Ecstasy (A Contemporary Romance) (14 page)

Later, as she lay on his chest, with her head
in the crook of his shoulder, she said, “I love you too, Zane,” and
he smiled and said, “Thank god,” vowing to go to church again the
next day, to give thanks for the woman in his arms.

Candace saved her file, quickly proofread it,
and then printed it off for the contest. Sealing the envelope, she
went to the post office and mailed it.

Knowing Charlie was waiting for her to come
back to his house, she put the contest out of her mind, stuffed her
deception and guilt away from her heart, and got in her car to
drive straight to heaven.

* * *

The next three weeks were amazing. Candace
and Charlie spent nearly all of their time together and had even
begun to collaborate on an erotic novel together. Were it not for
the black cloud of her dishonesty hanging over her head, she would
have felt complete joy.

The problem was, every time she had an
opportunity to tell him about her manuscript, she couldn’t bring
herself to do it. He was so damn good—so sweet and loving and
tender—she hated the thought of ever seeing anything but love in
his eyes.

Candace was desperately afraid he’d leave her
if he found out how she betrayed the promise they’d made to each
other. What had happened in their lessons was supposed to forever
stay in their lessons, but by writing Jolene and Zane’s tale she
had broken that pledge.

As the days dragged by and she didn’t hear a
word from the contest judges, she began to irrationally hope that
her entry had gotten lost in the mail. Or perhaps if she were
lucky, the judges had hated it so much they just threw it away.

If Candace had it all to do over, if it meant
preserving Charlie’s love, she never would have written the
manuscript.

Every day more of her clothes appeared in his
closet. He wanted her to move in with him, but she told him it was
too soon for such a big commitment.

A voice in her head said,
You would move
in with him in a heartbeat if he knew what you had done and said he
loved you anyway
.

Candace shook the voice off, and tried to
stick to her story about needing more time. He was getting harder
and harder to put off with each passing day, as they discovered
depths of passion and love in each other’s arms that neither had
dreamed was even possible.

Her heart sank into her stomach as she saw
the thick envelope waiting for her atop her pile of mail by the
front door.

Feeling like she was suffocating, she picked
up the envelope and sat down on the bottom step of her staircase.
Sliding her finger underneath the seal, she slipped the papers
out.

Dear Ms. Whitman,
the cover letter
read,
we are pleased to inform you that you are the Grand Prize
Winner of the 15
^th
Annual Erotic
Writer’s Contest! We hereby request your presence at the awards
ceremony July 3
^rd
. We are certain you
will be thrilled to receive your medal and $10,000 check from our
secret celebrity judge.

The paper fell through Candace’s hands. “Oh
my god,” she whispered, “I won!”

She jumped up off of the step and screamed,
“I won! I won!” and ran into the kitchen to call Charlie.

She stopped as everything crashed down around
her.
She couldn't tell him.

Tell him now
, her rational inner-voice
nagged her.

Unwilling to risk his love, Candace decided
not to tell him about winning the award. And now she needed to
think of a good excuse for why she was going to be busy on Saturday
night.

“Damn it,” she muttered as she went back into
her foyer to pick up the contest papers that were strewn all over
her hardwood floors and began to compose her newest lie in her
head.

“Baby,” Candace said as she lay in the crook
of Charlie’s arm, “I have a family thing this Saturday.”

“Oh good. I’ve been dying to meet your
family.”

Inwardly she cursed herself for saying the
wrong thing. “Actually,” she said, “it’s a private matter. I
promise to tell you everything once things are ironed out, but for
now, the lawyers have insisted we keep it within the family.”

Charlie kissed the top of her head. “Sounds
serious. Are you sure you don’t want me to come along for moral
support?”

“Definitely not!” she exclaimed. Realizing
she had been far more fervent with her protests than was necessary,
she stroked her hands through the golden hair that dusted his
muscular chest. Trying to keep her tone light she said, “Hey,
you’ll finally get a day without me. I’ll bet you’ve been dying to
hang out with the guys to drink beer and eat pizza and watch
sports, huh?”

Charlie chuckled. “Honestly? No. I haven’t
been the least bit interested in hanging out with the guys.”

“Really?” she asked in an uncertain
voice.

“Are you kidding?” he replied. “Only a madman
would choose beer and pizza over you.”

She tilted her head up and kissed him softly
on the lips. “I love you, Charlie Gibson.”

* * *

Charlie had planned on asking Candace to the
Erotic Writing Contest ceremony, but he kept forgetting. By the
time he learned she already had unbreakable plans, he figured there
was no point in mentioning it at all.

Backstage, in his dressing room, Charlie
clipped on his bowtie and evened up the sleeves of his tux jacket.
Looking at himself in the mirror he saw a man in love looking back
at him. His eyes were clear and bright, a smile was permanently
plastered on his face.

He was planning on asking her to marry him.
In fact, he had dropped by Tiffany’s that very afternoon. He
couldn’t wait to slip the solitaire on her finger, knowing she’d be
in his bed, in his heart, for all eternity.

Steve Holt stuck his head in the door. “Hey
Charlie, I thought you might want to check out the winning
manuscript before you present the award to the winner.” Steve put
the thick bundle of pages on the table nearest the door. “It’s
pretty fuckin’ hot. I can’t wait to get a look at the woman who
wrote it when she walks up on stage tonight.”

Charlie cocked his head to the side. “You
don’t recognize the writer’s name?”

“I think it’s a pseudonym. Nobody would name
their daughter Candy Lane.”

Candy?
Charlie felt a squeezing
sensation in his chest, but brushed his sense of foreboding aside.
Of course Candace hadn’t turned herself into Candy Lane.

Then again, he had never asked her if she
wrote under a pseudonym.

She would have told him if she entered this
contest, he knew she would have. They told each other
everything—all of their dreams, fears, hopes.

He shook his head to clear the insanity from
it and picked up the manuscript. “Thanks Steve. I’ll take a quick
look at it. See you out there.”

“I’ll save you some champagne,” Steve said
and then loped off down the hall.

Charlie shut the door behind Steve, sat down
on the leather sofa in the small dressing room and read, “
Jolene
was a good girl...”

* * *

Candace walked into the beautifully decorated
ballroom of the Fairmont in Union Square and slid her hands over
her red silk dress, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. She was
incredibly nervous about accepting the award for her story,
Hell’s Angel
. Yet again, she wished she had told Charlie
about it, so he could lend her the moral support she so desperately
needed.

A stunning blond greeted her at the doorway.
“And you are?”

“Candace Whitman,” Candace replied with a
smile.

“Ooo, how exciting!” the woman exclaimed as
she spontaneously gave Candace a hug. “Charlie Gibson was your
mentor this year, wasn’t he?”

Candace nodded. “That’s right.”

The woman leaned in closer and said, “Jessie
was spitting nails for weeks after losing out on the chance to work
with him. I hear you nabbed him the minute he walked into the
conference hall.”

Grinning, Candace said, “Pretty much,” liking
the woman immensely and feeling a great deal more at ease.

“I’m Sherryl Ann,” the woman said with a
shake of her perfect blond ringlets. “Charlie was my mentor last
year and I learned so much from him. I’ll bet you did too.”

The smile froze on Candace’s face. “You
worked with Charlie last year?” she asked, striving for an even
tone.

Sherryl Ann winked. “He’s quite a hunk, isn’t
he?”

Candace felt all of the color rush out of her
face just as a loud buzzing started in her ears. “He is,” she said
quickly. “Could you point me to the ladies room?”

“Sure thing, honey. It’s just down the hall
to the left. You don’t look so good all of a sudden,” the woman
added, clearly concerned.

“Probably just something I ate,” Candace lied
before spinning around and practically running down the hall.

“I can’t believe I’m such an idiot,” she
whispered. “Of course I wasn’t the only female apprentice he’s ever
had.” She sniffled and rolled some toilet paper into her fist,
dashing it angrily at her face.

Painful memories crashed down around her.
Walking in on her first boyfriend while he screwed the head
cheerleader. Bravely letting her next boyfriend have sex with her,
only to have him tell her she was a cold fish. Swallowing her pride
as she found signs of her latest boyfriend’s affair, and realizing
it was with the woman she thought was her best friend.

And now Charlie. He had probably slept with
every woman in the room on a “mentor/apprentice” basis.

She heaved in a shaky breath. “I’ll show
him,” she declared. “I’m going to accept this award, shove it in
his face, and move on with my life. Without him.”

She unlatched the bathroom door and made her
way to the mirror. Quickly fixing her makeup, she strode into the
banquet hall and tried to ignore the voice in her heart that said
she could never live without Charlie by her side.

* * *

The words played in endless repeat in
Charlie’s head and swam before his eyes.

“
He hooked his fingers into the edges of
her cotton panties and slowly slid them off her.”

“
Suddenly the buzzing started up again
between her thighs, but this time, she knew that somehow, some way,
Zane was manning the controls to her vagina.”

“’
You’re not wearing panties,’ he said. ’I
was wondering when you’d notice.’”

“
I want you to soap me up.”

Charlie ran his hands through his hair and
dropped the manuscript back onto the table.

He had read the words, but he still couldn’t
believe it.

Candace had detailed their lessons act by
act, scene by scene, in her book
Hell’s Angel
. He couldn’t
deny that it was powerful writing, and yet the hole in his heart
was so deep he could hardly feel anything at all.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed as he punched his
hand into the wall. Some of the plaster crumbled beneath his fist
just as the event organizer knocked once.

“What?” Charlie said in a gruff tone.

“We’re ready for you,” said the voice from
the hall.

“I’ll be right out.”

He had thought he was special to Candace, but
now he wondered if he was just a fool for believing that she truly
loved him. For all he knew, she was going to take her new knowledge
and find another “mentor”, one who knew more than he did, who could
give her things he couldn’t.

Charlie took a deep breath and tried to
compose himself. And then he stepped out of his dressing room,
wondering what the hell he was going to say to her when they
finally came face to face on stage.

* * *

The MC said, “Thank you for coming to the
15
^th
Annual Erotic Writer’s Contest awards ceremony! We
had some incredible entries this year, but for the first time in
the history of this contest, our judges voted unanimously for the
winner. Here to present the $10,000 check to our winner is none
other than best-selling author, Charlie Gibson.”

Sitting out in the audience, Candace was
hardly aware of the raucous hoots and hollers from the crowd.
Charlie was the surprise celebrity guest?

She looked around for the nearest escape, but
knew that she couldn’t take the coward’s way out. Not this time.
Even if she ran tonight, he’d find out that Candy Lane was her
pseudonym, that
Hell’s Angel
had been inspired by their
astonishing lovemaking.

It was finally time to face her fate.

Charlie took the stage and she could see him
scanning the crowd, looking for her. His eyes locked with hers and
she forced herself not to look away. She didn’t know what she
expected to see in his eyes—pain, hatred maybe—but not the awful
blankness that radiated down to her in the audience.

Her stomach heaved, but she swallowed the
bile back into her throat and clasped her hands tightly in her lap,
her spine as straight as rebar.

“Writing is a funny thing,” he began, as he
looked out over the large, well-dressed crowd with a small smile.
“We think that we can separate ourselves from the stories we weave,
but no matter how much we lie to ourselves, there is always a piece
of us in there. Some where, some way, we can never disguise what’s
in our heart.”

“An hour ago Steve Holt handed me a copy of
the winning manuscript. Truth is, folks, I couldn’t put it down. It
was compelling. It was sensual. And most of all, it was
honest.”

A tear slipped down Candace’s cheek. “Stop,
Charlie. Please, stop.”

“It is with distinct pleasure that I award
this year’s Erotic Writer’s award to Candace Whitman, for her
erotic novel,
Hell’s Angel
, writing as Candy Lane.”