Page 4 of Deception & Daylight
Ivy: You forgot to charge it again, didn’t you?
Mags: Yes.
When I head downstairs for breakfast a week later, there’s a package waiting for me on the kitchen island. It’s a nondescript medium-sized box with a return address for Oak Ridge, Kentucky. What could Paige possibly be sending me? I tear into the box, finding a discreetly wrapped package with an envelope on top that says “For your clitarature.” To my surprise, it’s not from Paige at all, but Ivy.
Mags,
I did some research and found a female owned company that makes vibrators with long-lasting charges and simple low-high settings. Hope this makes the alien smut more enjoyable.
Love, Ivy
Inside is a rabbit vibrator with a g-spot stimulator in the same shade of blue as the aliens on the cover of our book of the month. I pull out my phone to call Ivy, laughing my ass off as the line clicks over. “You did not just send me a sex toy care package. Is it supposed to look like an alien dick?”
I hear a bark of laughter at the end of the line that no doubt belongs to Luca, letting me know I’m on speaker phone. “You’re welcome. And if you like that one, there’s a website on the card. Ten out of ten recommend their vibrating butt plug.”
“Ooook. I donotneed to know what you and Luca do in the privacy of your own home.”
“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”
“Noted. Thanks for this. I needed a laugh. And the hypothetical orgasms. I’ll keep you updated.” With a mug of tea and my newly acquired self-care package in hand, I head up to my bedroom.
Books & Baddies Group Chat:
Mags: Ivy, will you marry me? I have never orgasmed so fucking hard in my life.
Paige: Damn, girl. That’s like your sixth proposal.
Ivy: Fifth. We don’t count the first husband.
Ivy: And you’re welcome, Mags.
Paige: Speaking of orgasms. Did I ever tell you about that one time in my library?
Mags: Only about 100 times.
My phone rings on the nightstand, rousing me from a delicious dream far too soon. I grumble out a protest as I check the clock and realize it’s only eight o’clock. Everyone that matters knows I sleep until at least ten. Unfortunately for me, my editor is not one of those people.
I roll onto my side and swipe to accept the call, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “Hello?”
“Good morning!” Victoria is far too chipper for this damn early, and I have a lingering headache from one too many glasses of wine the night before.
“What do you want, Tori?”
“Damn, girl. You’re a bear in the morning.”
I throw back the covers and stalk to the bathroom, pinching the phone between my neck and shoulder as I pop two ibuprofens. “Bitch, you better have a good reason for waking me, or you're gonna become the villain in the next book.”
Her laughter booms through the speaker, and I wince at the twinge of pain that follows. Maybe that second glass of wine was a bad idea.
Much to my annoyance, Tori continues to speak far too loudly for my delicate state. “I’d love that, actually. I just wanted to let you know about this book signing opportunity that just came up. It’s in your neck of the woods at a little indie bookstore on Dundas.” It should excite me, but I can’t show my face as M.W. Hartley yet, so it’s irrelevant. I open my mouth to say just that when she cuts me off. “I think it's time to come out of the shadows, Mags. Your book is doing incredibly well, and people are dying to know who’s behind it.”
My shoulders slump as I lean against the vanity. “I can’t, Tor. Not yet.”
She sighs, and I hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “Think about it, hun. There’s still six months until the signing. It could be good for you.”
I agree to think it over and say my goodbyes, before sinking back underthe covers and pinching my eyes shut, hoping to continue my dream where I left off — with Miles Barlow on his knees at my feet.
Chapter 2
