How much trouble can one erotic romance writer get into? Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to the Faustian deal with Loki, but you try turning him down! It's not like there's a writing course on preparing for your fictional character's sudden appearance...
My house has been quiet in the three and a half weeks since I've been back home. Too quiet. A few times I've been sure I've smelled Loki's distinct citrus, wood, and leather, and things seem like they've been moved around when I don't recall doing it. A tea cup in the sink a few days ago that I didn't remember using. My laptop moved on my chaise from where I was sure I'd left it when I'd gone to bed. Yet, I haven't seen him, and I'm not sure if I'm imagining it or not.
Still, I'm debating with myself over whether or not I should call him.
I kept my promise to myself and signed up for a dating site. I've even got my first couple of dates lined up for a week and a half from now—a local college teacher meeting me for tea at the lakeside park after he's done teaching classes for the day and a real estate developer meeting for drinks at Club Illusion later that evening. Stan's blond hair and kind brown eyes are nice enough in his photos, and he dresses stylishly in jeans and button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Fred is no slouch in the looks department either, with his sharp business suits, neatly trimmed dark hair, square jaw and teasing smile. Yet neither man is who I see when I close my eyes at night, when my mind wanders, when the mood strikes me and I reach for the toys I finally bought myself.
No, that honour belongs to the raven-haired, emerald-eyed god who captured my heart and refuses to return it.
Sitting on my loveseat and looking out at the rain creating little impacts on the otherwise glass-like surface of the lake, the weather matches my mood, and I blink back tears. I miss Loki. God, do I miss him. It's an ache in the centre of my being, in my bones, in my soul. My feelings are too deep where he is concerned. It's hard enough being inside his head with the writing. Especially since I finished posting Hidden and began uploading chapters of Taken to my beta readers. His feelings for Shannon are so raw, with such fury and anguish, that I wouldn't want to be some pale substitute.
And I know what's going to happen.
Whether Thor warned Loki or not based on what he glimpsed over my shoulder while I was writing, I sent chapter five to my beta readers an hour ago. Loki is going to be absolutely furious and frustrated.
So is Thor.
I've avoided any of my Asgardian characters since getting back. Even though in Kara's note, she offered to visit if I wanted a break and needed some girl time. It's been tempting. So damned tempting.
With a sigh and another sip of my tea, I consider my choices. Maybe I should check in with James instead. Although I've completed Gallows Tree Conspiracy, I'm going to take it down from the beta reader site to completely revise it now that I've got my feedback, and I feel like I owe my character the warning. How would it affect him in his world? I have no idea how my edits change things in their realities, but I still need to do it.
Besides, I haven't seen him since my birthday, just over two months ago.
"James?" I call out into the quiet stillness of my home. "Would you like to visit?"
A knock at my front door sounds, and I smile as I set my tea down to answer it. As the glass and white metal door swings open, James' wavy head of dark hair and sea blue eyes look down at me. A grin stretches his full lips. "You called, Melody?"
"Yes." I flash him my own quick grin as a lightness sweeps through me. What writer isn't elated to have their character visit them in the flesh?
After stepping to the side, I let him enter, and he sweeps me into a hug. Gratefully, I sink into his warm embrace. Strong and lean, he may not be the Asgardian god I crave like a missing piece of my soul, but James sure gives good hugs, regardless. I don't want to let go, sinking into the heat and strength of his former soldier and now runner's build. Together, we stand entwined for several minutes, until still holding me, he pulls his head back to meet my gaze. A slight frown forms, pulling his ebony brows down.
"What's the matter, Melody?" A large hand leaves my back to cup my cheek as his eyes search my expression.
I open my mouth to utter a denial and a wave of heat surges behind my eyes—I'm blinking back sudden tears.
James' frown deepens, and he takes me by the hand, leading me deeper into the house until we are seated on a worn, but comfortable couch in my family room. Holding my gaze, he lifts me sideways into his lap. "Now, I know it can't be the story as we're good, so what is it?"
My eyes shift away from his, a churning in my belly. "Actually, I've learned so much as a writer that I want to revise your story and improve it. I think I can make the thriller aspect much stronger now that I've gotten the feedback I need from the beta readers, but I need to take the story down to rewrite it before I send it to my editor, then publish it."
His hand rubs over my back. "As we already exist in our story reality, I can't say that will make a difference to us. If you were worried about my reaction to that, I don't have any issues. I trust you, Melody, to do what you think is best for the story you are writing."
The calm acceptance in his tone has my shoulders lowering and a tension I hadn't realized I'd held dissipating. "Thank you, James. I was worried about how you'd react." My gaze met his again.
"But that's not what's really distressing you, is it? I suspect it's a certain green-eyed god that has your panties in a bunch."
A half-laugh, half-snort erupts at his words. Damn it, he's not wrong. Am I that transparent? "It's not my panties I'm concerned about."
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