I should have felt terror and disgust as his dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe, lingering overlong on the swell of my breasts. That’s what a decent woman would have been feeling.

The deck of the ship rose and fell violently as the rest of the pirates boarded, each one more menacing than the last and still my body did not shudder with fear. In fact the opposite. My body shook as a thrill pulsed through me.

The captain and his crew watched helplessly as the galleon was plundered and stripped of its cargo. Not one sailor had the courage to draw his sword or pistol against the cold-hearted thieves who had swarmed the deck.

I lifted my chin and took a deep breath for courage as I stared back at the rogue. Thick black hair waved in the breeze, much like the black jolly roger flying high above the mast of his vessel. Beneath the shade of his hat, the pirate captain’s smile flashed pearl white in stark contrast to his sun darkened skin. I could almost have imagined a thin dagger clenched between his teeth.

He knew. He knew I wasn’t repelled. I should have looked away or screamed or thrown myself into the waves. He stuck out his hand and again raked his dark, lascivious gaze over my body. “Come on now, wench, take my hand. You’ll be my greatest treasure this round.”

“What will you do with me?” I asked weakly.

“I will keep you captive in my quarters so that I may have the pleasure of your silken skin and warm, tight pussy any hour I choose.”

Rory knocked on the office door, erasing the next sentence from my head. No doubt it was going to be another golden nugget of literary wisdom but it was gone. I minimized the document. Romance writing was my guilty pleasure, my chili cheese fries for lunch, a diversion from the logical and precise world of automotive engineering where I spent most of my day.

“Come in, Rory,” I called.

My assistant’s slim, well-manicured hand curled around the edge of the door, giving me a good long look at the massive diamond engagement ring on her finger. Not only had she managed to land a rich guy, but Edward was charming and likable to boot. I had to work hard at hiding my envy. I didn’t even need the rich part. I was doing fine on my own. I just wanted to find that person who was the perfect mix of lover and friend and soul mate. Like every character I created in my stories, but preferably not fictional.

Rory flounced into the office. She was the only person I knew who could flounce on four inch heels, and she did it with all the grace of a ballerina. She stopped at my desk and put her hands on her hips as she stared down at my half eaten sandwich. “Did the deli mess up and put mustard on it?”

“Huh? Oh no, the sandwich was fine.” I folded it up in its wrapper and walked over to the mini fridge in my office. It had taken me five years, three promotions and four awards for automotive design to land the corner office with the view and wet bar, but I’d discovered, once they’d hauled my grandfather’s antique desk, a family heirloom, although one that was truly only valuable to me, up to the top floor that the corner office just wasn’t that exciting.

“Ahh,” Rory said with a confident nod, “you’ve been spending your lunchtime with one of your many book heroes, haven’t you? I swear, Ginger, you need to publish those stories.”

“I would if I ever actually finished one. Happily ever after endings are kind of unchartered territory for me. I’ve only had relationships that either went badly south or just faded away. I don’t know how to end my romances because I don’t know what it’s like to end up deliriously happy and wrapped in the hero’s arms. Like you, my friend.” I sighed. “You are so lucky.”

Rory stared down at the gleaming stone on her finger. “Trust me, I wake up every morning wondering if it’s all real. Well, anyhow, I came in to let you know that the meeting has been moved an hour later to three o’clock. The boy’s club,” she said with an eye roll, “is still out at lunch. How come you didn’t join your team today? They went to that posh seafood restaurant that just opened on the wharf.”

“Because, and to use your words and your special pronunciation, the boy’s club has been on my nerves lately.” I was part of a five member design team for the luxury sedan division, and I was the only woman. It had taken me a good long year and an impressive show of designs to earn my team’s respect, but when I’d also earned the respect and high praise from the president of the company, I’d lost some of the good will it had taken me so long to earn. Occasionally, they banded together, like a pack of wolves, to give me a hard time. Lately, they’d all found reasons to nitpick at my designs. I’d happily turned down their lunch invite. “I’m glad the meeting has been postponed. I’ve still got so much work to do.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to it then. And, Ginger, I think your happy ending is just around the corner. I can feel it,” she said as she walked out of the office.

I moved the mouse and clicked on my latest project. For a brief, unexplained second, the air around my desk smelled like a fresh ocean breeze, as if I’d somehow been transported onto the deck of a ship in the middle of the sea. I took a strong second whiff, but the scent vanished. I swiveled around in my chair to see if Rory had stuck an air freshener into the plug. The outlet was empty. Obviously, my head was still in my pirate story.

As I turned back toward my computer an odd website popped up with a banner that read, “I hear you are looking for a happily ever after.”

I blinked at the words and wondered if I was actually seeing them. “What are the odds of that?” I muttered to myself and clicked the X. The banner rolled away, but a new one replaced it. It was an advertisement for a place called the Silk Stocking Inn. An early century house draped with rose vines and dotted with leaded glass appeared below the banner. It was as if the advertisement had just appeared out of thin air. “Someone has a great marketing team. And a clairvoyant one too,” I thought wryly.

I clicked my mouse feverishly moving it all around the screen trying to get rid of the website, but the gifted marketers were apparently even more genius with programming. The stately old inn, with its shawl of pink roses, stuck like glue to my monitor.

“Now that I’ve got your attention,” a text box appeared. “In one sentence, tell me what you want from a man so you can catch that elusive happy ending.”

I stared at the monitor. The glare from the afternoon sun shining in through the big window cast my own wobbly reflection in the glass. I had no idea who was on the other side asking me questions, but then they had no idea who I was either. And the question had gotten me thinking.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard a moment. My pirate story was still fresh in my mind, and I decided to have some fun with it. “I want a man who makes me his captive and at the same time treats me like his greatest treasure. And, if he’s wearing silver hoops in his ears and says things like ‘aar’ and ‘shiver me timbers’ all the better.”

“That’s two sentences. You don’t seem to be taking this too seriously. But that will change.”

It seemed I’d just been scolded by a spam marketer. The cryptic last sentence made me do a double take.

“O.K., fun is officially over.” My fingers hit the keys harder than necessary.

“No, it’s just begun. Even though you broke the one sentence rule, you took the time to answer the question, so congratulations! You have won a free weekend at the Silk Stocking Inn where every heart’s desire is filled . . . and then some.”

“No thanks.”

“Did I mention every heart’s desire?”

“You did.”

“In that case, did I mention a cozy room, deep soaking tub and an ocean view?”

“Now they’ve been mentioned, but it’s still a no. I have plans this weekend.” Of course helping my aunt pick out a new refrigerator could hardly be classified as plans, but knowing my Aunt Frida, it could take all weekend. I smiled thinking how ridiculous it was having a conversation with a complete stranger, yet I continued typing. Something about the whole exchange intrigued me. It might just have been the impossibly tenacious website that I couldn’t seem to make vanish. Or it might have been that it was a fun diversion from my usual work day.

“Then I suppose the lobster pot pies and hot buttered rum cupcakes will have to go to another guest then.”

My mouth watered just reading the words. “You should have started with lobster and cupcakes.” I sat back and stared at the screen. This was crazy. Why was I even considering this? It was obviously just a marketing ploy.

A short laugh shot from my mouth as I metaphorically patted myself on the back for not falling for it. “I’d love to keep chatting with you, but I’m a busy woman. So I’m signing off now.” Then it occurred to me I’d never actually signed on, and I had no real idea how to sign off. I reached for the power button, the last resort button as I liked to call it.

One more message flashed on the screen. “Oh come on, Ginger. Take a little risk. Your aunt’s refrigerator can wait. See you soon.”

I stared at the screen and went through a flurry of emotions, ranging from shock to terror to complete disbelief. Before I could catch my breath or figure out what the hell was going on the website disappeared.

I needed to stop spending my lunchtime writing fiction. My imagination seemed to be working overtime.