Key of knowledge by Nora Roberts

Author:Nora Roberts
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Man-woman relationships, Romance: Modern, Quests (Expeditions), paranormal, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Romance, Romance - Contemporary, Women, Celtic, Pennsylvania, Women librarians, American, Mythology, Romance - Fantasy, American Light Romantic Fiction, Romance - Paranormal, Gods, Contemporary, General, Fantasy, Librarians, Love stories
ISBN: 9780515136371
Publisher: Jove
Published: 2003-07-15T10:11:24.265000+00:00

"I didn't mean it that way." She was, she realized, digging a hole for herself. But she could hardly confess to being a fan of his work when she was sitting in his bed naked arid eating corn chips. It was a sure way to make both of them feel ridiculous.

And would make any honest praise seem like pandering.

"You're doing what you always wanted to do, Jordan, and successfully. You should be proud of yourself."

"No argument there." He polished off the Coke, set the can aside. Wrapped his fingers around her ankle. "Still hungry?"

Relieved that the topic had been tabled, she rolled up the bag of chips, tossed it on the floor beside the bed. "As a matter of fact," she began, then jumped him.

IT shouldn't bother him so much, and it irritated the hell out of him that it did. He didn't expect everyone to like his work. He'd long ago stopped being bruised or deflated by a poor review or a disgruntled comment from a reader.

He wasn't some high-strung, temperamental artist who fell into funks at the slightest criticism.

But damn it, Dana's dismissal of his work dug holes in him.

It was worse now, Jordan thought as he gazed out the bedroom window and brooded. Worse that she'd been kind about it. It had been easier to take her scathing and unsolicited opinions of his talent, her snotty, elitist dismissal of his field than her gentle and kindly meant pat on the head.

He wrote thrillers, often with a whiff of something other, and she dismissed them as hackneyed commercialism that appealed to the lowest common denominator.

He could handle that, if she was an elitist book snob, but she was far from it. She simply loved books. Her apartment was crammed with them and there was plenty of genre fiction on her shelves.

Though he'd noted there was nothing on them by Jordan Hawke.

And, yeah, he thought, it stung more than a little.

He'd been ridiculously pleased to come back into the bedroom and see her bent over his laptop, to see what he'd believed had been avid interest in the story he was building.

Curiosity, as she'd said. Nothing more.

Best to put that one away, he told himself. Lock it away iii a box before it dug in too deep and started to fester.

They were lovers again, and thank God for it. They were, he hoped, halfway to being friends again as well. He didn't want to lose her, lover arid friend, because he couldn't get past her disinterest or disapproval of his work.

She didn't know what it meant to him to be a writer. How could she? Oh, she knew it was what he'd wanted and hoped for. But she didn't know why it was so vital to him. He'd never shared that with her.

There was a great deal that he hadn't shared with her; he admitted.

His work, yes. He'd often asked her to read something he'd done, and naturally had been pleased and satisfied when she'd praised it-intrigued and interested when she'd discussed the story and offered her opinions.

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