From the Heart

Slade stopped typing. One hand reached up to rub at the stiffness in his neck. Whatever impetus had driven him for three hours had suddenly dried up, and he wasn’t ready. Automatically he reached for his coffee, only to find the cup empty. Maybe if he went down for some more, the flow would come back. Even as he considered it, Jessica came to him.
    Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rested her cheek on top of his head. Love was coursing through her swiftly, too swiftly. She squeezed him tightly, forcing back the words she was afraid he wasn’t ready to hear. There were others she wanted to say first.
    “Slade, don’t ever stop doing what you were meant to do.”
    Not sure of her meaning, he frowned down at the words he’d just written. “How much did you read?”
    “All you gave me—not enough. When will you finish? Oh, Slade, it’s wonderful!” Jessica continued before he couldspeak. “It’s a beautiful piece of work. Everything: the words, the feeling, the people.”
    Slade turned so that he could see her face. He didn’t want platitudes, not from her. Her eyes were lit with enthusiasm while his remained cool and guarded. “Why?”
    “Because you told a story with depth, about people all of us have met or have been.” She spread her fingers, searching for words that would satisfy him. “Because it made me cry, and cringe, and laugh. There were parts—that scene in the parking lot in the seventh chapter—I didn’t want to read. It was hard, savage. But I had to read it even when it hurt. Slade, no one that reads that is going to be untouched.” She laid her hands back on his shoulders. “And isn’t that why a writer writes?”
    His eyes never left hers. He waited, weighing what he saw there with her words. “You know,” he said slowly, “I don’t think I realized until just now what a chance I was taking by letting you read it.”
    “A chance,” she repeated. “Why?”
    “If you hadn’t been touched, I’m not sure I could have finished it.”
    Nothing he could have said would have meant more. Jessica brought his hand up to her cheek, wondering if he realized how much he’d said in one sentence. “I was touched, Slade,” she said quietly. “When it’s published, and I read it, I’m going to remember that part of it was written right here.”
    “Going to erect a monument?” he asked with a smile.
    “Just a discreet plaque.” Leaning over, she kissed him. “I wouldn’t want it to go to your head. What about an agent?” she asked suddenly. “Do you have one?”
    Chuckling, he drew her down into his lap. “Yes, I have one. so far we haven’t done each other much good, but he’s marketed some short stories, and he’s doing whatever it is agents do to sell my other novel.”
    “The other one.” Jessica drew away as Slade began to nibble on her ear. “It’s finished then?”
    “Mmm-hmm. Come back here,” he demanded, wanting to taste that soft, sensitive spot at the curve of her shoulder.
    “What’s it about?” she demanded, eluding him. “When can I read it? Is it as good as this one?”
    “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?” His hand slipped under her sweater to cup her breast. With his thumb, he flicked lazily over the point, feeling it harden as her heartbeat went from steady to erratic. “I like that,” he murmured, nipping at the cord of her neck. “I can feel your pulse go crazy everywhere I touch.” In one long stroke, he moved down her rib cage to her waist. “You’re losing weight,” he said with a frown. “You’re already too thin. Did you eat any dinner?”
    “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Jessica asked before she pressed her lips to his.
    His answer was a low sound of pleasure. She tasted warm—more pungent than sweet—as the tip of her tongue slipped to his to tantalize, then retreated to provoke. He thought he heard her laugh, low and husky, before he gripped the back of her neck in his hand and plunged deep. Her scent and her taste were the same so that he felt himself surrounded by her. Before Slade could rise to carry her to the bed, Jessica was pulling him to the floor.
    There was a sudden urgency in her, a flash of fire. The habitual energy that had been lacking in her all day abruptly surfaced in a torrent of passion. She tugged at the buttons of his shirt, impatient to have his flesh against hers while her mouth was already making wild passes over his face and throat. Her