Drive Me Wild. Vicki Thompson Lewis

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      She just smiled, as if watching him squirm was giving her great pleasure. She certainly didn’t dress as if she made that kind of movie. Sure, her skirt was on the short side, but it belonged to a black silk suit that looked more Glamour than Playboy. His sister subscribed to Glamour, and she’d be very impressed with the outfit Molly was wearing.

      Then again, an X-rated star wouldn’t necessarily dress the part when she wasn’t in front of the camera. Molly’s outfit didn’t tell him much except that she had good taste in clothes. Damn, he didn’t know what to think. And with a large portion of his blood draining south, he didn’t have much left to power his brain, anyway.

      Somehow he managed to follow Molly’s directions and get her to the right address. He even remembered to give her his cell-phone number so that she could call him when she was finished. Then, like an idiot, he sat and watched her go into the building. If he hadn’t been startled out of his trance by blaring horns and New York–style swearing, he might have stayed right there until she showed up again.

      Humbled by what a complete moron he’d turned into, he drove to the nearest parking garage, found a space and leaned back against the headrest with a sigh. He never should have asked her. Instead of satisfying his curiosity, she’d made herself more mysterious and fascinating than ever. His overheated brain buzzed with thoughts of Molly, sex kitten. Something told him he wouldn’t get much studying done in the next hour.

      MOLLY SAT in the red leather chair in Benjamin’s office. Her manuscript, bound by a thin rubber band, lay on the desk between them. Benjamin gazed at her from behind his thick glasses. His gray hair was carefully combed. He wasn’t smiling.

      Looking at him, Molly decided she didn’t want to talk about the manuscript. She might not ever want to talk about the manuscript. “It really feels like spring out there,” she said. “I didn’t even need a coat. Is it usually this warm in April?”

      “Not usually. Listen, I’ve read your manuscript, and I—”

      “I’ve never spent a whole summer in this area. I’m looking forward to walking on the beach, buying produce from roadside stands, getting a—”

      “Molly, I’m sorry.”

      She felt as if someone had shoveled ice cubes into her stomach. “The book, um, needs work?” She cleared her throat. “That’s okay. I can—”

      “I wish I could believe that you can fix it.”

      She stared at him. “Of course I can fix it! I’m a professional writer, so tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.” Maybe this was a nightmare and she’d wake up. She pinched her arm, but nothing changed. She was still sitting in a chair across from a very sad-looking, gray-haired agent who didn’t like her book.

      “I assume that you want this to be a hot read about a woman exploring her sexual fantasies.”

      “Well, that’s sort of what I was going for.” And Benjamin didn’t think she’d pulled it off. She swallowed. Life didn’t get much more hideous than this, having a middle-aged man tell you that when it came to sex, you just didn’t get it. Benjamin’s blue eyes looked huge and filled with sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted the New York Times bestseller list with Molly Drake in the top ten.

      “It’s not sexy,” he said, putting an unnecessary point on what had been, up to now, merely hinted at.

      She winced. But hey, what did Benjamin know, anyway? He’d been married since Nixon was president. He probably couldn’t remember what sex was like!

      Benjamin folded his hands and leaned toward her. “I don’t think writing about sex is your strong point. The cozy mysteries you’ve been writing for Dana—that’s where you need to put your energy. They don’t require any sex.”

      “I’m sick of writing cozy mysteries!”

      “Then maybe you need a break. You’ve been turning out those books for Dana faster than you should. I can have that August deadline moved, if you want me to. Dana’s established, now, so you can—”

      “That’s exactly it.” Molly hadn’t realized how much this manuscript meant to her until now, when Benjamin seemed ready to dump it in his stylish trash can. “Dana’s established. I’m not. I’m grateful for her, grateful for the money, but I want to publish something under my own name.”

      Benjamin sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re in a catch-22, then, because it can’t be anything similar to what you’re writing for her. There’s that non-compete clause in the contract.”

      Molly gestured toward the manuscript on his desk. “That’s not similar.”

      “No. But if you’d hoped to leap to another genre, I’m afraid you didn’t quite succeed.”

      Her heart was beating like a jackhammer. She wanted to believe that Benjamin didn’t know what he was talking about, but he had some clients who wrote hot books. Obviously he didn’t think she fit in with those authors. Later on she’d probably cry about this, but right now she was too busy fighting for her creative life to cry. “I’ll rewrite the love scenes.”

      “I don’t know if that will work.”

      “Of course it will. I thought they were sexy enough, but apparently I was wrong. I’ll do something about that.”

      He gazed at her for several long seconds. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll probably say it wrong, but the manuscript reads as if the author doesn’t have much experience with the concept of sexual adventure.”

      She sat in stunned silence.

      “That’s why I doubt you can fix it,” he added gently. “Again, my advice is to stick with the cozy mysteries. Let’s face it, Molly, you’re a cautious person, a basically introverted person, which many writers are. This kind of book just isn’t you. Cozy mysteries fit you perfectly.”

      Molly’s ears rang as blood rushed to her head. This was unacceptable. This was totally unacceptable. How ironic that Alec half believed that she was an X-rated video star and Benjamin saw her as introverted and sexually timid. She wasn’t sexually timid! She just…okay, maybe she was a wee bit cautious when it came to sex, but she was far from a virgin.

      She hadn’t had much experience because she hadn’t relished having her sexual exploits splashed all over the tabloids. As a result, she might have reined herself in too much. But under the right circumstances, she was certainly capable of throwing caution to the winds and grabbing life by the cojones. If that would inspire better sex scenes, she’d do it.

      “Of course, I’ll send it out if you insist,” Benjamin said. “You have the final say-so.”

      “No.” Molly stood and plucked the manuscript from his desk. The rubber band broke, and she had to grab the stack of pages with both hands to keep them from scattering all over Benjamin’s tidy office. “I’ll take what you said under advisement.”

      Benjamin stood, too. “Molly, do you know how many writers would kill to be in your shoes? Not very many people make a living at writing, you know.”

      “I do know.” She stuffed the manuscript into her shoulder bag. Once she got it home she’d treat it more carefully, like the wounded child СКАЧАТЬ