Dangerous Curves Ahead

Chapter 1

One

The tapping of raindrops on the window was intermittent; sometimes a steady pitter-patter, then in the next minute, a reluctant deluge. The thick droplets dried up immediately after impact when they hit the glass pane. The disappearing act was likely due to the brilliant sun shining above.

It was the kind of day my grandfather would’ve called God weeping for mankind. It was the kind of day my father would’ve called God pissing on mankind. In my opinion it was a great day.

The winter was over. I was out of the knits and sweaters that added bulk to my curvy frame. Today, I was in one of my favorite sundresses. Sundresses allowed me to come out of my shell and show off my best assets; my calves and shoulders. Though most of the time, the male gaze stayed focused on the double D’s on my chest.

I sat in a pretty floral dress, my wedged heels crossed at my ankles. My toenails were done in a fun design that matched my fingernails, which also matched the ribbon I’d tied in my hair, which also complimented the floral earrings dangling from my lobes. Because I was never comfortable showing too much skin, I may have been prone to over-accessorizing.

I wasn’t a flashy person. Though I did often use my clothing to reflect my mood. And today, I felt a rainbow of optimism on the horizon.

Also on the horizon, across the street in an office building, I spied a man in a business suit and a woman in a blouse and skirt making out. The man had the woman pressed up against the closed door. My eyes widened as his hands went up her shirt.

From this distance, I saw the divot of her belly button. I’d seen any number of belly buttons in my lifetime; on the beach, in the girl’s locker room, walking down the street on a Saturday night. But in this context, there was something wicked about it.

I wasn’t wicked. I was a good girl. But I couldn’t look away.

The man’s palm traveled under her blouse up higher and higher on her torso. My eyes kept in step with his fingers. My hand clutched at my chest at the sight of her b*a; lacy and fire-engine red. He pulled the b*a cup down and exposed her n****e. The contrast to the red lace and the pink areola was stark.

A c***k of thunder split the air, darkening the skies and scattering the raindrops. The two broke apart. They looked out the window, up at the darkening sky. At the same time, I jumped in my seat. I averted my gaze, doubtful they saw me.

I pressed a hand to my cheeks to feel them flaming. Then reached down to finger the rosary beads at my heart. The texture of the beads calmed me. When I looked up, the couple was gone. The office was empty.

I took a deep breath and turned from the window. Glancing up at the utilitarian wall clock, I noted that my appointment should’ve started fifteen minutes ago.

My fifth book in Hera Publishing’s inspirational romance line had just reached into the top 10,000 on sss. There were over a million books available for sale at the online retailer. That was a big deal for an inspirational author like me who ended each book with the hero and heroine approaching first base. It proved that readers wanted more of my self-assured heroines who met their heroes inside church groups instead of the stepbrother down the hall or the werewolf who threw her over his shoulder.

My first series, Righteous Calling, was comprised of twenty-something, career women who returned to their small towns, and then back to their roots in church, to reconnect with their Creator. Along the way, they each found love amidst the pews. I sat in my editor’s office waiting to pitch my next series.

The series I hoped to write next was called Tender Kisses. For this series, I planned to go with the tide of the market and write new adult characters. These love stories would be about Christians meeting at Bible college. I was also debating pitching a future series called Love’s Calling about missionaries finding romance while abroad.

I wasn’t making a killing selling sweet romances, but they paid the bills. It was enough so that I didn’t have to rely on my parents for money. My mother would love nothing more than to have me back home. That was the last thing I wanted; being the buffer in my parents’ marriage. Til death do us part was less a vow and more a threat in my parents’ case.

The pitter-patter of the rain died down, and I heard the striking of heels across the floor. Moira Young walked into her office in fire-red stilettos and a black designer pantsuit that fit her size six waist like a glove. Her face looked professionally made up as though she’d walked off a high-fashion shoot. Her lip-gloss was perfect for her dark skin tone. She could’ve been Tyra Banks's more attractive sister. Sitting in my flower dress and hair bows, I felt like anything but America’s Next Top Model.

I sucked in my size twelve gut which caused my double D’s to rise. I’d managed eyeliner and gloss, but that was the extent of my makeup collection. Most of my advance and royalties went to my closet, which I used to hide my chubby flaws.

Moira had taken over the publishing house after my third book had been published. My last editor had left, gone off to a big New York publishing house. She’d taken a few authors with her. I hadn’t been included.

That was fine. I was loyal to Hera Publishing. This company had given me my first break. I planned to stay with them for the long haul.

“All right, Mary Kate.”

I forced a smile. I hated when people truncated my name. But I wanted to start this meeting off on a positive note.

Moira looked up at me with a thousand-watt smile that didn’t reach her smoke-lined eyes.

“I’m excited to talk about your future with the company,” she said in an even tone.

Her even tone didn’t alarm me. Moira never spoke in exclamation points. Only periods and semi-colons.

I, on the other hand, was prone to exclaim. “I’m excited, too!”

“We’re making some changes,” Moira continued, glazing over my expression. “You’re a valued author for Hera Publishing. You have a loyal, but small following.”

My following wasn’t small. Had she not read the latest author report? I wasn’t exactly one in a million, but 10,000 wasn’t half bad.

“I think it could be bigger,” Moira said. “We want to take you in a new direction.”

Perfect. I opened my mouth to pitch my Tender Kisses and Love’s Calling series.

Before I could, Moira continued. “We want you to add steam.”

Steam? As in steam punk? I had no clue about that genre. It also had no place in inspirational and sweet romance. It was more in the realm of science fiction and fantasy romance.

When Moira came onboard, Hera introduced a few new lines. The Athena line, for paranormal, science fiction, and fantasy romance. The Dione line, for contemporary. And the Aphrodite line, for e*****a. With my current sales, I felt fairly secure that my career would continue at the Demeter line, for the sweeter side of romance. Was she asking me to write for the Athena line?

“Many Christian authors, inspirational authors, and sweet authors are opening the doors during their love scenes,” Moira said. “There’s even Amish erotica.”

So I’d heard. I wasn’t Amish. I’d been raised in a traditional Christian household. The kind where the parents stop going to church after the kids outgrew their fancy Easter clothes.

“Your readers are buying it,” Moira said.

I frowned, having lost the train of conversation. “It?”

Moira paused and blinked at me as though she remembered I was there while she gave her monologue. “s*x. Your readers are buying books with s*x in them.”

I wanted to disagree. I wanted to insist that my readers were girls just like me. Good girls, who sat with their legs crossed, and went to church every Sunday.

Well, I didn’t go to church every Sunday. In fact, I hadn’t been since… last Easter? I think?

“If you want to keep writing for us, Mary Kate, you’re going to have to pop your heroines’ cherries.”

This time it was me who paused and blinked. I shook my head like I used to shake the bunny ear antennas on my grandparents’ old television. There had to be something wrong with the reception.

“You can keep the story lines in your wheel house,” Moira said. “I’d love to see a good girl go on a s****l journey of discovery with a bad boy in need of redemption. I’ll need to see an outline and the first three chapters by the end of the month.”

An outline? I hadn’t been required to submit an outline since my first book. Not only was I being asked to write something completely out of my depth, I was being treated like a new author.

“And what if I don’t want to add steam or open doors in my stories?” I asked.

Moira frowned as though she hadn’t considered the query. “You can always buy out your existing contract. But you still owe us two more books.”

I didn’t have the money lying around to buy out of two books. I was budgeted down to the penny. I opened my mouth to bargain, but Moira’s phone rang. She picked up the receiver. I was effectively dismissed.

I rose, preparing to leave the office. I cast a glance out the window. On the bright side, the sky had cleared, taking the rain away. Off in the distance, I spied the multicolored stripes of a rainbow. I was just on the wrong end of the arch.