Page 75 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“She does, unfortunately. The lady is certifiable. Pretty sure she had a pillow made of cat hair.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Tell me about it. If I ever need a crazy-ass lady in my story I’m writing, it will be based off Gladys, becausesheis perfect book material.”
Nodding, he asked, “What kind of books do you want to write?”
Swallowing hard, I took a sip of water and said, “Um, romance novels.”
A small grin spread across his face. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”
“You were?” I asked, slightly confused.
“Yes. I think woman who can write about romance, about sex, and describe it in vivid detail are one-of-a kind, exquisite creatures. I love a woman who is comfortable with her sexuality.”
His eyes blazed right through me, lighting me up inside. Talk about flirting. Damn, he was singing to my lady parts with just his eyes.
“I try my best,” I lied, thinking about my last attempt at writing a sex scene, where I talked about pubic hairs and uneven breasts. As I’d learned from Delaney, who had zero filter when telling me when something was wrong, apparently that stuff wasn’t sexy.
“I’m not going to lie, Rosie, that makes me want you even more.” Well that’s . . . new.
“Want me?” I gulped.
I felt like I was in one of those erotic romance novels. One minute you were enjoying a fine meal and the next minute, you innocently licked your lips because they were seriously dry, but the alpha male in front of you thought you were licking your lips to show him how “pink” your tongue was, andthat’swhen things got out of control.
I was waiting for the moment where Phillip ordered me to bend over the table so he could take me from behind while slapping my ass and telling me to come on demand—something I was pretty sure I’d never be able to do. Did woman really orgasm from a man telling them to?
“What are you thinking about that has you giving me that far-off look?” he asked in a deep voice, pulling the whole alpha-male act on me . . .and damn if it wasn’t working.
“Umm, nothing?” I asked in a question.
“Were you thinking about sex with me?”
Yup, this was a romance novel. No one was that abrupt when just getting to know each other, right?Were you thinking about sex with me?I mean, I just met the man in an elevator and he was asking about sex?
“Yes.” The word fell out of my mouth before I could take it back.
Who the hell just took over my body? Sheer mortification ran through me from head to toes.
Patting his mouth dry with a napkin, he nodded, and stood while holding out his hand to me. I looked at my half-eaten soup and then to the heat in Phillip’s gaze. Well looked like I wouldn’t be finishing my meal. Like there was any choice in the matter.
Was this really happening?He led me back to our building and up the elevator, all the while, keeping his hand on my back and not saying a word. We rode past my floor and to the top floor where I knew the fancy people worked.
The doors to the elevator opened and with a hello from his secretary, he walked me past her and into a big corner office. The man was in some kind of high position, but I didn’t have much time to think about it as he locked his door and turned toward me.
“Go sit on my desk and take off your pants.”Excuse me?
He loosened his tie and took off his jacket in one smooth motion.
Umm, was he serious? Take my pants off, in broad daylight? I knew the red brick road was non-existent now but still, couldn’t he dim the sunlight? I was pretty sure the light would be harsh on my skin, casting a nasty glare on my curves.
“Rosie, don’t make me repeat myself,” he bit out, with a harsh tug on his clothes.
Holy crap. I wanted to say, “Yes, sir, Mr. Grey, sir,” and then bat my lashes like Anastasia, but decided to not role play since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it.
Concluding I was living out a scene from an erotic novel, I pushed away all my insecurities, my work obligations, took off my pants, and revealed my white panties that had a small heart on the front. Not the sexiest pair of underwear I had, but it hid the panty lines and that was all I cared about.
“Take off that child’s underwear,” he demanded while rolling up his sleeves with precision and examining me.
