letters, she thought, to know that your words had touched another’s life so deeply.
One letter was from a woman who said she didn’t like Eva Black’s last book, and that her husband hadn’t liked it, either.
Shannah laughed at that. It just proved that you couldn’t please all the people all the time.
She was amazed to find that the letters came from both men and women, and that some of his readers were as young as twelve and some were in their eighties. Apparently romances appealed to a wide range of people, from schoolgirls to prison inmates.
Closing the fan mail file, she tried to open a document titled Work in Progress, only to discover she couldn’t open the file without a password. Odd, that he lived alone but felt the need to have a password, and then she grinned. Not so odd, she thought. After all, she was here, trying to get a peek at something that was none of her business.
Frowning, she tried to think of what Ronan might use for a password. She tried his pen name and then she tried every word she could think of for black and for vampire, but none of them worked, either.
With a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the computer and went to fix something to eat.
Later, she wandered through the house, looking for something to do. Using a dish towel, she dusted the furniture, upstairs and down, but that didn’t take long and she was again left with nothing to do.
Where was Ronan, she wondered. What did he do all day? If he was a writer, why wasn’t he here, writing?
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him.
She asked the first one when she saw him that night. “Where do you go every day?”
“Hello to you, too.” He sat down on the sofa, careful to leave a good amount of space between them though it didn’t really help. With his preternatural senses, he was all too aware of her—the scent of her hair and perfume, the warmth of her skin, the ever-present allure of her blood. “You went to the doctor today. What did he say?”
“He said I’m doing well, and that I’ve gained some weight. Don’t change the subject. I never see you until it’s almost dark outside. Why? And how did you know I went to the doctor?”
“If you must know, I sleep days and work nights.”
“Anyone would think you really are a vampire,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me you sleep in a coffin in the basement.”
He laughed softly, but she noticed he didn’t deny it.
She frowned. “I must be sleeping in your bed, so where do you sleep?”
“Shall we get busy?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
“How did you know I went to the doctor? I don’t recall mentioning it to you.”
“I can smell it on you.”
“You cannot!”
He shrugged.
Shannah looked down at herself and sniffed. “What do you smell?”
“Disinfectant. Antibiotics. Alcohol.” He frowned. “Dirt.”
“You must have a nose like a bloodhound if you can smell all that!”
“Where did the dirt come from? Not your doctor’s office, I hope.”
“Of course not. I pulled some weeds in the backyard.”
“There’s no need for you to do that.”
“I wanted to. Would you mind if I planted some flowers?”
“Do whatever you wish,” he said impatiently. “Are you ready to get to work now? We still have a lot to do. I’ve made an appointment with a photographer for tomorrow night.”
“So soon?”
He nodded. “I had an email from my editor. She needs the photo for the next book jacket as soon as possible.”
Except for her high school photo, she had never had anyone take her picture professionally. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course. I told my agent that I would do signings in a few of the larger bookstores in Los Angeles and New York and a couple of radio interviews if they could set them up.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just memorize the answers I’ve given you and stop worrying.” He would be nearby for any night-time interviews or signings;
One letter was from a woman who said she didn’t like Eva Black’s last book, and that her husband hadn’t liked it, either.
Shannah laughed at that. It just proved that you couldn’t please all the people all the time.
She was amazed to find that the letters came from both men and women, and that some of his readers were as young as twelve and some were in their eighties. Apparently romances appealed to a wide range of people, from schoolgirls to prison inmates.
Closing the fan mail file, she tried to open a document titled Work in Progress, only to discover she couldn’t open the file without a password. Odd, that he lived alone but felt the need to have a password, and then she grinned. Not so odd, she thought. After all, she was here, trying to get a peek at something that was none of her business.
Frowning, she tried to think of what Ronan might use for a password. She tried his pen name and then she tried every word she could think of for black and for vampire, but none of them worked, either.
With a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the computer and went to fix something to eat.
Later, she wandered through the house, looking for something to do. Using a dish towel, she dusted the furniture, upstairs and down, but that didn’t take long and she was again left with nothing to do.
Where was Ronan, she wondered. What did he do all day? If he was a writer, why wasn’t he here, writing?
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him.
She asked the first one when she saw him that night. “Where do you go every day?”
“Hello to you, too.” He sat down on the sofa, careful to leave a good amount of space between them though it didn’t really help. With his preternatural senses, he was all too aware of her—the scent of her hair and perfume, the warmth of her skin, the ever-present allure of her blood. “You went to the doctor today. What did he say?”
“He said I’m doing well, and that I’ve gained some weight. Don’t change the subject. I never see you until it’s almost dark outside. Why? And how did you know I went to the doctor?”
“If you must know, I sleep days and work nights.”
“Anyone would think you really are a vampire,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me you sleep in a coffin in the basement.”
He laughed softly, but she noticed he didn’t deny it.
She frowned. “I must be sleeping in your bed, so where do you sleep?”
“Shall we get busy?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “We still have a lot of work to do.”
“How did you know I went to the doctor? I don’t recall mentioning it to you.”
“I can smell it on you.”
“You cannot!”
He shrugged.
Shannah looked down at herself and sniffed. “What do you smell?”
“Disinfectant. Antibiotics. Alcohol.” He frowned. “Dirt.”
“You must have a nose like a bloodhound if you can smell all that!”
“Where did the dirt come from? Not your doctor’s office, I hope.”
“Of course not. I pulled some weeds in the backyard.”
“There’s no need for you to do that.”
“I wanted to. Would you mind if I planted some flowers?”
“Do whatever you wish,” he said impatiently. “Are you ready to get to work now? We still have a lot to do. I’ve made an appointment with a photographer for tomorrow night.”
“So soon?”
He nodded. “I had an email from my editor. She needs the photo for the next book jacket as soon as possible.”
Except for her high school photo, she had never had anyone take her picture professionally. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course. I told my agent that I would do signings in a few of the larger bookstores in Los Angeles and New York and a couple of radio interviews if they could set them up.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just memorize the answers I’ve given you and stop worrying.” He would be nearby for any night-time interviews or signings;
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