Raw

"I want to be chased."

Mr. Hughes stared at me, the brightness of his blue eyes fading as his smile morphed into a serious, straight line. "You like being stalked?"

"There's a difference between being stalked and being chased. A big difference." My own smile faltered a little as I remembered an incident just last week. I shivered.

"How so?"

I blinked and stared back at him. "Hmm?"

"How are they different?"

"How is what different?"

"Stalking and chasing. You said there was a big difference." His eyes were shiny again. He was still impassive, although I thought I saw a hint of a smile. It was distracting. I liked his smile a whole lot better. I wished he'd do it again.

What was wrong with me? How did we get off the topic of my book, anyway? I'd never been so rattled in an interview. I swallowed and forced my lips back into a smile. He finally smiled back, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

I shifted in my chair and crossed my legs, being careful that my pencil skirt didn't ride up too far and reveal the lace tops of my thigh-high nylons and the clips on my garter belt. Clearing my throat, I tried to focus, to find the right words.

"Stalking is impersonal. It's selfish. Uninvited. Criminal. Usually the victim has never met his or her stalker. Chasing is..."

Mr. Hughes sat forward. "Yes?"

I shrugged. "Like the song says, 'I want you to want me.' "

His eyes widened fractionally. "But doesn't a stalker want his victim?"

My smile was genuine now. "Yes, but I don't want my stalker to want me."

"I see."

"Where as, with chasing, if I am interested in a guy, I will make an effort to show him I am. And I want him to make the same effort. You know, flirt a little. Even play hard-to-get. That's the fun of the chase. But once you finally let him catch you, the game is not over. It needs to continue. Maybe not at the extreme that it did early in the relationship, but it still has to be there."

He was looking at me, but his mind appeared to be focused elsewhere. Finally, he said, "So it that why women can be so moody in a relationship? The thrill of the chase is ebbing...or completely gone?"

"Bravo, Mr. Hughes." I resisted the urge to clap.

"So how long does this initial chase usually last?"

I held out my hand and wobbled it back and forth. "Depends on the couple, really. The key is, the guy should not hover. Smothering will turn her off right away."

He adjusted his tie with one large hand, his fingers long and thick, his nails well-manicured. It was a very nice hand. And the tie wasn't that bad, either. It was gray silk with wide blue stripes and narrow red ones. It made his eyes stand out. Just like his white dress shirt and black suit framed his upper body as if it were painted on.

"So, she shouldn't act desperate, and he should not act obsessed."

"Exactly. It's difficult to balance the sides, but if done properly, it can be successful." I sipped water from the glass on the table beside me and then tilted it toward him with a laugh. "You should write your own book on your observations. Let the male gender in on the rules of the dating game."

His smile reached up to his eyes. "How does the phone exchange go?"

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. "He should ask her. Especially if they have a date first. Say they meet somewhere—a trade show or a bar. He can ask for her number then, or verbally agree to meet again for dinner later in the week and ask for it afterwards. If she is interested, she'll give it to him."

"And if she doesn't?"

I smiled sympathetically. "He should accept that it's over. The chase is done."

He contemplated that. "So would a woman ever make the first move? Ask a guy out? Give him her number...ask for his? Chase him?"

I shook my head. "We like good old-fashioned chivalry. She can let him know with body language or her words that she is receptive. Flat out flirt if she needs to, as long as she doesn't overdo it. But approaching him first? No."

"Why not?" His smile changed to a smirk. He was amused with me. I wasn't sure if I should feel complimented or offended.

"They say one of the biggest fears people have is public speaking, like on a stage. I disagree. I think it's the fear of rejection by someone they like."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.

"Yes, men fear rejection, too. Women just take it harder. Men think it's a reflection of their masculinity—which is psychological. Whereas, women know it's all about physical appearance to a guy. We blame Hollywood and the media."

He raised one eyebrow. It was endearing. But my argument was right-on.

"How often do you see a skinny guy with an overweight woman?"

His shrug was barely noticeable, but it was there. He knew exactly what I was talking about.

"If a guy has the choice between two women, one skinny, one heavy, he'll always pick the skinny one. It happens. Whether we want to admit it or not."

"Rejection is rejection, no matter which way you spin it."

"True. But you asked the question, and I'm just being honest. We don't approach him first. Or give our number without it being requested. Or ask for his number."

"Miss Rockland, are you speaking for all women, or just yourself?"

I pursed my lips. After all I said, that's what he asked me? This was getting too personal.

"My apologies. I can see that question was too direct." He smiled when he said it, and it irked me. But only a little. "I interrupted your analysis of the phone number exchange. Do you want to elaborate?"

I bristled slightly at his now formal tone. "Certainly. If she gives him her number when he requests it, she expects him to call. Any guy who asks a girl for her number and doesn't call is a jerk."

Mr. Hughes flinched.

I smiled inwardly, wondering who the girl was, waiting endlessly for a call that never came. "Don't ask a girl for her number if you don't intend to follow through. Men should know that concept, as obsessed with sports as most are."

"So, he gets her number and calls her. Then what? She agrees to his wishes?" He chuckled.

I shivered from the deep sound and diverted my eyes back to his tie nestled under his Adam's apple. The latter bobbed gently as he swallowed, and I felt a sudden urge to leap forward and run my tongue and lips along that protrusion. I mentally smacked myself. "No. She shouldn't be too willing to agree to anything right away."

"You mean—"

"If he suggests Friday she'll pick Saturday. She stays in control, yet gives him the impression he's in control."

"She's in control. Interesting."

I couldn't stop my eyes from jumping to his.

He was staring at me again, his head cocked to the right.

My mouth was so dry. I took another sip of water, but it didn't help. "She shouldn't drop everything and agree to his first suggestion. That shows desperation again. And it's a test. Is he willing to be flexible? If he shoots down her suggestion and continually insists on his way, that will scare her off."

He just nodded.

I gulped down the rest of my water in an unladylike fashion and set the glass aside. "I'm sorry. Somehow we got way off subject. Did you have any more questions on my book?"

His eyes locked on mine, and something within his gaze made my heart skip a beat. Then he blinked and the moment was gone. "No, no. I think I got enough for the article."

"Okay." We both stood at the same time, my legs feeling a little wobbly for some reason. Maybe I had been sitting too long. What time had we started—

Oh my!

He turned and bent down to grab the briefcase beside his chair, his suit coat rising up to reveal the most delicious, firm ass I had seen in a long time. A spark ignited in my belly, and I smoothed my hand over the front of my shirt, swallowing my moan.

He straightened and turned back to me. "Did you say something?"

"No." Oh, no! Did I actually moan out loud?

The corner of his mouth twitched. He put away his mini-recorder and then offered me his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Ms. Rockland. Thank you for your time."

I took his hand and bit my cheek so I didn't moan again. His grip was warm, strong, and for a brief moment, I could imagine that hand moving over my body. I blinked. Smiling, I gave him a firm shake back. "The pleasure has been all mine. I look forward to reading your article."

He raised that eyebrow again and then he followed me to the door. "Good day, Ms. Rockland."

"Good day, Mr. Hughes."

He reached for the knob, but then he turned back to me. "Do you have a card?"

"No, but hold on." Inside my own briefcase, back at my chair, I retrieved a business card for my publishing house and handed it over. "They know how to get ahold of me."

He held it up between two fingers and then slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "In case I have any more questions."

"Of course. Good day."

He nodded, turned, and left this time.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I let out a loud sigh and collapsed into the nearest chair. Why was my heart beating so loud? Why did my knees feel weak? It was just an interview about my book.

Which had nothing to do with stalkers or being chased by hot critics in fitted suits.

I snorted out loud, glad there was no one to hear me in this hotel room. The one item on my agenda now complete, I stripped off my business clothes, pulled on a T-shirt and sweats, and sprawled on the bed in the adjoining room of my suite. I placed an order with room service and then laid back, contemplating the last two hours of my life.

It had actually started three weeks ago with a phone call to Sue, my agent and editor. Mr. Hughes had requested a private interview with me to discuss my latest manuscript, "Loaded Questions," the final installment in my Dex Knightly Mysteries series. The books started out as an experiment—a woman writing entirely from a man's point of view—and became a complete success. Each of the seven books had stayed in the top five on the New York Times Best Seller List for Fiction at least three weeks.

While I enjoyed the public praise, I did not enjoy paparazzi. I'd already had my taste it of it and decided it wasn't palatable. Which is why I wrote the Dex novels under the pen name Drake Alexander—incidentally, derived from the names of my two brothers. No one but my family and agent knew who the author really was.

I scrunched up my nose and sighed. No one but my family, my agent, and now Mr. Hughes.

Despite being in journalism, he seemed like the kind of guy who could keep a secret. But I had still insisted on having insurance: a non-disclosure agreement. He could write all he wanted about my books and about me, but he could not reveal that Drake was really female...nor that I was Drake.

I had had interviews before regarding my books, but those were all under my real name. And while my previous work had sold well, they could not compare to the Dex Knightly series.

I shivered just thinking about how I had recently been followed for six days by an obsessed—albeit harmless—fan of my very first book, "Tears and Coconuts," the first in the Island Oasis Romances trilogy. That series hadn't been on any list for half a dozen years, and yet there was still a fan base. And this guy had, for some reason, fallen in love with the books, imagining my picture on the back cover when he pictured the heroine of the story. Talk about creepy.

Imagine how bad it would have been if my fans knew I had also written Dex's mysteries! Last week's incident paled in comparison to most stalking situations, but it was still scary as hell. I hated not being in control, not knowing who was leaving love messages on my car while I was at the office. I had never been so glad to have that refuge than I had last week.

I had been in the industry only a short time before I realized I needed to have a separate place for my business life, even if I was rarely there. My condo was inherited from my deceased grandfather, and Sue had worked the legal angle to keep my name off any public records to retain my anonymity. My personal mail went to a post office box, my business mail to the office. And while I knew I couldn't remain private forever, it had worked so far.

Thankfully last Thursday, an off-duty officer had been in the parking lot of the business complex where not only my publishing house but also my office was located (which made it very convenient when meeting with Sue). I'm still not sure what the officer was doing there, but he had noticed the young man hanging around my car. The latter had looked around quite nervously before slipping something under my wiper blade, and the officer had discreetly followed him to his car.

I was more than shocked when the officer knocked on my door and asked me if I knew the gentleman he had seen. A few hours and a signed confession later, the youth was charged a fine for harassment, produced with a copy of a restraining order, and sent on his way. That night, I slept peacefully for the first time in a week.

My dinner arrived, and I brought it back to the bed to eat. While munching on my cheeseburger and fries, I tried to remember what it was that got us off track in the interview today. It had started out abnormal anyway, since Mr. Hughes had not known my real identity. Boy had he been shocked when Sue opened the door and introduced us before she left us alone. I don't know who he was imagining Drake Alexander was, but I'm sure he never thought he was a she. And a well-published author to boot.

I think he was more nervous than I was, but we had settled into a comfortable conversation not long after we had sat at the conference table in the front room of the suite. He asked the typical questions: Where did I come up with the idea? The character? What did I like most about Dex? Least? Am I pleased with the success of the series? Will I start another one?

I sighed, remembering now. It was all my fault. Eventually, he brought up my previous books. Asking why I chose to change from romance to mystery when my readers had espoused my previous work. And why the pen name since it would mean I'd be starting out as an unknown in the industry. That was a huge risk, although I did already have both feet in the door with Sue.

I admitted that I wanted to experiment with a new genre, and I didn't want to tarnish my current success if it failed. Maybe it was selfish, I don't know. But I still think I made the right decision.

Then I mentioned there was a sense of adventure, the thrill of the chase in Dex's stories. It was so much more different than the chase in a romance novel. How after awhile it got old trying to find a new way to explain how 'boy meets girl—boy loses girl—boy wins girls back.' But in a mystery, the possibilities seemed endless. If written well, you never really knew how the book was going to end unless you skipped ahead.

On the other hand, in a romance, you know the hero and heroine are going to end up together, you just don't know how it will all happen. And most people don't read mysteries to live vicariously through the characters like they do with romance novels. That's a casualty of those kind of stories; you can lose yourself in the story, and it can take an emotional toll. I've been there myself. I tend to not be good company for a few days after reading a well-written bodice ripper.

And of course, that had led Mr. Hughes to mention that there can be a thrill in the chase of a romantic relationship. I had agreed but added that it's not the same in a book as it is in real life. He had asked why not. I had explained that many romance authors portray the heroine as someone who does not want to be caught, does not want to be with the hero. She wants to be independent. That the story is usually written where the hero seduces and overpowers her and convinces her she should be with him. Then they fall madly in love and live happily ever after.

He had laughed then. I had frowned, told him life is not like that. Mercifully, he had agreed. If not, I would have ended the meeting abruptly, casting him out of my hotel room. He had asked what I thought life was like...what I wanted from a relationship.

In a pout, I had admitted my true feelings.

###

I woke late the next morning, well-rested. I stretched and then cuddled deeper into the soft comforter and pillows surrounding me. I really needed to thank Sue for setting up this interview. The hotel room alone was worth revealing my identity to one more person.

I was thinking of ordering breakfast when the bedside phone rang. I flinched and then picked it up. Had I requested a wake up call?

"Sue Warner speaking." I always used Sue's name when traveling. Since she booked my travel arrangements, it just made sense, and it let me stay under the radar until someone recognized my face.

"Ms. Warner, this is Jackson at the front desk. I have Mr. Hughes on the line for you. Would you like me to put him through?"

I smiled and sat up, propping a pillow behind me and pulling the bedclothes around my hips. "Yes, please. Thank you, Jackson."

The was a soft click and then a warm, deep voice chuckled from the other end of the phone. "Ms. Warner, eh?"

"Anonymity. I'm surprised you didn't ask for Drake Alexander." I laughed, glad he hadn't.

He was silent for a moment, his tone serious when he did speak again. "I promised not to reveal your secret, Ms. Rockland."

I sighed. "Please, it's Becca. I'm assuming you got this number from my agent?"

"Fine, Becca." He sounded like he was smiling again. "I already knew which room you were in. Remember, I was there yesterday?"

"Of course. My apologies."

"The problem was, I didn't know what alias you were under. So I rang up Ms. Warner again, and she was more than happy to tell me how exactly to reach you."

I rolled my eyes. On top of being my agent and editor, Sue also took it upon herself to be a freelance matchmatcher for me. 'Pro bono, darling. It's the least I can do to repay you for all the profits you're bringing in for us.'

"Becca? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry." I swallowed heavily and looked across the distance to the bathroom. I really could use a drink of water, but I did not want to get out from under the warmth of the covers. Why did his voice affect me so? "What can I do for you, Mr. Hughes?"

"Brian, please." There was a muffled sound. Was he laughing at me? Again?

"Okay, Brian, what can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm just following protocol. I guess the next step is to ask you to lunch."

I couldn't breathe for a second. "Protocol?"

"Yes, Ms. Rockland. I mean, Becca. You said that if a guy asks a girl for her number, he would be a jerk if he didn't follow through and call her."

I think I aged ten years. I wondered if my black hair was still all black. "Uh, yeah, I guess I did say that, didn't I? You've got a good memory."

"That and a little tape recorder."

I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the headboard. What else had I said on there that he was going to hold me to?

"So can you fit in lunch before you leave town?"

I tried not to snort. He knew very well that I lived in town and meeting at the hotel was just a ruse to hide my identity. He didn't need to know it was also a gift from Sue for the completion of the series—a much-needed vacation, especially from the escapade last week.

So yes, I could fit in lunch. The question really was, did I want to? The suite was booked for the next two days, and I had no plans whatsoever. What would it hurt? I shrugged and sat up. "Yes, I can do lunch. Where do you want to meet?"

There was clicking in the background, as if he were typing on a keyboard, and then he said, "I'll pick you up at eleven-thirty."

I bristled, wondering why he'd asked if I could do lunch but not giving me a choice about transportation. "That's fine. I will see you downstairs in," I checked the clock and about choked, "thirty minutes."