Love at First Write Page 4

  “Her,” Mara said automatically.

  The stranger shrugged. “Then call her back.” She nodded down at the phone on her outstretched hand.

  Mara stared back and forth between the woman’s face and the phone for a moment longer before hastily reaching for the device. “Thank you.”

  Usually, she relied on speed dial, but there were two phone numbers she knew by heart—the pizza delivery service in her neighborhood and Hayley’s cell.

  Quickly, she typed in the number and lifted the phone to her ear.

  It rang for quite a while.

  Just when Mara thought Hayley’s voicemail would pick up, that familiar sexy voice came through the line.

  “Yes?” Hayley sounded cautious.

  “It’s me…Mara. Sorry, my battery died. Did you…um…hear what I said before the damn thing gave up the ghost?”

  “No. The last thing I heard you say was no.” For a few moments, no sound at all filtered through the phone, as if Hayley had even stopped breathing. “What else did you say?”

  Mara smiled. “Well, since you want me to write a romantic suspense, I’ll need a little more help with the book than I usually do.”

  “Of course. What kind of help do you need?” Still that cautious tone. “Brainstorming murder methods, as you said?”

  “No. I can handle those. But I might need a little help researching the romantic part of the novel.” Mara clutched the cell phone so tightly that her knuckles blanched, and the woman next to her gave her an alarmed look.

  “Oh,” Hayley said after a while. “Sure. I mean, that’s what we editors are there for, right? To help with whatever you need.”

  Mara was about to agree. It was easier to keep joking and hide behind a lighthearted tone and their familiar roles. But then she paused. Unlike her manuscripts, life couldn’t be revised afterward if you didn’t get it right the first time. And she wanted to get this right more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time. “Hayley?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not talking to the editor.”

  “I know. It wasn’t the editor who agreed to help you with the romantic part of your novel.”

  Mara stood still for a moment, then hopped up and down like a preschooler who’d just been promised a visit to the zoo. “So you’ll have coffee with me?”

  “Like I said: it’s a date.”

  A wave of giddiness swept over Mara, and now she could no longer resist teasing Hayley just the tiniest bit. “Shouldn’t it be ‘as I said’?”

  “Smartass.”

  Yes, but I’m your smartass, Mara wanted to answer, but it was a little too soon for that. If she was patient, she might be able to say it one day.

  After all, they were an award-winning writer and an experienced editor. Between them, they should be able to create the perfect happy ending.

  ###

  The Snow Liger

  Griffin Westmore hated winter with a passion. Her feline nature made her long for a romp through the forest, a light spring breeze ruffling her whiskers and sunshine warming her fur. But since she now lived on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where the only two seasons were winter is near and winter is here, she was all out of luck.

  Grumbling, she stood at the window and watched the snow fall, adding to the thick, white blanket already covering the ground. Next to her, two of the cats pressed their noses to the glass and stared in the same direction. “You hate this too, right?”

  Instead of an answer, the cats jumped down from the windowsill and trotted toward the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the support, girls.” Sighing, Griffin turned away from the window and threw herself down on the couch.

  The poor piece of furniture creaked and groaned under her weight, and Griffin sent a quick prayer to the Great Hunter, hoping it wouldn’t collapse under her. Sometimes, she forgot that human furniture wasn’t built to accommodate a 400-pound liger shifter. When the couch survived, she arched her back in a lazy stretch and stared up at the ceiling.

  Last winter, her first in Michigan, hadn’t been so bad. She had snuggled up to her human mate in their den and only gotten up to raid the fridge every now and then. But this year, Jorie didn’t have time to hole up in bed with her. First, she had tried to write 50,000 words in November for this crazy thing called NaNoWriMo, and now she was working on a short story for a Valentine’s anthology.

  Griffin was Jorie’s biggest fan and supported her writing in every way she could, but her feline ego couldn’t help feeling a little neglected. She’d already finished her duties as a saru commander for the day, and there were only so many naps a cat could take. Just as she contemplated getting up to make dinner, the door opened and Jorie emerged from her writing cave.

  Griffin immediately sat up. Agatha and Emmy rushed over from the kitchen and wound themselves around Jorie’s ankles; even Will appeared from somewhere and lolloped over to Jorie on his three legs. All of them meowed plaintively, as if Griffin hadn’t fed them all day.

  Snarling at the cats, Griffin strode over and pulled Jorie into her arms. “Mine. Go away.”

  Jorie laid her cheek on the hollow below Griffin’s collarbone, wrapped one arm around her, and reached up with the other hand to run her fingers through Griffin’s hair, making her purr.

  Griffin kneaded against Jorie’s back and lifted her upper lip to let Jorie’s coconut-and-spring-grass scent brush over the roof of her mouth.

  After a few moments of pure feline heaven, Jorie pulled back and looked up at her. “You okay? Lately, you look a lot like Grumpy Cat.”

  “You’re watching too many YouTube videos,” Griffin grumbled.

  Jorie winked at her. “It’s called doing research when you’re a writer. I need your help with that, by the way.”

  “Watching YouTube videos?”

  “Doing research.”

  “Oh, no problem. I’m always willing to help with that.” Eagerly, Griffin started to unbutton her shirt.

  Transfixed, Jorie watched the path of her fingers downward. When the shirt was half open, she shook herself out of her daze. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  Griffin’s fingers paused on the next button. “I thought you wanted me to shift shape so you can measure my liger form for a description of your main character?”

  Her gaze lingering on Griffin’s chest, Jorie shook her head. “Oh, no. Remember what happened the last time you helped me research like that?” She formed quotation marks with her fingers.

  A purr rumbled up Griffin’s chest. Oh, yeah. She remembered it well. They hadn’t gotten around to Griffin shifting shape and Jorie measuring her, and no more writing had gotten done that day.

  “Stop grinning like the cat that got the canary,” Jorie said but didn’t sound as if she really minded.

  Griffin’s purr became even louder, and her grin broadened. “I’m grinning like the cat that got the writer.”

  Jorie lightly slapped her on one broad shoulder.

  Griffin snarled, but it sounded more like a purr than a threat. “Careful, human.”

  “Or what?” Jorie stepped closer and pulled Griffin down until they were nearly nose to nose. Her dark eyes glittered, challenging, teasing, promising.

  “Or…” Nothing came to mind. Words were Jorie’s area of expertise, not hers. Griffin was a woman of action—so she acted. She pulled Jorie against her body and kissed her, nibbling on Jorie’s full bottom lip and teasing the corner of her mouth with her tongue until Jorie willingly opened.

  Jorie moaned into the kiss, making Griffin’s head spin.

  They were both breathless when they pulled back and looked at each other, heat sizzling between them. Finally, Jorie wrenched her gaze away and pulled out of Griffin’s heated embrace. “Research first. Bonding time later,” she said, her voice husky. “And I think you’ll want to stay dressed for the kind of research I have in mind.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the fun kind of research. What exactly are you trying to find out?”

  Jorie sh
ook her head. “I’m not telling you.”

  Griffin blinked. “Why not?”

  “Because I know how competitive you are. My beta reader says the scene I wrote isn’t working for a very specific reason, and if I tell you what it is, you’ll immediately set out to prove her wrong.”

  Griffin furrowed her brow in a feline pout. “I’m not compe—”

  “Yes, you are.” Jorie pulled her down, kissed her again, and then quickly stepped back before Griffin could take charge of the kiss. “But I love you just the way you are. And if it’s any consolation, I can tell you that there’ll be a reward.”

  “Reward?” If she had been in her cat form, Griffin’s ears would have perked up. “Oooh! What is it?”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

  “Not this cat. So?”

  Jorie shook her head. “Nope. I’m not telling you. You’ll just have to wait and see.” She walked across the living room and called over her shoulder, “Come on. Put your boots and your coat on.”

  Griffin, who had started following her, stopped as if she had run into an invisible wall. “You want to do research outside? But it’s snowing!”

  “It’s beautiful,” Jorie said.

  “It’s cold.”

  “It’s romantic.”

  “It’s cold.”

  Jorie sighed. “Why did I have to marry a weather wimp?” She took Griffin’s hand and tried to pull her toward the door, but she was no match for Griffin’s superior Wrasa strength. Finally, she gave up. “Okay, how about this? I’ll tell you what the reward is if you promise to come outside with me for ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes in the cold, snow soaking her pant legs… Griffin shook herself. But finally, her feline curiosity won out. “You’ve got a deal.”

  They shook on it.

  “So?” Griffin asked eagerly. “What’s the reward?”

  “You won’t have to cook tonight,” Jorie said. “I’ll take care of dinner.”

  A burning sensation flared along Griffin’s skin as panic rose, increasing her need to shift so she could flee or fight the threat. But there was no escape from Jorie’s infamously bad cooking. “You mean you’ll cook?” Her voice squeaked like that of a cub not yet old enough to shift.

  “Hey, don’t sound so panicked. I’ll cook Wrasa-style.”

  “Which means?”

  “Just throw twenty pounds of raw steak onto the table and get out of the way,” Jorie said. “Even I can follow that simple recipe.”

  Griffin’s forearms stopped itching, and she licked her lips. “Sounds good.” She quickly put on her boots, scarf, and coat. A blast of cold hit her as Jorie opened the door. Shivering, she followed Jorie outside. Snowflakes fell on her hair, melting and wetting her scalp. She let out a snarl. “Now what?” The faster they finished this research, the sooner she could go back inside, where it was warm and cozy.

  “Lie down,” Jorie said.

  Normally, Griffin never hesitated when Jorie wanted her to get horizontal, but now she just stared at her. “You want me to…?”

  “Lie down in the snow.” Jorie indicated a pile of snow in their front yard.

  “B-but… I’m a liger, not a snow leopard.”

  “Come on. It’s just snow. It won’t hurt the big, bad liger; I promise.”

  Gingerly, Griffin eased her six-foot-two frame down into the icy stuff. “There. Can I get back up now?”

  “No. Just a few more seconds. There’s something I need to do first.” Jorie went down on one knee and then lowered herself on top of Griffin’s body. Without saying another word, she unbuttoned Griffin’s coat so she could cover her neck with heated kisses, teasing licks, and arousing nips.

  Griffin instantly forgot the cold seeping through her coat and the snow sliding into her collar. She clutched Jorie’s back, pulling her closer, as Jorie nibbled on the sensitive spot just below one ear. “Oh, Great Hunter!”

  She was just beginning to think that maybe winter wasn’t so bad after all when ice-cold fingers crept into her shirt and touched her bare breast.

  Griffin shrieked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She jumped up and shook herself to get rid of the snow before tugging her coat closed and pulling Jorie back into her arms.

  “Dammit,” Jorie mumbled against Griffin’s chest. “I hate it when my beta reader is right.”

  “R-right h-how?” Griffin asked through chattering teeth.

  “My main characters have a romantic picnic in the snow and then the human seduces her liger mate. Ally said it’s unrealistic that they’d do that outside, in the cold. She said the scene just isn’t working.” Jorie sighed and gazed at Griffin with a frustrated expression.

  “Well,” Griffin said, now able to speak normally again, “it was definitely working for me…until you put your freezing hand under my shirt.” She leaned down and kissed Jorie softly. “Hey, don’t look so glum. You always say writing is rewriting, right? I could help you come up with a more realistic scenario.”

  Jorie tilted her head. “Such as?”

  “Well, the liger mate could pick up her human,” Griffin said and did exactly that, cradling Jorie gently.

  Jorie pressed her lips to Griffin’s neck. “Mmm. I like your plot so far. What happens then?”

  “The liger carries her mate inside, to their bed, where the human helps the liger warm up.”

  Jorie opened the door so that Griffin could carry her inside. “Sounds promising. But just to make sure the scene is realistic, let’s act it out.”

  “Oh, the sacrifices we poor writers’ mates have to make…”

  Jorie clutched the doorframe, stopping Griffin just as she wanted to enter the house with her precious cargo. “Seriously, Griffin, I know you make sacrifices for me. Living here, keeping yourself occupied while I write… I know it’s not always easy for you.”

  Griffin didn’t try to deny it. Jorie knew her too well. “It isn’t,” she said. “But it’s worth it. I love you, and I have no regrets.”

  Letting go of the doorframe, Jorie threw both arms around her and kissed her. Even Griffin’s strong arms felt a little weak by the time the kiss ended. “I love you too,” Jorie whispered. “As soon as I finish this story, let’s go on vacation. Just you and me, no laptop.”

  “On one condition,” Griffin said.

  “Which is?”

  “I get to choose where we’re going.”

  Jorie laughed. “Why do I have the feeling we’ll fly to the Bahamas?”

  “Must be because you’re a dream seer.” Griffin winked at her and kissed her again before carrying her inside. She kicked the door closed behind them, leaving the cold and the snow behind.

  ###

  If you enjoyed this short story, you might want to check out Jae’s paranormal romance Second Nature, in which Griffin and Jorie met and fell in love.

  Blind Date at the Booklover’s Lair

  When the doorbell rang, Tricia was in the middle of a hot make-out session.

  Admittedly, it was a fictional make-out session, but a hot one nonetheless. Grumbling, she saved what she had written that afternoon and lifted Jasmine—her twenty-pound Maine Coon mix—off her lap.

  The cat let out a hiss of protest, but Tricia ignored it as she went to open the door.

  Her best friend stood in the doorway and regarded her with a scowl. “I knew it,” Chi Lo said instead of a greeting.

  “Um, knew what?”

  “That you’d still be in your sweatpants and that ratty T-shirt.”

  Tricia smoothed her palm over her I’m a romance writer, what’s your superpower? T-shirt. “So what? It’s my work uniform.”

  “Lesbians might like chicks in uniforms, but not this kind.” Chi Lo poked her finger through a hole in the sleeve of Tricia’s T-shirt.

  Tricia squirmed away and shrugged. “Well, except for me, there are no lesbians in my living room.”

  “And that’s exactly why I’m here.” Chi Lo pushed past her into the ho
use and nearly stumbled over Jasmine on her way to the living room. She made a beeline to the recliner, Tricia’s favorite writing spot, and shut the lid of the laptop with a resounding click.

  “Hey! I wasn’t done with that scene!”

  “Yes, you are. If you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late for your date.”

  “Date?” Tricia echoed. She might have her head in the clouds sometimes, but she would have known if she had a date.

  Chi Lo pulled one of the thick dictionaries off Tricia’s bookshelf and pretended to look it up. “Date: a meeting of two people who have a romantic interest in each other.”

  “Thanks a lot. I know what a date is.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Chi Lo mumbled. She got comfortable in the recliner, and Jasmine, the traitor, hopped up on her lap. “You haven’t been on a date since you and Liv broke up, and that was over a year ago.”

  Tricia gritted her teeth at the mention of her ex. “I went on a date last month, and you know how it ended.”

  “So she wasn’t a big reader. Oh, the horror of it all.”

  Tricia dropped down onto the couch and threw a pillow at her, which Chi Lo promptly lopped back.

  “Not a big reader?” Tricia repeated. “She hadn’t picked up a book since high school. Hell, she thought J.K. Rowling was a horror writer—a male horror writer! I think she confused her with Stephen King or something.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe she had other qualities…which you would have discovered if you had gone on a second date with her.”

  “Oh, you mean the ability to send text messages and play Candy Crush during dinner? I didn’t need a second date to discover that skill.”

  Chi Lo held out her hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Maybe she wasn’t the right woman for you. But now it’s time to try again and give someone else a chance.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says your wise best friend. You can’t keep hiding in your fictional worlds. There are real women out there, you know?” Chi Lo pointed at the driveway as if those women were lining up there.

  “Yeah, but unlike the women out there, my fictional women never cheat, are never hung up on their exes, and they never have the emotional maturity of a toddler.”