One Ring to Rule

by Christa Maurice

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

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. Sign up for Christa's newsletter at eepurl.com/4VZuD and and receive free short as well as news, contests and the chance to score ARCs. 20,264 Words

Release date: September 1, 2008

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 61

Sample

 

Chapter 1

 

“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?” L. . .