AN - So, this is a sweet edition. And it's a simple short story. In fact quite opposite of scandalous seduction. It will be wrapped up in 10 chapters or so.

Chapter 1

Begin your story at a moment of crisis, a point in time when your character's life is about to change forever.

~~ Calliope Hastings Writing Workshop Notes

Arizona Robbins couldn't believe she was doing this. She wrote bestselling thrillers for women. Her readers didn't want emotional guff polluting the action. Women in her books were included for the sole purpose of providing sex, some hot lesbian sex no less, and sympathy while they fixed up her protagonist's wounds. And to bump up the body count. She almost smiled. Almost.

"The books are still selling really well — " her publisher Teddy Altman had told her

"— but you seem to have lost that wonderful humanity the women readers loved. Get back in touch with your feminine side, Arizona." The woman hadn't been making a suggestion. She'd meant it.

"Women buy a lot of books."

Arizona didn't have a feminine side. Not anymore. She grew up gay, when other girls played with dolls, she was in dirt tackling little spoiled boys down. Growing up she did developed a sweet soft feminine heart but that heart has been dead off lately. As for spending her weekend being lectured on how to raise the "sigh" factor in her books...

She said something rude, her mood deteriorating as she maneuvered her sports car toward the gothic pile that was the venue for a weekend workshop with bestselling romance novelist Calliope Hastings.

She repeated her curse, stocking up against her entry into a sugar pink, expletive-free zone.

Callie was not happy as she shifted gears, grinding the motor slightly. She didn't do signings, or talk shows, and she sure as heck didn't do workshops. But when your sweetheart of a publisher had promised a friend, had gone down on his knees, had been desperate enough to offer the loan of his precious car because it had a phone and she'd never be out of touch...

Late, she put her foot down on the accelerator.

Arizona cruised the packed car park. The venue, at least, was a bonus. The hotel had once been used as the set for low-budget horror movies and the weekend might be considerably enlivened by devising grisly literary ends for other members of the workshop. She grinned. She'd think up something really special for Ms. Calliope Hastings.

Callie's car phone rang and her heart gave a little lift as she pressed the hands-off button to answer it.

"Hi, sweetheart ... " Then, "Can you hold on a minute, darling? I need to park."

Spotting a space, Arizona shifted into reverse. Maybe she could get a book out of this workshop and her grin deepened as she considered a title. A Shroud in Pink Lace?

"What the — " she was jolted out of pleasurable thoughts of mayhem and murder by an ominous thunk and the sound of breaking glass. The positive thoughts evaporated; she'd gotten it right the first time. This was going to be the weekend from hell.

Climbing out of the car to check the damage, prepared to be reasonable on an 'I'll-pay-for-mine, if you'll-pay-for-yours basis', Arizona turned to check the damage and swallowed hard.

Her old Aston Martin was built like a tank and had scarcely sustained a scratch. But she'd hit a hundred thousand pounds worth of black Porsche and she let slip a phrase that she usually confined between the covers of her books.

"Ditto." The woman who'd been at the wheel of the Porsche didn't look up from her examination of the damage, but her voice gave him a moment of hope. Soft, slightly husky, the sound settled low in her vitals, stirring something that her heart reached for, but just slipped past the edge of memory...

Arizona shrugged, let it go. And fought to contain a smile. It wasn't all bad news. Bent over the buckled rear of the car in a short, close-fitting skirt, the lady displayed a physical framework to match all that classy German engineering. Her face was hidden by a dark curtain of thick blackish brown hair that shimmered in the light spilling from the entrance to the hotel, but the rest of her was a feast to behold.

Her legs alone were enough to give any woman or men straight-to-hell ideas — if a woman was in the market for that kind of thing. But she was the kind of woman that any one of her protagonist would be glad to have hanging off her left arm or dangled in sheets in erotic submissions and maybe, in the interests of research...

"Tell me," the woman asked, pre-empting her, without bothering to look up.

"Just what kind of idiot are you?"

The softness had been illusory. Not that she had raised her voice. Simply endowed it with an edge of sarcasm that would have cut through steel. Well, in her place, Arizona guessed she'd be feeling a little touchy too.

"I don't know," Arizona said. "How many kinds are there?"

Callie groaned inwardly. As if it wasn't bad enough that the stranger had done untold damage to poor Mark's precious car, the woman was a relic from some cliché-ridden romance. Ignoring the pick-chat up line, she straightened, unimpressed with Ms. Stranger.

But she couldn't escape the clichés. Even in the darkness of the car park she could see that the stranger was attractive. Her medium highted form silhouetted in dark was like a beautiful painting to her eyes. A car door opened nearby and in the brief burst of light she saw that the stranger was grinning, dimples popping and all, her mouth lifting at one corner in a way that left her momentarily floundering ...

"Didn't you see me?" she snapped, irritably and diverted her gaze to her car, pushing away disturbing memories.

"Doesn't that heap of junk have a rear view mirror?"

"Heap of junk?" Now Arizona was offended.

"My car, madam, is a hand-built '60s classic. The finest — "

"Classic? That's another word for old, right?" Then she seemed to forget about insulting Ms. Stranger's pride and joy and reached into her car to pick up the squawking handset. "Timmy, sweetheart, I'll call you in the morning. Miss you..." She made kissy noises into the receiver.

The lady was spoken for, it seemed, and for once Arizona found herelf wishing it were otherwise. Which didn't improve her mood.

"And what do you use your rearview mirror for, sweetheart?" She inquired softly, as she switched off the phone and gave her attention to the more immediate problem of the car. "Fixing your hair — "

"Oh, please!" Then, "But what can you expect from a woman who drives an outdated car except old-fashioned, chauvinistic ideas to match?"

"Fixing your hair while you're on the phone chatting to your boyfriend?" Arizona concluded. "You won't be his best girl when he sees the damage to his car."

Callie ignored the taunt. "Just give me your insurance details and shift that superannuated heap out of the way so that I can park," she said. "I'm going to be late for my weekend workshop."

"Workshop? You're going to the Calliope Hastings thing? Me too."

"Really?"

She sounded skceptical. Arizona didn't blame her.

"Absolutely. Can't wait," she said, making a virtue out of a necessity. "So, why don't we go inside and trade dents in comfort? I'm sure we can sort this out amicably over a drink."

"Can't wait," Callie echoed, faintly.

Arizona parked, grabbed her bag from the boot and they reached the hotel doorway at the same time. As she pushed the door open and held it for the other woman, she turned on automatic to thank her, and the light caught her face.

That's when Arizona remembered where she'd heard the voice before. Younger... Sweeter... She'd changed, changed beyond recognition, but a woman wasn't likely to forget the voice of the woman she'd married. Even if the marriage had lasted barely long enough for the Registrar's signature to dry on the certificate

"Thank you..." Callie took the door, waited for her to follow her into the light of the foyer, waited for Ms. Stranger to fill in the blank of her name. But she hadn't moved out of the shadows. Said nothing. "Are you all right?" The last thing she wanted was to get cozy with this woman, but when she still didn't move, she became concerned. "Did you get a whiplash or something?"

"Yes, that is, no..." Arizona stopped, gathered herself. "I'm fine," she said carefully. It was a lie.

She wouldn't have known her if they'd passed in the street. Hadn't quite remembered a voice not heard for more than five years. But the eyes... She would never forget a pair of liquid soulful brown eyes that had once bewitched her.

Callie Torres had been soft, sweet, an absurdly young 20-year-old, with lustful raven hair, lingering baby fat, and shoulders rounded from her attempts to disguise her puberty. Over-protected by dominating parents, she'd been dangerously naïve.

Not Arizona's type of girl. No way.

Shy and sweetly innocent and never-been-kissed, at least not the way Arizona would kiss her. Maybe that was part of the attraction for a girl kept on too short a leash. The danger.

And Arizona's excuse? That she'd been captivated by something fresh, untouched, that had shone from her? No one had believed that. Not for a minute.

"Callie..." Arizona said her name. That was all.

Callie caught her breath as every cell in her body went on red alert, responding with a familiar rush of adrenaline to the softness of her name on this woman's lips. Her real name. Callie. No one had called her that in so long. Only...

Callie gave a choked cry as Arizona stepped inside, let the door swing shut behind her.

"Arizona?" Callie said her name hesitantly as she half lifted her hand to Arizona's face as if to touch it, reassure herself that she was real and not some figment of her imagination. Then, as the light fell full onto her face, the blood drained from hers and reality kicked in. The last time she'd seen Arizona ,she'd been shouting to be heard over the angry voices, her tears, as she'd been surrounded by her family and bustled away from the Registrar's Office they'd chosen for their secret runaway wedding. Swearing that she would be back, that nothing, no one, could keep her away.

Five years ago.

AN - Let's hear it.