Page 1 of Wicked Fantasies

Erotic Research

It was just a little innocent research.

Romance writer Julia Martin is fine with her life, just the way it is. Her simple apartment, successful career and Thursday night pizza dates with her too-hot-for-words editor Ross are more than enough for her. At least that’s what she thinks until her cat dies.

Ross Philips has spent years lusting after his shy best friend, but fears his rather strong sexual desires will be too much for Julia. When she falls into a depression and stops writing, Ross decides she needs a change.

His suggestion? A new genre—erotica. And, of course, being such a good friend and editor, he plans to help her do some research.

For Andrew

Chapter One

“Me and my big mouth,” Julia muttered as she dragged in the third load of wood to stack beside the fireplace. The snow hadn’t stopped falling since she’d arrived and, while the cabin was certainly toasty, she didn’t relish the thought of being buried alive by snowdrifts for the entire winter. Sure, she was used to being alone, but at least at home in New York City, she had the option of personal contact if she desired it. When the walls of her tiny apartment started to close in on her, she could always hit the market or Starbucks to see other human beings.

Coming to Ross Phillips’s rustic escape, this extraordinarily luxurious cabin nestled high in the mountains of West Virginia, to start a new novel—especially at the beginning of January—had not been one of her more brilliant plans. Actually, it was Ross’s fault—this reckless venture to the wilderness. He’d goaded her into it like he did most things.

“You’re in a rut,” Ross had told her. “What you need is a change. A major change.”

Unwilling to confess to her totally hot, though thoroughly arrogant, editor that he was right, she let him convince her to escape the city in the dead of winter with relatively little fuss. The fact was she had been battling boredom with her chosen path in life. Although truth be told, when he made the suggestion for change, she thought he’d merely meant she should take a vacation.

Historical romance novelist by trade, she’d spent the last ten years of her life buried in her small apartment with her beloved cat, Duke, writing about damsels in distress, hunky lords and knights, and glorious adventures. In other words, she’d been living inside her head, creating worlds and men who could never exist in this lifetime.

Two months ago, Duke had gone on to that kitty castle in the sky and Julia’s world had fallen apart. Depression set in as she realized her best, and now only, friend was her editor—simply because a cat had died.

She hadn’t had a date in nearly three years—which was the last time Ross attempted to set her up. Ten minutes into the evening, Julia knew the blind date would end like all the others. The guy would never meet the standards she’d set in her mind for the ideal man. Feigning a migraine, she escaped the disastrous dinner before dessert only to be raked over the coals by Ross the next morning for not giving his friend a fair chance.

Even now, she could recall his frustration and anger. She could hear his voice like it was yesterday…

“What the hellis wrong with you?” he yelled into the phone. “Alex Saunders is a great guy. According to him, you didn’t give him the time of day.”

“I’m sure he is a perfectly nice man,” Julia answered, feeling guilty for not putting forth more effort. Ross was worried about her spending so much time alone; however she couldn’t help but be surprised he thought she would be attracted to Alex. “He’s just not my type.”

“Oh hell, not that again. Jules, we’ve talked about this. It’s 2015, not 1815,” Ross said, exasperation thick in his voice.

“I know what year it is, Ross.”

“Do you?” Ross asked. “Do you really?”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“That’s right, we have. And could it be because you insist on turning yourself into an old maid? Christ, Jules, you’re nearly thirty years old. It’s time to get out there. Live a little.”

“I am perfectly happy with my life the way it is and I am not nearly thirty. I’m only twenty-seven. I like my freedom and I don’t need a man. Why can’t you trust me when I say that?”

“Because it’s not normal, Jules. Living in self-imposed seclusion is not normal. When’s the last time you got laid?” Ross asked.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business. You’re my editor, Ross, not my pimp!”

“Jesus, Jules,” Ross began.

“And my name is Julia. You know I hate that nickname.”

“Jules,” Ross said calmly, ignoring her request as usual, “honey, you can’t stay locked up in that apartment writing romance novels twenty-four seven. It’s not healthy.”

“I would think you’d be delighted I’m working so hard. My last four books topped the best-seller list and I’ve won the True Heart award twice.”

“Don’t insult me, kiddo. I hope after all the years we’ve known each other, you know I consider you a friend, not a client. And as your friend, I’d prefer it if you wrote less and lived more.”

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