You have an insight many authors don't possess. Your ability to sense how people are feeling has seen through me." "What are you nervous about?" "Those who pay my wages have insisted I find an author to write a romance novel. You're the next in line." "I don't write romance. I write crime. I've got lots of great ideas on how to expand the Kendal chronicles. Fire Games was just the beginning. In a few short years, there's going to be a shelf full of crime novels. They'll be great." "James, you're probably not aware of the fact we receive at least two hundred emails a day from your fans." "So, what does that tell you?" he interrupted. "I know where this conversation is heading," hinted Amanda. "It's plain and simple; readers love my crime novels." "James, start writing a romance novel. I've booked you into a bed and breakfast hotel in Mt Martha for the next four weeks." "I've already explained the fact I can't write romance." Of course, you can. You're a handsome bloke. Kiss a woman then write a fantasy about her. Better still; go and meet her at a local dance. Chat the woman up for a few hours and go to a cheap hotel somewhere. You know what to do from there." "What do you have in mind?" "Do I have to spell it out?" "I'm not the kind of bloke who jumps into bed with any woman." "James, go write me a romance novel." "What if I refuse?" Amanda Daltry stood. Instead of pushing her mini skirt down she left the material sitting high on her thighs. She strolled majestically across the room to the window. Pushing her breasts into James' arm she lifted her hands, placing them on either side of his head. He then felt her long fingers and red polished nails being buried in his dark hair. He stood an even six feet tall. Amanda leveled her gaze on his eyes. She leaned closer; her long blonde hair brushed his cheek. She swept her lips across the surface of his. On their return, she kissed him. For a long time, they stood at the window in the sunshine locked in the seductive French kiss. With a back step, Amanda used the tips of her fingers to tap James playfully on the side of his cheek. She turned and slowly walked across the room, sitting cross-legged again at her desk. The provocative grin she threw James faded, replaced by the professional business-woman in her. "James, there's a love story in all of us. Go, write me a romance novel. I expect to see an almost finished product on my desk no later than the fifth of April." "You'll have it on time," he grumbled. James didn't look back, marching across the office floor. He yanked the door open to the startled expression of the receptionist. Just for a moment, he wondered if she suspected anything on what transpired between him and Amanda. He also deliberated if she could tell his eyes were ablaze.

full of excitement. He'd never been kissed so passionately by a woman. He allowed his mind to drift back to the supermarket carpark. Amanda Daltry was indeed a mysterious woman. She certainly didn't come across as someone who might be afraid to kiss a man; any man. James couldn't remember the last time he'd been turned on by a woman. He reasoned they only wanted his money, so he avoided women by diving deep into his work. The young attractive receptionist smiled up at James. To greet him at eye level, the woman pushed her chair back and stood. He displayed a sociable grin, marching across the carpeted room. To avoid any lost time waiting for the lift, James ran down the stairs to the main entrance. Outside in the fresh air, the sun felt hot. Summer appeared to be extended for at least a month; so, the weatherman reported. James threw his tie and brown suede jacket onto the rear seat of his BMW convertible then slipped behind the steering wheel. He turned the ignition key and eased the sports car into the flow of traffic. James was still trying to outline a plot over the kiss Amanda had unexpectedly given him when his two storey mansion overlooking the bay came into view. The quaint room he worked in boasted a floor to ceiling double glazed window which faced the West. He loved to watch the sunset each evening. No matter where he was in a novel, when the sun touched the sea he'd stop, sit back and consume the wine in the glass while he enjoyed the view. James spent most of his time in the room. The fake gas fire looked realistic. It should be. He paid a fortune for the unit. It did a great job keeping him warm in the winter. An air conditioner on the wall kept him cool in the summer. Situated opposite the window was the kitchenette and bar fridge which was always stocked full of drinks and quick meals. Five identical laptops were on his long narrow desktop. Each one was ready to be used. He certainly didn't need to travel twenty minutes down the road to the bed and breakfast hotel for inspiration. Before the writer's block overtook him James rarely left the room. Lately, he didn't watch the sunset in the place. He wandered the shopping malls and ate out most nights hoping to stumble upon inspiration. Ideas which used to flow easily seemed to have left him high and dry. "Maybe a change of office space is actually what I need?" mumbled James. Swinging the car into his driveway, he clicked the remote. The garage door slid up. He depressed the second button on the same remote. A bell sounded, indicating the lift had arrived. After opening the narrow door, he stepped into the lift. The four-foot square metal plate lifted him silently to his bedroom. James changed into lighter, less formal clothes, packed two suitcases and rode the lift back down to his car. Inside ten minutes James had started driving towards Mt Martha. The location of the bed and breakfast hotel situated on the esplanade overlooking Port Phillip Bay was an hour's drive from the Melbourne CBD. In the distance, James could see the skyscrapers. They appeared to tower up out of the water. A slight haze covered the sky obscuring the mountains on the other side of the bay. James parked his car opposite the hotel's main door. The manicured gardens full of flowering shrubs and tall, mature Japanese Maple trees looked a welcoming sight.

The moment James stepped down from the car he could smell the sea air. The breeze immediately brushed his light blue shirt and long white shorts. After swiping his two suitcases from off the rear seat, he stared at the hotel as he squared his shoulders. The old- style building looked cold, quite the opposite of what he was familiar with. Still, he did agree to Amanda's request. Maybe she liked his attitude. If he said he would do something she must have figured out he'd do it. 'It could be the reason why she walked away from the car ignoring the rain that night. The driver didn't live up to her expectations,' James thought, walking towards the main entrance. "A good start to a crime novel," he whispered. The only noise James heard came from an old pale green two door-sedan. It rolled into the drive and was parked next to his vehicle. He watched the car until it came to a complete stop. It was then he entered the hotel, luggage in tow. James walked up to the main desk where he waited patiently for the mid twenty-year-old woman to look at him. Eventually he placed his suitcases on the red short pile carpet and stood to full height. "Good morning, Sir, may I help you?" "Apparently, I've been booked into a room for a month. I'm James Buxton." The girl checked the ledger on the computer. "Yes, you've been placed in room one on the first floor overlooking the pool for thirty-one days. An anonymous caller paid for the room." "Why room 101? Is there something unique about that particular room?" "None I'm aware of," replied the girl. "I'll call for the Porter to take your bags." "It won't be necessary. I prefer to carry the bags myself. One suitcase has a laptop in it." "I can guarantee our Porter will see to the safety of your bags." "Thanks for your thoughtfulness. I can manage," insisted James slightly more forceful. Totally absorbed, he watched the smiling girl's every twitch and move she made, willing his imagination into rejuvenation. At long last, the cogs in his mind seemed to be grinding slowly. James hoped they'd continue to pick up speed. He'd gather then group the fragmented clues to begin a possible new crime novel. Amanda's kiss, the car parked next to his, now this room 101 overlooking the pool and the girl's standard welcoming smile and cordial greeting. "Thanks again for your thoughtfulness," repeated James, studying the startled expression on the girl's face. Even though she seemed to be displaying a luring expression, he dismissed any romantic connection she might have been thinking. He flashed a courteous smile, side stepping to collect his luggage. James saw the driver of the old pale green two door-sedan walk into the hotel. For far too long he watched the woman walking across the lobby towards the reservation desk. When the young lady glanced his way, James turned his back and walked towards the lift. He pushed the call button. He wouldn't have looked back or even given the woman a second glance if his publicist hadn't given him an ultimatum. He needed more ideas for this so-called crime novel forming in his mind and even more ideas if he was to turn it into a romance novel.