Emma Connelly: Goddess of Romance

Summary: Emma Connelly is a best-selling romance author, currently working on her second novel. With only two months left to the deadline, however, she has to face up to her worst nightmare: writer's block. Or more specifically, sex scene block, for Emma can't seem to be able to write any sex scenes. Even worse, she now feels her best-kept secret may come to light. What is a best-selling author to do?!

Note: Contains sexual situations.

Disclaimer: Brands that are recognizable do not belong to me.

Emma Connelly gritted her teeth in frustration. She had been trying to write a particular scene for the past two hours, and everything she had typed into her computer so far seemed contrived, immature, and just plain horrible.

She pushed away from her desk, got up, and twisting her thick, curly hair into a bun, secured it with a pencil.


Her golden Labrador trotted towards her, tail wagging enthusiastically.

"Yes, we are going for a walk, come on." Emma stopped at her front door to bundle up in a warm, woolen scarf and coat before grabbing her house keys and dropping them in her pocket.

A walk would do her good, she decided, keeping a wary eye out for Jackie as she ambled at a casual pace. Clear the cobwebs in her mind, give herself a break to breathe in some fresh air. No matter what, don't panic, she told herself. The moment she thought that, however, she groaned as dread filled her.

It was stupid. She was incredibly stupid. How had she gotten herself into this position? Two years ago she had been a popular European History lecturer at NYU. She had enjoyed her classes, her students had liked her, and everything had been going well. And then she had to show her publisher cousin some material she had been working on in her spare time. Next thing she knew, she was signing a contract with the publishing house and her book was selling out across the country. Upon her cousin's insistence, she had taken a sabbatical and turned to writing full-time.

Bestselling author! She would have been honored, really, but her book was being read by female teenagers or bored housewives, for she wrote romance! Absolute romantic fiction, where the heroes were always handsome, and the heroines always beautiful, embroiled in passionate love affairs that had the Gods themselves jealous. She scoffed to herself. Yeah, like that happened every day.

She felt her face turning red in embarrassment. It was not easy being known as Emma Connelly: Romance Goddess, or whatever it was the press had nicknamed her. Book signings were always humiliating, but she took it in stride. She got paid very handsomely. She would be professional when housewives praised her and told her she must have a very fulfilling romantic life.

Yeah, sex life, you mean, she always wanted to retort. Instead, she smiled politely, signed the damned book, and moved to the next fan. If only they knew the damning secret that would have the entire nation laughing at her. She could scarcely imagine the hoo-hah, and that's why she always kept her own life extremely private, not sharing details with anyone except her parents and younger sister. At the ripe old age of 23, Emma Connelly was still a virgin. Her face burned as she thought about it, but she quickly ran through the same rationalization she always thought about when this particular topic came up.

She never had the time. Emma had breezed through college and had obtained her Master's degree in half a year before having been offered the position of assistant lecturer at her alma mater. She worked far too hard and had been justly rewarded. Look at her life! She was debt-free, had a beautiful house, a comfortable life, what more could she ask for?

A little romance, the tiny voice in her head said petulantly. She shook her head, dispelling the thought. She had plenty of romance. She lived and breathed romance these days. Which brought her back to her initial problem. Writer's block. Or more specifically, sex scene block.

Her second book had been completely mapped out. She knew exactly what she wanted to write, but the sex scenes were just not coming to her! And how could a bestselling romance author write a much-awaited second novel without sex scenes? She trembled in distress at the very notion.

Jackie barked then, and she looked up. They had somehow rounded the block and she was almost walking past her house.

"Jackie, you're a very smart girl." She grinned, troubles forgotten for a moment. She let her Lab in and strolled into the kitchen to fill her drink bowl with fresh water before setting it down.

"Look, you have two more months to the deadline, so stop thinking so much about it," she chided herself severely. What she needed now was to relax and get inspired. Shrugging out of her coat, she changed into pajamas, selected a romance from her extensive DVD collection, and snuggled into her couch.

The book could wait.