“YOUR BOYFRIEND DOESN’T LOOK TOO happy,” Brian said as he twirled me around, making me slightly dizzy.
His hand returned firmly to my waist as I tried not to trip over my own toes. Dancing and I had never been very good friends. More like distant acquaintances that hung out only on certain occasions.
Like frat parties and those awkward Christmas parties at work.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied, sneaking a peek up at my former teacher.
Brian Chapman.
He’d been more than a teacher to me.
He’d been an inspiration.
A life-changer.
Brian had given me a glimpse at another life. A different life.
And I’d snatched up that idea and made it a reality.
Of course, he didn’t know that. No one did.
To Brian, I was still just Kate.
Plain old Kate.
The girl who’d taken a single writing class at the local community college and never returned. But I knew different. And I guessed that was all that mattered.
“Are you sure he knows that?” he asked, peering over at the table where Killian was keeping tabs on us.
“We’re dating, I guess. So, maybe this is a little awkward for him.”
His mouth turned up into a dark grin. “Good,” he replied. “Only dating. That means, I still have a chance.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re married,” I said, taking a step back.
The music still went on, but I’d lost the desire to dance.
“Recently separated,” he clarified.
Still dumbfounded, I didn’t quite know what to do. I’d taken him up on this offer of a friendly dance, believing I was catching up with an old friend.
Not adding to my little black book.
Did women have black books?
Did anyone have black books anymore?
None of this felt right.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“How could you have known?” he asked, holding out his hand.
His expression had morphed into something less seductive. He looked more like the old Brian I was used to.
The Brian who had inspired me to write.
I took his hand. “What happened?” I asked. “You don’t have to tell me. I mean, if it’s personal or too painful.”
We began dancing again, and he pulled me in close for a slow song.
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “What happened is the same thing that happens to so many other couples. We grew apart. What had brought us together in the beginning—that spark—it died. We didn’t nurture what we had, didn’t take care of it, you know? And, eventually, we looked around and realized, there was nothing left to save.”
“I’m so sorry, Brian.”
He shrugged, his thumb moving over my own. “It’s okay really. We’re still friends. We were able to part amicably, and at least we did so before we had any children involved.”
I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
“I’d like to take you out for dinner, if you’d let me?”
My breath caught in my lungs as I looked up at him. “What?”
“Dinner.” He laughed. “Just the two of us? It will give us a chance to catch up. Properly.”
My mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out.
What should I say?
I was on a date with another man. I was dating another man.
Since when did problems like this happen to me?
“May I cut in?”
As if my night could get any stranger, there was Killian.
On the dance floor, asking me to dance.
Is it a full moon?
Had I switched bodies with a hot model? Because men did not fight over Katelyn O’Malley. Ever.
I watched as the two men sized each other up. A lot of eye contact with nonverbal communication was going on. Whatever transpired, Killian obviously had the upper hand because Brian sidestepped, allowing him to take his place.
“I’ve got to get back to my table anyway. Kate, I’ll give you a call later.”
“Um, okay,” I replied, still slightly dazed as Killian’s arm wrapped around me.
He didn’t try any fancy twirls or spins. He stuck to the basic steps, moving from side to side, allowing me to feel the gentle sway of our bodies.
“You’re dancing,” I said, a hint of amusement in my tone.
“Yep. Better go take care of any unfinished business. The end of the world is coming,” he said drily, causing me to laugh instantly.
“You’re not that bad.”
“But I’m not that good either.”
“How much alcohol did it take to get you out here?” I asked, looking up at his handsome face.
My fingers wrapped around his broad shoulder as he held me tightly.
“A couple of shots of tequila,” he admitted. “And several minutes of watching that douche bag with his hands all over you.”
“He’s just a friend.”
“Does he know that?” Killian questioned as the music changed to something more upbeat.
I replied honestly, “I don’t know.”
“Well, why don’t we go grab our drinks and talk it over? Or not.” He grinned.
“Good idea,” I said.
He took my hand and led me toward the table once again. The margarita I’d ordered before being whisked off to the dance floor was waiting for me, and I eagerly took a sip the instant I sat down, licking the salt from the edge.
“Do that again,” Killian said, his eyes dark and demanding.
Feeling adventurous, I did as he’d asked but slower this time. My tongue darted out, lapping up several grains of salt from the glass, and then I sipped the liquor down.
Before I’d even placed the drink down on the table, he was there, leaning over the table, eyes wild, as his mouth descended on mine.
He tasted like tequila and lime. My eyes fluttered closed as our tongues melted together over and over. I felt his hand against my cheek, pulling me close.
Someone groaned.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was me.
But, in that moment, I wanted to give in to every desire.
Every whim.
Every single secret fantasy.
Instead, I ruined it by opening my big fat mouth.
“I’m a virgin,” I said as our lips parted.
He instantly pulled back, eyes wide. “What?”
That seductive, almost hypnotic expression he’d had only moments earlier was gone.
Erased by three single words.
“I just thought you should know,” I said. “Remember my deep, dark secret?”
He nodded.
“That’s it. I know I said I needed a little liquid courage, but at the rate we’re going, I wasn’t sure that was the best idea.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re right.”
Silence descended around us.
And, for the rest of the night, it lingered.
Never leaving until I found myself back at home.
Alone again.
I spent the rest of the weekend at home.
On Saturday, I lay in bed, staring at my cell phone, wondering how I’d gone from being the most popular girl with two guys nearly going to blows over me to nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
No calls. No texts. Not even an email.
I ate raw cookie dough all day and caught up on several TV shows.
By Sunday, I was a total disaster and seriously falling behind on my upcoming deadline.
If I didn’t get my butt in gear and focus on the third and final book from The Scandal Chronicles, I’d end up with another surprise visit from Jane.
And I doubted it would include a fun trip to the club this time.
But, every time I sat down to work, I would come up blank.
By Sunday night, I’d written a total of three words.
Three freaking words.
At this pace, I’d finish in twenty years and be the laughingstock of the literary world.
Well, I wouldn’t be personally.
Because no one knew I existed. But Laura Stone would be.
I’d never had a problem with finding the words. Usually, I couldn’t stop them from pouring out of me.
I literally had to write.
Every day.
All the time.
But, now, when I needed those words most of all, I was stuck.
So, I phoned a friend.
“Do you know how late it is?” a groggy Jane said after several rings.
“No, not really,” I answered honestly. A quick glance over at my alarm clock made my eyes widen. “Okay, so it’s late. Sorry, but I need help.”
“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” she asked.
“It could have,” I replied. “But I figured, since you were making a crap-ton of money off me, I could call in this favor.”
“Oh, so it’s work-related?”
“Writing-related, yes,” I said.
Calling writing work was still an odd thing for me. Work meant colleagues and reports, appointments and paychecks.
Writing was fun and satisfying.
A job? Well, it was satisfying, I guessed. But fun? Not often.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, sounding more alert now.
I set my laptop to the side as I shifted around in bed.
I’d taken up writing in bed when I was home. I mean, why not, right? It was comfortable, and there weren’t exactly any rules when it came to this sort of thing.
“I’ve got writer’s block.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, I’ve been sitting here, in front of a blank screen, for hours, and I’ve got nothing. Nothing!” My voice increased in volume, resembling something like that of a new mother who hadn’t slept in weeks.
“That’s not writer’s block,” she said calmly.
“What?” I nearly screamed. “What do you mean, that’s not writer’s block? It’s a textbook definition.”
Again, she replied in that annoyingly calm voice, like she was placating a rogue toddler, “I can guarantee you, it’s not.”
“Oh, and who made you an expert on the topic?”
“Several best-selling authors,” she replied.
I had no witty comeback to that statement.
“Writer’s block, true writer’s block, is like a virus or a sickness. It’s not something that happens in a night. It happens over a long span of time.”
“So, you’re telling me that I could be screwed for days?”
“No, I’m telling you that, if you did in fact have writer’s block, you could be screwed for weeks.”
My mouth felt dry as it fell open in disbelief.
“But I don’t think you actually have it. I think you’re just psyching yourself out.”
“Psyching myself out?”
“You’re not used to writing on a deadline, are you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I replied.
“It’s an adjustment. Your first two novels weren’t written on a schedule. You wrote those at your own pace. And, now, this third book has a time line, and it’s constantly in the back of your mind.”
What she had said actually seemed kind of true.
Even though I didn’t want to admit it.
“Does that make sense?” she asked when I failed to respond.
“Yes,” I answered.
“So, talk it out with me.”
“What?”
“The scene,” she clarified. “Talk it out with me, and hopefully, it will get you going and me back to sleep.”
My lips pursed together as I took a glance in the direction of my computer.
“Are you going to speak? Seriously, Kate, I’m wasting precious beauty sleep here.”
“It’s …the scene I’m working on…”
“Yes?”
“It’s a sex scene.”
“Okay. And?”
“And talking about it, out loud, is embarrassing. Especially when—”
“You’re still a virgin?”
My eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
I listened as she sighed.
“I’ve always known,” she said. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. I mean, when Jacob and you—”
“Stop,” I begged.
“Anyway, you haven’t exactly mentioned anyone since.”
Silence followed as I stared up at the ceiling.
“I went on another date with Killian,” I finally said.
“And?” she prodded.
“He’s really…intense.”
“Intense isn’t a bad thing.”
I smiled, remembering the way he’d stormed onto the dance floor, ready to take Brian on for dancing with me.
And then the look he’d given me at the end of the night when I finally told him the truth.
“I told him. That I was a virgin.”
“How’d he take it?” she asked quietly.
“He probably would have had a better reaction if I’d told him I was the real Laura Stone.”
“Oh, Kate, I’m sorry.”
I leaned my head back on the pillow. “It’s okay. I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking. Who wants to date a nearly thirty-year-old virgin?”
“Maybe he just needs some time to process it.”
I smiled, a halfhearted one but a smile nonetheless. “Maybe.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Why are you still a virgin? I mean, what are you waiting for?”
My eyes squeezed shut as I thought about how to answer. “I don’t know honestly. I think, at first, I was too hurt by Jacob’s betrayal and too deep in mourning over my parents to bother with another relationship.”
“And after?”
I let out a sigh. “It was different after college,” I explained. “Dating takes effort, and I didn’t put anything into it. It was easier to ignore guys altogether than to constantly deal with the heartache or letdowns that went with meeting people who weren’t interested.”
“So, you’re not saving your virtue for some religious or political reason then?” She laughed, causing me to smile.
“No, definitely not. At this point, I’d almost rather just do it and get it over with.”
“Then, why don’t you?” she suggested.
“What?”
“Hear me out,” she said.
I leaned forward in my bed.
“You’re dating a hot, available guy.”
“Well, I was dating a hot, available guy. Who knows how he feels about me now?”
“Don’t give him a chance to think about it,” she suggested. “Show up at his place, ready for some action, and he’ll be so turned on, he won’t think twice.”
“I don’t have the guts to try anything remotely that brave,” I remarked.
“You might not, but I bet the little Laura Stone who lives inside you does.”
“You talk as if I have a split personality.”
She laughed. “Well, sometimes, after reading some of these scenes, I wonder if you do. Come on, Kate. Give it a try. What do you have to lose?”
“My dignity.”
She snorted. “Please, he’ll be all over you. Put something sexy on, and don’t take no for an answer.”
Jane continued to talk up her evil plan for several long, excruciating minutes while I squirmed under the pressure. Finally, after much persuasion, I agreed to think about it.
Even though I had no plans of doing so.
But it was enough to get her off the phone and me tucked in bed.
Unfortunately, sleep didn’t come. Instead, I lay awake in bed, hearing Jane’s words repeat over and over in my head.
“What are you waiting for?”
Jane’s words had haunted me.
So much so that, by the time I had fallen asleep that night, I’d dreamed of Killian and what it might be like if I showed up at his motel room, just as she’d described.
I awoke, hot and sweaty, full of a desire I couldn’t fulfill on my own.
By lunchtime, I was practically aching with need. I was naive in the ways of love.
So, I did the only thing I knew well.
I wrote.
The brief lull in my words was gone. In the short half hour break I had during my work day, I managed to burn through several thousand words, my fingers flying over the keys in a sensual dance, as I wrote out my dreams and fantasies of the night before.
It was one of the most erotic scenes I’d ever created.
Because I was picturing myself as the heroine and Killian as my dashing hero.
But even after racing through my lunch break, the fire and the heat still consumed me.
If anything, the need, this dark craving for something more, had only intensified.
“What are you waiting for?”
Nothing, I thought.
Not a damn thing.
It was time to finally move on with my life.
And start living.
A lot of thoughts had been bouncing around in my mind over the last hour.
This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.
This is quite possibly the most brilliant plan ever conceived.
You’re stupid, Kate.
You’re a genius!
And, now, exactly sixty minutes since I’d left work, I was sitting outside Killian’s two-star motel, trying to gather the courage to vacate my car. Because, as all those crazy thoughts had been running through my confused brain, the only one that had stuck was that I was doomed.
I’d watched every romantic comedy film ever made. I knew better than this. Nothing good ever came from showing up at a man’s apartment—or motel room—unannounced.
He could be hosting an epic game night or a swingers’ party for all I knew.
He could be on a date.
My eyes darted up to the third floor where his room was located.
We never made promises to each other. I’d asked him if we could take it slow but not if we could be exclusive.
I exhaled a sigh of frustration and picked up my phone.
Someday, I’d be able to gather up the courage to do things like this on my own. Pressing the speed dial for Jane, I let it ring once as my eyes drifted back to the building in front of me. Several rings later, I was beginning to get anxious.
Maybe I should just go home.
Jane’s voicemail picked up, and as I heard the perky sound of her voice on the other end, I was reminded of the words she’d spoken the night before.
“What are you waiting for?”
It was those five words that had sparked a frenzy in me today, writing faster and hotter than I had in weeks. It was those five words that had gotten me here, ready to take on something so daring, I was nearly dripping with sweat.
I didn’t need Jane or anyone else to push me those last few feet into the shabby motel.
I just needed me.
Although a shot of tequila wouldn’t hurt.
I took a deep breath and leaned forward, my forehead meeting the steering wheel, as I silently said a few last words of motivation.
You can do this. It’s only sex.
Okay, good pep talk.
Grabbing my keys and purse, I stepped out of my car and headed for the front door. The sun was beginning to set in Fremont, and the sky did its best to show off, casting warm pinks and bright vivid hues of orange and yellow above me.
My stomach churned, but I pushed forward.
Walking through the door, I was greeted by a familiar face.
The twenty-something attendant had been here the first time I stopped by and helped me find Killian’s room. I thought the pretty blonde with the boring night job had felt sorry for me, or maybe she’d just wanted something to do. Whatever the reason, she had smiled happily as I explained my story and had been more than willing to offer up Killian’s room number even though I was pretty sure that sort of thing was usually confidential—or at least, I assumed it was.
At any rate, she must have recognized me as well because, as I passed by, she waved, a bag of chips in hand. I waved back, wondering what a nice young girl was doing, working in such a place, but then again, not everyone could afford a Fremont education.
I’d been lucky enough to study hard in high school and earn a scholarship large enough to pay for most of my tuition. When my parents had died, the school had waived every cent I owed, making my junior and senior year completely free.
It was something I’d been feeling guilty for every day since.
I hadn’t come from a wealthy family, but we were by no means poor. Unfortunately, my parents hadn’t been great planners and hadn’t anticipated dying so young. They’d left me with some hefty expenses. So, while their life insurance plans had been extensive, so had some of their bills.
When the college had come to me, prepared to pay my tuition for my last two years, I couldn’t say no.
Even though I should have.
Maybe it could have paved the way for someone else’s future.
Someone like the sweet young girl working here.
As I headed into the elevator, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the mirrored, polished doors. Although I’d rushed around when I got home, too afraid that any downtime would alter my decision to go through with this crazy plan, I didn’t look too bad.
I’d taken the time to change, opting for a cute spring dress and cardigan. Jane had texted me today and suggested a trench coat and lingerie. I’d immediately rejected that idea, thinking that sounded like a move for someone way more advanced.
I was barely just beginning to dip my toes in the kiddie pool.
Baby steps.
My foot tapped nervously against the tattered carpet until the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival to the third floor.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” I said to myself, taking the first step.
Killian’s room was down the hall.
Forty-seven steps.
As the neurotic part of me walked the familiar path, silently counting down to one, I found myself at his doorstep.
I knocked before I had a chance to run away.
Part of me hoped he wasn’t there. Then, I could go home, rewarding myself with ice cream because I’d at least tried.
But there’d be no ice cream tonight.
The door cracked open. Killian’s face appeared.
Time to be brave.
Shit. Say something.
“Um, hi.” I lamely smiled up at him.
That wicked-hot grin of his fell into place, and I suddenly felt myself turning into mush.
God, I’d dreamed of that grin and practically every other sexy attribute he possessed.
“Hi,” he replied.
“Are you…alone?” I asked hesitantly.
His brows furrowed for a split second, as if he found the question perplexing. “Yes, of course. Why?”
“Just checking. Can I come in?”
He didn’t reply but instead pushed the door wide open with a single thrust.
Thrust.
Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the only use for that word tonight.
It was seriously absurd that I could write a sex scene without breaking a sweat, but the act of walking into a man’s motel room caused me to nearly go insane.
“So, what’s up?” he finally asked as I paced around for a few seconds.
I took a deep breath, deciding on the bed for a logical place to sit. Tucking my dress underneath me, I slowly lowered myself, and he joined me.
“I thought we left things a little awkward the last time we were together. I’m sorry if I sort of sprang that bit of information on you. I know it’s—”
“Shocking?” he said, taking the word right out of my mouth.
I nodded, my gaze falling to the floor. “I know; it’s weird.”
“The only reason I find it shocking, Kate, is because I truly can’t fathom why. Did someone hurt you? Are you holding out for marriage? Because, believe me, it’s not for a lack of trying. I’m sure men have been lined up for years.”
I smiled, loving his kind words.
“I didn’t really come here to talk, Killian,” I said, lifting my eyes to his.
Understanding blossomed in his gaze. “You said you wanted to take it slow.”
“I’ve been taking it slow my entire life,” I replied. “I’m ready to see what not taking it slow feels like.”
I could see the indecision written all over him—from the way he looked at me with those dark blue irises almost leaping into my soul and all the way down to his posture, as if he were holding himself back.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve never been—”
His mouth was on mine before I got a chance to finish. Red-hot and full of uncontrolled passion.
This was living.
Finally.