Grand Passion

soon. They're going to go wild for it. I'll probably find myself in the middle of an auction. I suppose I'll have to see about getting an agent one of these days.”
    “Another mystery?”
    “Yeah. It's called Dead End . Classic, hard-boiled detective fiction. It's the purest form of the genre, you know. Very few people are doing it these days.” Adrian's mouth twisted in disgust. “Too many women writers out there doing romantic suspense.”
    “Is that right?” Cleo asked.
    “Yeah. They're ruining the genre with a bunch of female detectives. Even in the books where the protagonist is a man, they give him a female companion.” Adrian grimaced. “Everybody's doing relationships .”
    “What's wrong with that?” Cleo asked, thinking about the very romantic relationship she had put into A Fine Vengeance . “I like some romance in a story.”
    “Give me a break, Cleo. Romance is women's stuff. I'm writing real books.”
    “Are you implying there's something wrong with what women like to read?” Cleo asked very politely. She tried to be patient with Adrian, but there was no getting around the fact that he could be a real pain.
    “I'm saying that the modern mystery novel has been ruined by female writers who have insisted on making the relationships in the story more important than solving the crime,” Adrian stated grandly. “Who the hell wants a relationship in a mystery?”
    “Women readers, maybe?” Cleo suggested.
    “Who cares about them?” Adrian gave her a dark, brooding look. “I'm writing classic mystery. Lean and mean. The tough stuff. My work is pared down to the essentials.”
    “The essentials, hmm?”
    “I'm creating something important, something that will endure, something that the critics will love. I'll be damned if I'll cater to a bunch of women readers who are looking for relationships in a story.”
    Max set the espresso down in front of him. “I'm not so sure that's a smart move, Forrester. People have always read for character rather than plot. And good characterization requires a relationship of some kind.”
    Cleo smiled approvingly.
    Adrian gave Max an annoyed look. “What are you? Some kind of literary critic?”
    “Not tonight. Tonight I'm a bartender.”
    “Take some advice and stick with that job. Something tells me you aren't going to make it in a more demanding field.” Adrian picked up the small cup of espresso, took a deep swallow, and promptly choked.
    “Aaargh!” He sputtered wildly and grabbed a napkin.
    Alarmed, Cleo reached over to pound him on the back. “Are you all right, Adrian?”
    Adrian glowered furiously at Max. “What the hell did you put in this espresso?”
    “I used French roast and doubled the shot.” Max looked innocent. “You said you wanted it strong.”
    “Damn it to hell, that's downright lethal,” Adrian growled.
    Max smiled politely. “I make coffee the way you write mysteries. Lean and mean. The tough stuff.”

    Max was deliberately seducing her.
    The day after the scene with Adrian, Cleo sat quietly on the mat in Cosmic Harmony's spare, tranquil meditation center and absorbed the full impact of what was happening.
    Max was making it clear that he wanted to take her to bed.
    It was a subtle form of seduction. Since that one kiss in the solarium, there had been no overt moves from Max. But Cleo could feel the mesmerizing desire in him whenever he was in the same room. It flowed over her and around her, enthralling her as nothing else had ever done.
    Usually Cleo sought out the calm of the meditation center after one of the unpleasant dreams, but this afternoon she had come here to think about Max.
    She gazed into the large yellow crystal that was the only object in the room and knew that she had reached a turning point in her life.
    The crystal caught the pale light of the cloudy day and glowed a soft, warm gold. Cleo stared into the amber depths and thought about the past and the future.
    She had always been very certain that if and when the right man showed up in her life, he would fall in love with her just as she would fall in love with him. She had been sure that the bond would be there between them from the moment their eyes met.
    But Max Fortune knew very little about love and probably trusted the emotion even less.
    He did, however, know a great deal about desire.
    Soon, Cleo knew, she would have to make a choice. She could either surrender to the powerful sensual thrall of desire that Max was forging, or she could