Writers Block Ch 04

"Fuck," I muttered lowly. The sound of Simeon Forster Sr. hanging up the phone and Simeon Forster Jr. slamming my front door coincided and left me achingly hollow. I knew I should run after Sim, should chase him down and explain that there was no dinner date and was never going to be one, but my legs wouldn't move, locked in place no doubt by my pride.

Outside there was the sound of a car starting and the violent squeal of tires as Sim tore out of my driveway. I leaned heavily against the kitchen countertop and tried to take deep, calming breaths. I could still hear the echo of Sim's low-pitched voice in my ear telling me all the sensual things he wanted to do to me.

"Fuck,

fuck

, FUCK!" I growled with frustration. I pressed the rewind button on my answering machine and once again Simeon Forster, Sr.'s voice flooded my kitchen.

Beep.

"Imogen, its Simeon Forster… Senior… Look, I've been giving you and your writing a great deal of thought lately. About that dinner date, I really wish you'd call me so we can get together and discuss business. Strictly business, of course. I had a meeting with Linda Swartz and we think you and my son are the perfect combination. If you and Sim can manage to get this going I know it'll be a huge success. You're perfect for this, Imogen. Please don't say no to him."

There was a long pause, rife with expectancy. "And please, consider the dinner date. I'd love to see you again."

I hit 'erase'. My message count on the answering machine went back to its usual position of '0'.

Dejected, I set about to pouring myself another rye and ginger.

-------

The next morning I dragged my tired, grumpy ass out of the house by sheer force of will. I hadn't slept well, hadn't gotten any writing done. I'd just lain awake and thought about Sim and all the things I should have said and done and didn't. So I got dressed, packed up my laptop, and headed down the street for a cup of tea, hoping the fresh air would help with my headache.

I hadn't been sitting on the patio at the café long when a tall shadow loomed over me, blocking out the sunshine.

"Good Lord," I muttered rudely as Simeon Forster Sr., slid into the seat across from me. "You people never quit."

He chuckled warmly. "We're a stubborn bunch, Miss Wallis."

I glanced up at Forster Sr.'s handsome face. His grin was such a twin to Sim's own that for a moment it took my breath away. "Bunch? You mean there are more of you?" I asked drolly.

"I have four sons, Miss Wallis," Forster Sr. offered with a laugh.

I shook my head, unable to resist the urge to laugh too. "That doesn't bode well for me now does it Mr. Forster?"

"Probably not, Miss Wallis, I'm afraid we're all a great deal alike. And please, just call me Forster."

I rolled the epithet around in my head, preferring it to the longer titles. Secretly, I was quite glad he didn't ask me to call him Simeon. I wasn't sure I could.

"And I'm just Imogen."

Forster held my gaze for a moment, making no effort to hide the flirtatious little spark reflected there. I glanced surreptitiously at his hands as they lay clasped casually on the table. No wedding band and a handsome, confident smile; there was little doubt in my mind that this man was trouble.

"Is there something you wanted, Forster?" I asked bluntly, not really feeling up to playing games. The tea I'd consumed had revived me a little, but sparring with the likes of Simeon Forster Sr. was out of my league and all the Earl Grey in the world wouldn't change that.

Forster chuckled lowly. "Since you didn't return my call I thought I'd see if I could find you here. What did you say to my son yesterday? He didn't seem pleased when he returned to the office."

"It wasn't what

I

said," I admitted. "He was at my place when you called and heard most of your message."

"Most of it?" Forster shook his head and managed to look sheepish. "Just the beginning, I assume?"

I nodded.

"So he's mad at me, not you?"

"Actually, I think we're both the enemy," I said with a wry smile, remembering the events of the previous afternoon. If Sim had been left half as sexually frustrated as I was, it was pretty certain he wasn't fond of me anymore.

Forster watched as I played absentmindedly with the rim of my teacup. His own smile had morphed from flirtatious to slightly sarcastic. "He thinks I'm trying to steal you from under his nose, doesn't he?"

Something in his voice hinted there was more history between father and son than I could ever suspect. "I take it that I'm not the first?" I asked.

"Ah… no." Forster looked abashed. "We seem to have similar taste in women."

"How convenient," I murmured into my tea, ignoring Forster's eloquent grin. I wasn't interested in being caught between the two of them. Forster was a handsome man and the attention was extremely flattering, but Forster was too complicated, too much effort. Besides, somehow I didn't feel as if I could trust him.

Sim was easy, every thing he thought and felt was written across his face, but his father was a different story. I knew I'd never truly know where I stood with Simeon Forster Senior, which left me feeling acutely regretful that at that moment I had no idea where I stood with Simeon Forster Junior either.

"I have to fix things with Sim," I said, trying out a weak smile. "Would he be in the office today?"

Forster nodded. "He's always in the office; he practically lives there. Do you have a plan?"

I considered Forster for a moment. Every inch of his appearance was perfectly tailored and impeccably pressed. He exuded confidence and power and had a smile which I didn't doubt was capable of defeating many a stronger woman than I. I knew it would be easier to get Simeon Forster Senior, but it certainly wouldn't be easier keeping him.

I shrugged in response to Forster's question. "No plan," I confessed. "I'll just be my usual charming self."

I'd meant to be sarcastic, but Forster's answered smile was sexy and knowing. I averted my gaze from his own; it was too much like Sim's for comfort.

"I think that will work," Foster chuckled.

-------

I loitered in the lobby, partly from nerves and partly because I didn't think showing up to apologize to Sim while trailing in the wake of his father was a particularly good idea. I tried to give myself time to allow my racing heart to slow and my frantic brain to compose itself, but neither worked under the cold glare of the perfectly blond receptionist who watched my pacing with thinly veiled interest. Vaguely, I wondered if Sim had ever slept with her.

It was much easier navigating the maze of cubicles at Logan, Richardson, and Monk the second time and Sim's small office was exactly where Forster had told me it would be. The door was slightly ajar and I could hear Sim having a telephone conversation. I knew I should have knocked but I didn't want to give him the opportunity to refuse me; besides, he'd barrelled into my own business often enough over the past couple of weeks for me to feel it was his turn. So I pasted on a confident smile I didn't feel and entered his office without announcing myself first.

Sim's brown eyes widened as I moved to sit across from him, but his smooth voice didn't waver as he kept up the conversation with the person on the other end of the phone. His gaze was oddly unreadable and certainly didn't help my churning stomach, but I was content for a moment to let him finish what I'd interrupted. I busied myself with taking curious glances around his cluttered office.

Sim's office was only slightly tidier than my own at home and there were piles of manuscripts teetering precariously everywhere. If there was any semblance of order to the chaos it wasn't immediately obvious to an outsider. In the corner by the window was a beat up old leather club chair surrounded by more piles of manuscripts; perched upon one such pile was a laptop computer, a second computer was open on Sim's desk.

It was apparent quite quickly that Sim had no intention of cutting his phone call short just because I'd shown up. Feeling restless I stood and paced back and forth the short length of his office before settling into the well-worn club chair. My hand wandered impetuously to the nearest pile of manuscripts and out of sheer boredom I chose the topmost one and began to read.

The first laugh bubbled to my lips unbidden and by the time I'd read six pages mirthful tears were running down my face. It was the worst book I'd ever read, so bad it was funny. It contained every cliché known to man in the first thousand words.

"Trust me," Sim's husky voice cut through my snorts of laughter. "Once you've read a million just like it, it ceases to be funny." His tone was dry but there was a teasing note to it that gave me hope.

"I'm surprised it didn't begin with

'It was a dark and stormy night'

," I laughed, stealing a glance up into Sim's handsome face.

"I think chapter two does," Sim said with a slight smile. "What are you doing here, Imogen?"

I thought about cracking a joke, but something on Sim's face held me back. "I wanted to talk about yesterday," I said simply.

"Yesterday was a mistake," Sim growled as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, weaving his way around the mountains of manuscripts.

For a moment I was so hurt I couldn't speak. "No it wasn't," I said. "Calling it a 'mistake' implies that I regret it and I don't. Do you?"

Sim watched me silently for a time while I waited on edge for him to answer. Finally he shook his dark head, the shaggy curtain of his hair obscured his face for a moment and I felt the rising burn of panic in my throat.

"I don't understand you," he admitted gruffly. "You're never of the same mind one day to the next."

I didn't understand and my confusion must have been evident because Sim stopped his frenetic pacing and stood to face me.

"Yesterday you didn't want me, today you apparently do. What the hell am I supposed to think, Imogen? And if you think you can have both my father and me, you're sadly mistaken. I've been down that road before; I don't intend to do it again."

"I don't want your father," I sighed, coming to my feet. "I never did, despite what you may think." I reached out to touch Sim's arm but he jerked back before I could make contact and that small action hurt more than any words. I wasn't accustomed to apologizing and I knew I was making a mess of it. "I think we could have been good together," I said softly. "I'm sorry we never had the opportunity. Find yourself another author Sim, I understand."

I turned to leave, brushing past Sim as I did while trying to navigate the maze of manuscripts. His touch on my arm was tentative but stopped me nonetheless. "It's never going to be easy for you and I, is it?" he asked quietly.

I tried to smile up into his handsome face. "I don't think so," I admitted truthfully.

Sim leaned down and brushed a whisper of a kiss against my lips. The ache in my throat was painfully large; it felt like trying to swallow a grapefruit. Sim's chocolate brown eyes were sad. "I'm not good at things like this," he said. "At admitting I've been wrong."

I reached up and pushed Sim's dark hair from his eyes; it was soft to the touch. "Me neither. I know you don't know me very well, but you should know I'm not the sort of girl who would do that. Play you against your father, I mean." I said earnestly.

Sim nodded and clasped my elbows, drawing me in closer. "I know, Imogen. I knew that yesterday after I left. You're not the sort of girl to do most things." There was a teasing glint in Sim's eyes that made me laugh softly.

"Well there are a few things I wouldn't mind trying…" I let my voice trail off suggestively, pleased to see the edges of Sim's mouth curl into a smile. He chuckled and the warmth of the sound made me feel much better.

"Do you realize," Sim asked archly, running a finger across my bottom lip, "that we're Im and Sim?"

I laughed loudly, resting my head against Sim's chest, letting the charming resonance of his laughter sink into my body. "That's too much for me. No one calls me Im anyway."

"Thank God," Sim muttered as he rested his chin atop my head. "That would be awful. Besides, Imogen has such a nice ring to it."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into the solid comfort of Sim's body. "Does this mean everything is good?" I whispered against the silken fabric of his necktie.

"Yeah," Sim said with a contented sigh. "Everything's fine."

When he kissed me I couldn't have been happier and a spark lit in my belly so fiercely it stole my breath and made me dizzy. I clung to Sim's arms and fought to stay upright.

If there was a knock at the door neither of us must have heard it because we both jumped when Forster whistled lowly from the doorway. Our heads snapped up in guilty unison, but to give Sim credit he didn't push me away. If anything his grip on my arms grew tighter.

"For fuck's sake," Sim muttered loudly. With a grimace he turned his attention to his father, who leaned casually against the doorjamb with a smug grin on his handsome face. "What do you want, Old Man?"

"Actually, by the looks of things I've missed my opportunity," Forster said with a cold chuckle. His face was as calmly composed as always, but that didn't stop me from getting the impression Forster didn't enjoy being called 'old man'. Beneath my hands I could feel the tension poised in Sim's muscles.

"So now that you two have made up," Forster continued. "Does this mean you might actually get some work done today?"

I could feel how angry Sim was, so I resisted the urge to laugh; when I caught Forster's eye I realized he knew exactly what he was doing to his son and that didn't please me much. It did make me wonder just what had happened between father and son in the past to cause so much enmity.

"We

were

working," Sim ground out through clenched teeth. I squeezed his arm reassuringly and felt the silent ripple of his reaction to my touch.

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Forster asked snidely, allowing his gaze to roam very obviously over the two of us before it lingered on me. I lifted my chin a notch and refused to look away. Again the distinct impression that Forster wasn't to be trusted washed over me. There was a lot more going on behind that handsome exterior than he let on.

"Anything else you needed,

Sir

?" Sim asked sharply.

Forster shook his head. "Just wanted to know where the

project

stood, Sim. Everything's clear to me now, I'll leave you two to it."

"Good," Sim snapped and then he leaned in and kissed me hard. A gasp of surprise welled up in my chest which morphed unwillingly into a moan when it hit my lips. I could still feel Forster watching us, but couldn't move from under the force of Sim's passion. It was only after I heard Forster's departing chuckle and the loud echo of the office door slamming that Sim released me.

I punched his shoulder as hard as I could, angered even more when he didn't as much as flinch. "Was that

really

necessary?" I spat out, taking a step back.

"Yes," Sim growled. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"This is ridiculous," I resumed the pacing back and forth between the piles of manuscripts just as Sim had done earlier, trying to avoid his outstretched hand. "I'm not going to be part of this little game between the two of you."

Sim laughed lowly, watching my progress with ardent eyes. "I think it's a little late for that."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked scornfully.

Sim shrugged. "I don't usually win when up against my father, so yes, I guess I am."

I shook my head, stopping to glare across the room at him. "You two are insane. You realize that, don't you? You're going to both drive me crazy."

Sim took three steps across the room and grasped my wrist gently. "I'm sorry, Imogen. It was never my intent to put you in the middle. My father and I have our issues, but whatever they are really doesn't concern you. I'll speak to him and it won't happen again."

I watched Sim warily. There was earnestness in his face which I wanted desperately to believe was real. "I need a cup of tea," I mumbled, admitting defeat.

Sim grinned. "I'll bring you one, but only if we attempt to get some work done today."

I nodded. "What did you have in mind?"

Sim lead me through the maze of manuscripts and settled me down into the club chair before handing me a pad of paper and a pencil. "Make a list of ten reasons why Logan, Richardson and Monk should publish erotica. I'll go get us a cup of tea."

I considered the blank paper for a moment. "Ten reasons from whose point of view: those publishing it, reading it, or writing it?"

Sim paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder, smiling broadly. "Okay, make three lists."

I watched Sim leave, strangely satisfied to watch him walk away. He was wearing dress pants and a shirt and tie again and it was damn sexy; he had a very nice ass. Sighing, I settled back into the chair to consider my assignment.

I was a little unsure of where to start and so decided to tackle what I knew best, the reasons from a writer's point of view. I scribbled down the heading and considered for a moment. Why did I write erotica? It's not like I was the sexiest woman in the room or the one with the most experience. What had made me decide to write within that particular genre?

The pencil flew across the page as my mind took over.

Ten reasons to write erotica:

1. Endless scope for the imagination. There is no limit to what you can say, think, write, or do.

2. Erotica has the power to touch on every important issue: political, religious, environmental, psychological, sociological. It can be a powerful tool to introduce these greater issues to a wider audience.

3. Intrinsically, it is a study of human relationships. The world has changed in a myriad of ways since the beginning of human life, but sex has remained the same. It

is

who we are and how we interact.

4. Challenge of making something old sound new again each time.

5. Desire to find something magical and eternal in an act so many of us take for granted.

6. Connection to the world around us. No matter how different each of us is from one another, we all have this in common.

7. The hope that creating passion in one's writing translates into creating it in one's life.

Momentarily stumped, I looked up to find Sim holding two mugs of tea and watching me intently.

"You look so serious," he smiled, handing me my tea. I grasped the warm mug with grateful hands.

"It's not as easy as you'd think," I admitted with a smile, watching as Sim settled himself gracefully on the floor at my feet. "I guess I've never thought about why I write what I write before."

"What did you come up with?" Sim asked. I handed him the pad of paper and watched his handsome face as he perused the beginning of my list eagerly.

"You have nice handwriting," Sim said when he'd finished reading. He handed the list back to me.

"That's all you have to say?" I said with a snort of derision. Maybe I'd misunderstood the assignment.

Sim shook his dark head. "No, it's really good. I wouldn't have considered any of those points." He touched my bare ankle, just above the strap of my sandal and I jumped at the contact, almost spilling my tea. "I like these sundresses of yours," Sim confessed, his fingers wandered further up my leg, sending shivers over me.

"T-this isn't getting work done," I gasped as he found my knee and traced the hem of my dress where it met my skin.

"Of course it is," Sim countered huskily. He glanced up at me through his thick fringe of eyelashes and smiled. "You're teaching me about erotica, I'm teaching you about sex. Keep writing. What's number eight on the list?"