Not Second Best (12 page)

Romance series
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One spurned editor, one groveling prodigal artist and one hundred thousand eavesdropping fans.

Lindsey Cartwright didn’t set out to become the Wicked Witch of Comics. But then she fell for hot-shot artist Kent Farrington…and got dumped. When he walked out, he left her with no explanation and zero sense of humor.

Kent knows he’s got a hard road ahead if he wants to win Lindsey back. He’ll need to catch her at the perfect time, in the perfect place. What could be better than the biggest comic book convention of the year?

WARNING: Nosy fans, extreme cinnamon buns and vulgar lemons.

“Gary, put that thing out or go outside. You know there’s no smoking in the convention center,” Lindsey said through gritted teeth.

Gary glared at her as he pinched out his cigarette and slid it back into the carton. He reminded her of a kitten trying to intimidate a boa constrictor. She also had a pretty good idea what was running through his mind. One didn’t become the ‘Wicked Witch of Comics’ without knowing how one got there. Snapping open her gold compact, she ran a hand across her sleek chignon of caramel-colored hair before fixing her golden eyes on the convention room doors. The ultimate fanboys, the ones who’d paid extra so they could come in an hour earlier than the regular fans, would be waddling through them any moment. Thus would begin the longest weekend of her life.

Or the longest weekend of her life since the last convention she’d been forced to attend before she’d sworn off them in humiliation.

“Here they come,” Brad said as the doors swung open. He slipped his sunglasses up his nose and closed his eyes. Brad was one of the hottest artists going, which was why he was scheduled for this early signing session, but he started bar-Con last night. He was so hung over he hadn’t managed breakfast this morning.

Frank, the line’s main writer, shot Brad a dirty look.

Lindsey ground her teeth, annoyed that Brad thought it was okay to show up at a Con dressed like a bum, reeking of alcohol, and hungover within an inch of his life. If she’d known he was going to pull this, she would have scheduled him for a later slot and a night lecture just to keep him out of the bar for a few extra hours. The fanboys paid too much money to meet him. They deserved better.

Kent had never appeared at a Con less than impeccably groomed and completely alert. Kent valued his fans. Unlike Brad, Kent had known who made him a fan favorite—the fans.

Of course, Kent had also walked out on his lover and disappeared from the face of the Earth without warning, so maybe he hadn’t been aware of who made him a fan favorite. He hadn’t gotten those plum assignments on his own. He’d had a good fairy on the editorial staff helping him. A very stupid fairy.

Lindsey turned her back to the table to give herself time to recover, away from the grueling scrutiny of the first visitors. Four years later and the memory of Kent still made her run hot and cold. Hot because her skin remembered his hands. Cold because her heart remembered coming home from work to find him gone, down to the last scrap of watercolor paper. His studio had looked like Whoville on Christmas morning. Nothing but a rime of dust on the carpet around where his drawing table sat and a note telling her he was sorry he wasn’t the man she needed.

“Hello, Lindsey.”

Lindsey spun around, her blood now running both hotter and colder. Her heart fluttered into her throat. That sultry voice had haunted her dreams for four years.

He stood on the other side of the table with his portfolio propped beside him. He’d pulled his raven’s wing black hair back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. His silver eyes studied her. Lindsey's mouth went dry while her palms started to sweat. She felt his eyes on her skin as surely as she had remembered feeling his hands. Heat began to gain on the cold lump in her stomach.

“Kent Farrington. Holy crap, Batman. How have you been?” Gary reached across the table to shake Kent’s hand. He glanced at Lindsey. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it? I mean years.”

“I came to see Lindsey,” Kent answered a different question, managing to shake Gary’s hand without breaking eye contact with Lindsey.

“No, you didn’t,” Lindsey snapped. Heat won out over cold as her blood shot to a boil. The sheer gall of the man, walking into the convention like he belonged here.

“Oh hey, that’s right. You two used to be a thing.” Gary glanced at Lindsey again. Blinking out of her stupor, she saw he remembered that before she’d become the ‘Wicked Witch,’ she’d been the office ‘Hot Babe.’

“Yes, Lindsey Lou Who, I did,” Kent said smiling.

Lindsey scowled at his playing with her name. It had taken over a year and one very ugly editorial meeting before they’d stopped calling her Lindsey Hop. She didn’t want Lindsey Lou Who to be the next fight.

“No. You did not.” She stomped around the backdrop to hide. He couldn’t come into this small square of privacy. It was only for employees, and Kent hadn’t worked for her publisher in years. She’d made sure of that. She tried not to think about what his smile still did to her, but her thighs were already trembling. Her body was coated with a sheen of sweat almost in preparation for him. She scowled, her muscle memory seemed to recall him perfectly even if her heart had gone senile and forgotten the pain of his abandonment. A pain she struggled to remember.

“Sssst Lindsey,” Amy, her assistant, whispered from a gap on the other side of the display. Her eyes were bright with excitement, which Lindsey assumed was from the presence of her boss’s ex. “Is he really here?”

“Yes, he really is.” Kent set down his portfolio and straightened.

Lindsey spun around. She should have known she wouldn’t be safe here. He tugged his vest straight in what appeared to be a nervous gesture, but how likely was that? Kent hadn’t been nervous since his first day of kindergarten. He might not have been nervous even then.

“What are you doing here?” Lindsey hissed.

“I came to talk to you.” He stepped forward.

Lindsey tried to back up and bumped into a pile of freebie boxes. She could smell him from five feet away. Spice and sandalwood. Four years and he was still using the same cologne. His scent climbed into her brain and tried to drive out the last bit of fury she’d managed to cling to.

“It’s a little late,” she told him, using up the end of her anger.

“Lindsey, you’re still the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.” He closed the space between them before she could slip away. He put his hands on her shoulders, gazing into her eyes.

She hunched her shoulders, trying to distract herself from how good it felt to have him touching her again even if it was through two layers of clothing. “I understand it’s very trendy to ditch the most incredible woman you’ve ever met these days.”

“Lindsey.”

Lindsey closed her eyes, trying to block out his nearness. That turned out to be a mistake. It left her open to other incursions.

As soon as his lips touched hers, his kiss seared through her. Her skin heated until her blouse and jacket felt unbearably hot. She wanted to strip them off, and if her fingers had been less numb, she might have started on her blouse buttons. But her hands hung at her sides, incapable of movement, too dazed by Kent’s nearness. His lips, at once soft and demanding, plied hers until she was quivering.

When he parted her lips, a moan vibrated between them. Already overwhelmed, she couldn’t tell which one of them had moaned, and she didn’t care. His elegant hands slid across her back, drawing her closer. It made her crave the hard planes of his abdomen pressed against her belly. She reached for him. He buried his hand in her hair, wrecking her hairdo and angling her head for a deeper kiss. Heat spiraled around them, carrying the scent of her desire. She shuddered as the hard length of him pressed into her belly. Her core felt hot and sleek, ready for him. Always ready for him.

Kent brushed his open mouth along her jaw, lifting her off the floor and pressing her into the boxes behind her. “God, I missed you.”

A box shifted behind her. This wasn’t a wall he had her pressed against, but an unstable stack of boxes that would fall over and take one of the booth walls with it. The symbolism stabbed her, reminding her of the anger she’d forgotten. She planted her hands on Kent’s solid chest and pushed him off her.

“You’ll have to go on missing me. We’re done.” She'd intended to say more, but didn't trust her shaking voice.

Blindly, she rushed through the maze of booth walls, searching for escape. With one hand she finished the demolition of her hair and with the other she searched for her hotel key card.

“Hey Lindsey, where ya goin’?” Gary shouted after her as she squeezed between the tables to escape the booth.

“Out,” she snapped. Kent stepped out from behind the display wall, and the cold lump in her stomach reasserted itself. She’d done the same stupid thing last time. She’d rushed into Kent’s trap because he excited her, and she’d ended up in a relationship about as stable as the stack of boxes she’d been ready to have sex on just now. “I’ll be back later.”

“Lindsey!” Kent called.

She was creating a spectacle. The early geek crowd rippled as she stormed past. They were like sharks smelling blood on the water, though they probably considered themselves Jedi sensing a disturbance in the Force. Even that cynical thought couldn’t bring her pleasure, and cynicism was all she had left. Her body ached from the pleasure she had denied herself, and the doors were ridiculously far away in the cavernous convention center. She dodged a luggage cart loaded with comic book boxes and heard someone call Kent’s name. Ripping off her badge, she shoved through the doors, startling the security guy on the other side.

Suddenly a whole new crowd was alerted to something unusual happening. Lindsey paused as the eyes of a thousand comic book fans focused on her. She heard the shocked twitter of her name ring the room as she was recognized. Few of them had seen her in person, and none in this state. This was not the impression she hoped to make at her first convention as editor of her own line, her first convention in four years. She would have to face these people at no fewer than three panels, one costume contest, and hours in between at the booth. She had to pull herself together. It wouldn’t do to let Kent know how he’d ruined her composure, either.

Lindsey straightened and headed for the escalator to the second level. She caught sight of herself on the black-mirrored walls lining the escalator. It was worse than she feared. Even the dark mirrors couldn’t hide her high color. Her hair hung around her face like she’d just tumbled out of a bed not her own, and her clothing hung askew. She pulled her black velvet jacket straight and heard someone say Kent’s name behind her. She pulled a hand through her hair, lifting her chin at the same time. It made her feel a little less slutty. Why was Kent chasing her through the convention? It only attracted attention.

If the Comic Buyers Guide had a gossip column, this would be a headliner. Wunderkind Editor Lindsey Cartwright Pursued Through Con by Legendary Artist Kent Farrington.

“Lins!”

Lindsey almost leaped off the escalator in her rush to the hotel walkway . Throngs were headed for the Con dragging their collections behind them on luggage carts and dollies. She felt like a salmon swimming upstream.

“Oh my God. You’re Lindsey Cartwright, aren’t you?” the girl standing in front of her gasped.

Lindsey skidded to a stop. She could pick her fans out of this crowd. First, they were mostly females. They had short or multi colored hair and wore black. This girl fit the bill down to her blood-red hair and her black ‘Men Suck’ T-shirt.

“Yes, I am.”

“You are like my total hero.”

“Thank you,” Lindsey said as graciously as she could under the circumstances.

“Good to see a sister in this boys’ club,” the girl said, trying to sound tough but coming off nervous. Poor kid.

“You know, I’d love to talk,” she lied. She forced herself not to check over her shoulder for her pursuer. He must be gaining. “But I was just on my way somewhere. If you’d like to stop by the booth later today, I should be there.”

“Oh, totally.” The girl’s eyes became the brightest thing about her, shining with very uncool enthusiasm. “That would be awesome.”

“Lindsey!”

Lindsey fought the urge to cringe at the voice behind her. “Later then,” she said, darting through the doors to the skywalk. Now she felt like a salmon in a chute. The skywalk was more crowded, narrower and domed in sickly yellow plastic. She hadn’t gone fifteen steps when she heard the door bang open behind her.

“Lindsey, running away will not help,” Kent announced. “I know where you are all weekend, I know where you work, and I know where you live.”