“This is part of the job,” he continued, his smile bigger than mine. Of course, his entire objective was to make me appear to be something I wasn’t: a handsome bachelor eager to find his forever lady.
According to him, that’s what sold books. I hadn’t known it was such a meat market. I also wasn’t in the market for a relationship.
Carter Blackstone was my agent, a man so highly respected in the industry I continued to be reminded I was one lucky man. He was also the bearer of invisible whips and chains, items needed to drag me to a book signing. My place was behind my laptop, not schmoozing with readers. At least that’s what I continued to tell myself. “Then you do it.” I tossed the coffee, reaching into my pocket for a mint.
Maybe he’d forgotten about how much money I’d added to his bank account over the last few years.
He moved in front of me, the glare on his face favoring admonishment. “You know what? I would love to. I’d absolutely love to be in your position for one week of my life. One week of living in that lavish home nestled in the most pristine beach location in Miami. One week of wind flowing through my hair as I speed down A-1-A in my Lamborghini. One week of waltzing into any five-star restaurant without a reservation and still managing to snag the best seat in the house. And oh, yeah. One week of having one woman on my arm after another. Seven full nights of blissful, hard fucking. Woe is you.”
I glared at him. “I don’t speed down A-1-A. I don’t go out to eat very often and I certainly don’t have a woman a night.”
The chime indicated that the break was over.
We glared at each other for another full minute. Ours was often a hate-hate relationship, but he’d made me millions.
“Sit your ass down in the chair and sign the fucking books.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Sit your ass down and sign the fucking books, please or I’ll find a way to tank your new release.”
I popped the mint, chuckling as I did. “No, you won’t and do you want to know why? Because you like money as much as everyone else.”
“Bastard.”
“You bet I am.”
I slid into the seat just as the magical rope was pulled aside. As people rushed the table, I took a deep breath. Just another hour or so and I could head out. While I was thrilled at the early success of my latest release, including grabbing a number one spot on theNew York Timesbestseller’s list, my idea of celebrating wasn’t being pinned behind a table signing books until my hand cramped.
You bet I adored my readers, but this was the fifth bookstore I’d been sequestered to in three days.
However, I sat back with the same smile planted on my face and grabbed my Mont Blanc pen, raring to go.
Losing track of time when presented with two hundred people standing in front of you was an easy feat, enough that when I glanced at my watch the next time, almost two hours had passed.
With my head down, as another book was slid in front of me, I was surprised to see at least three dozen annotations throughout it. Only it wasn’tHe Will Come, but my first publication written years before. That caught my attention.
For a few seconds I was taken back in time to the reason I’d quit the FBI and started writing fiction novels in the first place.Gone Before Dawnhad been a breakout success, the thriller putting me on the map of bestsellers. The six hundred pages had also been a love-hate relationship, forcing me to face my predatory demons.
Not that I’d shucked them off permanently. They still came back from time to time, biting my ass in the middle of the night. Although with less frequency than before. There wasn’t a member of law enforcement who didn’t have that one case that never left.
When I lifted my head, call me chauvinistic, but I expected to see a man standing in front of me. The reason for my expectation was simple. For the first few books of my career, I’d yet to fully comprehend adding any romance to my books, which had sold thousands of additional copies.
Not that I’d ever give Carter credit, but he’d been right.
The stunning woman peering down at me took my breath away.
I’d experienced my share of beautiful women in my life, although lately passion had taken a backburner to deadlines and promotion. However, someone as stunning as the woman standing in front of me was impossible for any man to ignore.
Curly ebony hair framing a heart-shaped face, thick lashes skimming across her cheeks, eyes the color of the Aegean Seajust before sunset, and soft, voluptuous lips that drew and kept my attention.
“Mr. Callahan. I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you.” Even her voice kept my rapt attention. There was a sultry, deep huskiness to it, the tone allowing my creative mind to drift away from reality to several dark and filthy places.
I was at a momentary loss for words, something no one would ever accuse me of, and she seemed to sense I was having difficulty deciphering a perfect answer without making a fool of myself.
“It’s a thrill to be able to meet you.” Her slight smile was knowing, the offer bridging the silence to keep my misguided playboy reputation intact.
“And you are?” I noticed she held out her hand, rarely if ever done by readers. As soon as I accepted the gesture, an actual chemical spark occurred.
