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“Seduce Me,” She Said
The words came as soft as rain.
Evelyn Marx wanted more than the life of a paltry romance writer. Sure, the money was steady, but the stories themselves were far from the epics she had hoped to pen when she first started out as a writer back in her twenties. The industry had almost broken her after her first few books flopped and died with barely a whisper.
Now she wrote books with bawdy covers of shirtless men manhandling women in flowing dresses. She smirked at each cover when her editor sent them. At this point, she didn’t even care about the readers. She just wanted the money and the fancy trips.
Gone were the days when she cowered behind art and words as if they were the only things that could save her.
Her husband was kind enough, she supposed, though she had felt the barbs of jealousy when his career took off before hers did. Why should she take a backseat when she had all talent and charisma wound up in her petite frame? While he still looked at her with love and adoration, she had long grown tired of his plainness.
In truth, she rather would have had one of the empty-headed alpha males from one of her books. Maybe an angel whose muscles were stronger than his brain. Or perhaps a demon conjured to life from one maiden’s well-timed mistake.
