Page 2 of Foreplay on Words

“There is a difference between a book with a romantic plot leaning heavily toward the spicy side and writing about a prostitute.”

“Is there?” she asked, clearly amused. “Is there really?”

“I’m leaving,” I huffed as she burst into laughter and threw a pen at me. I’d dealt with a lot of bullshit stereotypes in my day and thought she had more tact than this. The quickest way to get under a romance novelist’s skin was to demean their work as something tawdry.

“Sit down. You know I’m just joking.”

“Why me?” I failed to keep the whine out of my voice as she laughed. “It’s not like pretty boy Evan needs help reeling in the chicks. I’m sure he could find a lady of the night to help him with his research.”

“He is pretty, but...” she trailed off, clenching her teeth.

“Oooh, is he gay? I mean, that’s totally cool and would explain why he’s having trouble if he doesn’t understand lady parts––”

“No!” she practically shouted at me from across the desk. “For the love of God, Chase, stop talking.”

“But how...?”

“He doesn’t get out much.”

“What does that mean?” This was starting to sound suspicious again. Even with the black and white photo, it was clear that Evan had piercing light-colored eyes framed by long dark lashes and a chiseled jawline dusted with a light layer of facial hair. If I ran into him on the street, I’d do a double-take at that face.

“He doesn’t have contractual appearances. I don’t think he really dates either,” she said casually, avoiding eye contact. She was keeping something from me.

“Is he a...” I leaned in close, making sure no one would overhear me if they walked by, and whispered to her across the desk. “Virgin?”

Isobel lost it again and slapped her hand down inadvertently pushing Evan’s book off the edge of her desk. I caught it before it hit the floor and propped it up on my lap to study his picture again.

“I don’t think he is, but maybe.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-seven,” she replied. So only a few years younger than my thirty-one. At least he wasn’t too much younger. I think I’d feel dirty consulting with him otherwise.

“There’s no way. But he’s so...”

“So...” she coaxed with a curious smile.

“Cute?” Her smile grew as my voice rose. He was more than cute; I think we both knew that, but I wasn’t going to tell her anything about the visceral reaction I had to simply seeing his picture.

“So, you’ll meet him?” she asked, glancing down at her phone on the desk.

“Why are you so desperate for this?” I was wondering how Isobel had gotten dragged into this too. I knew Evan wasn’t one of her authors, so there had to be a reason besides my acumen for romance that was drawing the both of us into this project.

“His new series is assigned to Adrian. He sent me some pages. It’s...”

Being one of Adrian’s authors was explanation enough. “The scenes are too rough?” I filled in when she didn’t finish her thoughts right away. Most men who didn’t know how to write a passionate scene used aggressive male archetypes to make it seem sexier.

As a romance novelist who’d written hundreds of drafts of sex scenes over the last ten years, it physically hurt to read male writers who forced sex scenes. Unless you were into specific kinds of dark romance, consent was sexy to the reader.

“Not exactly. More like too awkward.” She handed me a page from a manuscript. As I scanned the dialogue and the interaction between the two characters, I had difficulty believing a bestselling author had written this. It was choppy and the actions didn’t flow. I felt myself cringing more than getting turned on.

“Is he in a slump? Surely his books have had sex scenes in them before.” Suspense writers often had tumultuous affairs between characters to build up some relationships in their plots.

“Not really. He’s always written very well-researched mystery novels. The plots haven’t lent to romantic storylines.”

“None? Not even a hot scene with the protagonist nailing someone out of frustration or because they were in danger?” That seemed to be popular in more than one mystery or suspense book. When in danger, fuck a stranger.

She shook her head, and I was a little taken aback. Sex was a prerequisite in my genre, but others drew on sexual encounters too. There was a reason the phrase “sex sells” existed.

---