Chapter One
Robyn
Four hours earlier
Grinding my teeth in annoyance, I listened as Sasha huffed out a breathy moan for what must have been the fifth time in two minutes. I rotated my neck, trying to loosen the stiff muscles, and leaned back from my laptop, too distracted by Sasha’s agitation to keep typing.
‘What the heck is wrong with you?’ I finally demanded, glaring over at the sofa where I knew she was reclining with a book and a cup of tea. I couldn’t see the book, or the tea for that matter, because my view was blocked by the back of the sofa, but she was there all right, in all her huffy-puffy glory. In fact, the only part of Sasha I could see were her stripy-sock-clad feet which were dangling over the arm rest and swinging perilously close to a vase of week-old flowers.
‘This book is totally hot! I can’t believe I waited so long to read it!’ she exclaimed, her mass of wild blonde curls appearing as she sat up to look at me over the sofa cushions. ‘I think I might need fifteen minutes in my room with the contents of my vibrator drawer,’ she added with a cackle and a cheeky wiggle of her well-plucked eyebrows.
Since she was momentarily distracted from whatever she was reading, I swung to face her. ‘You have an entire drawer for vibrators?’ I’d known Sasha since we were teenagers. How did I not know this about her? ‘No … no … actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know!’ I held up my hand to stop her with a wince and an amused grimace. Blimey, I only owned one vibrator, which barely ever got used. How many did she have to justify allocating a specific space in her living quarters for such things?
Wow, sex toy storage, what a thought. Maybe that could be a new range for Ikea to consider.
Rolling my eyes, I looked at Sasha and saw her unashamed look. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a smile as wide as the River Thames on her face as she raised up the book she was reading. ‘Have you read it? It’s called Fifty Shades of …’
I cut her off by raising my hand again.
‘Stop,’ I said firmly, ‘Sasha, you may not know the code of etiquette when it comes to authors, but to spout the name of an international best seller to me when I am struggling to get one or two damn copies of my latest book sold is not what I need right now.’
Writing romance was what I wanted to do full time, but my books weren’t exactly flying off the shelves at the moment, so I also worked part time as an editor for a local newspaper. It was perfect – I got to work from home, but it paid enough to cover my bills and rent.
‘Oh. Sorry.’ She flushed further and hid the book below my line of sight but not before I’d glimpsed its now infamous black and grey cover. ‘I bought a copy of your book, too,’ she added supportively with a perky smile.
‘Yeah?’ I gave her a weak nod. ‘Have you read it?’
If possible, Sasha’s flush got even deeper. ‘Well … I was sort of halfway through it when I found this in my bedside drawer still unread …’ She wiggled the goddamn best seller at me again. ‘Yours was really good and everything but I kinda got distracted and started reading this instead …’
A huge sigh escaped my lips, ‘Exactly!’ I exclaimed, jumping up from my seat at the dining room table – also known as my work desk – before hoisting Sasha’s legs off the sofa and plonking myself next to her dejectedly to snatch the book from her hand.
‘How the hell can my crappy chintzy romances compare to this stuff?’ I flicked miserably through the pages and could instantly tell where the naughty bits were because Sasha had turned the corners of the pages over.
There were a lot of turned corners.
My lips tightened as I examined the pages. I might not like to admit it, but I’d read a couple of the most recent “erotic” novels on the market, including this one, which had started the whole craze a few years ago, and they even got me pretty hot under the collar, which seeing as I’m not really into sex is saying something.
‘Don’t shoot me for saying this but you have a point, babe,’ Sasha said, retrieving her book protectively and sticking a bookmark in to keep her all-important page, ‘These types of books are still selling like hot cakes,’ she admitted with a nod. ‘People thought it was going to be a fad, but it’s continued. Apparently, a nice bit of hanky-spanky soft porn is exactly what ladies want these days.’ Her smirk caused me to let out a deflated sigh.
Hanky-spanky soft porn? I really was doomed. There was no way I could write that type of stuff; I had no clue about any of it.
‘You’re a really good writer, Robyn, and you already write loads of different genres … why don’t you just expand your horizons a bit and write one of these?’ she suggested helpfully.
I practically choked on my own near-hysterical laughter. ‘Yeah right, because I know sooo much about erotic kinky sex!’ I said, rolling my eyes at her. ‘You’ve known me my entire adult life, Sash. Exactly which of my ex-boyfriends do you think could act as fodder for a kinky book?’
I was currently single, and my five exes were all that way for very good reasons: Xbox fanatic, immature student, Star Trek geek, pot head, and workaholic, in that order. They might have been funny and considerate enough to attract my initial attention, but none of them could ever be labelled as “exciting in the sack”, hence my general lack of interest in sex. All my friends said it was great, but I’d never found that when I’d been between the sheets.
‘Okay, point taken …’ Sasha conceded, ‘Didn’t the Star Trek guy have a toe fetish?’ Her lip curled up in amusement as she spoke, but I grimaced, remembering only too well Brian’s excessive lust towards my feet. Freak. ‘Ugh, yes, not discussing that again – ever.’ I shuddered. ‘Besides, I’m not writing a kinky novel about a guy with a toe fetish. It’s hardly going to appeal to the reading masses, is it?’
Giggling loudly, Sasha shook her head, causing her blonde curls to swirl around her face. ‘No … probably not,’ she agreed when she could finally suppress her grin. ‘Well, I could help with ideas for some of the sex scenes … Although I’ve not done much kinky stuff either,’ she admitted with a grimace which looked more disappointed than disgusted.
‘You’ve just done most of the men in London with a pulse,’ I joked, not altogether untruthfully.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Sasha dismissed my friendly insult with a casual flick of her wrist. ‘Least I’m not celibate like you.’ She gave a teasing bump to my shoulder.
Yes, that’s right. Not the most exciting status to have. But after five failed attempts at relationships I decided late last year to have a man-free period in my life and concentrate on my writing.
Celibate, however, is not a real word for Sasha. She would probably consider it more of a blasphemous term and has gone out of her way to do the exact opposite of me, by shagging anything as long as it’s male and breathing. I know this because we have adjoining walls in our bedrooms. Yeah, lucky me. But it’s fine because Sasha is my best friend, so I put up with it – plus I have a really good pair of earplugs.
It makes me cringe to think of the number of men that Sasha must have totted up since we’ve shared our flat together for the last three years, but sex is her coping mechanism. Her story is a really sad one, and the reason for her casual “bang ’em and leave” lifestyle. Her father died unexpectedly when she was just seven, and she lost her mother to cancer at seventeen. They both died way before their time, and after she moved in with her aunt she developed a motto of “live each day as if it is your last”, and boy, has she stuck to it.
She’s worked her arse off to get her dream job with an interior design magazine, and now lives a pretty decadent lifestyle: nights out, luxurious holidays, fancy food, and, of course, a long string of different men to warm her bed. The only reason I can afford to live in Central London is because Sasha pays the lion’s share of the rent on the apartment we share.
The five guys I’ve dated are also the only men that I’ve slept with – no one-night stands for me, Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes – and all of them I dated for a few weeks before allowing things to progress to the bedroom.
Breaking me from my reverie, Sasha adjusted herself on the sofa. ‘I suppose we could probably find some stuff on the internet to help you out,’ she suggested, which I had to grant her was actually quite a good idea if I really was going to attempt to write an erotic book of some sort. Me, an erotic novelist? I nearly snorted at how ridiculous it sounded.
‘Or …’ She had a sudden gleam in her eye which I didn’t like the look of at all. It was her I have a cunning plan look, which usually ended with alcohol, dancing, trouble, or all three combined.
‘Let’s think about it from a different perspective … We could go out and do some research first hand.’
Research first hand? She couldn’t possibly be thinking what I thought she was. Even Sasha wasn’t that crazy.
Was she?