Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Whitney

The blank screen on my laptop mocked me, the blinking cursor defiant. No matter how I tried, I couldn't pull words from the empty well in my mind. I sat back in my desk chair and crossed my arms, my stomach clenching.

I didn't have time for writer's block. This manuscript was due to my editor in five days, and I had to write ten thousand more words plus revise the book.

My stomach dropped to my toes.

My new publishing schedule was grueling. But increasing my output to four books per year was imperative.

I needed the money, plain and simple.

I couldn't afford to pay for my nine-hundred-dollar-per-month prescription and still pay my rent. I was playing a dangerous game of roulette by halving my dosage to stretch out the cost.

Concentrate. I swiveled back and forth in my chair and closed my eyes, picturing the hero of my book.

Tall and broad, with hungry brown eyes that undressed you at a glance. I shivered. His fingers would be rough against silky skin?—

My eyes popped open. My neighbor, the Blazers' goalie Hudson Talbott, fizzled from my inner vision.

But inspiration struck.

My fingers flew over the keyboard of my laptop, the keys clicking softly in my quiet apartment.

Edmund stepped into his bedchamber and froze. Instead of his valet, he found…

I raised my gaze and peered out the window, thinking.

…a vision in silk, shimmering in the candlelight. "Lady Elizabeth, what are you doing here?" He frowned. "Where is Henry?"

Her tantalizing…

"No." I clicked over to my thesaurus and scanned the options.

…tempting lips tipped into a cunning…

"Delete."

…subtle smile. "Your Grace, I believe he has an assignation with a chambermaid."

Edmund swore under his breath. "My lady, you cannot be here. We could be caught in a compromising situation." Nonetheless, his feet carried him closer to her of their own accord.

"The household is abed, Your Grace, and I wished to speak with you."

"Could we not have spoken at the ball?" His gaze dropped to the creamy mounds of her bosom swelling above the bodice of her gown. His cock stirred behind his fall. With effort, he returned his eyes to hers.

"I wished to speak with you privately."

"Lady Elizabeth ? —"

"Please, call me Whit ? —"

"Delete. "

"Eliza."

He straightened his shoulders. He should send her away. But this was Elizabeth. The woman who had invaded his dreams and set a siege to his heart. "Huds ? —"

"Delete."

"Edmund." His voice rasped. "Call me Edmund."

"Edmund, I ? —"

Bzzzzzzzz . The fire alarm blared in the building's hallway and from the wall-mounted speaker-strobe in my living room, shattering the peacefulness of my apartment. My fingers stumbled on the keyboard, typing gibberish. The light in the room flashed rhythmically, and I was thankful I faced away from the device.

A robotic, disembodied voice announced, "Fire reported in the building. Please evacuate. Take the stairs." In the hall, fire doors slammed shut with thunk s. Footsteps pounded in the apartment upstairs.

Shoot. It was probably another false alarm, but of course it happened just when I was in the zone. Still—false alarm or not—my heart pummeled my rib cage and my stomach churned. I vaulted from my chair, unable to avoid the light flashing in the room.

My head floated like I was having an out-of-body experience, and a metallic taste flooded my mouth.

No. This couldn't be happening. I ran to the kitchen counter and, with a trembling right hand, grabbed my bottle of prescription medicine. After a few shaky attempts with the pill splitter, I cut a pill in half. I bent to the faucet and downed the half-tablet with water gulped directly from the stream.

"Mr. Darcy!" I called, my voice quivering. "We have to go!" I checked inside his cat house, peered under the sofa, and looked beneath the bed. I stood and turned full circle in my bedroom, my heart racing. Where was he ?

There. The door to my walk-in closet stood slightly open. My heart in my throat, I finally found my Maine Coon mix cowering in the closet's corner behind a box. His wide eyes mirrored my own terror.

Grabbing his nearby carrier, I opened its top grate. "Come here, baby," I crooned. "It's okay, sweetheart." The alarm practically drowned out my sweet nothings, even inside the closet. I crept into the corner. Mr. Darcy scrambled farther into the small space, but I snatched him. He fought, scratching my arms and hissing. I dunked the scrabbling, howling cat into the carrier and slammed the lid.

Carrier in hand, I hustled back into the living room. "…Please evacuate…" continued on a loop. I gritted my teeth. "I'm working on it." I slapped my laptop shut, ripped out the cord, and tucked it under my arm. Throwing my bottle of medicine into my purse, I slung it over my shoulder and rushed for the door. I flung it open. And sniffed.

Did I smell smoke?

I hesitated and turned back to my apartment. My gaze snagged on the blue teacup on a bookshelf. I bit my lip.

I raced to the bookshelf and gently placed the teacup in my purse. My gaze dropped to the first copies of all my published books, but I couldn't carry thirty-two paperbacks with me. My heart sank. I hoped I'd see them again.

I hurried out the door and into the hallway, colliding with a wall of muscle and losing my balance.