Happily Ever After E-Book

Jae

• Herausgeber: Ylva Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 369

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Award-winning author Jae penned thirteen short stories that range from sweet and romantic to hot and erotic, and from humorous to heartfelt. Whatever you're in the mood for, you're sure to find it in this collection of lesbian short stories. The Romance Bet, Sex Sells, Blind Date at the Booklover's Lair, Christmas Road Trip, The Christmas Grump, Kissing Ms. Santa Claus, The Christmas Elf, Dress-tease, Seduction for Beginners, Change of Pace, Facing the Music, Whining and Dining, The Midnight Couch

Leseprobe

Sign up for our newsletter to hear

about new and upcoming releases.

www.ylva-publishing.com

Other books by Jae

Standalone Romances:

Just for Show

Perfect Rhythm

Falling Hard

Heart Trouble

Under a Falling Star

Something in the Wine

Shaken to the Core

The Hollywood Series:

Departure from the Script

Damage Control

Just Physical

Portland Police Bureau Series:

Conflict of Interest

Next of Kin

The Vampire Diet Series:

Good Enough to Eat

The Oregon Series:

Backwards to Oregon

Beyond the Trail

Hidden Truths

The Shape-Shifter Series:

Second Nature

Natural Family Disasters

Manhattan Moon

True Nature

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Romance Bet

Sex Sells

Blind Date at the Booklover’s Lair

Christmas Road Trip

The Christmas Grump

Kissing Ms. Santa Claus

The Christmas Elf

Dress-tease

Seduction for Beginners

Change of Pace

Facing the Music

Whining and Dining

The Midnight Couch

About Jae

Other books from Ylva Publishing

Author’s note

All of these stories have been previously published, but so far, they have either been available only as single e-books or they were published as part of an anthology, so readers who prefer paperbacks missed out, as did readers who wanted to have my short stories all in one place.

Now, for the very first time, all of the contemporary romance short stories I have written so far are available in one volume for you to enjoy without having to hunt down the individual short stories.

You can reconnect with your favorite characters that you got to know in some of my novels, for example, sharing a sexy moment with Lauren and Grace from Damage Control, but you also get to meet new characters such as Paula, a technician at a radio station with a crush on the host of a late-night radio show, or Tricia, a writer who goes on a blind date in a bookstore.

Whether you have read these stories before or are discovering them for the first time, I hope you enjoy this collection.

Happy reading!

Jae

Happily Ever After

Thirteen romantic and erotic short stories

by Jae

The Romance Bet

Abby had always been a sucker for sexy voices, and the interviewee on the other end of the line definitely had one—which was why Abby had just missed half of what she’d said. “Uh, did you just say…?”

“One billion dollars,” Tamara Brennan said. “Romance is the bestselling genre worldwide. We basically finance the publishing of literary fiction.”

“Wow.” Abby couldn’t think past that unbelievable number. She spun in a circle on her office chair, causing the junior reporter at the desk next to hers to look up. “People spend one billion dollars every year on these…?” As she was about to add, trashy, clichéd bodice rippers, it occurred to her that Tamara made a living writing exactly that kind of drivel. Insulting an interviewee wasn’t in the Aurora Sentinel employee handbook. “Uh, these…um…”

“Cheesy, predictable, badly written stories?” Tamara supplied, sounding somewhere between amused and pissed off.

“Oh, no, no, that’s not what I was—”

“So now you’re insulting my intelligence on top of my chosen genre?”

Pain exploded through Abby’s leg as her chair spun around once more and her knee crashed into the corner of her desk. She took it as a well-deserved punishment. Whatever she personally thought about romance novels, she shouldn’t have let it leak through. As a journalist, she was supposed to be objective, no matter how boring she found the subject she had to write about.

“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her knee. “I really didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right.” Tamara sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m used to it. Even my own mother is constantly after me, trying to get me to write a ‘real’ book. And most of my friends think they could easily pen a bestselling romance too, if only they had the time.”

Yeah, well, pretty much anyone could write a romance novel, couldn’t they? How hard could it be? All you had to do was to make up two good-looking characters with perfect skin, perfect teeth…perfect everything. The plot is a given. They meet; they fall in love; they have sex—amazing sex, of course—they have a misunderstanding and break up; they get back together…and voilà: happy ending!

Even Abby could do that, although—unlike most of her colleagues—she had never harbored the secret desire to write a novel.

Wisely, she kept her thoughts to herself this time.

“Let me guess…” Tamara’s voice filled the silence. “You think you could easily do it too.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it. Come on, admit it.”

Great. How could she talk her way out of this? Abby’s gaze flitted left and right, but there was no help in sight. “Well,” she said slowly, “I’m a journalist, so I already know how to write. I bet—”

“I accept,” Tamara said.

“Uh, accept what?”

“Your bet.”

“Bet?” Abby echoed. When had she so completely lost control over this interview?

“Yes. You bet that you could write a romance novel, and I accept that bet,” Tamara said calmly. “Or do you want to back out?”

Dammit. Abby usually had great willpower, but she had never been able to resist two things: a woman who knew what she wanted and an interesting challenge. Now she was presented with both.

“No. I’m in. One romance novel. What do I get when I win?”

“If you win,” Tamara said.

God, this woman didn’t give an inch. Somehow, Abby liked that. “All right. What do I get if I win?”

Silence filtered through the line for several seconds; then Tamara’s sexy voice was back. “You get to pick the next book I write.”

“Any book?”

“Any book.”

For some reason, erotica was the only thing on Abby’s mind right now. She shook off the thought. She was in enough trouble as it was. If her boss found out she had pissed off a source—and not just any source but award-winning author Tamara Brennan—and was now making crazy bets with her…

“Okay,” she got out, her voice husky.

“And what do I get when I win?” Tamara asked.

“If you win.”

“If I win.” A smile was evident in the author’s tone.

Abby twirled a pen between her fingers. “I’ll buy a set of your novels and donate them to the local library.”

“Nice try. You forget that I’m a local too, so the library already has a set of my books. Plus it’s hardly the same time commitment compared to what I’ve got at stake.”

True. So, what else could she offer?

A ping on her computer announced an incoming tweet. It gave her an idea.

“I’ll market your books for however long it takes you to write a novel. Social media, blog posts, press releases, whatever you want.”

“Deal,” Tamara said.

Oh fuck, what had she done? She didn’t have time to write a novel!

Then she tried to calm herself. Housewives did it while raising a gaggle of kids, didn’t they? So there was no reason why she couldn’t write a romance in her spare time. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

“How do we decide who won?” Abby finally asked.

“Easy. NaNoWriMo starts on Wednesday. I figured you could just do that.”

Abby scratched her head. “NaNo…what?”

“NaNoWriMo—National Novel Writing Month. It’s a challenge to write a fifty-thousand-word novel in thirty days.”

Abby nearly swallowed her own tongue. “An entire novel in thirty days? Um, I have a day job.”

“Fifty thousand words is more like a novella, actually. I wrote my first five novels while working full-time too. If you put in a few hours every evening and do nothing but write on the weekends, it’s doable, especially since romance is so easy to write, right?”

Tamara’s tongue-in-cheek tone made Abby grit her teeth. “Right. No problem. I’ll send you my masterpiece by the end of November,” she said in the same tone. As a journalist, she was used to working to a tight deadline after all.

“We’ve got each other’s contact info, so you can call or e-mail me before that if you have any questions or need some guidance.” Now Tamara sounded sincere.

“Thanks.” But Abby already knew she wouldn’t need it. She could pound out one of these simplistic girl-meets-boy…or, in her case, girl-meets-girl stories, no problem. “So, to get back to the interview about the romance industry…”

Abby settled down at her kitchen table with her laptop and a beer. She opened a new document and cracked her knuckles. If she knocked out five thousand words tonight, she’d get to take the next two days off to let her brain recover from this sappy romance thing.

No problem.

Two hours, three beers, and four failed beginnings later, it started to dawn on her that maybe, just maybe, this romance-writing business wasn’t so easy after all.

Bullshit. It’s just that I’m not used to it. Once she made it past the first page, she’d be fine. Some research was in order. She googled how to write a romance novel.

Her jaw dropped. Holy shit! Four million four hundred sixty thousand hits! She randomly clicked on one of the links on the first page and scanned the article.

Start with a bang, it said.

Abby stared at the screen. Did they mean that literally?

Probably not. That came later, didn’t it?

Admittedly, she’d never read a romance novel, so she had no idea.

She stared at the e-mail icon in her task bar. For a moment, she was tempted to shoot Tamara an e-mail and ask for some pointers on how to begin her novel.

But no, that would be too much like admitting defeat.

Maybe she should start by choosing names for her characters.

Half an hour later, the ding of an incoming iMessage interrupted her. She clicked over to it.

It was a message from Tamara Brennan.

How’s the writing going?

Abby sighed. Good—if you consider staring at a blank screen and wasting time on baby naming sites writing. But, of course, that wasn’t what she answered.

Great! I’ve already picked names for my characters—Sabina and Tina—and now I’m set to write the first chapter.

It didn’t take long for Tamara’s answer to appear. Abby found herself holding her breath as she read it. How would Tamara react to the two names she’d provocatively dropped—two female names?

Happy writing, then. BTW, you might want to change one of the names.

Why? Abby replied. You never said one of the characters has to be a man.

Not because of that. Lesbian romances are fun. But having a Tina and a Sabina in the same story will lead to confusion. The names are just too similar.

Duh. She was right, of course. A slow grin spread over Abby’s face. So Tamara thought lesbian romances were fun?

Will do, she typed. She hesitated but then continued. Now that she had already received some advice, she might as well ask for a little more help. After all, Tamara probably had a team of editors and critique partners to help her too. So there’s this website that says to start the novel with a bang. I assume they don’t mean Tina and…uh, Gabby are supposed to do the dirty on page one, are they?

Tamara sent a laughing smiley face. No. Although you could, if it sets up an interesting conflict.

Conflict? In a romance novel?

Of course, Tamara answered. Otherwise, romances would be as boring as watching grass grow. Readers want to root for the characters while they overcome obstacles and fight for their happiness. If a sex scene in chapter one contributes to your story conflict, why not?

Abby tapped her upper lip with her index finger. How would that work? Can you give me an example?

Well, the morning after, Tina could find out that Gabby is her new boss or a rival for a job or something like that… Anything that keeps them from having a happy ending in chapter one.

Before Abby could think of a reply, another message from Tamara arrived.

Have you ever even read a romance novel?

Does Pride and Prejudice count? Abby replied.

I love Pride and Prejudice, but I meant something more contemporary. Maybe you should give it a try.

Abby cringed. She didn’t need to read a romance to know that she preferred reading material with a little more depth. No time, she answered. I’ve got a novel to write, after all.

Me too. I’d better not tell my editor I’m exchanging texts with you instead of writing.

What’s it about? Your novel, I mean.

A self-help author who’s about to publish a book on healthy relationships but can’t keep one herself. When her publicist finds out, she hires someone to pretend to be the love of her life.

It was a clever idea that could lead to a lot of misunderstandings and hilarious situations, Abby had to admit. So that was probably what the website meant with opening a book with a bang—something that got the readers’ attention. Maybe she could think of something similar for her own book.

After she had wished Tamara happy writing and clicked back to her still-empty story document, Abby realized that Tamara had never specified the gender of the person pretending to be the self-help author’s lover.

Abby had just changed the opening sentence of chapter four for the fifth time when the icon on her task bar finally announced a new iMessage.

It was from Tamara.

Over the past ten days, they had exchanged messages every day, and truth be told, Abby had come to look forward to it—and not just because it was a welcome interruption to her struggle with her still-unnamed romance novel.

If…no, when she won this bet, she’d have Tamara write something snarky because the woman had one hell of a sense of humor! Her texts often made her burst out laughing.

But today, she’d been waiting for a message from Tamara even more impatiently because she’d sent her the first three chapters last night.

I read it.

Aaaaand? Abby drummed her fingers on the edge of her laptop.

It’s good.

Abby pumped her fist and started a little victory dance. It wasn’t an entire novel yet, but it definitely proved that she’d been right. Anyone could write a romance novel.

Another bing from the laptop made her stop her victory dance to glance at the screen.

For a mystery novel.

What? Abby typed and frowned. Just because Gabby, her main character, was a court reporter didn’t make it a mystery, did it? It’s not a mystery. It’s romantic suspense. That’s a thing, isn’t it? The website said it’s a subgenre of romance.

Yes, but it’s still supposed to be a romance.

It is!!! Abby hammered the exclamation points into the keyboard.

Then where are the emotions? Where’s the relationship arc? Where are the obstacles and internal flaws they have to overcome to be together?

There are plenty of obstacles they have to overcome. Abby’s fingers flew over the keyboard in her haste to defend her novel. Didn’t you read the scene where they’re nearly discovered by the bailiff?

I read it, but that obstacle belongs to the external story arc—the crime solving—not the relationship arc.

Abby buried her fingers in her hair and tugged while letting out a long groan. External arc, relationship arc… Who knew this was so complicated?

Ready to admit defeat? appeared on her screen, along with a winking smiley face.

No!!! Her exclamation mark key might wear off if she continued like this. A bet is a bet, after all. I can do this. No problem. Whom was she trying to convince—Tamara or herself? She swallowed her pride and added, Maybe you could point me in the right direction with this relationship arc thing?

Are you decent? came Tamara’s reply.

Abby raised her brows before glancing at her sweatpants and favorite T-shirt. Um, yes? Why?

It’s easier to explain in person than to type.

A second later, the FaceTime ringtone blared through her laptop’s speakers, announcing a call from Tamara.

Abby glanced at her shirt again before accepting the call. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress this author lady. At least not with her looks.

A woman in her late twenties—about Abby’s own age—appeared on the screen.

Tamara was much younger than Abby had thought she’d be, and she didn’t have long, blonde locks or a messy bun held in place by a pencil either. Instead, she wore her medium brown hair in a cute pixie style, much shorter than Abby’s unruly, shoulder-length mane. The nerdy glasses Abby had expected were missing too. Tamara’s blue eyes looked at her without any barriers. Her tan revealed that she liked to spend time outside and didn’t lead a hermit’s existence, locking herself away in her writing cave.

Abby struggled not to stare. This was not what she had imagined a romance writer to look like. She really should have researched her a little more thoroughly before she’d interviewed her, but Tamara had been a last-minute replacement when another source in the publishing industry had stood her up.

“What?” Tamara asked. Her voice was just as sexy via FaceTime as it was on the phone. It seemed to hold a trace of amusement.

“Uh, nothing. Nice…um, office.” She gestured at the room visible behind Tamara.

It wasn’t what she’d expected of a romance writer’s office either. No walls in red hues, no romantic lights, no nostalgic knickknacks on the shelves. Her writing lair looked more like a business office—just one with a lot of books everywhere.

“Thanks. Nice shirt.” Tamara pointed at Abby’s T-shirt, which said, Go away. I have a deadline.

“Thanks.” Why the hell was she suddenly struggling not to blush? “So, um, thanks for taking the time to help me with my masterpiece.”

Tamara grinned. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of the next RITA Award winner. So, about the relationship arc… What you need is conflict. You have to introduce something that keeps Gabby and Tina from just riding into the sunset together in chapter two.”

“I thought that’s what I did,” Abby grumbled.

“Yeah, you keep throwing obstacles their way, but they all come from the outside. What you need is conflict that comes from within—from who they are as human beings. What makes Tina the last person Gabby should want to be with?”

Abby rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t think of a thing. After all, she had created Tina to be smoking hot, intelligent, and with a killer sense of humor.

“Take us, for example,” Tamara continued.

“Uh, us?”

“Yeah. Imagine we were characters in a romance novel. You’re a literary snob with a dismissive attitude toward the genre I write, so you would be the last person I should want to date.”

Abby’s cheeks burned. Ouch. “Right.” Should she apologize for being an ass about Tamara’s chosen profession? But that would look as if she was trying to talk her into going out with her, and that wasn’t her intention at all.

“So think about what kind of person Gabby shouldn’t want to date, and you’ll be halfway there.”

Abby’s mind was already going a mile a minute. Gabby was a court reporter… She definitely shouldn’t want to date someone involved in a case, so maybe she could make Tina a witness in a murder case?

Tamara smiled. “I know that expression. You’re off in novel land. Go write.” With an encouraging nod and a wave, she ended the call before Abby could say anything else.

Abby stared at the screen, which now showed just her manuscript. Wait a minute! Tamara had said Abby was the last person she should want to date…not would want to date. Did that mean…?

She shook her head. You’re crazy. This romance-writing thing was messing with her head. Tamara had just used them as a hypothetical example. It didn’t mean anything. Sighing, she set out to rewrite the first three chapters.

The sound of Tamara’s keyboard strokes drifted through the open FaceTime connection. Abby had never thought she’d come to regard it as soothing, but now she did. It was like listening to the patter of rain on the roof on a summer night.

Rain on a roof on a summer night? Really? She arched her eyebrows at herself. You’re spending too much time with a romance writer.

Not that it felt that way. For the past week or so, they had gotten into the habit of being on FaceTime and keeping each other company while they worked on their respective novels. At first, it had been about Abby asking questions about the writing craft, but then they had started to talk about other things too—for example, about the fact that they were both single and living alone.

Spending time with Tamara was unexpectedly nice, even though it didn’t help her word count. Half of the time, she caught herself watching Tamara work instead of getting any writing done herself.

When the patter of Tamara’s fingers on the keyboard stopped for longer than usual, Abby looked up from her own scene. “Time for a break?”

“Looks like it.” Tamara sighed. “I think I’ve written myself into a corner.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“You? The person who scoffs at romance?” Tamara gave her that little smile that was teasing and slightly rebuking but never disparaging.

“I don’t mock it. I just think… Well, you have to admit that most of it isn’t very realistic.”

Tamara’s teasing smile broadened into a full-out grin. “Oh, and the science fiction novels that you like are? How is an alien invasion of earth more realistic than two people falling in love?”

She’s got you there. She had yet to win an argument with Tamara, but she was determined to win their bet. “But sci-fi is original, with intricate world-building and diverse plots, while romance novels… They can be a little, um, formulaic.”

“Oh, pray tell! There’s a formula? Why didn’t anyone tell me about that? I’ve been sitting here, racking my brain trying to solve my plot problem when all along I just needed to follow a formula! Care to clue me in?”

“You know what I mean. The HEA requirement… In the end, there’s always a happily ever after for the two main characters. They always end up together.”

“And that makes it formulaic?”

“Doesn’t it?”

Tamara held her gaze. “Every genre has its conventions and follows a certain basic structure. In your sci-fi novels, readers expect that the good guys always win the space battle in the end, and mystery readers would be pretty unhappy if the book ended without the crime being solved.”

Abby rubbed her chin. Maybe Tamara was right.

“The trick is to stay within that basic structure while still making the journey fresh and interesting for the reader every single time,” Tamara added.

“Hmm. And that’s what you’re struggling with?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I’m halfway through the story. Up to here, everything is witty and fresh and entertaining, I think, and the characters are lovable.”

“And that’s a problem how?” Abby asked. “Isn’t that exactly what romance readers want?”

“Yeah.” Tamara sighed again. “But maybe my characters are a little too lovable. They have gotten to a point where there’s no logical reason why they don’t just give in to their feelings and jump into bed with each other.”

“As a wise woman once told me: you need more conflict.”

Tamara chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe you should just let them.”

“Let them what?”

“Have hot, steamy sex.” Abby gave a playful little wink, then sobered. This was how Tamara made her living. She wasn’t just writing to win a childish bet. A plot problem was probably a serious thing for her. “As the aforementioned wise woman told me, it’s okay to let the characters have sex early in the story, as long as it sets up an interesting conflict.”

Tamara stared at her.

“Bad idea?”

“No, genius idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Well, you did…kind of,” Abby said with a laugh. “So would that solve your problem?”

“I think so. Instead of resolving their tension, sleeping together could cause even more problems. Letting Lana into her bed will only make Claire more determined not to let her into her heart.”

Did she just say…her? A wild grin broke out on Abby’s face. I knew it! Her main character’s love interest is a woman.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just didn’t know you’re writing a lesbian romance too.”

“I write whatever characters come to me—straight, gay, lesbian, whatever.”

Did that mean she was bi or pan in her personal life too? Abby had looked up her author’s bio, but it didn’t give any clues about Tamara’s sexual orientation.

The patter of keystrokes started up again.

Abby leaned back with a smile and listened for a moment before returning to her own story.

When her phone rang with a FaceTime call, the novel slid from Abby’s hands and smacked her in the face. Damn. I should have gotten the e-book. But then again, in that case, it would have been her e-reader smacking her in the face. Grumbling, she rubbed her nose, sat up on the couch, and reached for her cell phone to accept the call.

Tamara’s face appeared on the small screen.

At the sight of her, Abby couldn’t help smiling. “Hi. Are you done with your love scene?”

“Oh yeah. I’m working on the next chapter already. How about you? You said you want to have one in your story too. Are you done with it?”

Abby snuck a guilty glance at her laptop, which sat abandoned on the coffee table. “Uh, no, I got a little…distracted.”

“Oh.”

Abby’s cheeks heated. Oh Christ. Now she thinks I had to…get a little relief after writing a hot sex scene. “Nothing like what you’re thinking. I just did some…um, research.”

“Into how to write a love scene? Why didn’t you ask me for advice?”

“Well, I did. Kind of.” Abby hesitated but then lifted the novel she’d been reading into her phone’s webcam so that Tamara could see the cover.

“You’re reading one of my books?” It came out in an adorable squeak.

Abby nodded. For some stupid reason, she had resisted for almost an entire month, but she’d finally grabbed a copy of Tamara’s latest novel on the way home yesterday. Apparently, it was the only lesbian romance she had published so far.

“The entire thing or just the love scene?”

Abby had started out wanting to just take a look at how Tamara handled the love scenes, but then the writing had sucked her in, so she’d forgotten about her own love scene and flipped back to chapter one. “Um, the entire thing.”

“So?” Tamara sounded as if she was holding her breath.

“So?” Abby repeated, trying hard not to smile.

Tamara waved her fingers in a gimme-gimme motion. “What did you think?”

“Oh, it’s not bad…for a romance.” Finally, Abby gave in and allowed her teasing grin to break free.

“Uh-huh. So, if you think you can do better, let’s hear what you have come up with so far.”

Abby froze. That was how they had done it every night—with Abby reading her what she’d written that day and Tamara providing feedback—but reading this scene out loud…

Oh, come on. You’re both adults. And she does this for a living. It’s like undressing in front of a doctor. She tried to channel her objective reporter persona as she started to read what she had written so far. When she fell silent, she looked up expectantly. “How do you like it so far? Any good?”

Tamara cleared her throat. “Sorry to tell you, but… Nope. You didn’t nail it. No pun intended.”

“No?” Abby looked back at her manuscript. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, your journalistic just-the-facts-ma’am style might work for newspaper features, but for a love scene?” Tamara shook her head. “Too clinical. It reads like a biology textbook, not a romantic love scene. Focus on the emotions, not on the mechanics.”

Abby groaned. “Ugh. I was trying to avoid that sappy emotional stuff.”

Tamara playfully threatened her with her index finger. “Don’t start the romance bashing again. All books are about human emotions, not just romances. That’s why readers are reading novels instead of instruction manuals—to feel. If you can do that without resorting to sentimentality, you have a winner.”

Like Tamara’s book. Abby slid her fingers over the award sticker on the cover. Reading the love scene had certainly made her feel. She discreetly used the novel to fan herself. “I’ll try.”

“Just two more days,” Tamara said.

“No problem.” Abby put on her most confident expression. She would finish this novel, even if she had to pull an all-nighter or two. But first, she had a book to finish reading.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one… Midnight!” Tamara shouted through the FaceTime connection. “Stop writing. November is officially over.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like Cinderella at the ball?” Abby muttered while she finished typing her last sentence.

“If you are Cinderella, does that make me your fairy godmother?”

I’d rather you were my Princess Charming, Abby thought—and then froze. But it was the truth, she realized. Somewhere during the last thirty days, she had stopped contacting Tamara because she needed romance-writing advice and had starting calling her to enjoy her company, even if it was just online.

But all of that would change now that she was done with her novel.

“What happens now?” she asked quietly.

“Now you validate your word count by uploading the manuscript to the NaNoWriMo website,” Tamara said.

That wasn’t what Abby had meant, of course, but she dutifully copied her manuscript and pasted it into the validator box. She held her breath as she clicked validate.

“Aaaand?” Tamara bounced up and down on her office chair. “Did you make it?”

Abby peered at the laptop.

You won, popped up on the screen.

A muffled scream escaped her.

“You did it?”

“I did it! Fifty thousand, two hundred and eight words. I wrote a romance novel. Okay, a novella.” It was ridiculous how happy that made her. But then again, maybe it wasn’t. Finishing a novel, any novel, was an accomplishment.

Then why do you feel as if you’re about to lose something instead of winning? a voice in her head piped up.

Tamara grinned like a proud midwife who’d helped deliver a baby. Then she sobered. Had she, too, realized this meant the end of their nightly conversations? “Well, it seems you were right, then.”

“About anyone being able to write a romance?” Abby shook her head and lifted up part of her printed-out manuscript with Tamara’s red comments in the margins. “Nah. We both know this is far from being a publishable novel.”

“Well, it could be, with a little more editing.”

“You mean a lot more editing.”

“Okay, a lot more editing. But you’re talented.”

“Yeah?” Abby glowed under that praise.

“Mmhm.” Tamara glanced down for a second, then back up into Abby’s eyes. “So, you won the bet. That means you’ll get to pick the next book I write. Let me guess… I’m going to branch out into science fiction?”

Abby considered it for a moment. She would have loved to see what kind of futuristic world Tamara would come up with. But finally, she shook her head. “I want you to write a sequel to Wildfire.”

Tamara didn’t say anything. She didn’t move.

For a second, Abby thought the video connection might have frozen.

Then Tamara opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again and finally said, “You…you want me to write a romance novel?”

Abby grinned and shrugged. “Well, now that you finally got me to read it, I have to find out what happened to Ivy and Beth.” She licked her lips. “I…I think I owe you an apology. Well, you and the entire romance-writing industry. It’s damn hard to write a romance—at least a good one—and you are really good at it. So…well, keep writing.”

For several seconds, only silence filtered through her laptop speakers.

Abby peeked up into Tamara’s face, which had gone serious.

“There’s one problem with that,” Tamara said. “Wildfire already has a sequel. It has just been published.”

“Oh.”

“But as it happens, I have an idea for another book in the series. Just this time, the main character won’t be an arson investigator. I thought… Well, reporter heroines seem to be popular with my audience right now.”

Abby felt her tense features relax into a smile. “Yeah, I mean, what’s not to like about reporters? We’re smart, witty, and dedicated.”

Tamara chuckled. “Don’t forget modest.”

“That too.”

They both laughed.

“But since I’m a novelist, not a reporter, I might have a research question that I could use some help with every now and then…” Tamara gave Abby a hopeful look.

Did she mean…? Abby tried to play it cool—for exactly three seconds. Then she nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah, sure. I could do that. I mean, help you with your research.”

“That would be great.”

They looked at each other. Was she just imagining things, or was there something searching in Tamara’s gaze?

Abby gathered her courage. “Do you think we could, um, meet in person? Maybe go out for coffee? Like, on a date? I, um, really would like to get to know you better.”

Tamara nodded without a second’s hesitation. “I’d like that.”

They smiled at each other.

“So, when would be good for you?” Abby said, halfheartedly trying not to sound too eager. “I mean, you can never start research too soon.”

“True. But first, you need to get some sleep. You look like you’ve pulled a couple of all-nighters to finish your novel.”

She had. “So I’ll call you…this weekend?”

“Sounds good.”

Finally, after lingering for a few minutes longer, they said goodbye and ended the call.

Wow. Abby stared at the you won that was still displayed on her laptop screen. She had written a romance novel. And she had a date with a romance author. Why the hell had she ever thought romances were predictable? Her love life certainly wasn’t!

But before she could go out with Tamara, she had a date with her bed…and with the sequel to Wildfire, if she could keep her eyes open long enough to read a chapter or two.

Grinning to herself, she headed off to find her e-reader.

###

Sex Sells

Killing someone never got any easier. In fact, it got harder every time. Mara had thought about how to off Sue for days, but nothing she’d come up with sounded right.

Shoot her?

No, that was lame—and a bit too messy. Slitting her throat or stabbing her were out for the same reasons.

What about pushing her off a cliff? Mara gnawed on the end of her pen and considered it for a moment.

Tempting, but it had been done to death already—no pun intended.

Hire a hit man?

Not personal enough. Plus a professional killer would do it quickly and with a minimal amount of suffering, and that wasn’t what Mara wanted. Not for this particular victim. After cheating on her just when Mara had thought the relationship might be going somewhere, Sue deserved a more gruesome death.

Mara leaned back in her seat and swirled her spoon through the foam left over at the bottom of her mug. Normally, the soothing background noise of clinking ceramic cups, the hiss of an espresso machine, and the murmur of conversations inspired her, but today even the familiar sounds did nothing for her.

She wanted to kill the noisy group of tourists who apparently presumed the other customers wanted to hear every word of their conversation. But then again, she’d have to find an effective murder method first. The loud hip-hop music blaring from the earbuds of the teenager slouched at the table next to hers didn’t exactly help either.

She sent him a glare. Maybe electrocution would work. Could you get zapped into the great beyond by your cell phone or MP3 player?

Probably not. Besides, she’d already killed someone off with electricity. No. She needed something else. Something unique.

Sighing, she dropped the spoon into her empty mug. She needed another caramel macchiato. Hey, could that be the perfect method she was looking for? Was there such a thing as caffeine poisoning?

Her cell phone rang before she could get herself another coffee. She fished her cell phone out of her backpack and flipped open the protective cover. Her mood instantly improved when she saw the name on the display—Hayley Wheeler.

“Can you die of a caffeine overdose?” Mara asked instead of a greeting.

A moment of silence filtered through the connection.

“Good morning to you too. I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking.” Despite the mild rebuke, Hayley’s sexy voice was laced with humor.

“Good morning,” Mara repeated dutifully. “How’s my favorite editor today?”

“I’d be flattered if I didn’t know for a fact that there’s not exactly a lot of competition in that category.”

“Details, details. Okay, you’re my only editor, but you’d still be my favorite even if I had a dozen.”

“I’d better be, since I single-handedly saved the main character in your last book from wearing a T-shit instead of a T-shirt.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Mara said. “I will hear that until I fall face-first onto my keyboard and croak, won’t I?”

“Oh yeah. You bet you will.”

Mara groaned, but the familiar banter still made her smile. God, she loved a woman with a sense of humor and a way with words. Add to that a killer smile and a good command of grammar and syntax, and Mara was a goner. Too bad that this particular woman was her editor—and Mara wasn’t even sure she was gay. Chances were she was either a lesbian or bi, considering she edited lesbian fiction for a living and had even put together a pretty hot lesbian erotica anthology last year. But it wasn’t a sure thing, and Mara had never managed to come up with an inconspicuous way of finding out. How did you ask the person whose gently wielded red pen had helped garner you four literary awards if she might possibly be interested in women?

Mara’s overactive imagination immediately presented a scenario where she sent Hayley an e-mail saying, Do you think I should cut the prologue and start with the detective’s point of view? Should that sentence at the beginning of chapter eighteen have a comma or a semicolon? Oh, and while I’m asking you questions… Are you gay?

Nope. Out of the question. Mara switched her cell phone to the other ear. “So, what about that caffeine overdose? Do you think a grown woman could die of it?”

“No,” Hayley said without hesitation. “Trust me. If that were possible, I’d have shuffled off this mortal coil at least an hour ago.”

Christ, now she’s quoting Shakespeare. Mara tried not to swoon and instead focused on what else Hayley had said. Her tone had been lighthearted enough, but after two years, four novels, two dozen video calls via Skype, and more e-mails than Mara could count, she knew Hayley well enough to detect the undercurrent of frustration in her voice. “Rough day?”

“Just a tight deadline for a new manuscript from a first-time author.”

Some of the writers in Mara’s critique group were newbies, so she knew how time-consuming and exhausting editing a debut novel could be. “Ugh. I don’t know how you do it. All those dragging openings, heaps of adjectives, info dumps, and point-of-view violations…” Mara shuddered. “I think I’d be ready to commit hari-kari with my red pen after the first chapter.”

“It’s hara-kiri,” Hayley said, making Mara smile.

God, she’s so predictable. Predictable, but cute. Even the occasional text messages Hayley sent her used perfect grammar and proper punctuation. None of them ended with a string of acronyms such as C U l8r—unfortunately.

“Fine,” Mara said. “I’d commit hara-kiri, then.”

“Most manuscripts aren’t that bad. I actually find it pretty rewarding to mentor our newbies and help them grow as writers.”

That was typical Hayley. She never complained or gossiped about any of Mara’s fellow writers, even the ones who deserved it. The woman was the epitome of professionalism. Mara admired that about her, but it probably also meant that Hayley would never start a relationship with one of the authors in her charge, even if she was a lesbian.

“And every now and then, I get to work on a truly excellent manuscript,” Hayley added. “Like yours.”

Even knowing she probably looked like a Cheshire cat on an ecstasy high, Mara couldn’t help grinning as if she’d just won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She paused. Are we flirting? Or just joking around? She wasn’t quite sure.

Hayley cleared her throat. A creaking sound drifted through the cell phone, and Mara imagined Hayley leaning back in her office chair, the blouse stretching over her generous breasts, the way it had during their last video call. Good thing Hayley didn’t suspect that she had inspired not just the description of Mara’s latest heroine but also several late-night fantasies.

“So,” Hayley said, “why are you asking about lethal caffeine doses? Are you overindulging in that five-hundred-calorie milkshake you call coffee again?”

Mara peeked at her empty mug. It had been her third. Busted. When had Hayley gotten to know her so well?

“Don’t worry about the caffeine,” Hayley said. “All the sugar in those things will kill you long before the caffeine does.”

Mara sighed. “That’s not why I’m asking. It’s for the new book. I’m trying to come up with a halfway creative plot.”

“And?”

“Zero, zip, zilch, nada, niente, rien, niets, nichts—”

Hayley laughed. “Okay, okay. I get it. Stop showing off your language skills.”

Well, how else was she supposed to impress a woman who made her living with words? “Everything I’ve thought of so far seems either lame or I’ve already used it in one of my previous novels. I need something fresh. I don’t want to be one of those writers who basically write the same book over and over again.”

“Agreed. Actually, I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“You have?” God, Hayley would be the perfect woman for her. She lived in an imaginary world populated by fictional people for most of the day too and would understand when Mara started to scribble on napkins during dinner dates. She would probably even chime right in when Mara complained about the plot holes in the movies they watched. The same couldn’t be said for Sue, the ex-girlfriend from hell.

“Of course,” Hayley said. “As your editor, I have a vested interest in your continued success.”

Was it really just that? Mara wanted to believe that they had become friends and Hayley wanted her to succeed for personal reasons too. “So, what do you suggest?”

“I love your mysteries. I really do. But I think you should consider…branching out a little. Make your stories a little…sexier.”

The combination of Hayley’s voice—smooth, silky, and confident—and her saying the word sexier distracted Mara for a moment. She nearly missed the meaning of her words.

“You want me to write a…a…romance novel?”

Hayley huffed out a breath. “Don’t make it sound as if I asked you to write a trashy dime-store novel that involves a lot of damsels in distress, heaving bosoms, and moist love caves.”

Mara burst out laughing. Love caves? Had any of Hayley’s writers ever used that term in a manuscript? She was almost afraid to ask. “I don’t know. Even without the heaving bosoms and the love caves…”

“Come on. Putting a little romance in your books wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”

“Not that bad?” Mara’s voice ended on a squeak. “Hayley, I kill people for a living!”

“On paper. Jesus, Mara, if you keep saying it like that, I’ll have to bail you out of jail. Do I really have to remind you of what happened when you called the poison control hotline and asked how many belladonna berries were needed to kill a two-hundred-pound man?”