Page 68 of One Bed

Gib had no doubt that Navy would keep her identity a secret and had no need to remind him to do so. Navy’s integrity ran deep and wide, and he’d never out her. Neither would Gib. But damn, he wished she would step out from behind her name and into the spotlight. She deserved to be seen, deserved to be lauded, deserved to…

Be loved.

But he couldn’t give her what she needed. She’d been let down by her father, had a witch for a mother, and while he had no doubt Golly loved her, Golly was programmed to put herself first. Bea deserved someone standing in her corner, ready to catch her when she fell, someone to bolster her when she was down, to remind her of how wonderful, sexy and lovely she was.

He couldn’t be that person. And not only because he was an emotional virgin, terrified of feeling anything at all, unable to verbalise his emotions but also because he was a busy, busy guy.

Being the CEO of Caddell International meant he spent a good part of the year in planes, and cars, bouncing between their various satellite offices all over the world. He owed it to Hugh to be the best he could be and to do that he needed to be hands-on, to be at the coal face. He couldn’t run Caddell International and also be an involved, supportive partner.

The two didn’t mix. He’d get frustrated and she’d be disappointed, he’d feel guilty, and she’d get pissed. Long-distance relationships were hard work, even when you were emotionally able to invest in one.

Bottom line, Bea deserved … well, she deservedeverything.

But he wasn’t the guy to give it to her.

ChapterFourteen

On the following Friday, Bea heard Gib walking into the cottage, and wished she’d taken him up on his offer to teach her to kayak. Anything, even testing her useless coordination and using muscles she rarely exercised, would’ve been more fun than the time she’d spent at her desk.

She’d accomplished next to nothing for most of the morning. She’d tried various plots for book ten, and none of them worked. Frustrated, she’d flipped over to brainstorming her spin-off series and every idea was either clichéd or boring as mud.

She’d spent the morning treading water, and was sinking under the weight of imposter syndrome, self-doubt and writer’s block.

And yes, she was resentful that she’d chosen to sit in front of her computer instead of spending the little time she and Gib had left with him. Her arse was numb, and she was grumpy. What a bitching waste of her time…

Gib stepped onto the deck, his grin wide. With his messy hair and heavy stubble, his shirt open and his shorts hanging low, he looked like he’d had a great time on the water. She was glad one of them had enjoyed their morning.

Waah, waah, waah…God, she was annoying herself.

Gib placed one hand on the back on her chair, the other on her desk and bent his head low to brush his mouth across hers. ‘Your morning wasn’t productive,’ he stated.

He knew her so well, already, and could read her like, well, a book. ‘Horrible,’ she admitted. ‘I made no progress at all.’

‘Maybe you need to step away,’ he suggested, placing his butt on the desk and stretching out his long legs. He was tanned, and she smiled, remembering the blond-haired boy who’d raced through the villa, did wheelies on his bike, and annoyed her.

His board shorts hung off his hips, showing off a strip of white, sun-deprived skin. She drew her finger across it, slowly. He captured her hand and held it against his semi, his eyes turning darker and warmer, a sure indication that he was turned on. Oh, and the hardening of his erection was a good clue, too.

‘Come to bed, I’ll inspire you.’

She laughed. Her morning was about to improve. She was about to stand when the notification of an incoming email flashed on her screen, one she couldn’t, or didn’t want to ignore.

‘Let me just read this quickly, it’s from my editor. It’s probs just an email saying she loved book nine and wants a few revisions. I won’t be long.’

‘Take your time,’ Gib said, but he didn’t release her right hand from the bulge in his pants. It took Bea more time than she liked to click on the email using her left hand, but she didn’t complain.

If this was an email from anyone but Merle, she’d blow it off. She skimmed through the words, but they didn’t make any sense.

Her last paragraph penetrated Bea’s confusion.

Frankly, this MS would require a massive rewrite to get it to the desired standard, and given the amount of work that would entail, I believe it might be better to move on from this WIP. I recommend setting this story aside and starting fresh, incorporating all the essential elements you need to effectively capture the essence, action and wit of your previous books.

Bea slapped her hands on either side of her laptop, turning ice cold as the words danced in front of her eyes. Was she reading Merle’s words correctly? She was demanding an entire rewrite? On the book Bea had thought was good, maybe even great?

‘Bea, what is it?’

What? How? How could she have gone so badly off track? What happened? What was so bad about this manuscript that Merle wanted her to start again?Jesus.The sense of failure, hot and acidic, crept across her soul, melting it inch by painful inch.

She’d always hated criticism, but this was more. This wasfailure, on an epic scale. Professional failure, and a dagger to her heart. Merle must think she was such an idiot, uncaring and ridiculous, or arrogant and careless. Apart from Golly, there was no one whose opinion she valued more. Her editor made her books better, took a slightly rough stone and polished it to brilliance. But apparently she’d handed Merle a piece of coal.

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