever-written sex. But it was more than sex. It was … I don’t know … nice.”

  “Nice is not a word I’d associate with a dirty weekend.”

  “I told you. It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then what was it like?”

  “I’m not sure I have the words to tell you.” She laughed a little. “Which is not the best thing for a writer to admit, is it? But it’s true. We clicked on so many levels. Talking with him was as exciting as making love with him. Almost.”

  “It sounds serious.”

  “Not yet but maybe …” An image of Brad’s reaction if she told him the truth about who she was made a rude appearance in her head. “Probably not. It’s hard to imagine something serious coming from the tangle of lies I’ve told.”

  “Do you really think he’d walk away if you told him the truth?”

  “After everything I’ve hidden from him, why wouldn’t he?” She began ticking items off on her fingers. “First, I’m sleeping with a man who thinks I’m one of two phony names. Second, I’m doing it at your house because he thinks I live in Seattle. Third, he doesn’t know I’m a full professor at Portland State where he sometimes teaches a class for my boss.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’ve faked everything.”

  “I sincerely hope not, girlfriend.” Mary Lynn said.

  “I don’t mean I’m faking that.”

  “Thank you, Jesus.” Mary Lynn put her hand up as if to ward off the next protestation. “But you don’t seem to be faking the fact you’re falling for the guy. That seems real enough to me.”

  “I am not falling for him. I’m not foolish enough to do something rash like fall in love. Not with all the conniving it’s taken to be together. I’m merely having an adventure. I have no intention of falling for anyone. And I’m sure he’s looking for the same thing.”

  On her way upstairs to the guest room to collect her suitcase and her laptop, Mary Lynn threw the last line back over her shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that, sunshine. Maybe you’ll be able to convince yourself of it. In a century or two.”

  Claudia was so thrown off balance at the thought she might be falling for Brad Davis she forgot to tell Mary Lynn that Brad might be looking for a new agent and wanted to talk to her. When she finally remembered, after Mary Lynn had left, she texted her with his contact information.

  It was the least she could do for the woman who was loaning her a place for her dirty weekends.

  • • •

  The drive back to Portland had never gone by so quickly for Brad as it had on Sunday. Before he could even register that he’d cleared the Puget Sound, he was crossing the I-5 Bridge into Oregon.

  The weekend couldn’t have gone better. He had feared Claire/April would retreat from what they’d had in San Francisco, but a flood of great sex and fascinating conversation had washed his concerns away. She was as intriguing, as beautiful, as smart and passionate as she’d been at the conference, and he congratulated himself on his luck at having found such an amazing woman.

  There were a couple things he didn’t understand. Her house, for one. Not only did the furniture and art not look like anything he could imagine for her, but there were no personal photos anyplace. Nothing displayed on the refrigerator. He hadn’t seen a computer either, although he guessed it was possible she wrote her books longhand and had someone transcribe them.

  And then there was the mystery of the New Seasons bags. As far as he knew, there were no New Seasons grocery stores in the Seattle area. But there were three brown paper grocery bags with the store’s name on them tucked away under the sink. He’d seen them when he’d helped clean up the kitchen. Did she have friends come visit her from Portland laden with groceries? It seemed funny, but he didn’t want to ask questions about where her groceries came from.


  It was all part of the enigma of this lovely, smart, sexy woman. He’d just have to work harder at unraveling the mystery she presented the following weekend when they’d be writing together at the coast. The next weekend and every chance she gave him until he figured out who this woman was and why he was so fascinated by her.

  • • •

  Their time at the beach was as successful as their first weekend in Seattle had been. Maybe even more because Claudia got ten thousand words of her new book written, and Brad had done almost as well even though they kept interrupting their work to make love, to talk, or to walk on the beach. To make it absolutely perfect, it had been a stormy weekend, the kind she loved.

  She insisted he leave first saying she would take care of closing up the condo. She didn’t want him to see the Oregon license plate on her car, which had been tucked away in the garage under the building all weekend. She’d managed to avoid driving it while he was there and wasn’t about to have it all given away when they left. Knowing he was taking Highway 30 on the Oregon side of the Columbia River to get home, she drove on the Washington side of the river, which took longer but would guarantee their paths wouldn’t cross until they got to I-5 when it wasn’t likely he’d notice her in all the traffic even if they did get there at the same time.

  As she replayed the weekend in her head driving the winding road, guilt began to creep into her consciousness. Brad had been so attentive all weekend, so sweet and loving. She should have owned up to who she was, but there hadn’t been a good time to set him straight. Actually, she didn’t imagine there were many opportunities to do something so potentially embarrassing. How would you even you start that conversation? “Oh, speaking of lying to someone you care for, I’ve been hiding behind a fake identity the whole time we’ve been making love. Want some more wine?”

  And yet if she couldn’t find a way to tell him the truth, neither could she bring herself to end it. The sex was great. So was his company. She thought about him more with each passing day. And she was pretty sure, from the way he looked at her, his feelings were getting as involved as hers were. But she’d put herself in an awkward position. The longer it went on, the harder it would be to extricate herself from the web of lies she’d spun, which she’d have to do if she wanted to keep on seeing him, wouldn’t she?