He runs his fingers up the smooth skin of my thigh, slipping them under the silky fabric of my short skirt. A moan escapes my lips as his deft fingertips sweep over my wet—

“Mr. Winchester?”

I blink and look up, feeling disoriented. I’ve been reading Scarlett Levine’s book for the last hour. It’s good. Good enough to make me temporarily forget why I don’t read romance. Though the case of blue balls it’s giving me is a good fucking reminder.

“Yeah, uh, yes?” I clear my throat, almost feeling like I was caught in the act. I’m fucking worked up from the erotic words I just read.

“Ms. Ventimiglia is here to see you,” my assistant tells me. “She’s in the lobby.”

Suddenly, I’m flustered. Scarlett is Diana Ventimiglia. And her words turn me on. Enough to need to jerk off in the shower after reading them last night. Enough to give me a semi right now. Fuck.

“I’ll be right out.”

“I’ll let her know.” Erica leaves the door open and goes back to her desk. I take a breath and shut my eyes, pulling myself out of the story. I adjust my pants and take my time going into the lobby to find Diana.

The editing switch happened so fast I didn’t have a chance to get myself fully up to speed like I usually do with the authors I work with. I don’t know much about Diana and don’t even know what she looks like. Her quick response and ability to fly out to New York the next day took me by surprise. I expected her to take a while to get back to me, and need at least a day or two to make arrangements. Though I won’t chastise anyone for eagerness to get to work. It’s a trait I admire. And I want to get started on this right away to prove Caitlin wrong.

She’s making me take on this book because she thinks I can’t handle it.

I make my way to the lobby, eyes darting around from person to person, trying to pick out Diana before she recognizes me. If she recognizes me. An older woman with gray hair smiles at me. Is that Diana? I didn’t expect someone older than my mother to be the voice behind her words, but maybe it’s a good thing. Reading this book is making me hot enough, I don’t need a physical distraction as well.

“Ms. Ventimiglia?” I say and she turns around. Dark brown hair cascades over her shoulder, slipping behind her back as she moves. Big green eyes meet mine, and full lips covered in red gloss pull into a smile. Long black lashes come together as she blinks and steps forward.

She’s wearing a floral patterned dress that’s tight in all the right places, showcasing large breasts and a slim waist. The fabric sweeps over an ample ass and my dick jumps at the thought of grabbing onto that ass and giving it a good squeeze as I thrust inside her tight, wet pussy. The dress ends mid-thigh showing off long, lean legs that I want to wrap around me as I’m fucking her.

Shit. No. I can’t think about her like that. I haven’t thought about anyone like that in a fucking long time. Why her? Why now? It has to be from her book. And the fact that she’s easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt.

“Hi,” Diana says and holds out a hand. The other is clutching a black leather bag. “You must be Mr. Winchester.”

I take her hand and her skin is velvet smooth. Warm. Soft. Her handshake is firm, and her fingers sweep across my flesh. I move her hand up and down in mine and hesitate. For the life of me, I can’t let go or look away from her eyes. I’ve just met her and I already want more.

I’m totally fucked.

“Cole,” I say and my voice catches in my throat. “You can call me Cole.”

“Okay. And I’m Diana, but everyone calls me Ana.”

I’m still holding her hand. I let go and instantly want to feel her touch again. She slowly lets her hand fall to her side. “Ana it is.”

“Unless I’m supposed to go by Scarlett here?”

I chuckle. “Only if you want to. Some of our authors do prefer to be called their pen names.”

“It’s still a little weird having a pen name,” she admits with a smile, pushing her hair back. It’s thick and has a slight wave to it.

“I always imagined it would be.” I smile back and realize we’re just standing here in the lobby. We move into my office and I’m suddenly unsure if I should close the door. I usually do. The office space can get loud and distracting. I always close the door and think nothing of it. So why the fuck does this feel more like a personal meeting than a work-related one?

I shut it and go around my desk, taking a seat. Ana sits across from me, inspecting her surroundings. With the desk between us, I regain my composure. I launch into a professional speech, apologizing for the switch and reassuring Ana that everything will be handled as smoothly as possible. We go over everything she and Lexi had worked on, and I pull up the marketing plan and lay it out on the desk.

Ana leans forward, hair falling in her face and breast peeking out from the top of her dress. I don’t mean to look but fuck, I can’t help it. And now I can’t help wondering how they feel. I move my eyes back to Ana’s face. She’s biting her lip as she silently reads over the marketing plan.

Her main character bites her lip as she reads. I wonder what other similarities they share.

No.

No, I don’t wonder. I can’t wonder. Because it doesn’t matter. Diana is my author, and I’m the editor in charge of her novel.

“Do you have any questions?” I ask, leaning back in my oversized leather chair.

“Nothing specific,” she replies. “You explained everything really well. Now I’m just wondering what exactly you want from me.”

I do know exactly what I want from her, and exactly what I’d do to her. “In terms of…?”

“How this works.” She shakes her head. “Do I send you chapters at a time or just wait until the book is finished? To be totally honest, I feel a little underqualified to have a publisher.”

“That’s very normal for first-time authors,” I tell her and hope to ease her nerves. “I don’t normally read romance, but your book is very good.”

“It’s good…for a romance, you mean?” She cocks an eyebrow and drills her eyes into mine.

I’m taken aback by her bluntness. “No. I mean it’s good. For a book.”

“Good. Because I know the stigma romance has in the industry.”

“I’m aware of it too.” I smooth out my tie, not sure if I love or hate how direct she is. “And I don’t understand it. Romance is our biggest seller.”

Her eyes meet mine. “Then, why don’t you read it?”

I could come clean and tell the truth, which is what I want to do. For some reason, I want to bare it all to this woman who I’ve only known for minutes. Her words spoke to me, and the sensual and poetic way she wove her story together makes me feel like we’re old friends.

It’s batshit crazy. I’ve read thousands of books I can relate to, and I never felt this sort of connection to the author.

“I like science-fiction and fantasy. Being able to put myself in a whole other world offers a very appealing escape from reality.”

“That’s what I like about it too.” The harshness in her eyes is gone, replaced with a kind of wonderment that talking about books can bring. “What’s your favorite book?”

“Don’t judge me for this,” I say with a half-smile. “Because I know how cliché it’s going to sound.”

“Harry Potter?”

I laugh. “Yes.”

“Mine too. And it’s a billion other peoples’ favorite book.”

“For good reason! The Hobbit is a close contender though. It was one of the first books I read that stayed with me. I read it a dozen times as a kid, and from there I devoured everything I could in that genre. It was because of that book I knew I wanted to work in publishing somehow. Being paid to read seemed like a dream come true when I was a child.”

Ana laughs and we spend the next twenty minutes talking about books and before I know it, my next appointment is here and Ana and I haven’t talked about the editing process yet.

“What are you doing tonight?” I blurt before I have a chance to think about it. We’re walking out of my office.

Ana stops at the door and turns around. Her lips are slightly parted and there’s a bit of color to her cheeks. “Nothing, really. I was going to sightsee, as lame as that sounds. I’m from a small town in Kentucky. Being here is kind of a big deal.” She scrunches up her nose, laughing at herself. She’s fucking adorable.

“If you like, we can continue this over dinner. I know a few good places to eat with must-see views for anyone visiting New York for the first time.”

Ana smiles and moves her head up and down. “I’m suddenly feeling like a real author. Having a fancy dinner in the city with my editor.”

“You are a real author,” I say with a chuckle. “I can pick you up at the hotel. Is eight a good time?”

“Yeah. It’s a date.”

“Great. See you tonight.” I smile as I walk her out, not noticing how her breasts bounce with each step. But there’s something about what she said that’s bugging me.

It’s a date.

I know it’s a phrase, a meaningless phrase. It’s not that she said it that bugs me. It’s that I want it to be one.