Diary of a Stalker

by Electa Rome Parks

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

Electa Rome Parks paints a powerful portrait of a crazed fan who can't seem to close the book on the affair after a one-night-stand with a famous author--and who will stop at nothing to make him hers. Even if that means killing him. . . Bestselling author Xavier Preston is used to women throwing themselves at him. On top of being a successful writer, he's also tall, dark and sexy as sin. He's always relished the attention, in fact, and is ever-willing to entertain the erotic urges of women wanting to get between more than the covers of his novels. Except once he meets Kendall, he decides it's time to put his womanizing ways behind him and devote himself to her entirely. Well, almost. . . Gorgeous Pilar is the last decadent treat Xavier decides he'll help himself to--thinking they are both on the same "no strings" page. Except behind Pilar's fine façade beats the heart of a raving maniac--a fatally attracted fan addicted to the kind of hot loving only Xavier can give her. And she's not about to let him get away from her so easily. So what starts out as a discreet dalliance soon spirals into a deadly game of obsession and pain--which can only have one winner. . .

Release date: January 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 400

Sample

I’m your #1 fan.

It’s funny how one’s life can forever be changed with the utterance of four simple words: I’m your #1 fan. Well, actually, they weren’t spoken, but sent to my favorite male author, Xavier Preston, by way of e-mail. Man, I love the World Wide Web.

I couldn’t believe it; I had recently finished reading his latest national bestseller, Secret Desires, and to put it mildly, I was simply blown away. I felt like the main character was speaking directly to me, like she was inside my brain, picking it apart, piece-by-piece. I could relate to the storyline ... totally ...and the ending was spectacular, took my breath away. Secret Desires stayed with me, languishing inside my soul, like a sweet kiss that lingers into the early morning hours as dawn approaches.

Even though I am an avid reader—I should be since I’m a freelance writer—I typically do not contact authors about their books. I don’t get caught up in the entire groupie side of the literary industry. Yes, it exists! Surprise, surprise! There is an entire circle of women all across the country, sometimes entire book clubs, who follow the lives and movement of African American male writers the same way groupies chase after rappers, rock stars, athletes and actors.

In the book industry, it is just a bit more subtle. For example, the book club president might fly the handsome, fine, articulate male author into her city for the weekend, to discuss his most recent hot release at the monthly book club meeting and to perhaps get the added bonus of getting up close and personal between the sheets. It happens.

For me, however, this was different; Xavier Preston made a lasting impression. Generally, it took a lot to impress me because I wasn’t into the ordinary and I was determined to tell him how impressed I was. That is, after I went out and purchased all his previous novels. I had a bit of catching up to do.

A week later, after devouring his other six novels from cover to cover like a delicious gourmet meal, savoring every word, I knew I had to make contact. I simply had an unrelenting urge to speak with him. I couldn’t get his lyrical, rhythmic, flowing words out of my head. This man moved me. Moved me like I had never been moved before. I felt a connection. A deep connection.

Early one morning, before I began writing an article for one of the local magazines I frequently wrote for, I e-mailed Xavier Preston my sincere, honest thoughts.

Much to my surprise and pleasure, a couple of days later, I received a simple response.

With a pounding heartbeat, I couldn’t believe what I was reading and I re-read it a few more times for clarity. I wanted to make sure I was reading correctly that Xavier Preston asked to meet me. Me. Next weekend couldn’t arrive soon enough.

It was Friday afternoon, a week after I had received Xavier’s e-mail, and I was lying across my bed, admiring the author photo of Xavier on the back cover of his debut title, outlining his features with my index finger. He had such soulful, penetrating brown eyes and the sexiest pair of dimples I had ever seen. Such a handsome man. I was so caught up in looking at the picture that I almost forgot I had Leeda on the phone. Leeda and I had been friends since my days in Baltimore. I moved to Atlanta almost four years ago. Had to get out of Baltimore. Held too many memories, most of them bad.

“Pilar, for the life of me, I can’t understand why you are so excited about meeting this author. My God, he’s only an author. It’s not like he’s Jay-Z or Denzel,” she exclaimed in her usual authoritative sounding voice, with a bit of amusement.

I sighed inwardly because Leeda didn’t understand, or maybe couldn’t understand, no matter how many times or how hard I tried to explain it to her.

“Xavier gets me. Period. He gets me. Read Secret Desires and you’ll understand. It’s as if he patterned the main character after me. Like he peeked inside my bedroom window and started writing. It’s almost eerie. I have never met this man a day in my life, but it’s like he reached inside my mind and penned my thoughts on paper.”

“Pilar, there are many women who think exactly as you do. They are looking for a handsome soul mate and think there is only one true love for them. You aren’t the only woman in the world who is a hopeless romantic. Your thoughts are not unique in that aspect.”

Leeda could never understand, so I simply gave up trying to convince her that this was different. Xavier was different; I could feel it deep in my bones.

“Well, it won’t hurt anything for me to attend the signing, after all, he did invite me. I can at least get my books autographed. Years from now, who knows, they might be very valuable.”

“True. Just don’t go there with expectations that are only in your mind,” Leeda said.

“Whatever,” I stated with an exasperated sigh.

“Pilar, don’t get so defensive. You know how you are. We’ve discussed it before. Every man you meet who is kind to you is not the one. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Please, let’s not even go there,” I said.

“Okay, if you say so. Just remember, life is what you make it. You don’t need a man to make you whole.”

“I know that, but I have a feeling that Xavier Preston is going to change my life for the better,” I stated with a huge smile. I was on a natural high. An Xavier high.

Never trust a big butt and a smile.

I’ve been in the literary game for several years now, with seven bestselling novels to my name. I figured out a long time ago that I have the gift of gab, of storytelling ... and I love women. All shapes, sizes, colors and ethnicities. I don’t discriminate; I believe in equal opportunity. Becoming a novelist was a natural progression seeing as how I’ve been telling tall tales my entire life. Women purchase most books, which is a good thing since my target market is definitely women, especially African American. If I depended on men for my livelihood, I would literally be a starving artist.

At this stage of the game, I have pretty much seen it all and done it all. If I must say so myself, I’ve led an exciting life. The stories I could tell. However, my “psycho bitch” radar must have been malfunctioning when this chick named Pilar first approached me. Damn, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth just to spit that bitch’s name off of my tongue.

Never in a million years could anyone have told me that sweet face and banging body would spell trouble with a capital T. Never in a million years. I guess it’s true ... never judge a book by its cover. If I knew then what I know now, I would have pressed delete real quick when I received her very first e-mail.

“I’m your #1 fan!” Pilar didn’t send an e-mail; she sent a virus, in the form of her very presence.

So sweet and accommodating—a boost to my already overinflated ego, at least that’s what I’ve been told. I received e-mails like that all the time from adoring female fans, so it never crossed by mind that inviting Pilar to my book signing would set my nightmare into motion, with my life quickly spiraling out of control and Pilar as the driver.

Even if I wrote the events that transpired into one of my novels, no one would believe them. They’d think Pilar was just a fabricated figment of my vivid imagination. Sometimes I think she is. I wake up hoping and praying that she is. However, I’m not that lucky.

I wish ... I wish I could go back and rewrite the storyline, which is my life. Do some line editing and write that crazy-ass bitch out of the major scenes, hell the entire book. No, I’d kill her off in the first couple of chapters. Have her die a slow and torturous death. Yeah, that would make me happy. Very happy indeed.

Now, it’s much too late for that. I have to deal with the consequences of my actions—or lack of. It’s true—that line from an old Bell Biv Devoe song—never trust a big butt and a smile. I’m hardheaded. I had to learn the hard way.

It was on and poppin’ ...

As it quickly approached lunchtime on Saturday, I had probably changed outfits over three or four times. I had to look perfect. I finally decided on a pair of tight fitting designer jeans, the kind that made my butt look bootylicious and a colorful halter-top that showcased my ample breasts to the fullest. After slipping on my earth-toned platform shoes, I was set. Ready for the chase.

I had done my online research. The Internet was my best friend, and now I knew all about Xavier and his life story. I knew Xavier was tall, about six feet, two or three inches. At five feet six inches, I didn’t want to appear to be too short when I first met him. I knew from experience that a lot of tall men didn’t care for much shorter women. Plus, I wanted to be able to stare deep into those sexy brown eyes.

Even though I didn’t live on that side of town, I had been out to Greenbriar Mall on a few occasions. I had even interviewed the store owner regarding their fourteen-year anniversary celebration for being in business, a couple of years back.

My timing was impeccable. I arrived at the signing fifteen minutes before it was scheduled to end, with only two of his books in tow, Xavier’s newest release and his very first title. The other books were strategically left in my car, on the front passenger seat. With me, everything had a purpose, a clear design.

When I casually sashayed to the bookstore entrance, I noticed most of the crowd was gone or dispersing and there were only two other women ahead of me in the line, waiting to meet the author. One was a middle-aged woman who was obviously a member of a book club, since she was dressed from head to toe in her purple-and-gold book club paraphernalia. The other reader was an absolute ghetto fabulous mess, complete with two-tone, brightly colored hair, nails with various designs and a dress so short and tight that if she bent over by one inch, Xavier would be staring at her ass crack. I think that was probably the plan.

At the entrance, the store owner had set up a table covered with an intricate African print tablecloth. Xavier’s newest release, Secret Desires, was prominently displayed next to a beautiful floral arrangement that accented the colors from his cover. Next to the table was a huge overhead banner announcing the signing with a stunning photo of Xavier.

Behind the table stood the most gorgeous man my eyes had seen in a long, long time. My coochie automatically had a twitch, jerk reaction. I felt myself getting wet and I hadn’t even said hello to the man yet. Unbelievable.

Xavier was tall, chocolate and sexy. A walking advertisement for sex; sex appeal gushed from his pores. And he was fine—had the type of body that made you wanna pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. His biceps were bulging from underneath the black T-shirt he wore tucked in black jeans. The only jewelry I noticed was an expensive-looking watch and a silver cross necklace.

When he opened his mouth and smiled, I saw a perfect set of white teeth, complemented by a pair of deep dimples, one in each cheek. Tall, dark and handsome ... what a lethal combination. My coochie twitched twice this time and my nipples rose, hardened to show their appreciation. It’s true that a woman knows within three minutes of meeting a man if she would sleep with him. With Xavier, it didn’t take that long.

I continued to discreetly check Xavier out from behind the two talkative women ahead of me in line. He patiently answered their questions, made them feel special with his undivided attention. It didn’t go unnoticed with me how he managed to make physical contact with them. A pat to the hand, a lingering touch to the shoulder, a hug. These women were eating it up. With his rugged, masculine looks, Xavier’s aura screamed this is a real man, the real deal!

Xavier possessed a deep, sexy voice that gave me shivers as I imagined him whispering in my ear during a passionate make out session. I was simply mesmerized watching him in action, in his element. He carried himself with just the right mix of arrogance and swagger. The perfect combination. I could sense he was all man and used to wearing the pants in any relationship. Women catered to him, wanted to please him, so he would lavish them with his attention.

I caught myself checking out the huge bulge outlined in front of his jeans. From the size of his feet and hands, which didn’t bear a wedding band, I was pretty confident he was packing. Packing some serious pipe. I shivered at just the thought and had no doubt that he knew how to use it.

When I glanced back up, our eyes briefly met. I realized I had been busted based on the slight amusement that shone in his dark eyes. My face flushed. Only one more reader to go before it was my turn to meet my favorite writer in the world. My hardened nipples betrayed my excitement.

Finally. It was my turn. Showtime.

“Hi, Mr. Preston,” I said, stepping up and extending my right hand. “It is so great to finally meet you.” I smiled sweetly.

“Please, please call me Xavier,” he stated in a smooth, deep, rich voice that sent chills up and down my arms as he shook my hand in a firm grip, lingering a bit longer than necessary. His hand simply swallowed mine.

“Okay, Xavier,” I said, getting used to the feel of his name as it rolled off my tongue. “I’m Pilar, the reader who e-mailed you a few days ago to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your books. You’re such a wonderful writer and your words stay with me long after the last page.”

“Thank you so much. I appreciate your support, Pilar.” He flashed that perfect smile and those deep dimples again. I wanted to fall into his arms and never let go.

“You invited me to come out and meet you, so here I am,” I said, placing my hand on his upper arm for a couple of seconds.

“Oh, yes. I remember. How nice to meet you, Pilar. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he flirted, staring into my eyes. I simply melted. I could have floated up to heaven at that moment.

“Thank you.” I blushed as I inched a bit closer and made a point of bending down to place my two books on the table. I caught his eyes as they instantly shifted from my face to my chest. I knew he saw my dark, hardened nipples straining against the thin, sheer fabric of the halter. His lustful stare excited me.

“Would you mind autographing my two books? It would mean so much to me.”

“Of course. Should I inscribe anything in particular?” he asked as he took a seat in the chair that was provided for him.

“No. Surprise me. I love surprises,” I said in a flirty, seductive tone as I traced my finger across the outer edge of the front of the tablecloth.

Xavier looked at me curiously for a few seconds. Like he wanted to say something but changed his mind. I watched intently as he proceeded to sign my books in a bold, crisp, loopy handwriting with a black Sharpie marker. Being so up close and personal made me desire him even more. The mixture of his woodsy cologne and natural body odor was masculine, appealing and very alluring. I boldly held his eye when he looked back up to hand me my books.

“Thank you again. This means so much,” I said, reaching for them, and my finger accidentally rubbed against the side of his hand. Two quick feather-like strokes followed.

“You are very welcome,” he said and smiled. Those dimples stood out again.

“Would it be all right if I took a photo of us together? My friends won’t believe it when I tell them I actually met and talked to author extraordinaire, Xavier Preston.”

“Anything for you, Pilar,” he stated in a tone that implied sexual overtones. “I have never been able to say no to a beautiful woman.”

I blushed.

I quickly caught the attention of one of the store employees, who gladly came over and snapped a photo of us with my digital camera. It was a perfect moment in time. Forever captured ... me with the biggest smile on my face, grinning like a Cheshire cat, Xavier’s arm wrapped protectively around my waist, not an inch of space between us. A . . .