books that Daddy doesn't approve of."
"Isn't it my turn for questions?" Paris asked, wishing she were bold enough to suggest they just skip to the kissing part
Thankfully, kissing wasn't sex, at least as long as they didn't get carried away. Which meant kissing was within the random boundaries she'd drawn within her plan, a loophole she'd quite happily exploit.
"Humor me."
Paris knew the big picture eluded her, but the alcohol was making her thoughts mushy. Why was he asking these questions? What didn't he want her to know? Before she could figure out how to challenge him, Alexander jumped in with another query.
"So why doesn't Brandon know? He seems like a nice guy."
"He is a nice guy. Same reason, I guess. I didn't think I could tell him at first, and now it's too late. Besides, I kind of like getting his unfiltered reaction to my work."
Kissing, she thought, trying to throw psychic energy his way. Forget Brandon and concentrate on kissing. She focused on his forehead and tried out Rachel's most seductive smile.
"Why didn't you just tell him at the beginning?"
So much for her psychic abilities. "If you knew Brandon , you'd understand. He started his career at Desperado. The most prominent thing in his office was a poster of six women wearing bikinis made out of the flag and toting rifles. It was on the wall next to his safari trophies."
She watched his face to make sure he had the scene firmly in mind. "Now picture me. Early-twenties, size six, frequently described by my friends as perky. I was afraid if he knew I wrote it, he'd ooze so much testosterone that the book would lose what little literary merit I'd managed to cram into the hundred and fifty thousand words."
"How'd you keep it a secret? What about royalty checks?"
She twirled her straw around the edge of the glass. That had been the tricky part. "Well, you could say my dad helped with that." His brow furrowed. "Law school, I mean. Just one afternoon of paperwork, and suddenly the Montgomery L. Alexander Literary Corporation was born. The company actually owns the copyrights to all of the books. And it has a tax identification number, so there's no problem with the IRS."
Alexander leaned back, nodding approval. "Very clever."
"Thanks." Now can we move on to other topics? Perhaps, say, kissing?
"But Brandon never asked?"
Paris took a long swallow of the drink. Obviously he was stuck in the getting-to-know-you phase while she was itching to start rounding bases. "Sure he did. I told him about Alexander being the private type, and that was that. Eventually he quit asking."
"You must have liked him, though. You're at another publisher, and he's still your editor."
"Same publisher, actually. Cobalt Blue's a recent spin-off of Desperado. Ellis Chapman thought the classy name would help with marketing," said Paris . "But you're right. Brandon 's swell. He's a fabulous editor. And we've become good friends, too." She felt a blush creep to her cheeks. "At least, as much as we can be considering I lie to him pretty much every day."
Paris fell back against the plush upholstery, intending to nip in the bud his fascination with the fine art of conversation. "Listen to me babble. This drink on top of champagne. Wow." She drew the straw up to her mouth and licked off every drop of liquid, enjoying the reaction she saw in his eyes.
She didn't really doubt he wanted her. Throughout the entire evening, his touch, his look, his voice had all told her so. He wanted her and she wanted him.
But she wasn't going to have him. She was going to hold tight to her resolve. It was just chemistry between them, anyway. Nothing magic, nothing earth-shattering. She would allow herself a kiss, maybe even two or three, just so she'd have the memory. So she could satisfy the part of her that longed to be swept up and away, the part that wanted to lose herself if only for a moment.
She'd lose herself in his kisses. Those kisses, she told herself— his kisses —would be
"Isn't it my turn for questions?" Paris asked, wishing she were bold enough to suggest they just skip to the kissing part
Thankfully, kissing wasn't sex, at least as long as they didn't get carried away. Which meant kissing was within the random boundaries she'd drawn within her plan, a loophole she'd quite happily exploit.
"Humor me."
Paris knew the big picture eluded her, but the alcohol was making her thoughts mushy. Why was he asking these questions? What didn't he want her to know? Before she could figure out how to challenge him, Alexander jumped in with another query.
"So why doesn't Brandon know? He seems like a nice guy."
"He is a nice guy. Same reason, I guess. I didn't think I could tell him at first, and now it's too late. Besides, I kind of like getting his unfiltered reaction to my work."
Kissing, she thought, trying to throw psychic energy his way. Forget Brandon and concentrate on kissing. She focused on his forehead and tried out Rachel's most seductive smile.
"Why didn't you just tell him at the beginning?"
So much for her psychic abilities. "If you knew Brandon , you'd understand. He started his career at Desperado. The most prominent thing in his office was a poster of six women wearing bikinis made out of the flag and toting rifles. It was on the wall next to his safari trophies."
She watched his face to make sure he had the scene firmly in mind. "Now picture me. Early-twenties, size six, frequently described by my friends as perky. I was afraid if he knew I wrote it, he'd ooze so much testosterone that the book would lose what little literary merit I'd managed to cram into the hundred and fifty thousand words."
"How'd you keep it a secret? What about royalty checks?"
She twirled her straw around the edge of the glass. That had been the tricky part. "Well, you could say my dad helped with that." His brow furrowed. "Law school, I mean. Just one afternoon of paperwork, and suddenly the Montgomery L. Alexander Literary Corporation was born. The company actually owns the copyrights to all of the books. And it has a tax identification number, so there's no problem with the IRS."
Alexander leaned back, nodding approval. "Very clever."
"Thanks." Now can we move on to other topics? Perhaps, say, kissing?
"But Brandon never asked?"
Paris took a long swallow of the drink. Obviously he was stuck in the getting-to-know-you phase while she was itching to start rounding bases. "Sure he did. I told him about Alexander being the private type, and that was that. Eventually he quit asking."
"You must have liked him, though. You're at another publisher, and he's still your editor."
"Same publisher, actually. Cobalt Blue's a recent spin-off of Desperado. Ellis Chapman thought the classy name would help with marketing," said Paris . "But you're right. Brandon 's swell. He's a fabulous editor. And we've become good friends, too." She felt a blush creep to her cheeks. "At least, as much as we can be considering I lie to him pretty much every day."
Paris fell back against the plush upholstery, intending to nip in the bud his fascination with the fine art of conversation. "Listen to me babble. This drink on top of champagne. Wow." She drew the straw up to her mouth and licked off every drop of liquid, enjoying the reaction she saw in his eyes.
She didn't really doubt he wanted her. Throughout the entire evening, his touch, his look, his voice had all told her so. He wanted her and she wanted him.
But she wasn't going to have him. She was going to hold tight to her resolve. It was just chemistry between them, anyway. Nothing magic, nothing earth-shattering. She would allow herself a kiss, maybe even two or three, just so she'd have the memory. So she could satisfy the part of her that longed to be swept up and away, the part that wanted to lose herself if only for a moment.
She'd lose herself in his kisses. Those kisses, she told herself— his kisses —would be
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