LOVE'S TENDER FURY.

MaryJanice Davidson.

CHAPTER ONE .

It began as it always did, another endless book signing in an overcrowded bookstore. The theme du jour was controlled chaos-lots of clerks dashing about, long lines at the checkout counter-a consumer's nightmare, a store manager's dream. Any other author would have been thrilled, positively joyful at such a busy book signing. Not Marnie Hammer. Never Marnie Hammer.

She could hear the babble of her fans around her. Instead of thrilling her, as it had in the very beginning, or infuriating her, as it had the last few years, now she merely found the enthusiasm profoundly depressing.

Head down, signing like an automaton, she could hear the next two women in line chatting.

"Is that the time? I've been here for an hour already."

"I've been here since lunch," her companion gushed. "Who cares? You know what a signed Jessica LeFleur is worth? I'm still hanging onto the one I got from last year's book tour. See?" The woman, a smartly dressed brunette, dug a hardcover out of her totebag and flipped open the cover, reading aloud.

"'Why don't you try Les Miserables? Jessica.'"

"Doesn't she have the best sense of humor?"

Puke , thought Jessica. "Next!"

The first woman elbowed her way to the head of the line. "Could you sign it, "To my number one fan, Love, Jessica?"

Jessica snapped her gum, quelling irritation. She had so many "number one fans", she needed to employ a census taker to keep track of them all. "I could." She took the proffered book, her newest release, and scribbled, 'Help! I'm trapped in a publishing contract and I can't get out!'" Then she handed the book back.

The customer read the inscription and smiled uncertainly. "Um...thank you."

Jessica cracked her gum again. "Next!"

Seated beside her, her best friend, Joe Halloran, growled to show his disapproval. He knew why she was rude to her fans, but didn't tolerate it. "Cut the c.r.a.p," he muttered in her ear, "or no more M&M's."

He added to the still smiling, still puzzled customer, "Don't mind her, ma'am. She's on medication."

"Oh! I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better soon. I just love your work."

Oh, here we go , she thought. "Why?"

"Because-" The woman faltered, then plunged ahead. "Because you write such beautiful love stories. You're my favorite author. Better than Danielle Steele and Julie Garwood put together!"

Jessica sighed. It never ceased to amaze her. She wrote c.r.a.p, which people mistook for gold.

Libraries were stuffed with dusty cla.s.sics, and meanwhile people were standing in line for three hours to get a signed Jessica LeFleur. It was beyond ridiculous. Worse, it made you lose respect for them.

Almost as much respect as she had lost for herself.

Toward the end of the line, Tony Freeborg was amazed at the number of women in line. And not your everyday hausfraus, either; many of them were in business suits that cost more than everything in his closet put together. Not such a trick, given where he shopped and how often he shopped- which was bi-yearly at the most-but still...

"I can't believe it!" his mom was raving, in itself a startling development. Elinor Freeborg did not rave. "I can't believe I'm going to get a signed LeFleur! Now, when we're up there, smile nice and give her your card."

"Ma. I'm a n.o.body. I have exactly zero clients, which is why I still work for Mutch and Musch. She's Jessica C. LeFleur, worldwide sales in the bazillions. She doesn't need an agent, she needs an accountant." His cell phone rang; he pulled it out and flipped it open. "Freeborg...I can't talk right now.

And for the tenth time, I don't want the service!" He paused, listening, while his mom looked on, unabashedly curious. "No...no! Just leave me alone. I don't want to talk! About anything!" He slapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into his pocket.

"What in the world?"

"My boss is making all the editors carry cell phones, and she bought us free hours of Dial-A- Shrink."

"Well. That was nice."

He snorted. "Yeah. A nice pain in the a.s.s. None of us were using the service, so my boss is making the shrinks call us. All day long, my d.a.m.n cell phone is ringing, and on the other end I hear, 'Tell me about your mother.' The trouble with people in therapy-like my boss-is that they think everyone else should be in therapy, too."

Elinor smiled. "Think about the state of the world for a moment. Then tell me more people shouldn't be in therapy."

"Ha! Good-"

"Look! It's almost our turn."

His mother, who hadn't gotten excited when his brother graduated magna c.u.m laude or when his father won the local lottery, was actually jumping up and down on her little size fives. He had to laugh.

"All right, ladies." There was a man at the signing table, standing and holding his arms up like a television evangelist. "Ms. LeFleur is finished signing books for the day."

As one, the crowd groaned. The man winced, but bravely continued. "She'll be in attendance at the Romance Readers' Convention tomorrow at the Civic Center ."

Remarkably mercurial, the crowd perked up.

"But now she has to go."

Tony could see the man standing beside Miss Hot Stuff Author was clearly uncomfortable at being the bearer of bad tidings. Tony could also see Miss Hot Stuff Author didn't mind making her flunky do the dirty work. She wasn't even looking at her loyal fans, just lying there, her head pillowed on her arms, eyes closed. Meanwhile, Flunky Boy was still yapping.

"I'm sorry. She'll be signing books tomorrow..."

It was maddening. They finally made it to the head of the line, only to be told Miss Hot stuff Author had writer's cramp or whatever and was blowing off the rest of her fans.

He cleared his throat. "Um...Miss LeFleur..."

Miss Hot Stuff Author, he noticed, couldn't be bothered to look up. All he could see was the top of her head.

"Don't call me that," she groaned into her forearm. "I can't take it. My name is Marnie."

His mother tugged so hard at his sleeve, she practically ripped his arm off. "Don't bother her."

He ignored her, bending toward the table like a testy maitre 'd. "I realize it's asking too much of you to sign books for fans, thereby increasing sales and your bottom line. It must be a terrible burden.

We're really sorry to put you out like this. But if you could bring yourself to sign just one...more...

book. If you try to make that extra effort that separates champions from schmucks-"

What's-her-name stood, and then she was gone, stomping past the crowd. At no time, he noticed, did she trouble herself to look him full in the face.

Disgusted, he straightened. "And speaking of schmucks..."

His mother shook her head. "She's tired. We only waited in line for half an hour, but she's been here all day, signing. It's okay."

What's-her-name's flunky, meanwhile, had been shifting from one foot to another, and now he cleared his throat. "Why don't you give me your address, ma'am? I'll send you a signed copy."

Tony had been about to answer when his mother sent a sharp elbow into his ribs. He glared at her, but obediently reached into his pocket and...

"Here's my card."

Flunky Boy took it, studied it. "Mutch and Musch?"

"It's a small publishing house," he explained. "We do mostly poetry anthologies and a few literary novels. You can send the book to my attention."

Flunky Boy was now looking at him appraisingly, tapping his business card against his teeth. "Ah- hmm. Maybe we could have dinner sometime. I know a charming bistro that doesn't skimp on the bread.

I can give you Love's Tender Fury then."

His mother jumped in. "He'd love to."

"Ma."

"He's free for a date tomorrow. Or anytime!"

Tony swallowed a groan. Matchmaking was one thing, but... "First of all, I'm not free tomorrow.

Second-"

"What's the matter with you? He's about your age, he seems to like you, he's handsome...if you like skinny...he hangs around writers so he must be smart-"

"But I'm not gay."

She threw up her hands. "Oh, picky, picky."

Flunky Boy snorted. "You can't blame me for trying."

"Tony, he's nice! And how do you know you're not gay unless you've tried it?"

As G.o.d was his witness, he had no idea how to answer such a ridiculous question.

"Well, if you decide you do want to try it..." Flunky Boy was trying very hard not to laugh.

"You'll be the first person I call," he said dryly.

"I just think," his mother said with cool dignity, "you should keep your options open, is all."

"Great, Ma."

CHAPTER TWO .

Mystery writers got together and tried to solve fake murders. Science fiction writers went to Star Trek Conventions, planetariums, and toured NASA. Literary writers went to graduate school. And romance writers? Romance writers held giant conventions with half-naked men parading down runways, while women screamed themselves hoa.r.s.e and vied to buy the chaps off the models' bodies.

And then complained that no one in the publishing industry took them seriously.

Marnie Hammer, a.k.a. Jessica C. LeFleur, watched the pandemonium, and with great difficulty, stifled a yawn. A few of the men on the runway had modeled for some of her books, but she had never gone for the overly-muscular, blond, long-haired type.

"Maybe it's just me," she told Joe Halloran, her best friend and, occasionally, worst enemy, "but I could never date someone prettier than I was."

Watching the show with avid curiosity, Joe didn't look at her as he replied. "Maybe, but you have to admit, it's hard to resist a man wearing crotchless chaps."

She had to smile at that. She and Joe had been best friends since high school. They did everything together...she couldn't remember the last book signing she'd had to do solo. He was always at her elbow, joking with her fans, fetching her water, reading her books, flirting with the bookstore clerks. She and Joe had lost their virginity together, and had been lovers right up to the day Joe had come out of the closet. Sprinted out of the closet, actually.

Fool that she was, his being gay hadn't changed her feelings for him. Now here he was, drooling over the cover models, and if just once he'd ever looked at her that way, just one time...

Abruptly, Joe whooped. "Pa.s.sion's Warrior! Yeah!"

"Will you shut up? You're making a spectacle of yourself."

"I can't help it. Buff, gorgeous men as far as the eye can see. This is, like, gay Graceland !"

The announcer boomed, "You've seen him on the cover of Savage Bliss. You swooned when he carried his virgin bride over the threshold of his manor house, Cresthaven. A big hand, ladies, for...

Blanco!"

The crowd, as they say, went wild. The hall absolutely erupted with cheers and feminine shrieks.

Marnie could see a tall, muscular man with shoulder-length brunette curls prowling the runway. He was cla.s.sically handsome, the de rigueur romance novel hero. As he approached the end of the catwalk he turned slowly...and, to Marnie's surprise, somehow spotted Joe in the throng.

She and Joe looked at each other, then up at Blanco, whose gaze was riveted on Joe.

"Blanco?" she asked. "That's Spanish for white. What the h.e.l.l kind of name is that?" Joe, she was irritated to note, was still staring helplessly. And Blanco, she was doubly irritated to note, was blowing her ex-boyfriend a kiss. "These women are making fools of themselves. And so are you."

Instead of being chastised, her friend only sighed. "I love romance conventions."

CHAPTER THREE .