Page 5 of Devoured By You

Taking another sip of OJ, she stared off into the distance. I didn’t interrupt, choosing instead to use the gap in conversation to study her profile. Jillian Rowe was my type of woman. Attractive, intelligent, financially self-sufficient, a delightful conversationalist.

A body made for fucking.

My groin heated. The upcoming maiden voyage of Kingcaid’s newest cruise ship—the largest in the world—had absorbed all my time recently, and sex had taken a back seat. Like most guys my age, I thought about sex at least a hundred times a day, probably more. And sitting across from a gorgeous woman who ticked all my “yes, please” boxes had kicked my libido into high gear.

“—editor wants the first three chapters, and they’re awful. Just awful.”

Fuck. I’d missed half of what she’d said. Focus, dickhead. You offered to listen. Now fucking listen.

“Why do you think they’re awful?”

She shook her head. “The characters are flat, the sentence structure is hideous, there’s no real hook to grab the reader, and there’s far too much telling rather than showing. The whole thing feels forced. And the worst of all is that I don’t know how to fix it.” She picked up the book and flicked through it, then tossed it back into her carry-on bag.

“I thought publishers only printed the paperbacks once the book was finished.”

“Oh, they do. But I always get a copy printed for myself. I’ve had the same process since I first started publishing. It helps me to see issues far easier than reading on my computer or on an e-reader. And this way, I can make notes in the margins.” She heaved another heavy sigh. “I can’t send her this crap.”

“She might be able to offer advice. Isn’t that what editors do? What’s the worst that could happen?”

She laughed bitterly. “My publishers could drop me as a client; that’s what could happen. Although, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Ever since I signed that damned contract, I haven’t been able to write for shit.” She ran a hand around the back of her neck. “Strike that. Getting dropped would be the very worst thing that could happen.”

“Why? You were successful before. You can be again.”

The minute the words spilled from my tongue, I knew I’d said the wrong thing. She pursed her lips, and her foot jiggled.

“It doesn’t work like that. If I get dropped by my publisher after one book, it’ll ruin my reputation. No one will ever take me seriously again.” She tugged on her earlobe. “I can’t expect you to understand. I bet everything you touch is successful. When was the last time you suffered from a loss of confidence, or a bout of imposter syndrome?”

“This morning.”

Her eyebrows kissed her forehead. “Really? You strike me as the kind of man who oozes self-assurance.”

“We all play the game, Tilly. Some of us play it better than others, but most people suffer from the odd hit to their confidence from time to time. It’s how you react that counts.”

“How did you react?”

“I told myself that it would pass and my day would pick up.” I ran my gaze over her, my intentions in plain sight. “And it did. Spectacularly.”

Her cheeks reddened, and she tucked her chin into her chest. Adorable.

“I wish my doubts would pass.”

“They will.”

“When?”

“Finding a pleasant distraction helps.” I waggled my eyebrows.

She laughed. “I suppose you’re applying for the job.”

“Applying? Oh, Tilly, I’ve already landed it.”

“I’m guessing your moment of self-doubt wasn’t female related.”

“Correct.”

The steward crouched beside Jill’s seat. “What can I get you for lunch, Miss Rowe?”

“Oh, I haven’t even looked.” She glanced around haplessly. “What choices do I have?”

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