Humorous women's fiction. Complete at 100,000 words.  Click here to read the "back cover blurb."

Excerpt from chapter 2 is below:

It was no surprise that I yearned for a good historical romance that night, and so I pulled out my dog-eared copy of Dark Scoundrel and read it straight through. Again.

The next morning I forced myself out of bed after too little sleep. I’d been thinking about an idea for a new romance novel. Well, mostly I’d been thinking about the hero. I’ll admit that my new neighbor, Hank Tyler, might have had something to do with my train of thought. There were certain parts of him that were very intriguing. I won’t say which parts.

I hadn’t heard from my agent, Rose Feldman, in a couple of months, so we were due to hook up. We stayed in touch just in case I managed to turn out a saleable manuscript. It wasn’t that I couldn’t write. I could write just fine–as well as I ever could, anyway–but Rose couldn’t sell it. She said I’d lost the romance. Not a good thing to hear when you’re a romance writer.

“Jane,” came Rose’s raspy voice from my speaker after my line connected with hers. I heard the inevitable click of her cigarette lighter. “I was just thinking about you,” she said.

“Really?” I asked. Gee, how nice. She was thinking about me.

There was a beat of silence, then, “No, not really. I always say that when I hear from someone out of the blue. Makes them think we’re on the same wavelength. Like anybody’s ever on the same wavelength. They don’t usually call me on it, but since you asked...I know how you feel about being lied to.”

Everyone knew how I felt about being lied to. I had ranted about it for weeks after learning the extent of Pete’s deceit. Fortunately, Rose had seemed to take it in stride, telling me it was fodder for writing. In my case that hadn’t proved true–so far.

I decided to get straight to it.  I’ve got a great idea for a new romance. A great idea for a new hero, anyway.”

There was silence but for the sound of Rose blowing out her cigarette smoke.

“A duke?”

“Of course,” I said. “What’s a hero if not a duke? But this one is really special. He’s got a great character arc and a fantastic sense of humor.” I waited while Rose sucked in all the air between New York and Florida along with her nicotine fix.

“Does he still have a penis at the end of the book?” she croaked out.

I huffed. Mentally, of course. You make one little mistake in this business and they never forget it. Not that castrating the hero had been a mistake, at least not the way I’d written it.

“I told you it proved their love transcended the physical,” I said.

“And I told you that no one wants a hero without a penis, duke or not.”

I felt my back go up. I couldn’t help it. I’d put a lot of thought into that hero. “Someone might have, if you’d sent the manuscript out to more than one editor.”

“Jane, I didn’t need to send it to more than one editor. Thirty seconds after that one finished reading it, the entire publishing world knew about it. They’re still laughing. You’re lucky everyone likes you. Otherwise your name would be mud.”

“Everyone likes me?” I was pleased enough that it soothed my hurt feelings. A little.

“As a writer, not as a person. But no one’s gonna buy a hero without a penis, no matter what.”

“Okay, I get it.” Honestly. How many times did I have to apologize?

“Do you? Do you really? Because the next hero you wrote was impotent and no one wants a hero that can’t get it up, either.”

“That’s not true,” I said, recalling the next book I’d submitted to her, which she subsequently shot down. “He wasn’t impotent with the heroine—just with everyone else. It was romantic.”

“It was gross. Just write a regular hero. One with a penis that works the way it’s supposed to.”

I mumbled something, I wasn’t sure what. I was wishing I hadn’t called.

“Jane, this conversation tells me you’re still not ready to write romance. Go get laid.”

“I don’t need to get laid.”

Okay, maybe I did, but it wouldn’t change my mind about men. Men were scum, but if I had to write them like they were Prince Charmings, I could. It was fiction, wasn’t it? And I was a professional.