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?He told me his name, and as I wrote he said, “So what's with you and Ms. Homes?”
?I almost gouged his copy of Death In The Borley Rectory I had started to autograph.
?I paused, then finished with my signature. “Nothing. We just see Sherlock Holmes in different ways.”
?As I handed back his book, it was my fondest wish that I would not hear about Ms. Homes again for the rest of the conference.
10. Kill Fee
Sheryl Homes
?I sat in the bar of the hotel, with a glass of white wine in front of me.
?After the previous evening, Mark Watkins had not been the only person with a hangover. The shot of tequila I had for a nightcap was certainly not needed after what I had previously imbibed.
?And once again, I had gone full bitch-goddess on the man.
?What on earth was wrong with me? One minute I’m staring at his ass, the next minute I’m trying to verbally emasculate him.
?Was it because it had been a long time since I’d actually wanted a man? And coupled with the fact that he preferred “blonde and brainless” to me?
?The bar at that time of day was not busy, but I was sure it would pick up later.
?So I sat, annoyed at myself and my life. Someone slid in next to me, and I prayed it wasn’t Allen, or this time I really might get violent.
?“I’ll have what she’s having,” a mellow male voice told the bartender.
?It was Mark Watkins.
?My smile fell, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I focused on my drink.
?“Are you stalking me now?” I grumbled. “Like Allen?”
?“I just got out of the signing booth, Jon Kane took his time to relieve me. Then, I tried to locate that pipe I had last night.”
?“What happened to it?” I said while staring straight ahead, in an attempt to look disinterested.
?“I left it on the damn podium and now it’s gone,” he complained. “I gave the sound man my number.” The bartender placed a glass of wine in front of him, and Mark exhaled as he picked it up. “I don’t want to bore you with that. I just thought…maybe…we should talk,”
?Mark took a sip of wine, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. If I did I would just yell at him or cry or do something stupid. Why did he create these feelings in me? I never acted like this or felt like this, not even with Randall when it was good. “Excuse me, don’t you have to find Candy?” I seethed.
?He sighed. “Well, I tried,” and he began to rise.
?I panicked. “Don’t,” I apologized. “Please.”
?He returned to his seat, and I could feel his stare like a weight.
?I continued to gaze at my drink. “I don’t know what it is. I keep wanting to just talk to you. Yet, every time I do, I get so angry.”
?“Maybe we should just accept the fact that we don’t like each other,” he confided.
?“Maybe,” I divulged, and met his eyes, those amazing eyes that made me melt. “It’s just…I mean…I was so looking forward to meeting you.”
?“What?”
?“I mean it. I loved Death In The Borley Rectory. I couldn’t put that book down.”
?This made him smile. “Well, Adventure Of The Wailing Banshee is a great read. I thought you did some wonderful character revelation on Holmes, and yet nothing to cause a serious Holmes scholar to get angry.”
