room… A bump from behind almost made her snarl. Turning around to give the woman a dirty look, Jessica’s demeanor immediately relaxed. The woman who bumped her was now shaking the tall author’s hand, fawning all over him. Was it her imagination? Or did Jack Blackburn’s smile seem just a bit forced?
Positioning herself to get her chance at meeting the hunk of the room, Jessica plastered on her own smile, suddenly not sure if she wanted to destroy the illusion.
Sometimes it was best to admire beauty from afar. A sudden image of Lina Lamont in Singing in the Rain flashed in her memory and she paused. But before she could run, the woman in front of her stepped back…and right on her toes.
67
Diana Hunter
And from there? Well, the events that succeeded read like one of the romance novels they both wrote—he picked her up and carried her to a quiet room off the main ballroom, no matter that her toes were only bruised and there was no lasting damage.
They fell to conversing as he insisted upon an icepack for her foot and finally confessed to using her as an excuse to get away. He really wasn’t the crowd-type person his alter-ego writer was.
Their courtship had been covered in the papers, but thankfully, on the back pages.
While she was gaining some fame as a romance writer in her own right, Jack’s spotlight cast a very large pool of attention and Jessica had come to understand the man’s penchant for privacy. The media hounds faded away, however, once the wedding was over and the two settled into a normal life.
A humdrum life, some might say. Jessica fixed her smile in place and waited for her husband to notice her. It was a courtesy they both gave to one another—never interrupt a writer in mid-sentence. She spent the few moments watching his long fingers dance on the keyboard…her imagination drifted…and his fingers danced over her clit as she lay bound to the bed upstairs…
“How long have you been standing there?”
Jessica jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. With a guilty look, she pulled her hand away from the front of her jeans, clearing her throat before trying to speak. “Not long. I just wondered if you had any preferences for dinner.”
Jack Blackburn eyed his wife. She was undoubtedly the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. Two years ago, he had already read her book before recognizing her at the writer’s conference. Using her sore toes as an excuse to leave the room gave him a chance to get them out of sight of the ever-present paparazzi who insisted on following him everywhere. He did not miss opportunities when they presented themselves.
He had also not missed the sudden withdrawal of her hand from her crotch.
“You know me, my sweet. Whatever you feel like fixing is fine with me.”
The look she shot him would have melted iron. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Jack listened to the sound of rattling pans. What was her problem tonight? He leaned back in his chair, the steamy scene on the computer screen momentarily forgotten.
If only Jessica could be more like the women he wrote about instead of the ones she wrote about. The women in his stories generally had strong, even tough exteriors, but inside just wanted a man to dominate them. While he couched his phrases in flowery-yet-specific terms, to those who understood the D/s lifestyle, there could be no doubt about the author who wrote such strong heroes. Heroes who intuitively knew what their lover wanted and gave it to them—even when the woman was too afraid to ask for herself.
68
Writers Unblocked
But Jessica’s heroines were always strong, independent women who knew what they wanted…and got it. The relationships she detailed were ones of perfect equality where responsibilities were shared and sex was…well…where sex was vanilla.
Ordinary, plain old sex couched in terms so intense as to make her readers blush with a sudden hormonal rush.
He grinned, leaning
Positioning herself to get her chance at meeting the hunk of the room, Jessica plastered on her own smile, suddenly not sure if she wanted to destroy the illusion.
Sometimes it was best to admire beauty from afar. A sudden image of Lina Lamont in Singing in the Rain flashed in her memory and she paused. But before she could run, the woman in front of her stepped back…and right on her toes.
67
Diana Hunter
And from there? Well, the events that succeeded read like one of the romance novels they both wrote—he picked her up and carried her to a quiet room off the main ballroom, no matter that her toes were only bruised and there was no lasting damage.
They fell to conversing as he insisted upon an icepack for her foot and finally confessed to using her as an excuse to get away. He really wasn’t the crowd-type person his alter-ego writer was.
Their courtship had been covered in the papers, but thankfully, on the back pages.
While she was gaining some fame as a romance writer in her own right, Jack’s spotlight cast a very large pool of attention and Jessica had come to understand the man’s penchant for privacy. The media hounds faded away, however, once the wedding was over and the two settled into a normal life.
A humdrum life, some might say. Jessica fixed her smile in place and waited for her husband to notice her. It was a courtesy they both gave to one another—never interrupt a writer in mid-sentence. She spent the few moments watching his long fingers dance on the keyboard…her imagination drifted…and his fingers danced over her clit as she lay bound to the bed upstairs…
“How long have you been standing there?”
Jessica jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. With a guilty look, she pulled her hand away from the front of her jeans, clearing her throat before trying to speak. “Not long. I just wondered if you had any preferences for dinner.”
Jack Blackburn eyed his wife. She was undoubtedly the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. Two years ago, he had already read her book before recognizing her at the writer’s conference. Using her sore toes as an excuse to leave the room gave him a chance to get them out of sight of the ever-present paparazzi who insisted on following him everywhere. He did not miss opportunities when they presented themselves.
He had also not missed the sudden withdrawal of her hand from her crotch.
“You know me, my sweet. Whatever you feel like fixing is fine with me.”
The look she shot him would have melted iron. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Jack listened to the sound of rattling pans. What was her problem tonight? He leaned back in his chair, the steamy scene on the computer screen momentarily forgotten.
If only Jessica could be more like the women he wrote about instead of the ones she wrote about. The women in his stories generally had strong, even tough exteriors, but inside just wanted a man to dominate them. While he couched his phrases in flowery-yet-specific terms, to those who understood the D/s lifestyle, there could be no doubt about the author who wrote such strong heroes. Heroes who intuitively knew what their lover wanted and gave it to them—even when the woman was too afraid to ask for herself.
68
Writers Unblocked
But Jessica’s heroines were always strong, independent women who knew what they wanted…and got it. The relationships she detailed were ones of perfect equality where responsibilities were shared and sex was…well…where sex was vanilla.
Ordinary, plain old sex couched in terms so intense as to make her readers blush with a sudden hormonal rush.
He grinned, leaning
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