it had been beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
She’d had to get away from him fast. Before his too-blue eyes, dimpled grins and steamy kisses had melted all her defenses. She wasn’t willing to live with the sort of consequences that happened whenever she let her guard slip….
“Here you go.”
Ellen opened her eyes to find a steaming mug of latte on the table. She glanced up at Lennon Eastman, one of her authors and a very close friend, despite the fact that she and her nutty great-aunt were the reasons Ellen kept winding up in the Big Easy, where she’d first met him.
She couldn’t hold that against Lennon, especially not when her friend looked so happy. Even after a long night in heels that by all rights should have crippled her, Lennon looked ready to go for another round of schmoozing.
“Thanks. I so needed this,” Ellen said. “I think my jaw is locked. I can’t seem to stop smiling.”
“Just let me know if you need to see my dentist.” Lennon had settled into a wing chair opposite and shot her a less-than-sympathetic glance.
“I just might. Suffering is not on my vacation itinerary.”
“Then we shouldn’t be drinking espresso at three o’clock in the morning. We’ll pay for this sleep deprivation tomorrow.”
“Are you kidding?” Ellen rubbed her jaw to ease the stiffness. “I won’t make it across the courtyard without the caffeine. The bellhop will find me asleep behind a potted palm.”
“You can always ask him to load you onto his luggage cart and haul you up to your room.”
“Then I’d wind up in a potted palm because I can’t tip him. I gave you the last of my cash for these lattes.”
Lennon laughed. “Maybe we should sit right here and pound espresso while the sun comes up. I’ve got that Regency writers’ panel at eight. Don’t you have plans to meet your new author for breakfast at Café du Monde?”
“I do.” But Ellen couldn’t tackle the thought of another day filled with marathon smiling just yet. Even when there were beignets involved. A favorite.
She raised her mug in a toast, instead. “Saluté. You deserved this year’s RAVE Award for Milord Spy. The publicity should shoot your sales through the roof. The book distributors love that award. And you were very gracious when you accepted.”
“Thank you, but winning hasn’t even hit me yet. I’m still stuck on the fact that you actually let me keep my title.”
“No offense, Lennon, but you’re not title gifted.”
“You say that to all your authors. I know, I’ve heard.”
“No, only to you and Stephanie. Did she tell you what the working title of her latest book is?”
“Lord of the Ravished. I know, pretty dreadful. Tell me mine are never that bad.” When Ellen didn’t reply, Lennon relented with a sigh. “I’ll be satisfied that my gift lies in writing orgasms.”
“No argument there, but take credit where it’s due. You picked a great title this time, born out by your award.”
Lennon beamed. This award was just one more good thing to happen in a run of good things, starting with Lennon marrying her handsome new husband. Ellen knew of no one more deserving.
“Congratulations to you, as well.” Lennon tipped her mug in salute. “Couldn’t have done it without your exceptional editing ability. You were very eloquent while accepting your accolades. I thought we were an impressive team. And we looked so good.”
“Thankfully, because I guarantee you the picture of our acceptance is going to make the cover of next month’s Romance Industry Review Magazine. The RAVE is big, big news.”
Not only for Lennon, but for her, too. A RAVE-winning author meant another feather in her cap, and collecting feathers happened to be one of Ellen’s pastimes. She was currently collecting enough feathers to earn the position of senior editor at Brant Publishing, the goal she’d been working toward since accepting a job as an editorial assistant in college.
“Is the RAVE big enough to get me some perks?” Lennon asked. “Like a renowned cover model or a reprint?”
Lennon might be a creative wonder, a rising star who knew how to write women’s fantasies to the delight of her readers, but she was also a businesswoman who didn’t miss a trick.
Ellen scowled. “I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t forget I was the one who battled the marketing department to print your name bigger than the title on your covers.”
“You know I appreciate it immensely, but that was two books ago. How long do you expect me to let you rest on your laurels?”
Ellen laughed, a heartfelt sound that took her by surprise. By all rights she should be too sleep deprived to feel anything but exhaustion right now, yet she felt more relaxed, more content than she’d been in a long time. Too long.
Lifting her mug, Ellen savored another swallow. It felt so good to be away from home, away from the office, away from him. She was a woman on the fast track—although her family didn’t consider her career to be in the same league as those of her lawyer siblings, chief justice aunt, campaign manager uncle, political analyst and lobbyist cousins…
Or her Senator mother and former Cabinet-member father.
In a clan that boasted enough high-power careers to rival those of the Kennedys, Ellen’s decision to go into publishing—albeit with a Fortune 500 company—still had the ability to make all of her relations scratch their heads in bewilderment.
She deserved a break from the hectic pace, the constant pressure…from thinking about—
“Look, it’s Lennon and her gorgeous editor!”
Glancing up, Ellen couldn’t miss the group that had just entered the front lobby, returning from a night of reveling on Bourbon Street, if their costumes were any indication.
“Oh, bloody hell. It’s Mr. Muscle-Butt and his entourage. Oh, Lennon, look at him, he’s wearing a cape.”
“Be nice,” Lennon admonished. “He’s trying to impress you.”
“By looking like Zorro?”
“By looking like a romance hero. You’re a romance editor—see the connection?”
Ellen saw, all right. Was not interested. Romance heroes didn’t exist outside of books and even if they did, she’d had her fill of men recently, thank you very much. This one swept through the lobby with a dramatic flourish that demanded the attention of every person in the place, including the sleepy-eyed desk clerks.
His brown hair fell to his waist and the black cape flew out behind him as if he were striding off a windswept moor. Not to mention his thoughtlessness—his entourage, a gaggle of model-thin women dressed in outlandishly sexy costumes, was forced to gallop to keep up with his long-legged strides.
“Oh, no. He’s not wearing his name tag. Who is he again? I can’t very well call him Mr. Muscle-Butt.”
“Vittorio,” Lennon whispered beneath her breath while standing to greet the new arrivals. “Congratulate him on winning first place in the cover model competition tonight. He’ll be crushed if he thinks you didn’t notice.”
“Got it.” Ellen set her mug on the table, slapped on her professional smile again and followed Lennon’s lead. “Good evening, Vittorio. Congratulations on your win.”
He extended his hand, and she had no choice but to offer hers, while he smiled what had to be a smile even more professional than her own. She had the unkind thought that he’d probably devoted days to practicing that smile in front of a mirror. Going for charming…dashing…roguish—ugh!
“My lovely Ellen.” He bowed and his mouth grazed