Farrah probably knew more about him—she stalked the man, and if life was fair, she would have been here at the writers’ conference, but it just went out six weeks ago that he was attending and Farrah needed her vacation time for her upcoming wedding.
So Ressa was here instead, and if she went by what Farrah said, she’d just look for the hawt-est guy around.
An image flashed through her mind. Overlong hair, falling into a lean, almost too lean, face. Blue green eyes. A mouth too perfect to be real.
The way he’d looked lingeringly at her that last time.
It had been two months since she’d seen him.
Two months, and she still dreamed about a man whose name she would never know.
And then there was Clayton, that little darling. She missed him in a way that didn’t really make sense.
“Hey . . . you’re drifting on me again,” Farrah said, pulling her back down to planet earth.
“Sorry.” Ressa focused back on the matter at hand. She’d promised her friend she’d pin down the elusive Trey Barnes for a few minutes.
He’d had a short visit with a local writers’ group back in Norfolk just three weeks ago, so apparently he was rejoining the writing world.
Now she just needed to try and talk him into coming to the Norfolk library. Shouldn’t be too hard.
In theory.
She’d give it a shot. He had to leave the house occasionally, and Ressa had been told more than once she could charm a snake when she set her mind to it.
A too-rigid lit writer should be a piece of cake compared to some of the people she’d dealt with.
“I told you I’d try,” she told Farrah, watching as Lynda snagged a bag and then an envelope, pausing to speak with somebody sitting at the table piled with electronics.
“I wish you could have lucked out and gotten picked for his panel. I mean, you know Max and he suggests you all the time,” Farrah said.
A little bell went ding in the back of her mind. Max suggested you . . .
“Ms. Bliss?”
“I need a minute, Farrah,” she said, moving toward Lynda.
“I apologize for this mess, and for the inconvenience,” Lynda said, smiling. “I’ve got you all set. I’ll look into what happened with your registration, but I can’t guarantee I’ll find any answers. Sometimes the system just messes with us. I will report it, though.”
“As long as you’ve gotten me taken care of, I don’t care. I really appreciate your help.” She accepted the bag, the envelope. “By any chance, do you know which panels they want me to help out with?”
“No.” Lynda grimaced. “I’ll be honest, I’m surprised I even remembered to pass the message on—they said they’d leave a message with the concierge so you’ll probably have a voicemail or something, too. I only remembered because of your name—Bliss . . . it’s kind of pretty.”
“Thanks.” Rissa waggled the envelope again. “For everything. I’ve got Max’s number so I’ll just call him.”
As she started to work her way through the crowd, she put the phone back to her ear. “I’m here.”
“All fixed?”
“Save for the people problems,” she muttered. “It’s handled. They apparently want me to help moderate two more panels—don’t know which ones—I’m going to be scrambling. But I’m a gofer for one of the panels he’s on, so if nothing else, I’ll sneak in a few minutes then.” Up ahead, she spied the main elevator bank and she could have sworn her entire body breathed a sigh of thanksgiving.
“And that one is early tomorrow, right? Probably the best time to talk to him, before he gets pestered too much,” Farrah said.
In the background, Ressa heard the deep voice of Farrah’s fiancé, Antoine. “Baby, let her check into her room, at least,” he said.
Ressa grinned as Farrah said, “Hush. I’m doing my job.”
“Yes,” Ressa said before Farrah could say anything else. She wedged herself—and her suitcase—in line. “I should have a chance tomorrow. Everybody, including the gofers, are supposed to meet up about fifteen minutes before the panel starts. I won’t have much time to go over anything, but I’ll put on the charm and ask him if I can buy him a drink.”
“You’ll flirt, you mean.”
“Sure.” Ressa was a natural born flirt and was perfectly fine with it. “If that’s the card to play. Now can I get to my room? I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me. I want to lay down and crash for a little while.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry,” Farrah said, the switch from business to best friend flawless. “You do that. Let me know how things go tomorrow, though. And I expect pictures.”
Ressa managed not to laugh.
She was well aware what kind of pictures Farrah wanted. Yes, the woman was engaged to one sexy beast, but it was no secret between the two friends that Farrah had something of a minor crush on one Trey Barnes.
“I’ll get pictures,” she promised soberly.
Then, as the elevator doors slid open, she disconnected.
Five minutes alone.
That was all she wanted.
Five minutes . . .
Chapter Six
Pizza delivery sounded better by the minute. Pizza, wings, an early night. An invitation from Max had changed his plans, but now he wished he would have just stayed with his initial plan of an early dinner, followed by bed. So far, Trey had done nothing but listen to the pompous ass who was Baron I. Capstone as he attempted to talk over and around everybody else at the table.
Trey was trying to figure out how to excuse himself—so he could get those damn wings—when she walked in.
He damn near choked on the tea he’d just swallowed.
Ressa . . .
Trey thought maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but after he blinked and rubbed his eyes, she was still there. Although it could be a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen.
That body ought to be illegal.
Get it together.
He swallowed, clenched his hands into fists—almost managed to suck in some much needed air.
But then she saw him.
She pursed her lips, frowned as though she was puzzling something through.
He saw the very second she recognized him and something that looked like dazed shock fell across her face. He could sympathize. He’d accepted the fact that they wouldn’t see each other again, and that it was for the best.
That didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed every white-hot dream, and the rare, blistering climax that might follow.
Yes, he still thought about her.
Yes, he still dreamed about her.
And now . . .
She slowly resumed walking toward them and his heart started to hammer in his chest. Some wild hope started to jump and dance. Maybe—
“Hmmm. Boys, I’ve just found who I’m taking back to the hotel,” Capstone murmured.
A rush of possessiveness, the kind he hadn’t felt in years, slammed into him, catching him off guard.
He had no idea what he might have said if Max hadn’t laughed. “Baron, son, you couldn’t manage that if you lived a thousand years.”
Then Max shifted his attention forward. “Ressa, sweetheart. It’s been far too long.”
All the puzzle pieces fell into place. Max . . . Max knew her. He’d mentioned he had a friend who could handle the moderating bit—a librarian, he’d said. Has handled events like this before. You’ll love her.
Feeling a little dazed himself, Trey thought, Yeah, Max. I think I could do just that. I could love her.
Her gaze moved around the table and as it landed on him, need, longing attacked him with vicious, desperate claws.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, her voice smooth and warm as melted chocolate. And her mouth—she’d painted it with some rich, vibrant red and he had to force himself to listen to what she was saying, instead of just watching her mouth as it formed those words. Her gaze landed on him and he inclined his head.