Premiere Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Introduction by Sylvia Day

  Ravished by the Geek by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Under a Wicked Moon by Lila Bell

  A Right Honorable Gentleman by Courtney Milan

  Station 12 by Amber Lin

  Wrong Number, Right Girl by Monica Murphy

  A Light in the Darkness by Regina Scott

  Coming Home by Joan Johnston

  The Poet by T. L. Costa

  Dead Wrong by Cindy Gerard

  The Fallout by Harper St. George

  Hard To Breathe by Sylvia Day

  All I Want by Erica Ridley

  Covering Her Skin by Laura Kaye

  The Long Way Home by Katy Regnery

  Their Night Off by Allison Brennan

  Flying in the Face of Convention by Lex Valentine

  An April Fool’s Forbidden Affair by Sabrina Jeffries

  Wrong Address, Right Guy by Diane Kelly

  About Romance Writers of America®

  Copyright

  WHAT IS A ROMANCE NOVEL?

  DEPENDING ON WHOM YOU ask, you’ll receive answers that range from the outdated and inaccurate term “bodice-ripper” to something like improbably handsome and wealthy boy seduces improbably beautiful and virtuous girl and they live happily ever after.

  Romance Writers of America® defines romance fiction as smart, fresh, and diverse, with a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending. Some say romance novels are pure fantasy because of that happy ending, but the truth is that romantic love is everyday magic and happy endings happen every minute. Falling in love is one of the core elements of the human condition; it touches us all.

  Romance novelists know this, and their stories and characters are as distinct and varied as every individual on earth. It isn’t as simple as boy wins girl. Writers of romance are masters of character development, because that is the driving force of a love story: the myriad changes and sacrifices flawed protagonists must make, the evolution of their self-awareness and goals due to their love, and their view of the world as colored by their circumstances, backstory, and social mores. Love raises the stakes in a way nothing else can. It inspires us to a level of heroism that is rarely achieved by any other motivation.

  It is the richly detailed characterization that makes the romance genre so hugely successful and widely read. Romantic love isn’t fantastical. It’s real and unbiased, and so is the genre. There is a romance for every reader, an imperfect hero or heroine we can see ourselves in.

  Within the pages of this collection, you’ll find some of the diversity in romance. Like a sampler box of decadent chocolates, this anthology is a taste of the variety of characters and settings to be found in the genre. All the stories are tied together with the theme of a wrong number, but the authors take wonderfully different routes in their exploration of that premise.

  I hope you enjoy all the stories as much as I do.

  Settle in and fall in love.

  Sylvia Day

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Project Update

  Hey, Jamie! Just finished writing the hottest scene EVER.Tell me what you think, girlfriend! Too bad this is fiction. Wouldn’t mind experiencing it for real, you know?

  XX00

  Viv

  JAMIE AUTOMATICALLY HIT FORWARD and typed Jamie_Smith without the 2 after it. When he’d hired on as the new IT guy, personnel had mentioned there was a woman named Jamie Smith in accounting. Because he was the second Jamie at the company, he’d ended up with a 2 on the end of his email addy. He’d met the other Jamie, a twenty-something bubbly sort whose hair changed color so often he had trouble recognizing her in the hallway. She and Viv, who worked in the legal department, were best buds who’d known each other since high school.

  He had no trouble recognizing Viv in the hallway. He’d spotted her his second day. On his third day, he’d been lucky enough to stand behind her in the cafeteria line, and they’d talked about movies. Turned out they both liked action-adventure with some comedy mixed in.

  If he’d had the looks and confidence of Drew Hanover, Devco’s top salesman who’d quarterbacked his college football team to a Rose Bowl victory, Jamie would have asked Viv for a date. She didn’t appear to be seeing anyone. But he was a glasses-wearing computer geek and knew his limits. Vivian Crowley—blond, green-eyed, and built like a Victoria’s Secret model—was out of his league.

  But that didn’t stop him from admiring her from afar or discussing movies with her whenever they happened to see each other in the cafeteria. Viv shouldn’t be sending personal emails through the company system, but plenty of others did it, so he couldn’t blame her too much. He’d just delete this one and forget about it.

  Or maybe he’d read it first. Viv hadn’t mentioned that she liked to write, but sometimes people were shy about their creative side. She hadn’t intended for him to see this, but there it was on his screen by no fault of his own, and he was curious about what she considered the hottest scene EVER.

  Thirty minutes later, he had to agree with her assessment. She’d written the hottest scene EVER, and he was using all his mental tricks to shrink his bad boy. If someone came into his cubicle, he was so not leaving his chair.

  He wouldn’t be forgetting that scene anytime soon. The hero had agreed to satisfy his lover’s fantasy by meeting her in a darkened hotel room as if they were strangers. They weren’t supposed to speak or use names, although moaning and crying out had been allowed and encouraged. In the dark, where she couldn’t see his face or anticipate his moves, he’d driven her wild with inventive sex play.

  Jamie had kept his cool during the furry-gloves section. He’d been only semi-aroused during the feather-boa part. The whipped cream had ramped up the action quite a bit, and by the time the guy brought out the flavored body paint, Jamie had desperately needed a cold shower. When the episode was over, the man had silently dressed and exited the room, leaving the woman wrung out with pleasure.

  Of course, Jamie imagined that Viv was the woman, but now that he’d read her scene, he couldn’t let on. If he saw her in the cafeteria at lunchtime today, he’d have to act natural, as if he hadn’t recently imagined her writhing naked on a hotel bed while someone licked flavored body paint from all her private places.

  Okay, he could do this. On his high school debate team, he’d been known as the Ice Man because, when necessary, he had the mental discipline to hide his emotional reactions. If he talked to her, he’d erase this scene from his mind, and she wouldn’t notice anything different about him.

  But that was two hours from now. In the meantime, he was free to think about this subject as often as he liked. The more he considered it, the more fascinated he became. Judging from her comment in the email, she’d never actually done those things with a guy, but she’d like to. And at this moment in time, he was the unlikely dude with the inside info …

  Viv sat at an elevated table in one of San Francisco’s trendiest bars with her best friend, Jamie. “You didn’t email me back about my scene. Did you read it?”

  “Almost didn’t get to it. A damned payroll glitch sucked up most of my day, but I managed to skim it before I shut down my computer.” Jamie grinned. “It’s smokin’.”

  “Oh, good.” Viv’s shoulders relaxed. Jamie was her beta reader. Without her, Viv wouldn’t know whether what she’d created was worth submitting.

  “In fact, it’s the best sex scene you’ve ever written. I have to believe you’ll sell this book. You get better and better with each manuscript.” Jamie signaled for the waitress.

  Viv sighed. “From your lips to God’s ears. I’ve never worked so hard at something in my entire life. I feel as if I have two jobs, but only one of them is paying me anything.”

  “Yet. Have faith.” The waitress came over and Jamie ordered them each an appletini before turning back to Viv. “By the way, you accidentally sent that email to Jamie Two.”

  Her face grew hot. “Damn!”

  “Ah, don’t worry. He probably just forwarded it and dumped his copy without looking at it. That’s what I do when I get his. Who has time to snoop into someone else’s mail?”

  “But what if he didn’t dump it? What if he read it? I’d be so embarrassed.”

  “Listen, Viv, you’re hoping to get published, right?”

  “That’s my goal.”

  “Then what happens when everyone can read your stuff, including Jamie Two?”

  “I’ll use a pen name.” She hadn’t thought of one yet, but she’d worry about that when she signed a contract.

  “So nobody will know it’s you?”

  “You will, obviously, but you won’t tell if I ask you not to.”

  “Of course I won’t. I’ll even pinkie swear if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Viv smiled. “Not necessary. I trust you.”

  “But won’t you want to tell your folks?”

  “Well, yeah, and my sister. But my grandparents? No way, not with all the sex I have in there. Nobody at Devco has to know, either. I just hope to hell Jamie Two didn’t read that email.”

  “I’ll bet he didn’t. He forwarded it to me first thing this morning, and I don’t think he acted any different at the cafeteria today. I mean, he has a crush going on, but that’s always been true.”

  “I know.” Viv thought about the times she’d caught him gazing at her with poorly disguised longing in his soft brown eyes. “It’s sweet.”

  “It’s very sweet. I think he’s sort of handsome. I mean, in a geeky kind of
way. I’m thinking Clark Kent.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I do like his hair, and once he took off his glasses to clean them, and it totally changed his look. Plus he’s super smart.”

  Jamie studied her. “He likes you a lot. Ever think of dating him?”

  “Nah. He’s nice, and I’m flattered that he’s crushing on me, but he’s not … dashing. I want somebody with adventure in his soul. Someone who would ravish me.”

  “Like the hero in this current book.”

  “Exactly! Find me that guy, and I’ll be in seventh heaven.”

  Two weeks later, Viv came into work, headed straight for the accounting department, and made her way over to her friend’s desk. “I have to talk to you. Come with me to the ladies’ room. Now.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened and she pushed back her chair. “Okay.”

  Once they were safely in the restroom, Viv looked around to make sure they were alone.

  “You’re making me nervous,” Jamie said. “What’s with all the secrecy?”

  “Look at this.” Viv pulled a cream-colored envelope from her messenger bag, took out the folded sheet of elegant stationary, and handed it to Jamie. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Jamie scanned the handwritten letter. Then her gaze lifted. “Jamie Two?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? He did read my scene, and now he’s inviting me to meet him in a swanky hotel room tonight!”

  “He didn’t sign it.”

  “Of course not! The whole point of the fantasy is to meet as strangers. All I have is a room number.” Viv reached in the pocket of her linen jacket. “And a key.”

  “Are you going?”

  “No! I mean, probably not, but … what do you think?” Viv’s chest tightened with anxiety, but underneath her nervousness lurked a spark of excitement.

  Jamie folded the letter and tapped it against her palm. “He’d be the safest stranger you’d ever rendezvous with. Nobody gets hired at Devco without a thorough background check.”

  “I’m not worried about that. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “Then what’s the problem? He’s giving you a chance to live out your fantasy. In my opinion, that’s heroic.”

  “It would be, if he can pull it off, but this is Jamie we’re talking about. He’s a geek. What if it’s a disaster? That would be horrible for both of us. We’d have to keep working in the same building, eating in the same cafeteria, meeting by accident in the hallway. It would be hell.”

  Her friend handed the letter back and turned to the mirror to fluff her hair, which was strawberry blond this week. “I guess you shouldn’t risk it, then.” She leaned closer to the mirror and pursed her lips.

  “Would you? Knowing the potential consequences?”

  Jamie met her gaze in the mirror. “You said you wanted dashing, and this is dashing. You said you wanted to be ravished, and he sounds as if that’s what he has in mind. Think of what he’s risking by sending you this letter. If you don’t go tonight, how do you think he’ll feel?”

  Viv had considered that. Picturing him waiting in vain made her very sad. But the thought of actually going to the hotel … she honestly didn’t know if she could do it. After all her talk about wanting a dashing hero to ravish her, she might turn out to be a chicken.

  Jamie faced her again and took her gently by the shoulders. “We have to get back to work, toots. You don’t have to make up your mind right this minute. See how you feel as the day goes on.”

  Viv nodded, but she didn’t think a few more hours would make any difference. She’d continue to debate whether to play it safe or take a leap of faith. Meanwhile, she had to live with the fact that Jamie Two was going through a different kind of agony.

  He’d thrown down the gauntlet, and he wouldn’t know until eight tonight whether she’d decided to pick it up. She’d eat at her desk this lunch hour to save both of them awkwardness in the cafeteria. No matter what she decided, though, she gave him props for courage. As for her bravery or lack of it, the jury was still out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SEVEN FIFTY-SIX, AND JAMIE was sweating bullets. What had he been thinking, booking this room and mailing that invitation? Obviously Viv had known that he’d sent it, because her friend would have mentioned the email mistake, and conclusions would have been drawn from that. It couldn’t be anyone but him.

  So here he was, about to face total humiliation because she wouldn’t come. But once he’d put the invitation in the mail, he’d set the stage for the slight possibility she would come. The laws of probability were against it, but based on that one-in-a-million chance, he had to complete his preparations. Every detail had to be exactly as she’d written the scene he’d now memorized.

  He’d dressed as she’d described the guy—bare feet, black sweats, and a black, tight-fitting T-shirt. The T-shirt looked decent on him because, contrary to the stereotype of pigeon-chested computer nerds, he had pecs. Not huge ones because he only worked out three times a week. He found the process boring, but it did mean he could go to the beach and not have bullies kick sand in his face. Because he felt less vulnerable wearing his glasses, he’d leave them on until she came through the door. If she ever did.

  If and when she arrived, he’d remove his glasses right before he switched off the bedside lamp. After that, the room would be too dark to see anything even if he had on glasses. He’d memorized the layout, and with a little caution and luck, his perfect recall ability would keep him from slamming into furniture or doing a face-plant on the thick carpet.

  She had a dress code, too—knit sheath that could be pulled over her head, flat shoes, trench coat. No underwear. That last detail threatened to give him a woody whenever he thought about it. So mostly he didn’t think about it.

  Her dress code wouldn’t matter if she ignored his letter. He’d gambled on the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to resist her own fantasy, even if a geek offered to provide it. But now that he’d come to the moment of truth, he realized how flawed his thinking had been. She’d want her fantasy, but only if it came wrapped in the right package.

  Seven fifty-eight. Everything he’d need was stacked on the bedside table—furry gloves, feather boa, whipped cream, flavored body paint, and condoms. He’d tucked one condom in the pocket of his sweats for insurance purposes, in case things got a little crazy and he couldn’t easily locate the box in the middle of all the other paraphernalia.

  It all could be for nothing, and he braced himself for the disappointment when she didn’t show up. He wouldn’t leave right at eight, though. He’d give her ten or fifteen minutes’ leeway in case she was caught in traffic.

  Crossing to the window, he parted the heavy blackout curtains and gazed down twenty stories to the street below. The night was cool, and fog had crept in from the bay to blur the diamond and ruby necklace of cars headed in and out of the city. She could be down there, climbing out of a cab and walking toward the hotel entrance, her heart pounding and her palms sweaty, just like his. She could be down there, but he had a tough time believing that she was.

  Seven fifty-nine. If she’d been in a generous mood, she would have arrived early. But as the digital clock on the bedside table clicked over to eight, then eight-oh-one, any hope he’d tried to keep alive withered. Eight-oh-two. Okay, that was it. She’d decided not to—

  A key card slid into the lock. He held his breath. Really? His elaborate scheme might actually work? His pulse shot into overdrive. She was here. Now it was all up to him.

  Whipping off his glasses, he laid them on the bedside table and hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. His glasses rattled a little on the nightstand because his hands were shaking. Please, God, let him be able to do what she wanted without fumbling. Hell, it was really dark in here.

  The door opened, and a slice of light from the hallway revealed Viv’s silhouette. She wore her trench coat with the collar turned up, which made her look like a spy in a Grade B movie. Her breathing was audible even from fifteen feet away.

  He didn’t move, as if she were a wild animal he’d startle. But his heart throbbed painfully and he was getting dizzy. Okay, Smith. Do not pass out.

  She closed the door and clicked the safety latch. The sound was really loud in the dark silence. According to what she’d written, she would take off the trench coat, the dress, and the shoes. Then she’d stand very still while he approached. They weren’t supposed to say anything.