LEAD ME ON by Julie Ortolon (find a book to read TXT) 📕

another woman. No wait.” He held up his hand. “In bed with her Italian ex.”

“Ooo, you are cruel.”

“It’s an author’s job to torture his characters.”

“Okay, so which one does she kill this time?”

“Neither one.” Scott leaned forward, lowering his voice. “The lesbian lover and the Italian ex don’t know they’ve been found out.”

“Ah, so she plots revenge?”

He nodded. “She steals a famous bronze—”

“And pins the crime on them.”

“Exactly.” He toasted her.

She clicked her glass to his. “Then what?”

“She sells the bronze for a bundle and retires to a tropical island, of course.”

“Where she finds the only man who can make her happy,” Allison added. “A gorgeous cabana boy who doesn’t speak a word of English but worships her like a goddess.”

“Now that would make my sister happy.” He toasted her again. Then his face went strangely blank and he stared into space. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what?” Concern made her straighten.

“I actually came up with a story. Okay, so it was completely ludicrous and you thought of half of it, but it was something.” He burst out laughing.

“I don’t get it.” She looked at him, wondering if he’d gone a little mad. “Surely you come up with stories all the time.”

“Not lately. Oh man, you can’t imagine what it’s like to have writer’s block. At first, I just couldn’t think of a decent idea—at least not one I thought my editor would approve—but for the past several months, I haven’t even been able to come up with a bad idea. Every time I try to force my mind in that direction, my brain shuts down. Like hitting a wall. Wham! Nothing. Total blank.” He slipped a hand behind her neck and gave her mouth a hard, smacking kiss. “Thank you!”

“For what?”

His slow grin made her heart flip. “For helping me relax. Maybe Hugh was right and that’s all I needed.”

“Oh.” The word came out on a little breath of wonder. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of him. “Does that make me your muse?”

“I guess it does.” His gaze wandered over her face before dropping to her mouth. “Which means we need to renegotiate your term of one night only.”

She almost forgot to breathe as he lowered his mouth to hers. Desire flowed through her, hot and sweet, as he took her glass away, freeing her hands. She twined her arms about his neck, sliding down with him onto the cushion.

“Oh yeah ...” He kissed her cheek, her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “We definitely need to rethink the one-night-only clause.”

Her mind surfaced from the haze of pleasure long enough to realize what he was saying. And how badly she wanted it. Wanted many nights of making love with this man, of waking in his arms in the morning, of kissing him and touching him the way she was right now.

Her brother’s words echoed in the back of her mind: I’ll bet money you’re half in love with the guy already.

Panic streaked through the haze of pleasure.

“Wait.” Pressing a hand to his chest, she pulled back to stare at him as fear replaced desire. “We can’t do this.”

“Oh, yes we can.” His body moved over hers, so virile and male.

“No, really.” Her mind raced for a convincing reason to stick with their agreement. “How do you know being with me cured your writer’s block?”

“What else could it be?” He nibbled at her lips, making her heart race.

“It could be Chloe’s running away.”

“What?” He pulled back, his confusion comical.

“Think about it.” She wiggled backward to get some space between their bodies, hoping her heart would stop pounding. “You told me you started writing to escape the stress of real life. Well, having your niece run away is pretty stressful, right?”

“Oh man.” He sat up. “I hope you’re not right.”

“What does it matter, as long as you’re able to write?”

“Because if I had to pick between making love to you to get my muse back, or calling my sister so she can dump a boatload of stress in my lap, which do you think I’d choose?”

She gave him an apologetic look. “Well, I guess it could be one other thing. Maybe it’s Marguerite’s magic.”

A chill traced down Scott’s spine as if someone standing directly behind him had touched the back of his neck with a cold finger. He jerked around, but saw nothing between the settee and window. Outside, full night had fallen, with only flickers of lightning to break the blackness.

“What is it?” Allison asked, looking toward the windows, then back at him.

“Nothing. I just...” He shivered to shake off the feeling. “That was weird.”

She studied him with knowing eyes. “I’ve never told anyone this, but sometimes I think I feel Marguerite’s presence in this room. I can almost picture her standing here at the window, staring out at the cove as if waiting for Jack to come to her.”

He wanted to scoff at such a claim but remembered why he’d come back to Pearl Island. It wasn’t just to follow Hugh’s advice. He’d come to be near Marguerite. His writer’s block had gone from worrisome to total panic the day he’d learned his father had lost the house. When Diane had told him, he’d realized the block had started about the time John had put the house up as collateral. Coincidence? Probably. But the mere possibility that it wasn’t coincidence, that his success as a writer hadn’t been due to talent and hard work, but due to some old voodoo magic and a ghost trapped inside an old house, had rocked his confidence to the core.

“If you’re right, I have another problem.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“What if I have to come stay here every time I have trouble with my writing?”

“Would that be so bad?” She smiled.

If it meant keeping his hands off Allison every minute of every day, it would be like living in hell. While riding on the beach, the idea of lengthening their relationship to something like what he’d had with Kelly had