Free Room Service by Vanessa Stark Page B

just wanted you to know.’
    Natasha’s heart stumbled on its beat and for the first time since she entered the hotel she forgot about her own troubles. ‘I’m so sorry. I mean, I’m glad my books helped. But I’m truly sorry to hear about your divorce. It must have been difficult.’
    Sheryl-Ann’s lips curved up into a naughty grin. ‘I’m fine now and hey, I have Gabriel and his wicked ways to keep me warm at night.’ She winked. ‘Here, I almost forgot.’ She looped a lanyard over Natasha’s neck that read: Natasha Raven — Best-selling Erotic Author, twelve-time winner of The Sexiest-Sex-Scene Award.
    For a moment Natasha had felt the stirrings of pride deep in her belly. Gabriel, the tortured divorcee, was her baby — by far the favourite of her many characters. But Sheryl-Ann wasn’t talking about Gabriel by day — the man who ran the animal shelter — she was talking about Gabriel by night. It was the sex scenes she loved. Just like all of the other readers. Whenever Natasha read reviews on Amazon or Goodreads, they were entirely focussed on the raunchy scenes. Nobody ever mentioned Gabriel’s missing big toe or the baby koala he’d saved from the razor jaws of a dingo.
    Natasha wanted to tear the lanyard from her neck and demand one that read, ‘Natasha Raven — Thirty-five–year-old erotic romance writer who has never written a single sex scene in her life. Oh, and she has never had sex, either! Yes. Natasha Raven is a VIRGIN.’
    My sister’s name should be on the lanyard, not mine. Liza is the one who writes…no, who wrote the sex scenes in those books...
    Natasha’s chest constricted at the memory of her sister’s death, at the hand of cancer, last year. Tears bit at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away and smiled at the many women she passed on the way to the elevator. She needed the comfort of four walls and a door she could lock herself behind - somewhere to hide all of the shame and sadness that gnawed away at her heart.
    Once inside room 1127, Natasha’s pulse slowed slightly, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips.
    The room proved as stylish as the website had promised, with a sleek black bed, soft cream carpet and cream walls, all enlivened with splashes of red throughout — red throw cushions, shiny red bar fridge, and even a red waste paper basket. The balcony offered uninterrupted views of the Pacific Ocean.
    After a long, cold shower, she slid on one of the satin robes supplied by the hotel and stood out on the tiled balcony, allowing the breeze to dry her dark red hair. The ocean rose and fell beneath her gaze, the gentle movement gradually lulling her heart into a more relaxed beat. Liza had loved the ocean.
    I miss the fun we had writing together, Liza. I miss the nights we stayed up late plotting wild stories. I miss your wicked sense of humour and your honking laugh .
    Tears pooled in Natasha’s eyes.
    I miss you, Liza. I miss you so much it hurts. And I don’t think I can do all of this without you. I don’t think I can look these people in the eye and lie. I can’t do it. I won’t to it .
    But her sister did not speak back and never would. Only the ocean spoke in its secret way, urging, tugging, pulling, and drawing Natasha in to its endless depths.
    Try , it sang, like a siren, pick up a pen and try…
    Natasha left the balcony and sat at the small desk in the corner of her room, which gave her a clear view of the ocean. She left the sliding doors open so that the salty sea air might stimulate her senses and keep her awake.
    Let it be my muse , she thought poetically, before coiling her long, partly damp hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, and picking up a sleek red hotel pen and funky notepaper in the shape of the hotel itself.
    If I can just write one sexy scene for my work in progress, my first sex scene, then I will not be a fraud at tomorrow’s workshop .
    The pen tip hovered on the blank page for two minutes before she tossed it across the