“His name is Tanner?”
“It’s a romance. I can’t name him Fred or Chuck or Barney.”
“Why not? Fred’s a good name.”
“Will you please let me tell you my story? So, Tanner is young because that’s been established in the other books. But he can’t be a bad boy or a controlling boss because I did that already. I’m thinking something in the creative field.”
“Florist?” he asks with a wink.
“It’s sweet, and that works for you, but I need something sensual and maybe a little more daring.”
His mouth rises on one side as he levels his gaze with mine. “For the record, I’m very daring in the bedroom and incredibly sensual.” His words are said in a deep hum.
“Is that opinion or fact?”
“Baby, it’s a proven fact.” His words are a low, rumbling thunder to my lady bits.
I clear my throat and raise my chin as Jake places a finger to his lips and thinks for a moment.
“What if you make him an artist? Then, you can have him paint her.”
“Like on a canvas à la Titanic or something?”
“No. He paints her naked body.”
My eyes widen as my lips pull to the side. “Well then, that’s a new one. I’m impressed you came up with something like that.”
He grins. “I can’t take all the credit. I have a friend who runs classes for couples, where they do that. Kind of like those wine-and-paint parties you girls do, just less clothing.”
He says it so nonchalantly, and I’m sitting here with my jaw on the floor, having no clue this was a thing.
“Have you ever done that?” I’m beyond intrigued.
“Not yet. Would you ever let a guy paint you?” he asks with a slight tilt to his head.
“Hell yeah, I would!”
He coughs, completely taken aback. “Seriously?”
“Why are you so shocked?”
He shakes his head with a smirk on his face. “Because you always seem like a wallflower who hides behind her apartment door.”
“That’s only because you know me as a neighbor. When it comes to sex, I’m not afraid to experiment.” Not that I actually am right now. In fact, it’s been five long years, but Jake doesn’t need to know that.
He drops his head and lets out a small laugh. “My mind has just been blown a little,” he says, turning his sight on me. “Makes me wonder about you.”
I blow him off. “Oh, stop. Don’t act so surprised. I write romance for a living.”
There’s a peculiar look in his eyes as they roam over my face. It’s a soul-searching stare, the kind that says he’s studying me, hoping to find an ending to the story in his mind. I can only hope he’s reading me right.
I lean back a little, confused by the intensity in his expression.
“What are you staring at?” I ask.
“You,” he says seriously. “You can learn a lot about a woman by watching her when she’s talking about sex.”
“And what is that?”
His hand rises to my face, and he places the softest of touches to my skin. “Your cheeks are flush, and your shoulders fall back. There’s even this gleam in your eyes, like you’re about to eat your favorite candy. It excites you, but you’re hungry for it. Like you haven’t had it in a while.”
I swallow. “You can tell that just from looking at me?”
He leans closer, so close that I can feel the heat pouring off his chest and smell the mint on his tongue. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “A real man has patience when it comes to women. Not just the ones he wants to bed. He listens. That is what makes a sensual lover.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as he settles back, and that grin of his graces his face once again as I rub my thighs.
“You should get back to Natalie,” I say.
He blinks at me, as if he almost forgot he had a woman waiting for him in his apartment. “And you have to get back to your pretend boyfriend.”
He rises and walks toward the door.
“Have fun, Tanner.” I wave sarcastically and then point toward the kitchen. “Don’t forget your lime juice.”
He reaches toward the counter and raises the bottle. “Thanks.” When he gets to the door, he opens it and then pauses in the threshold, turning back to me. “Night, Lacey girl.”
He leaves, and I let out a heavy breath. My skin prickles, and my pulse is racing. Jake’s visit definitely threw me off, and I need to re-center and focus.
I look back down at my computer. That cursor is still blinking, taunting me.
Daring me.
Glancing over at the door, I think of Jake and wonder if he’s right.
Maybe my hero should be an artist. Someone patient. Someone who can read body language.
I put my laptop away, pull out my notebook, and start jotting down notes.
Hopefully, my romantic hero will come to life very, very soon.
Chapter Four
“Lacey Rivers! Oh my God, I am your biggest fan! The Suit is my favorite of all your books, although The Racer is a close second. I need to know when the next book is coming out.”
I smile at the woman standing in front of me with a rolling cart full of books. Peeking down, I can see she has all of my novels with her for me to sign.
“I’m aiming for a January release. I’ll announce the date soon,” I reply kindly as I take a book from her and start to sign it.
My marker is getting dull, so Charisse, who is acting as my assistant for the day, hands me a new one.
“Thanks.”
“The youngest brother is such a mystery. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for him,” the fan, whose name is Jenny, gushes.
“Me too.” I’m smiling as I hand her the book.
She’s the twentieth person I’ve had in line at this signing at a local bookstore, and it never ceases to amaze me how people take time out of their day to see me, spend their money on my words, and reiterate some of the lines that touched their souls. When one fan showed me a quote from Fire and Gold tattooed on her skin, I knew I’d made the correct decision on following my dreams and publishing that first book as an indie release.
With all the books signed, I walk around the table and take a photo with her in front of my banner, the six-foot sign with my name on it. I’m one of twelve authors here today. It’s a small signing but a good one. To my left is a mega-famous author, who even I am fangirling pretty hard over. She has so many readers here today that the store owner had to give out tickets to help with crowd control at her line. Someday, that will be me. For now, I’m pretty damn happy with the turnout.
So far today, I’ve reconnected with six of my closest reader friends in the area, finally met a blogger who has been incredibly kind to me, and come face-to-face with the best readers a girl can have.
And they’re all dying to know about my next book.
“Does the new book have a title?” another reader asks.
I sway my head from side to side, deciding on if I should wait or let her in on a little secret. “The Artist,” I lean in and whisper not so softly.
The women in line swoon at the sound of it, and I hush them, asking them to keep mum about it until I make a formal announcement.