Page 28 of Devoured By You
“Oh, sure.”
She covered me with a sheet and untied me in seconds. I rubbed my wrists, tamping down the horrendous embarrassment that threatened to turn my skin redder than a day in the sun without sunscreen.
“How do you know my cousin?”
My back muscles went rigid. “Cousin?”
“Yeah, Blaize is my cousin.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Aspen Kingcaid.”
She said it as if I should immediately recognize the name. Apart from the Kingcaid bit, I’d never heard of her. At least he hadn’t organized a threesome. Although, tying me up and leaving me naked when he knew Aspen might appear at any second… I could murder him.
I might murder him the next time he dared show his face.
Despite the downright weirdness of this situation, I shook her hand. “Jill Rowe.”
She hesitated, scrutinizing me as intently as a proofreader going over the final manuscript before publication. A few seconds later, her hand flew to her face, and she made this snuffling kind of noise. Like a horse with its nose in a feed trough. I thought she might be choking. Then her hand dropped, and her eyebrows furrowed.
“J. T. Rowe? The novelist?”
I grimaced. “One and the same. Please don’t put this on social media. My career will never recover.”
She looked offended by my suggestion. “I’d never do something like that.”
“Some people would.”
“I’m not some people. Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of my fair share of trolling. I’m not likely to subject someone else to that kind of shit. I am, however, one of your biggest fans. I’ve read everything you’ve published.” She shook her head, wearing this goofy smile that was utterly endearing. “Goddammit, if I’d known you’d be here, I’d have brought a book for you to sign.”
“If you give me an address, I’ll send you a whole bunch.”
“You will?” Her smile stretched wider. “I’d love that.”
“There is one condition.”
“Name it.”
“We both pretend this”—I swung my hand between us—“never happened.”
Making a cross over her chest, she dipped her chin. “Deal.” She perched on the edge of the bed and hugged me. “I am so excited to meet you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’d kind of like to get dressed. Do you think you could grab my dress and handbag from the other room?”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” She disappeared, returning with my clothes and bag. “Here you go.”
I waited for her to leave. She stayed right where she was. I arched a brow.
“Oh, shit. Right. Sorry.” She grinned at me again. “I’m being weird. I promise I’m not this strange all the time. I’m just thrilled to meet you.”
She scuttled into the living area. I leapt out of bed and dressed in seconds. Still no sign of Blay. Or I should say Blaize, given what Aspen had said about no one calling him by that shortened moniker. Which begged the question of why he’d introduced himself to me like that. Probably all part of his seduction routine. Introduce a little mystery, and bam! Suckered into a onetime deal at thirty-five thousand feet.
Then again… he had seemed awfully pleased to see me.
“Do you want something to drink?” Aspen shouted.
I emerged from the bedroom, clutching my handbag to my stomach as if it were a shield to protect me from further crippling embarrassment. “No, thanks. I should go.”
She twirled around with a bottle of gin in one hand and a cocktail shaker in the other. “Not on my account. Please, stay. I’d love to talk about books with you. If you don’t mind, that is. Especially as you’re on vacation.”
“I’m always happy to talk about books.” Unless it’s the pile of crap I brought with me. God, how was I going to fix that bloody book? I didn’t have time to start from scratch, unless a lightning bolt of inspiration hit me and I could knock out eighty thousand words in three weeks. Which I couldn’t. I was a clean-first-draft writer, but, these days, a slow one. No, the only solution was to identify the issues—somehow—with the current novel and make it good enough to send to my editor.