Date: Wed, 24 Jul 1996 14:37:56 -0500 From: elizabeth r gardner Subject: Love at First Byte (1/1) Standard disclaimer: The _Forever Knight_ characters and concept were created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen; no copyright infringement is intended. Non-standard disclaimer: Warning--pure (well, mostly) silliness ahead! Three paragraphs in particular should probably be rated PG (for Pretty Goofy). Comments welcome! ****************** Love at First Byte by Beth Gardner Nick rang the doorbell for what must have been the fifth time, then knocked loudly. When the door finally opened, Natalie stood before him in a light blue sweatsuit with what appeared to be a very large coffee stain across the front. "Nick! Hi!" She seemed surprised to see him. "Hi, Nat--this *was* the night you needed a ride to work, wasn't it?" She ran her fingers through her hair distractedly. "Good grief, is it that time already? C'mon in. Sorry--as you can see, I'm not ready." "No problem." Nick smiled as he followed her into the living room. "I'm a little early. I got a call from Video Palace; _The Golden Age of the Hollywood Musical_ finally came in. They'd only hold it for an hour, so I had to leave sooner than I'd planned. I thought maybe you could come over after work and we could watch it." "Yeah, sure--thanks." For someone who'd been looking forward to the video release of said documentary for weeks, Nat sounded distinctly underwhelmed. It was then that Nick noticed the computer on the coffee table. "Hey, how's the new laptop working out?" To his astonishment, Nat rushed past him and snapped the computer shut. Was he just imagining things, or had a faint blush crept over her cheeks? "Oh, fine, fine." Natalie was speaking very fast and a little too brightly. "I was just catching up on some paperwork. Have a seat; I'll be ready before you know it." And with that, she disappeared into the bedroom. Nick settled himself on the sofa and grinned at the eclectic assortment of reading material on Nat's coffee table. An array of Skin Pretty brochures mingled with the usual medical journals--Myra must have dropped by. He picked up _Public Health Today_ and began to flip through the pages, but his eyes were drawn elsewhere. He contemplated the closed computer. What kind of paperwork would Nat need to hide from him? And why had she looked so flustered? He could hear the sound of running water. It would take her a few more minutes to get ready. . . . Temptation warred with decency. He *was* a detective, he told himself; it was purely professional instinct. Besides, curiosity was a very human emotion, something Nat would surely agree he should explore. Giving in, he slid to the other end of the sofa and gently pried up the top of the computer to see what Natalie had felt compelled to conceal. "Welcome to LOVEBYTE, the online romance writers' group," the glowing screen proclaimed. Pulling a notebook from his pocket, Nick hurriedly jotted down the instructions for subscribing to LUVBYT-L. He noted that Natalie had established a new e-mail account for her list subscription and that her nom de plume was Natalya. Closing the computer again, he returned to his original seat and reached for another magazine. When Nat reappeared, dressed for work, she found Nick engrossed in a pamphlet entitled "Skin Care in Your Thirties." She smiled sheepishly at her guest. "Sorry to keep you waiting." "Oh, it's O.K.," he assured her. "I've been catching up on my reading-- I've learned a lot. I'm pretty sure I don't need a moisturizer, but I think I should've started exfoliating *years* ago." Rolling her eyes, she turned off the computer and grabbed her bag. "We'd better get going, or we'll be late." Natalie was unusually quiet on the ride to work. Her odd behavior continued after Nick picked her up at the end of their shift and they returned to the loft to watch the video. Although she never took her eyes off the screen, her mind was obviously elsewhere. Gene sang and danced in the rain, Judy clicked her heels together three times, Fred and Ginger did the Carioca, and still Nat seemed distracted. When Nick went to the refrigerator to get her a soda, he glanced back toward the couch and saw her scribbling frantically on a scrap of paper. Not long afterward, the film ended with a montage of great screen kisses; she leaned forward intently, as though to memorize each one. "That was *great*," Nick declared as the closing credits rolled. "Want to watch something else?" "No, Nick, I think I'd better take a rain check. I'm getting tired, and I need to post, uh, finish some paperwork before I go to bed." After driving Nat home, Nick sat down in front of his own computer. When he'd bought the laptop, a local company had offered him ten free hours online. He'd set up an account, but had never used it. The address didn't contain his name--it would be perfect. Consulting his notes, he logged onto LUVBYT-L. Within minutes, he received a welcome message and a summary of list rules. Noting that most of the authors on the list used first names only, he established his pen name as Nicole. Then he checked his mail. There it was: "Music at Dusk," part one of one, posted by Natalya@timenet.com. The story dealt with Michael "Mick" White, a brooding pianist and composer whose concert career had been sidetracked by his personal problems. He was slightly agoraphobic and found it extremely difficult to leave his penthouse apartment after dark. Mick had met plucky private investigator Marilee Lightner when the details of a case she was working on led her to question him. The two fiercely independent individuals were immediately drawn to one another, but their relationship seemed to be of the one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back variety until the traumatic events of another case pushed them into one another's arms: "Marilee rang the bell again and again. She *knew* Mick was inside; she could hear him playing the piano. Cascading arpeggios gave way to wild chords that crashed with a terrible, out-of-control beauty, building to . . . abrupt silence. She dug in her purse, hesitated, then made a decision. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door with the key she'd been given but had never presumed to use. There he sat, slumped at the grand piano, staring out the window at the sunset. She could see the muscles of his back rippling under the black silk pajamas he wore. As he heard her footsteps on the polished hardwood floor, he stood up and turned to face her. What was that mix of emotions in his blue eyes? Surprise, astonishment, gladness, desire . . . ? She approached him tentatively, then stopped, self-consciously smoothing a wayward tendril of hair back into its bun; he strode to meet her. "They stood looking at one another. His unruly blond hair framed his handsome face like the mane of a lion, as wild and untamable as the man himself. She reached up and raked her fingers through its sunlit waves with a savage sweetness, pulling his head down to hers. She took possession of his mouth with a fierceness she had not known until now was in her. As they kissed, his hands twined helplessly in her hair, freeing the heavy brown waves to spill over her shoulders. His full, sensual lips slid down to explore her neck, the hollow of her throat, her very soul. Somehow they found themselves in the bedroom; somehow they were on the bed, their bodies intertwining. Somehow their clothes were lost along with the inhibitions that had held the two of them in check for so long. As she claimed him with a ferocity that surprised them both, he cried out her name. . . ." Nick had to swallow hard more than once before he reached the end of the paragraph. He was beginning to think he might be capable of blushing after all. He finished the story and saw these words at the bottom of the screen: "This is my first attempt at writing romance fiction. Did I go too far? Is it too steamy? Comments, constructive criticism (please be gentle), and virtual roses welcome--let me know what you think!" Nick wasn't sure *what* he thought. Over the past few years, he'd had occasion to read quite a bit of Nat's writing--countless autopsy reports, even a medical paper she'd presented at a pathologists' symposium. Nothing in the tone of those documents, however, had prepared him for this. The prose was a bit purple in spots, perhaps, but it did have a certain . . . power. Momentarily nonplussed, Nick stared down at the computer; then a grin began to play at the corners of his mouth. He hit "Reply," making sure to direct his message to "Natalya's" private address rather than the list at large, and began to type: "Dear Natalya, "Welcome to the list! My name is Nicole and I'm a comparative newbie myself. I found 'Music at Dusk' very impressive for a first effort. I don't think it's too steamy at all. On the contrary, I think the romantic encounter is by far the strongest scene. I think you should elaborate more, make it the centerpiece of your story. I sincerely hope this won't be the last time you post to the list! "BTW, I am a bit shy about writing love scenes and have been told by several listmembers that I need to work on spicing up my stories. Would you mind if I borrowed your characters, 'Mick' and 'Marilee,' to practice on? I find them very compelling; in fact, they seem quite real to me. I thought it would be an interesting exercise to write a scene from the male point of view, so here goes. Please let me know what you think. "He wondered, as his lips moved over the silken flesh of her neck, if she could tell that he had made love to her a thousand times in his mind. As his hands buried themselves in her hair and she sighed, he realized that he was pleasantly surprised at the depth of her ardor. Not that he had thought she would be shy, but in all the times he had imagined this union, he had dreamed only of the joy he hoped to give her, the joy he would find in discovering her body. He had never dared to imagine the pleasure she might take in discovering his. As Na-- Marilee's hands wandered . . ." He had to take a couple of deep breaths before finishing that paragraph. Rereading his work quickly, Nick hit "Send" before he could change his mind. Wondering what impulse had possessed him, he thought of an ad he had seen years ago in the U.S. That old phone company commercial had been written long before the age of modems and PC's, but the slogan still rang true--long distance was, indeed, the next best thing to being there. Across town, Natalie stared into the green glow of her computer screen and yawned. Her second story dealt in more detail with one of Marilee's cases, and she had written herself into a corner for the moment. Oh, well, at least her place of employment offered no shortage of people to advise her on investigative procedure. She decided to check her mail one more time to see if anyone had commented on her first posting. Then she would go to bed and dream of Ni--, er, Mick. After all, several of the more prolific authors on the list maintained that their best ideas came to them in dreams. . . . ~The End~