Page 48 of Wicked Heat

When she finally shuts up, she’s staring right at Ash, who’s staring right back. I have no idea what happened with his girlfriend, but based on what I know about Maggie, I’m positive Ash didn’t harm her.

“I’m here to talk about the INX-20,” Ash says. “Not about my past or my family.”

“I understand.” She looks between the two of us. “I’ll keep all of that as secret as your relationship.”

Ash clutches my arm, and I know it’s not to keep me silent, but as a crutch to tamp his own rising temper. “We’re here to talk about the motor and Bree’s book. Get back on target, Maggie, or we’re done.”

“I find interviews go better if we let the conversation flow,” she says.

I can tell Ash wants to say something else, but she turns her attention to me. “It must be very exciting to have your first book receiving so much critical acclaim.”

“It is,” I say, grateful that we’ve moved to the safer realm of fiction. “Writing is so solitary, and most people don’t realize how much that old saying is true.”

“What saying is that?” she asks.

“That writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed.”

She nods, as if I’ve just said something brilliant when in fact, I’ve only ripped off someone else’s wit.

“What I mean is that it’s hard and it’s personal. So, the praise and accolades feel especially good. They’re validating.”

“You’re saying a good story has to come from the heart? You have to be able to empathize with the characters? To share their blood, as it were?”

I think about her question, searching for little hidden Maggie bombs. Since it seems innocuous enough, I nod. “Right. It’s a lot like acting, I think.”

She leans forward in that way she has, and I feel a tug of dread in the instant before she asks,” So how much of your experience as a kidnap victim did you draw on in Reveries at Dusk? And the love interests? Ace and Dirk? I’m sure I’m not the only reader wondering if one or both of them weren’t based on real people.”

As she asks, her gaze shifts to Ash. I freeze, but my cheeks heat, and I very much want to crawl under the table.

“Maggie,” Ash says, his voice as sharp as a blade.

I put my hand on his. “It’s okay,” I say, though I’m kicking myself for accidentally opening this door. But since I did, I have no choice but to walk through it. “Obviously, I was kidnapped. That experience helped me to write the scenes in which Bethany was taken by the Dragon Riders. But that doesn’t make the book about me. Every writer draws on the real world. That doesn’t make it non-fiction, much less an autobiography.”

“Hmm,” she says, and I have a feeling she’s disappointed that she didn’t get more of a rise out of me. I glance sideways at Ash, barely managing to fight a very smug smile.

“Those Dragon Riders you created are an interesting cabal. I applaud you for including a few women, but the men…” She trails off, fanning herself with the menu. “So virile. So domineering. Was that something that appealed to you before the kidnapping, or did being held —”

“Goddammit, Maggie.” The fire in his voice could melt stone. As for me, I’ve gone completely cold.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” she says as I remain frozen. “I’m not trying to dredge things up. I just find those characters fascinating and you wrote Bethany with such beautiful longing and intensity, that⁠—”

Tension seems to flow off Ash in waves. “Just move on… or we will.”

Her mouth screws up with frustration. Right then, I could have kissed Ash.

“Let’s talk about Ace,” she continues. “He was the most powerful of the riders. A risk taker. And my goodness, those love scenes were hot. Were they modeled after anyone in particular?” Her voice is so sugary sweet I expect her to bat her eyes.

I keep my own eyes firmly on hers, but I can practically feel the heat of Ash’s body beside mine. “No,” I say flatly. “No one in particular.”

“I’ve written a little fiction. It must have been difficult to dredge up those emotions.”

Beside me, Ash tenses. I put my hand on his knee to still him. I can handle this.

“It’s fiction. And as I tried to explain earlier, to the extent I draw on my own experiences, it’s cathartic.”

“Does that mean you’re past the trauma of your kidnapping? That you’ve worked it out of your system?”

My heart pounds. Sweat pools under my arms. But I walked into this, and no way am I showing Maggie-the-Bitch that she’s pushing my buttons. “What happened to me was very traumatic. I don’t think I’ll ever fully get past it. But I’ve learned to cope, and it gets easier every day.” I lift my chin, hoping she won’t call me out on that monstrous lie when she tosses the next hardball.