When she hits the writer’s block of all writer’s blocks, Lindsey Prince thinks her muse has abandoned her. But she opens her door one day to find a gorgeous new one standing there, “anxious” to help her finish her current project. There’s only one problem…her new muse, Zahn, has been turned purple by Calliope, Chief of the Muses, for indulging in Purple Prose. Unfortunately, his fate rests on Lindsey submitting a purple prose free manuscript to her editor. No pressure there. But Zahn has a powerful and cranky ex-girlfriend who isn’t all that thrilled by the growing attraction between Lindsey and Zahn. She’ll do anything to stop Lindsey from submitting that manuscript. Anything. Based on the extremely heated “research” she and Zahn have been indulging in, Lindsey knows her sexy IR story will sizzle. She only needs to live through the process of writing it.
You know your day is off to a rocky start when you open your front door and there’s a purple guy standing there.
A really hot purple guy, but, a purple guy none-the-less.
You would think this would be a truly awesome conversation kicker…filled with opportunity for witty repartee. But really it comes down to this…
Do you have the stones to ask the obvious question right off?
Apparently I did.
He looked down at himself and shrugged, the action bringing the sharply sculpted mounds of his truly awesome pecs into full view under his soft t-shirt. “No. I’m not purple.”
I stared at him, my grey eyes most likely filled to burstin’ with cynicism at this response. “Oh. Then, can I help you?”
“I’m your muse. Can I come in?”
“Is this 4556 Penelope Avenue?”
“Well yeah, but…”
“Your name is Lindsey Prince and you requested an IR muse?”
“I didn’t actually request one…”
“Did you not say, just the other day, to one Patrice Baker that your muse had deserted you?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“I am your replacement muse, Zahn.”
He bowed slightly. “At your service. May I come in?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t know you, and you’re…purple.”
Zahn looked down at himself again, frowning. “I’m not purple.”
The ridiculousness of him denying his purple condition when he was standing in front of me, all six feet and approximately four inches of buff, muscular purple-ness made me laugh. “Yes. You are. Goodbye.”
I closed the door on him and headed for my kitchen, shaking my head. It was just my luck. Finally I get a really hot guy at my door asking to come in and he has to be purple. I fixed a cup of hot tea and headed toward my office, determined to get eight hundred words written on my new interracial romance before lunch. But when I sat down at my desk, my fingers hovering hopefully over the keys of my laptop, nothing came.
Sighing in frustration, I glanced out of the window next to my desk. I jumped and gave a little scream.
A very handsome purple face stared in the window at me.
Zahn smiled. “Cat got your words?”
I scowled at him. “Very funny. I told you to go away.”
He shook his purple head. “No. You didn’t. You just said I couldn’t come in.”
“Well then, I’m telling you to go away now. Shoo. Skedaddle. I’m trying to work here.”
Zahn cast almond shaped, brown eyes toward my computer screen. “And doing a bang-up job of it too, I see.”
I looked where he was looking and saw two words: In the… That was it. In the… It pissed me off that Zahn was witnessing the total breakdown of my creative skills. I turned to glare at him and he was staring at me, his pretty brown eyes intense.
I glanced over my shoulder. “What?”
He shook his head. “I’m assessing your intent for that story. I think you have a good idea of where you want to go. You just haven’t formed the beginning yet.”
I sighed, looking at those two, very sad little words on my screen, the cursor pulsing hopefully next to them. “Or the middle, or the ending.”
“What is Carol’s motivation for going into the strip club in the first place?”
I jumped, turning to my purple intruder with wary eyes. “How did you know that? I haven’t even written that yet.”
He glared at me. “What kind of a Muse would I be if I couldn’t read the story in your head?”
I shrugged. He had a point. His head suddenly dropped lower in the window and he rested one nicely muscled, purple forearm on the sill. I stood and went over to the window, peering out. “You aren’t sitting on my lilacs, are you?”
He looked down. “Nope. Now, answer my question. You’re procrastinating.”
I stared at him, hands on hips. He stared back, butt in mulch. Finally I said, “Would you like some tea?”
“Stop that. Sit down and let’s get to work.”
He glared at me.
“Okay, okay, don’t get your purple panties in a twist.”
“My pan…underwear are not purple.”
“If you say so.”