Icing Ivy Read Online Free PDF

and liked Vick, as his friends called him. Soft-spoken and self-effacing, short and plump, he was considered a guru of fiction writing. He traveled around the country almost constantly, presenting seminars and workshops, and had also published several best-selling books for writers.
    â€œJane,” he cried, smiling sweetly, and they embraced. “You’re looking wonderful, as beautiful as always.” He took in her flowing mane. “Love that red hair,” he said with gusto.
    â€œThanks, but it’s auburn,” she replied with a laugh. “Where’s Jennifer?”
    â€œNot sure,” he said, and he and Jane scanned the crowd.
    To Jane’s surprise, Vick’s wife, Jennifer Castaneda, had also agreed to serve as an instructor. Jennifer was a writer of Latina romance novels. She was, in fact, the leading writer of these novels, with four back-to-back New York Times best-sellers to her credit.
    â€œThere she is,” Vick said, spotting her by one of the doorways to the reception room. “Jen—”
    Jennifer looked up and smiled at them both. Some said the olive-skinned beauty was worthy of Hollywood, perhaps to star in a film version of one of her own novels, and looking at her now, Jane had to agree. Jennifer’s rich brown hair was pulled back from her flawless brow, accentuating her large dark eyes, slightly tip-tilted nose, and over-full pink lips. A snug linen jumpsuit in a becoming shade of celery accentuated her ample curves.
    â€œJane,” she said in her breathy little-girl voice, approaching them. She kissed Jane on the cheek and embraced her. She smelled of jasmine.
    â€œYou’re looking as gorgeous as ever,” Jane said.
    â€œYou too,” Jennifer said with a modest laugh. She pointed toward the doorway where Vick had spotted her. “I was just talking to one of the students. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
    Jane followed Jennifer, who Jane realized hadn’t involved her husband at all in the conversation. Glancing behind her, Jane saw him trailing along. Jennifer approached a good-looking black-haired man in his mid-twenties. Of medium height, he was exceptionally slight, with effete, almost feminine features.
    â€œJane Stuart,” Jennifer said, “this is Paul Kavanagh.”
    Paul’s face lit up at the mention of Jane’s name. He took Jane’s hand and brought it to his lips. “It is an honor.”
    â€œOh, my,” Jane said with an embarrassed giggle. “Thanks very much.”
    â€œNo, I must thank you.” He came closer—too close for Jane’s comfort. “When Adam told our group you had agreed to run this retreat,” he said softly, “I couldn’t believe my good fortune. You know, I’ve submitted my work to you a number of times, only to have you reject it.” He lowered his gaze in desolation.
    Jane felt herself flush. “I’m terribly sorry . . .”
    â€œNo, no,” he said, putting up his hand. “You were absolutely right in your assessment. This week, however, I think you’ll be quite impressed with what I’ve got to offer.”
    Already Jane couldn’t stand this little twerp. “I’m sure I will,” she said, hating herself for being such a phony, “though I must warn you, as I’ll warn all the others, I’m not currently taking on any new clients.” A lie, but a necessary one if she was to avoid awkward situations like this one.
    Paul gave her a conspiratorial wink. “You have to say that; I understand. But wait until you see my work.”
    Jane told him it was nice to have met him, and couldn’t get away quickly enough.
    Vick came close to speak to her. “You did the right thing, telling him you’re not taking on new clients. Otherwise every one of these people would be after you at the end of the retreat.”
    â€œI think this one will be after me anyway.”
    â€œDon’t