Charade

Lindy Greenleaf watched her editor's body language. The subtle shift of his shoulders and the way he laced his fingers together sent a glacier skidding through the pit of her stomach.

He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm going to be honest. Your last book tanked and corporate's on my ass about it."

"But the title's only been out for three months! Buzz, you know how long promo takes to start working."

He nodded, but his expression remained solemn. "It's your fourth book, and your name is well-known enough to boost our publicity efforts." His features softened. "The publisher's not picking up your next manuscript. I'm really sorry."

A flash of anger, then panic rushed into Lindy's chest. How could this be happening?

She fought the burning moisture behind her eyelids. "Have you even read it?"

"Yeah..." He blew out a long breath and shook his head. "I know writing young adult stuff is hard. The little buggers' crazy fads and weird language change so fast that we can barely get the books on the shelves before they're outdated."

"I can fix it."

"No, you can't, Lindy. You're too..." He pursed his lips. "Ah, mature, to be targeting this audience. How would you fix it? Hang around schools? Cruise the mall? Wear black lipstick and join the Goth crowd?" He rose. "You're a good writer, but you need to find another genre."

Lindy stared at him in silence for a moment. Everything she'd worked so hard for all those years had just disappeared down the drain like cold morning coffee. Unable to respond in any meaningful way, she fumbled her purse strap onto her arm and stood.

Affecting her haughtiest expression, she chanced a look at the senior editor of Crabbet House. His eyes reflected pity.

Lindy closed the office door behind her, taking care not to slam it, then stalked indignantly down the hall on rubbery legs. Her heart thumped beneath her ribs, and she struggled for each breath as the numbness wore off. Too old? Who the hell do they think they are? Crabbet House had made lots of money on the Lindy Greenleaf stories. She had the royalty statements to prove it. Find another genre, indeed!

The heavy revolving front door of the old building creaked as she pushed through. The midday traffic on East Capital Avenue streamed away from the government buildings on the square, and office workers clogged the sidewalks, hurrying toward lunch or a round of quick errands. Life moved on as usual, oblivious to her pain. Lindy's pulse slowed, and she turned to look up at Buzz Cooper's window on the fourth floor. Was he watching her? Or had he returned to his desk to handle more important authors?

Pain tightened her throat and she squeezed back the angry tears. She would not give up without a fight. ~~

[One week later...]

Someone bumped the armrest, snapping Lindy's attention back to the present as her gaze landed on the front of faded blue jeans. She stifled a small gasp. Brown stitching outlined the fly, dipping into creases and roaming over the mound hidden beneath. If that's relaxed, I'd like to see what it looks like when it's hard! She gulped and turned away from the tantalizing distraction.

A soft drawl drifted from above. "Excuse me, I'm in the window seat."

Lindy unbuckled her seatbelt and awkwardly struggled into the aisle, her butt brushing against the man behind the voice. He didn't move aside to let her pass, and the contact sent a flush of warmth up her neck. She concentrated on looking everywhere else as he slid into the seat next to hers.

When she'd settled into her place again, she stole a sideways glance at him. Red-hot shocks careened through her stomach and trickled toward her crotch. She quickly looked away. I'm sitting next to this for the next twelve hours?

The soft voice trespassed again. "You going to L.A.?"

How could she talk to him without looking at him? How could she keep her concentration if she did look at him?

She took a slow breath, then turned to respond, but couldn't speak. Here was a man with whom she'd happily experiment! Long ash blonde hair swept back from his face, corralled into a ponytail. Heavy eyebrows rambled across a strong forehead, shadowing deep-set eyes. And what eyes--vivid green and sparkling with interest, tiny lines crinkling away from the corners into smooth tan skin. A masculine face, but at the same time, beautiful. Sensuous mouth, nice smile. And, he looked vaguely familiar.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Mexico. First time."

His great smile widened. "Me, too. You on vacation?"

Lindy immediately felt self-conscious. What did her hair look like? Had she chewed off all her lipstick? Had her mascara migrated into a raccoon mask? She glanced down at her lap, painfully aware of her chubby thighs straining against her white gabardine slacks. She crossed her legs, which only made it worse.

"Sort of. I'm a writer. I needed a change of scenery while I work on a new book."

The eyebrows lifted. "Really? What do you write? What's your name?"

Lindy eyed him for a moment. Any chance she could get him to be her guinea pig? She'd have to think about that one.

"I write young adult novels--you know, teen stuff." She offered her hand. "I'm Lindy Greenleaf."

"Jake Breton."

The contact with his warm fingers sent prickles of delight across her skin. He held her hand longer than would be polite in most circumstances, which escalated the sensations.

She tilted her head. "What takes you to Mexico?"

"Business. My company needs some advance publicity work done."

The speaker overhead crackled and snapped, and the attendant's voice came through, painfully loud. Lindy cringed, but dutifully removed the instruction card from the seat pocket and followed along as the woman demonstrated all the safety procedures. With the instructions for crashing in water, Lindy's stomach flip-flopped. Like a seat cushion would do any good after plummeting into the sea at god-knows-how-many-miles-an-hour.

When the attendant finished her spiel, Lindy glanced at Jake. He'd tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. She allowed her gaze to drift to his lap, wondering if his equipment looked as good as his face. She stared, thinking about making the handsome stranger part of her research. Under her scrutiny, his lap began to grow into a telltale bulge. She sucked in her breath and quickly looked up at his face.

His eyes were half-open and he smiled wickedly.