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Chapter One
“I can sign that for you.”
Warm breath caressed Stacy Oppenheimer’s neck. She turned and looked into smoky hazel eyes—the smoky hazel eyes of the cover model she’d been ogling in the Men of Romance Calendar on display at the table outside the Vampire Ball party she was scared to enter. She gripped the stem of the martini glass holding what was left of her cosmopolitan. Nerves! Drove her crazy. An erotic romance writer shouldn’t be shy, but she was a classic introvert.
Why enter a party alone when she was frightened to pieces? Why not stare at hot cover models instead? Of course she had gravitated to her favorite, Michael Moretti—six-feet-two-inches of mouth-watering Italian manflesh.
He was known as a womanizer, but God love him, he was the hottest man on the planet.
His gaze dropped to her cleavage.
“Those are…” He smiled and winked. “That’s a really nice…shirt.”
Her black fishnet top did cling in all the right places. She hadn’t bothered with vamp make-up, but she had buried her inhibitions while dressing. The long-sleeved fishnet shirt covered a black satin push-up bra. On her bottom half, she donned a black leather miniskirt.
Yes, womanizer all right. He was thirty-six, she knew, from reading an interview with him on a blog. Older for a cover model and for an exotic dancer, which was his other line of work. With looks like his, though, he’d no doubt flourish in the industry for decades to come. A few silvery strands threaded through his shoulder-length sable hair. Stacy was secretly glad he’d chosen not to cover them. They oozed sex appeal, just like the rest of him.
Still, at thirty-six, he was way too young for her. She was three months shy of her forty-sixth birthday.
Forty-six and alone and scared of her own shadow since her ego-slashing divorce a year and a half ago. Men were more trouble than they were worth. Especially the one staring at her 36 Ds, gorgeous though he may be. He wasn’t interested in her. He was a cover model who was paid to be at this conference—paid to make sure authors like her had a great time. If that meant telling them they looked good, he’d do it.
So what the heck? She gulped the rest of her liquid courage—it was her second cosmo—and decided to swallow her nerves and play a little.
She stuck out her chest. “You like them?” She leaned toward Michael, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. “They’re real.”
His full red lips curved into the dimpled smile she adored. “No way.”
He turned and grabbed a vampire clad in Armani coming toward them. Upon closer look under the stage make-up, Stacy recognized him as Dino, another cover model.
“She says those are real,” Michael said to the other man.
Dino eyed Stacy’s chest as warmth crept to her cheeks. Why had she started this again?
After an eternity, Dino spoke. “I believe her. Good support and all.”
Michael smiled again and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “Real.” He glanced down at her hand. “You’re married.”
Was that disappointment in his voice? She wore a diamond ring, but it hadn’t come from her husband. Make that ex-husband. Very, very ex. The ring had been her grandmother’s, and it didn’t fit her right ring finger. She’d always meant to have it resized but never seemed to get around to it. “Oh—” Her shyness kicked in. How did one explain this?
Michael didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he eyed her chest once again. “I bet your husband loves them.” He picked up her left hand and placed a moist kiss on her ring finger, just above the gem. “Very nice to meet you”—he gazed at her name tag—“Stacy Summers.”
Her pen name. Who wanted to read erotic novels by anyone named Oppenheimer? In a flash, he’d walked through the doorway into the Vampire Ball.
Stacy stood alone, her heart racing. Her finger tingled where his lips had brushed softly against her flesh, and her chest and tops of her breasts prickled with red heat. The din of authors chatting as they grazed around the promotion tables buzzed in her ears like white noise.
“Hey, Stacy, what are you standing around here for?”
She jolted out of her stupor to see Veronica Miles, a young unpublished author she had met in a workshop that morning. With gorgeous mocha skin, dark brown eyes, and spectacular curves—not to mention she was at least fifteen years Stacy’s junior—Veronica would no doubt be the belle of the ball.
“I was…just getting ready to go in.” Stacy inhaled, willing her nerves to settle.
“What are you waiting for, girlfriend?” Veronica grabbed her arm and pulled her through the doorway. “I hope there are some good tables left. Great outfit, by the way.”
“Thank you. You look amazing.”
Veronica wore a black sheath that accentuated every spectacular curve of her young, fit body. She hadn’t used vampire make up on her dark complexion, and she was stunning.
No use pining over Michael Moretti. If he ever looked Stacy’s way again, which was doubtful, he’d see Veronica, and it would be all over anyway.
Still, Stacy was glad Veronica had happened by. Entering a party became much easier with a friend by her side.
“Are you enjoying the conference?” Veronica asked as they scoped the room for some empty chairs.
“Yes, I am. Are you?”
“It’s been incredible!” Veronica’s husky voice nearly bubbled. “I’ve met some great people, and I’ve learned so much. I can’t wait to be published.”
Stacy smiled. ?
??It will happen soon.”
“I hope so.”
“If you need any help, let me know. I’d be happy to look at some of your work.”
“Would you?” Veronica squeezed her forearm. “I’d so appreciate that.”
“Sure, anytime. I gave you my card this morning, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Just email me.”
“Oh, you’re the best, Stacy. There’s a table over there.” The young woman dragged Stacy along to a table full of younger, hipper people.
“Hi, I’m Veronica, and this is Stacy. Are these seats taken?”
The table of women urged them to sit down, and soon Veronica was chatting away as if they’d all known each other forever. Stacy watched her in action, mesmerized. How she envied extroverts! Why did this come so naturally to people like Veronica, while people like Stacy struggled to feel comfortable?
“So what do you write, Stacy?” one of the others asked.
Stacy cleared her throat and attempted a smile. “Mostly erotic urban fantasy and paranormal. How about you?”
“Male/male,” the other author said.
