Blank Pages Blue

The cursor blinked mockingly at Emma Chen from her laptop screen, its steady rhythm matching the frantic beat of her heart. Three hours. Three goddamn hours she'd been staring at the same paragraph, and the words still read like they'd been written by a romance-writing robot having a malfunction.

*His hands roamed her trembling body as she gasped with—*

"Ugh." Emma slammed the laptop shut and buried her face in her hands. The coffee shop buzzed with the comfortable hum of productivity around her keyboards clicking, espresso machines hissing, creative types lost in their work. Everyone except her.

She was Emma Chen, bestselling romance author. Her books had sold over two million copies worldwide. Readers devoured her steamy tales of passion and left five-star reviews gushing about how "real" her characters felt, how "authentic" their desire was. If they only knew.

The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so pathetic.

Emma's phone buzzed against the marble table. A text from her editor Harold.

*Emergency. Need to see you tomorrow at 9 AM. Important news about your career.*

Her stomach dropped. Emergency? Harold never used that word unless something was seriously wrong. Her last book had performed well great, even. Her deadline for the current manuscript wasn't for another eight weeks. So what could possibly be..

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

Emma looked up to find a tall, dark-haired stranger gesturing to the empty chair across from her. He was attractive in an effortless way the kind of man she tried to write about but never quite captured. Sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to see too much, and an air of confidence that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't.

"Actually, I was just leaving." Emma started gathering her things, but her laptop bag chose that moment to rebel. The zipper stuck, her notebook tumbled to the floor, and her pen rolled under the stranger's feet.

He crouched down to retrieve her pen, and Emma caught sight of the title on her fallen notebook's cover: "Heat Between the Lines - Draft 3." Her heart stopped. That was her working title—the one she'd scribbled on the cover without thinking, the one that revealed exactly what kind of book she was struggling to write.

The stranger's eyes fixed on the title for just a moment too long before he handed back her pen. His lips twitched with what might have been amusement.

"Romance writer?" he asked, settling into the chair despite her stated intention to leave.

Emma's cheeks flamed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, either that or you're researching something very specific." His smile was crooked and entirely too charming. "I'm Jake, by the way. And you look like someone who's been wrestling with the same chapter for hours."

How could he possibly know that? Emma clutched her pen tighter. "What makes you say that?"

"The defeated slump of your shoulders, the aggressive laptop closing, and the fact that you've been unconsciously tapping out the rhythm of 'help me' in Morse code on the table for the past five minutes."

Emma's hand stilled. She had been tapping. "You know Morse code?"

"Former Eagle Scout. Also, current insomniac who reads way too much." Jake leaned back in his chair, studying her with those unnervingly perceptive green eyes. "So what's got you stuck? Plot hole? Character motivation? Or..."

He paused, and Emma could swear he was holding back laughter.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing. It's just that 'Heat Between the Lines' sounds like it might be a romance about books. Or writers. Am I warm?"

Too warm. Uncomfortably, impossibly warm. "It's about a novelist," Emma admitted reluctantly.

"And let me guess she's struggling to write authentic passion because she's never actually experienced it herself?"

Emma's mouth fell open. "How did you—"

"Lucky guess." But his expression suggested it was anything but luck. "It's a pretty common trope in romance novels. The inexperienced writer who has to learn about love firsthand before she can write about it convincingly."

"You seem to know a lot about romance novels for a..." Emma gestured vaguely at his appearance. He was wearing a casual button-down with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, and boots that looked expensive but well-worn. Nothing about him screamed "romance reader."

"For a guy?" Jake's smile turned wicked. "Trust me, I know more about romance novels than you might think. In fact, I'd bet I could help you with your problem."

"My problem?"

"Your love scenes. The reason you've been staring at that screen for three hours instead of writing." He leaned forward, and Emma caught a hint of his cologne something warm and masculine that made her stomach flip. "See, most writers make the mistake of focusing on the physical mechanics instead of the emotional connection. Real passion isn't just about what people do to each other it's about what they're feeling while they do it."

Emma's pulse quickened. There was something about the way he spoke, the quiet confidence in his voice, that made her want to lean closer. "And you would know this because...?"

"Because I work in publishing." Jake pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. "I'm an editor at Meridian Publishing."

The blood drained from Emma's face as she read the card. Meridian Publishing Harold's company. Her company. The place she was supposed to be tomorrow morning at 9 AM for whatever emergency Harold needed to discuss.

"Meridian?" she whispered.

"That's right. We specialize in romance, among other things. I've edited dozens of bestselling romance novels." Jake's expression grew more serious. "In fact, I have a meeting tomorrow morning with a new author I'm taking over. Previous editor just retired. Harold Morrison was his name great guy, but he was a bit too... gentle with his feedback."

Harold Morrison. Emma's Harold.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, noticing her suddenly pale complexion. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Emma stared at the business card in her trembling fingers. Jacob Morrison, Senior Editor. The emergency meeting. Harold's retirement. The "important news about her career."

This wasn't a chance encounter at all.

This was her new editor. The man who would determine whether her career lived or died. The man she'd just met while struggling to write a sex scene. The man who'd correctly guessed that her heroine couldn't write authentic passion because she'd never experienced it herself.

The man who now knew exactly how inexperienced she really was.

"I have to go," Emma managed, shoving her things into her bag with shaking hands.

"Wait!!!" Jake reached for her arm, but she was already standing. "I didn't catch your name."

Emma looked down at him, this stranger who had just accidentally revealed himself as either her salvation or her ruin. Tomorrow morning, she would walk into Harold's office and discover which one he would be.

"Emma," she said quietly. "Emma Chen."

Jake's hand froze halfway to his coffee cup. His eyes widened with recognition, then something that looked like either excitement or dread.

"Emma Chen," he repeated slowly. "As in E.C. Hart? The Emma Chen who wrote *Midnight Surrender* and *Dangerous Devotion*?"

She nodded, watching his expression shift through several emotions she couldn't identify.

"Well," Jake said finally, a strange smile playing at his lips. "This is going to be interesting."

Emma turned and fled the coffee shop, her heart hammering against her ribs. Through the window, she could see Jake still sitting at the table, staring after her with an expression she couldn't read.

Tomorrow morning, she would find out exactly what "interesting" meant to the man who now held her career in his hands. The man who had seen through her carefully constructed facade in less than ten minutes.

The man who somehow knew that Emma Chen, bestselling romance author, had never actually experienced the passion she wrote about.

And the man who had just promised to help her with her "problem."