Written in Ink (Montgomery Ink #4)(6)

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard of Fall—Autumn—before. She’d been slowly weaving herself into the Montgomery clan, member by member, for a little while now. He just hadn’t had the chance to actually meet her. When Luc had been in the hospital, Griffin’s arrival apparently hadn’t coincided with hers. The guys had described her somewhat in casual conversation, but damn…

They hadn’t mentioned the fact that she was knock down gorgeous.

Plump lips and plumper hips, she looked like a damn siren fully prepared call men to their deaths just for a sweet taste of her. With her auburn hair, she effusively fit the part of a sultry water nymph ready to tempt the chastest of sailors. She had a spattering of freckles on her nose and shoulders, and he wanted to see where else they would dot her ivory skin.

He groaned and adjusted his cock behind his fly. Damn it. He didn’t have time to get a hard-on for one of Meghan’s friends. Especially one who looked at him like she wanted to simultaneously study him under a microscope and turn her back on him in disinterest.

Autumn intrigued him.

And that could be very dangerous for a writer.

Especially a writer who was officially behind on deadline.

Griffin let out another groan, but this time it had nothing to do with being horny and everything to do with being a failure at the one thing he thought he could do. All of the Montgomerys were talented. They were artists, scholars, teachers, nurturers, and so much more.

He was merely a creator of worlds, but he was damn good at it.

Or at least he used to be.

Now he was behind on one deadline and looking in the face of another. Why the hell had he tried to write two series? Most thriller writers only wrote one. They branded themselves as that series—or at least that main character—and kept going for as long as the publishing house let them.

Griffin had to be different.

He had two long-running series that had both hit lists and did reasonably well. He wasn’t one of the big names in the business, but he was respectable—considering his age. He also usually loved putting one series aside and digging into another. It kept him fresh. And it was like going back and visiting an old friend once he got back into the first series.

He put out two to three books a year, which was actually quite a lot compared to some. But damn, he sometimes felt like it was twenty books a year, instead of the amount he actually did.

He was tired.

He also had no idea what to do with his current book. His characters weren’t talking to him, and damn it, they weren’t even sitting in the same room with him. Instead, he had a feeling that both sets of characters were off together on vacation, hiding from him and laughing in his general direction.

His series weren’t actually connected, but he liked to think that since each was set in a different city, they were in the same world. Maybe his two main characters, Jensen and Will, met up for coffee every once in a while. Of course, after the last thing Griffin had done to Jensen, he wasn’t sure the character would ever want to speak to him again.

He didn’t write romance. His books were ongoing and never had the required happily ever after, but Jensen had been in a serious relationship for the five books Griffin had worked on. In the most recent release, Starr, Jensen’s serious girlfriend and soon-to-be-fiancée had died thanks to a serial killer bent on torturing Jensen.

The readers simultaneously loved and hated Griffin for the death and the way Jensen had broken under the calamity. Griffin hadn’t gone into writing the book with that kind of pain in mind, but he’d seen what needed to happen in his mind and knew it had to be done.

Will, his other main character, had never had a serious relationship and had no real family so his emotional arc was quite different and put Griffin’s head into a new space. Griffin would be starting that book next.

He just had to finish Jensen’s new book first.

Only he had no idea how to do that.

The fact that both of his main characters were in a state of flux when it came to relationships and how they interacted with the world because of that should have told Griffin a bit about himself.

But he didn’t want to hear it.

He saved his almost blank page just in case and pushed back from his desk, rolling his wrists as he did. They were starting to ache something fierce, and he figured he was well on his way to carpal tunnel if he didn’t start taking care of himself.

He looked around at the mess of papers covering his room and the empty coffee cups and processed foods littering every surface.

Perhaps taking care of himself should lead to other areas of his life, as well.

Only now he wanted some sour patch kids and another cup of coffee because that would help him get a move on with his book. Sugar and caffeine were a writer’s fuel. He didn’t write drunk and edit sober as the memes claimed Hemmingway had once said, but maybe he should add a bit of drinking to his work.

Maybe that would help.

He thought back to his brother and the pain Alex was in at the moment, and Griffin immediately wanted to kick himself.

Drinking wouldn’t help him. It never helped anyone. So maybe he needed to find his words and his will to write in other ways. Thoughts of Autumn and those delicious curves filled his mind and he groaned. Getting laid might help him clear his head, but it wouldn’t be with Autumn. Griffin knew his three sisters well enough to know that if he dared to touch any of their friends, he’d end up with a bloody lip thanks to Maya, a punch in the gut courtesy of Miranda, and a glower to end all glowers from Meghan.