Dylan’s left eyebrow wiggled up as he swallowed his sip of coffee. “And by sexier you mean?”
“Sex, Dylan. They want my characters to have sex.” The mere thought brought a dash of heat to the back of her neck, made her palms sweat.
“They aren’t having it, already?”
“Well, no. My novels are on the sweet side.”
“Meaning…?”
“Have you ever watched a Hallmark movie?”
He shot her a quizzical glare that almost spelled out the words,yeah, right.
“Never mind. You see, sweet means, they only kiss.”
“So, let me get this straight. Two people meet. Fall in love. And only kiss?”
Chloe blinked. His tone made it sound as if the concept were implausible. “Until they get married.”Duh.
“Then there’s sex?” His eyes glinted with hope.
“It’s implied.”
“Meaning…?”
“It’s off the page. Left for the reader’s imagination. Everyone knows what happens between the bride and the groom after the wedding. There’s no need to fill in the details.”
A long beat passed, both seeming to sink into their own thoughts, as they sipped on coffee.
“Chloe, in your real-life experience, do couples wait until they’re married before they sleep together?”
“Perhaps they should.” Period. Enough said. The thought of The Ex sprang to mind. She should have held out for the man of her dreams, instead of losing herself to drab Walter five years ago. And thanks tothatexperience, Chloe was sure she’d never hop into bed with someone, until she was married to him.
“Right. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“To your point, no, they don’t usually wait. However, that’s the beauty of fictional romance. Readers get lost in a world where—”
“Things are unrealistic?”
“Desired,” Chloe quickly clarified with an eye-roll. “A lady longs to meet the man of her dreams, get wooed, fall madly in love, walk down the aisle, then live an amazing happily-ever-after, drama-free, life.”
“Without sex? Because nowhere in thedesiredworld you just eloquently described, is the mention of a fantastic, toe-curling time, between the sheets.”
Because I’ve never had that. “Again, the intimate moments are all implied.” Chloe’s bottom lip quivered; this was not the conversation she planned to have with Dylan.
“However, your readers want less implication and more information.”
“I can’t give them that.”
He slid her a look. Not one of pity, exactly. More like a look of concern. “Why not?”
“I-I have to go.” Chloe hopped off the stool, grabbed her purse. There was no way she would share information about her pathetic love life to a guy she dreamt of kissing the night before—that’s right, even in her dreams, nothing escalated beyond first base.
Dylan reached out, tapped her arm. “Chloe, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Please, stay.”
His touch was warm, soothing, and petrifying, all at the same time.
How does he do that to me? Chloe placed her purse on the counter, eased back onto the stool, and uttered, “I can’t give readers the detailed love scenes they want because I haven’t had much experience myself.” After chugging her lukewarm coffee to soothe the lump in her throat, she met Dylan’s shocked gaze, then asked. “Can I have some wine?”
