Page 8 of Reluctant to Love

4

Roderick

Eleanor is right; I do want her. More than I’ve wanted any other woman before, including the one I married. But I don’t want this cold, hard hearted woman standing in front of me. I know she can be blunt; it’s one of the reasons why I hired her to ghostwrite for me. She read my first draft and was not afraid to tell me it was garbage. And then she worked her voodoo magic on it.

“You’re right,” I drawl as my eyes trace the trail of strawberry juice leaking down her chin. Goddamn, I want to lick it up and then kiss her silly. “I do want you. But I don’t want the woman standing in front of me. She isn’t the one I fell in love with.”

The strawberry falls from her hand and she straightens up. Her glacial blue eyes are wide with surprise.

“That’s right, sweets. I’m still in love with you and I’ll probably be in love with you until I leave this Earth. But who you’re pretending to be? I don’t want that woman.”

“Asshole,” she seethes before she stomps away.

I release a heavy breath because what I just said wasn’t easy. I know she’s got walls up and they’re big and bad but I’m not going to fight for someone who doesn’t want me. And I know, deep down, Eleanor and I want the same thing.

Her breakfast stays on the table when I head into my room to go and get ready for the day. I’m supposed to sign books in the main convention hall today, which is something I love doing. Readers embraced my version of Tristan and Yseut but it’s sometimes hard for me to take credit for them. So much of their story came from Eleanor.

I wish she could be there with today, to hear readers talk about characters that belong to her just as much as they belong to me.

And then an idea begins to form.

I rush through my shower and quickly towel off before changing into jeans and t-shirt and then quickly knot my hair into a bun.

“Eleanor!” I call out, throwing open my bedroom door. Her door is still shut and fuck manners, I barge right into her room.

“I’ll call you back,” she says quickly before ending her phone call. If looks could kill, Eleanor’s searing gaze would have been an instant death blow. “How dare you! How dare you just barge in here!”

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, holding up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t think…”

“No, you never think, do you? You didn’t think to tell me you were married. You just took what you wanted without a second thought.”

“You wanted it too,” I challenge back. “You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Of course I did! Of course, I fucking wanted you but what I didn’t want was to get my heart completely shattered. I thought you were mine completely until I realized you belonged to someone else.”

I scramble around the bed, to the other side where she’s pacing frantically, and grab her by the shoulders. “I have always been yours,” I tell her. “I never truly gave myself to anyone else until I met you.” I reach down and take hold of her hand, bringing up to my chest. “My heart beats only because of you and I swear to god, Ellie, if you don’t give me a second chance, the minute I leave this convention, it will stop beating again.”

Before I can stop myself, my mouth crashes down on hers, searing her lips with my kiss. This will probably get me in trouble too but fuck if I care. All that matters is how she tastes. Like home. My hands wrap around her, drawing her closer and the kiss deepens. Her hands creep up between us and fist my shirt. I’m surprised when she returns my kiss, drawing my tongue into her mouth, nibbling at my bottom lip. I groan from starvation because I’ve been hungry for her kiss for so long. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more.

But Eleanor has other plans.

Her palms flatten against my chest as she pushes me away, breaking our kiss.

“Get out of my room,” she growls breathlessly.

Arguing with her would make things worse so I do as she asks. Sharing today’s event with her is out of the question and I’m starting to wonder if winning her back is a losing game.

I finish getting ready and then head down to the main convention floor. Readers are lined up, waiting to get into the event and when some of them notice me, their eyes light up with excitement.

“See you inside,” I call out to them with a wave.

There are so many people already in the main hall; these people paid a premium to get in early and from the corner of my eye, I spot a giant banner with my name emblazoned on it. A long row of people stand in front of it, waiting for me. I start feeling nervous; this is all new to me and somehow, I feel like a fraud. These people love my books, love the story and the characters, but everything about this moment feels all wrong.

I didn’t write these books alone.

My eyes shift around the room until at last, I make my way over to the table stacked full of my books.

A representative from my publisher greets me and I settle in the hard chair behind the table.