The Write Stuff
Tiffany King
www.authortiffanyjking.blogspot.com
Edited by Hollie Westring
All rights reserved. Published by A.T. Publishing LLC
Copyright © 2014 by Tiffany King
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
The Write Stuff
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About Tiffany King
Where to connect with Author Tiffany
Chapter One
His breath fanned across my face as he effortlessly swept me off my feet. The sensible part of my brain chastised me, calling me a fool. I should have pounded my fists against his hard, tanned, chiseled chest, and demanded that he set me down. He looked at me. His mocking eyes danced with a combination of amusement and suppressed desire. It was as if he could peer into my mind, extracting every sinful thought. I wanted him as badly as a dying man craved one last breath of air, and he knew it. There was no way to deny it when my body so openly betrayed me. My chest heaved with anticipation as his eyes moved to my full breasts that barely peeked out of the thin silk dress I wore. His eyes darkened with yearning, giving me a small measure of satisfaction. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
"I'm going to make you mine," he murmured huskily, lowering his mouth. "You're going to be screaming my name by the time the night is over." His lips were inches away. The expectancy left my own mouth panting with need.
He stopped just shy of my lips, waiting. I knew he wanted me to beg for it. I would not give in to his silent demands. If he was going to take me, the decision would be all his.
His arms tightened around me as he took in my silence. He knew my stubbornness well. It was what had kept us apart all this time. "Ask me to kiss you," he demanded, lowering me to the bed.
I shook my head resentfully. I don't know why I fought him so hard. My entire body screamed, demanding that I surrender to what it had been wanting for longer than I could remember.
"Kassie," he crooned, playing on my weakness for his deep, sultry voice. He shifted, angling his body so he was lying between my quivering legs. "Say it."
I could feel him, hard as stone, pressed against me. I gritted my teeth, trying to remain strong as I fought the urge to grind my hips against him. Using every tool in his arsenal, his hands slithered along my side, grazing my ribs before tickling the sides of my breasts.
"Kassie," he growled, reacting to my gasping breath as he pressed against me.
I shook my head. I would not give in to his demands. He began rocking his hips. My starving body mutinied, matching his movements in search of something to quench its thirst. Our bodies danced, filling my head with the newest song by A Great Big World.
Wait—what? A Great Big World? That's not right. I jerked my eyes from my computer screen, surprised to find my vision slightly blurred. Sunlight streamed through the blinds that I had forgotten to close the night before. I shook my head to clear some of the cobwebs muddling my brain. The last time I remembered looking up, it had been pitch black outside. I had been writing all night. The music that had grabbed my attention continued to wail from somewhere in the chair I was sitting in. Rubbing a hand across my eyes, I groped for my phone, which had slid down the arm of the oversized recliner and nestled between the cushions. Happy to see the call was from my best friend, Olivia, I slid my finger across the screen before croaking out a greeting from my dry-as-the-desert throat. Judging by the empty cup sitting on the small table adjacent to the chair, it had been some time since I had last drunk anything. I had a habit of neglecting all my basic needs whenever I became engulfed in writing. Case in point, my bladder that was suddenly demanding my attention. It was a creepy thought, but if my bladder could talk, it would try making a case for me to at least wear Depends or something. Considering this wasn't my first novel, you'd think my body would be used to the routine by now.
"Nicole?" Olivia asked, sounding concerned.
I cleared my throat to find a voice that sounded more human, but my second attempt at talking wasn't much better. "Yes."
"Are you sick?"
"No," I answered, grabbing a can of diet soda from the table next to my chair. I shook it to find the can about half empty and took a swig. Yuck. Flat diet soda absolutely sucked donkey nuts. I grimaced as the vile liquid slid down my dry throat. At the very least, it served its purpose to wet my whistle so I could talk without sounding like a toad.
"Are you sure? The way you sound, I feel like I should be ordering a casket. May I suggest something in taupe? That way your pasty-ass complexion won't stand out so much."
"Nice to talk to you too, whore. Just an FYI, corpses are all pale. Even your tan ass will be pasty when you kick the bucket."
Olivia snorted with laughter through the phone and I couldn't help smiling. I'm sure an outsider listening to one of our conversations would seriously question our friendship. Words like whore and slutbag were regular terms of endearment for us. Nestling my cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I clicked save on my laptop before setting it aside. I hated taking a break when I was in the zone, but my bladder was done being ignored. I stood up, groaning like my grandpa during Thanksgiving at the way my body popped and creaked. Every single muscle in my legs and back was stiff and tight. Considering I was only twenty-two years old, it was nothing to brag about. "Hey, Liv, can I call you back? I have to pee something fierce and my stomach is threatening mutiny if I don't throw some sustenance in it."
"No, wait! I was calling for a reason. I need you. Like now." Her tone was as dramatic as she could make it.
Rolling my eyes, I danced outside the bathroom, trying my best not to wet my pants. "Liv, I'll call you back. I promise." My attempt to reassure her was sincere, but the toilet was taunting me like a prized throne.
"No, you won't. I know you too well to fall for that line. You'll go pee, fix something to eat and then totally get wrapped back up in your book. I'm not hanging up until you agree to come help me."
"Come help you?" I grimaced, catching my reflection in the mirror. To call it bad would have been an understatement. If it were Halloween, I could have terrified every kid that came to my door. My hair stuck out in several directions from what appeared to be a haphazard attempt at a bun
on top of my head. I remembered becoming aggravated around two a.m. after my hair kept falling in my face, obstructing my view of the computer screen. Somehow between then and now it had turned into a condemned bird's nest. My stretched-out T-shirt gracefully showcased a chocolate stain from when I became a little overzealous with a Hershey's syrup bottle. I'd unwittingly allowed my chocolate supply to run out, and desperate times called for desperate measures. The worst part was my yoga pants, which made my hair and T-shirt almost seem classy. Most of my thigh area was covered in orange fingerprints from when I'd been too wrapped up in my current work in progress to grab a napkin while I munched on cheese puffs.
"Liv, I'm not going anywhere." I turned away from the mirror before it could break or my reflection could shriek in disgust. "I look like something the cat wouldn't bother dragging in. Besides, I want to finish this chapter before I lose my groove."
"Nicole, this is serious. If you want that smexy book to have a cover, you need to get your ass down here. The lighting is just right, and we only have a small window to catch it. The forecast for the rest of the week is calling for rain."
Unable to put my bladder off a moment longer, I dropped my cheese-covered pants and sank down on the toilet. "Liv, you know those crackpots on the news never get the weather right. It's the only job where you can be wrong all the time and still stay employed."
"Are you peeing while you talk to me?"
"What else was I supposed to do? You said you weren't hanging up. Besides, you've heard worse. Need I mention Brent?"
"God no. Please don't remind me. I still can't believe that ass pimple called me while he was taking a dump. I mean, who the hell does that? Ugh, the noises scarred me for life."
I chuckled as I finished my business.
"Are you coming?" she asked while I washed my hands.
"Um, that's a personal question, but no, I was just peeing."
"You're such a perv. Get your ass down here now. You're gonna make me miss my shot, and then I'm going to have to bitch-slap you."
"Liv, seriously. I'm a mess. Let me at least jump in the shower and then I'll head out."
"There's no time. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious. I feel our window for this cover is closing. You're the one who said you don't want to use stock photos. If I can't get this shot, we're not going to have much of a choice."
I sighed heavily, seeing no excuse Olivia would accept. If she was resorting to the stock photos threat, things must be red-alert serious. Olivia had not only been my best friend since middle school, she was also the creative genius behind the covers for each of the books I had self-published during the last two years. She'd always had an eye for photography, but never put any serious effort into it until I asked her to do the cover for the novel I had written freshman year at college. The book took well over a year to finish, but after endless rereads and edits, I finally found the nerve to put my work out there. It didn't break any records or become the dream of every author by making it into Oprah's Book Club, but it did provide a steady income I never counted on. Three books later, my classes were being paid for without the aid of student loans, and I was able to afford a modest apartment not far from the beach. By the time I released the final book in the series, right after Christmas, I was pulling in enough income to become completely independent.
"Fine. I'm on my way," I told her, not bothering to look in the mirror again. No reason to dwell on the fact that I looked like pond scum. I wouldn't be gone long, and it wasn't like I was trying to impress anyone.
"Thank you." She cut the connection without a goodbye. It was nothing new. Olivia was a mover and a shaker.
Grabbing my bag and keys, I headed out the door after promising my cat, Severus, that I'd feed him as soon as I got home. His only acknowledgement was to roll over and show me his fluffy belly as he basked in the warm rays of sun streaming through my patio door. Obviously, food was not high on his agenda. I wished I could say the same thing, but my stomach was grumbling. I left my apartment before I could change my mind. For Olivia's sake, this trip better turn out to be as necessary as she claimed.
The sun was almost too bright when I stepped from my apartment complex. Blinking rapidly, I fumbled through my bag for my sunglasses, feeling like I was part vampire or some other creature that preferred the darkness of night. The black asphalt parking lot radiated heat like an oven. I ignored the small beads of sweat already trickling down my back and into the waistband of my yoga pants.
By the time I made it to my jeep that was parked under the only tree in the lot large enough to provide any kind of shade, I had given the gods of heat or sun or anything else that caused me to sweat an earful. The rest of the lot was filled with palm trees. I figured parking under the larger tree would keep my jeep cooler, but it still felt like one degree cooler than hell inside.
Swiping a hand across my damp forehead, I climbed into my vehicle and immediately cranked the AC to high, ignoring the initial blast of hot air that hit me in the face as my jeep idled to life. It was less than a five-minute drive to the beach where Olivia was taking pictures. During any other time of the year it made for a pleasant walk, but even with a mild breeze off the ocean, the summer temperatures were too harsh. Besides, I was spoiled by air conditioning.
The beach looked relatively dead as I pulled into the parking lot. It was the middle of the week and this particular stretch of sand was populated mostly by moms with their toddlers and other small children. Endless beach toys, towels and coolers filled with juice boxes were strewn about under brightly colored umbrellas. Most of the kids were busy playing in the shallow incoming waves or building sandcastles. Their mothers, on the other hand, looked noticeably curious about Olivia and her models set up not far down the beach.
My feet sank into the warm, dry sand that within a few hours would be too hot to walk on without shoes or sandals to protect your feet. I trudged toward the water, shielding my eyes with my hand as I tried to make out Olivia in the distance. Even wearing sunglasses, the bright sun made it hard to see her without squinting. Finally, I spotted her standing ankle deep in water barking instructions to two models who had waded into the water up to their waists.
I could tell Olivia was not satisfied by the way she gnawed at her lip. She was never one to hide her emotions. Wondering what had gotten her thong in a bundle, I looked toward the models, wondering if maybe they were having an off day. I recognized Natasha. She was always a pro. The guy was unfamiliar to me, but as my eyes widened, I'm fairly certain I may have gasped. No wonder all the moms I had walked past were staring so intently. Whoever he was, the model Olivia had hired was possibly the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. Scratch that. He was beyond handsome. This guy was downright gorgeous. I found myself hypnotized by his perfectly sculpted pecs and broad shoulders. He looked like a freaking damn Adonis, standing in the gentle waves that lapped at his taut stomach. His chiseled abs begged to be licked.
I shook my head to regain my senses. Errant thoughts like this were not normal for me. Don't get me wrong. I could appreciate a good-looking, sexy man as much as the next girl, but I'd never openly gawked at any guy before. Clearly my mind was still stuck in the sexy scene I had been writing when Olivia called earlier. How else could I explain the fact that I wanted to launch myself at him and beg him to make me his sex slave? Honestly, it should be against the law to have a body that perfect.
I stopped for a moment, realizing I was in no condition to meet someone like that. Freaking Olivia. I was going to kill her for dragging me out here looking like a wreck when she knew she was photographing someone who gave Ryan fucking Gosling a run for his money. I would have turned around and hightailed it back to my jeep if Olivia hadn't already seen me and waved me over.
Mr. Adonis watched me as I approached. In a total cliché move, I pushed my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose and peeked over the tops of the lenses to get a better look at him. Olivia appeared at my side, yanking my arm to get my attention. Turning my hea
d, I faintly heard her say hello, but barely acknowledged it as my eyes focused instead on the demigod in the water. Olivia regained my attention when she waved at the two models who threw her a return wave before walking toward the shore. I tried to look away, but my traitorous eyes told me to eff off, refusing to move from the pair of models who appeared regal as they strolled out of the water.
Olivia looked torn between amusement and frustration. "Jesus, Nicole. Did you have a fight with a bag of Cheetos or something?" she asked, tugging on my shirt and shaking her head at the large chocolate stain. "And what's with the hair? That's quite the bold statement you're making there."
"Whatever, skank. I tried to tell you I couldn't come, but you freaking said you needed me, like right now," I said, mocking her desperate tone from our phone conversation earlier.
"I didn't mean you couldn't take two minutes to change your clothes."
I held up my hand, stopping her before she could say another word. "Just remember, paybacks are an uberbitch." I tried to dust off and smooth out my clothes, but the attempt was futile. The only thing that would improve my appearance at the moment would be a genie popping out of a magic lamp.
Looking around, I noticed every female eye on the beach was still glued to the man candy show. For good reason. He was pure sex on a damn lollipop stick. Water glistened and rolled down his lean, muscular body in a way that I would have believed had been Photoshopped if I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes.
Unfortunately, Mr. Sex on a Stick took full notice of my appearance, but not for the reasons I would have preferred. Messy clothes or windblown hair would have been better than why his eyes had momentarily fixated on my chest. A slight gust of wind had blown across the beach at just the right angle, cluing me in that I had forgotten to put on a bra before leaving my apartment.
Yep, I was going to bury Olivia in a shallow grave. I wished I hadn't left my phone in the jeep because I would have asked Siri where the best place was to dump Olivia's body. Siri would help. Siri would have never led me blind into an embarrassing situation like this.