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LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2004
ISBN 1-58608-375-9
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Maxfield Sinclair, the author of a popular science fiction series, is revered by fans everywhere as "The Creator." Drew Cooper, a snobbish literature professor, isn’t impressed with Max’s books, or with Max himself, for that matter. As Drew gets to know Max, however, she realizes there’s more to the shy, awkward writer than meets the eye. But can a woman who enjoys escargot and caviar fall in love with a guy who thinks fine cuisine means supreme instead of pepperoni?

Rating: Contains violence and graphic sexual content.

"Ellen Fisher's All I Ever Wanted is amusing, amazing and awe-inspiring. The story about 2 people who do not want to get hurt again melted my heart. The vulnerability of the main characters makes them authentic and absolutely genuine. The passion between Max and Drew is as sweet as honey and as spicy as cinnamon. The twists and turns in the story are an unexpected bonus and make it a thrilling page-turner. Ellen has admirably created a terrific romantic experience. All I Ever Wanted has everything you ever wanted in a romance novel." Dee Herga, http://www.inthelibraryreview.com

"Five Hearts! Mystery, romance, science fiction, and humor all blend together for one of the best reads this reviewer has seen. If this reviewer had one question she could ask Ms. Fisher it would be “so, when can we expect Captain McNeill’s story?” All I Ever Wanted is a must read for anyone who enjoys contemporary romance and a good mystery wrapped up in each other." Gina, Love Romances

"Five Flames--REVIEWER'S CHOICE! Ellen Fisher writes with a passion and great deal of indisputable talent that imbues each sentence with simmering sensuality. The characterization is superb, as both Drew and Max are very well developed in their own right. ...The premise of “opposites attract” is an old one, yet Mrs. Fisher gives her story a level of depth and emotional tension that other writers rarely achieve. Fans of contemporary romance will be thrilled with this beautifully told tale, and fans of romantic suspense will find a lot to like here as well. ..A remarkable story of overcoming differences to find true love, ALL I EVER WANTED should not be missed!" Sizzling Romances

"All I Ever Wanted by Ellen Fisher is thoroughly enjoyable, has engaging and in-depth characters and all around wonderful writing. The sassy and charming Drew is a superb character who really learns to explore and take chances in this story. She and Max have a smoldering tension between them waiting to be explored.... All I Ever Wanted, while a quick page-turner, it also flows gracefully from start to finish. I found myself reading it on an afternoon that I had to myself and was so wrapped up in it that I didn't realized it had gotten dark outside until the last word was read. Pure satisfying enjoyment and fantastic writing by Ellen Fisher can be found in All I Ever Wanted.what more could we readers ask for?" The Road to Romance

"Four and 1/2 Hearts! Ellen Fisher is an author to be watched!" Love Romances

"ALL I EVER WANTED is a fast paced, enjoyable read. With elements of humor, sexual tension, passion, and a little mystery thrown in for good measure, this is a must read for contemporary romance fans. Don’t miss this book." Ashley Stout, Romance Reviews Today

"Four and 1/2 Hearts!...a quite humorous and action filled story! Ms. Fisher does an excellent job of creating two "larger-than-life" characters and making them come to life. Max is smart, gorgeous and successful but maintains a fragility of spirit and insecurities of his youth. Drew is the same but more composed and less likely to bend. Together they have absolutely nothing in common, but when they are apart, they are alone and lonely. This was a laugh-out-loud story with a good amount of suspense. Well worth reading!" The Romance Studio

"Ellen Fisher writes beautifully. Her style is smooth with snappy dialogue, nice pacing and richly defined characters. ALL I EVER WANTED is top notch work; a breezy, sexy and fun effort with a really dreamy hero....Max Sinclair, the hero, is a gem of a character and the real strength of this story...I would highly recommend ALL I EVER WANTED." Romance Reader at Heart

"Four Roses! A delightful contemporary romance...a well-rounded plot and an engaging cast of characters...this romance will certainly appeal to contemporary romance lovers." A Romance Review

"All I Ever Wanted is a beautifully written story...Ellen Fisher's writing style is, in one word: lovely." Round Table Reviews

"Four Angels! This romantic story is filled with mystery, love, sex, forgiveness, and suspense. The characters are well rounded." Fallen Angels Reviews

ALL I EVER WANTED

By

Ellen Fisher

© copyright February 2004 by Ellen Fisher

Cover art by Eliza Black, © 2004

ISBN 1-58608-375-9

New Concepts Publishing

5202 Humphreys Rd.

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter 1

The galaxy is a dangerous place.

Learn to duck.

Captain Steven T. McNeill, Farthest Space

"I’ve never seen so many space aliens."

Drew Cooper rolled her eyes. "Exactly how many space aliens have you seen in your lifetime, Tiffani?"

Her younger sister giggled. "You know what I mean, Drew. Look around you."

"I’m trying not to. I’m trying extremely hard."

Tiffani had dragged Drew to a Farthest Space convention against her will and against her better judgment. As a professor of literature, Drew considered science fiction to be beneath her, and this convention was only reaffirming her convictions. The people packed into the convention hall were, well, weird.

If weird wasn’t an enormous understatement.

Drew and her sister were apparently the only two people dressed in normal clothes in the entire building. Around them thronged men dressed in black, vaguely militaristic-looking outfits, with futuristic-looking plastic guns or swords hanging from their waists. Quite a few women wore purple robes and some sort of thing on their heads that looked like a cross between a crown and a Sioux feather headdress. And at least a hundred people wore latex masks that made them look like creepy, gray-skinned aliens. Drew backed slowly away from the nearest one, who was enthusiastically examining a stack of trading cards.

"This is an extremely bizarre way to spend the weekend, Tiffani."

Tiffani grinned cheerfully, and Drew knew that her words had whizzed right over her sister’s head. Words had a way of doing that. "It’s fun, isn’t it?"

Drew heaved a long sigh and bowed to the inevitable. She was stuck here, at least until lunch. Maybe at lunchtime she could make a break for it, under the pretext of grabbing something to eat. "Yeah. Fun."

"Fuh," echoed Tiffani’s year-old daughter, Alice, who was strapped into a stroller and gazing at the oddly attired crowd as placidly as if she saw extraterrestrials every day of her life. Tiffani grinned proudly and ruffled the toddler’s mop of blonde hair.

"That’s right, Alice. Fun. Something Auntie Drew knows absolutely nothing about." Tiffani was half a foot shorter than her sister, her dark gold hair cut in short corkscrew curls, and cute was the word that sprang to everyone’s mind the moment they met her. The way her nose tilted up at the end, the way her cheeks were covered with freckles, the way she giggled charmingly at the slightest hint of a joke— cute, Drew thought sourly, was the only word that could adequately describe her.

Drew had always wanted to be cute. Homely would have been even better. Instead she was built like a centerfold, with a model’s face, and with natural platinum blonde hair for which most women would have traded at least one arm. And, as a result, no one took her seriously, despite her Ph.D. in English literature. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how many dark gray woolen suits she bought, no matter how conservatively she styled her hair, she still looked like a Playboy bunny with glasses.

The painful truth was that she worked very hard at not having fun. Even so, she felt the need to defend herself. "I know how to have fun," she protested.

"Uh-huh. Your idea of a fun way to spend Friday night is staying up late to watch Masterpiece Theatre."

Drew frowned, baffled. "So what’s wrong with that?"

It was Tiffani’s turn to roll her eyes. "Nothing, I guess, if you’re eighty-five. Come on. I need to find Max Sinclair. I want to get him to come by the bookstore and sign some books."

Tiffani started pushing her way through the crowd, using her stroller and its small occupant to gently nudge people aside. Drew followed her, puzzled.

"Books?" she repeated. "I thought this whole Far Place thing was a TV show. You watch it every week."

"That’s Farthest Space, silly. Yeah, it’s a TV show now, but the show is based on a series of books."

"Written by this Sinclair guy?"

Tiffani nodded and shoved her way past a big, armor-clad alien whose snarling latex face seemed to glare at them malevolently. The alien wore a weird-looking weapon thrust into his belt, which Drew supposed was a ray gun. "He wrote the first one about ten years ago, I think. It was a huge hit. He wrote a bunch more before it became a TV show. He’s like a god to these people."

"Fabulous," Drew said dryly. "I’ve always wanted to meet a god."

Tiffani glanced over her shoulder. "Look," she said with a touch of annoyance, "my boss wants me to get Max Sinclair to come by and sign some books. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to talk him into a book signing. But I can’t do that if you keep making snide comments."

"I hardly ever make snide comments."

"Oh, no. Only every time you open your mouth."

"Fine," Drew said huffily. "I won’t be snide."

Tiffani snorted. "The day you’re not snide will be the day we bury you, Drew."

Drew ignored that comment with dignity. "Couldn’t you have gotten this Sinclair guy to come by the bookstore before now? I think I’ve heard of him. He lives here in Swift Creek, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah, but he doesn’t do many appearances, just a couple of conventions a year. He’s kind of reclusive, I think. My boss will kiss my feet if I talk him into doing a book signing."

"You’re just using your job as an excuse," Drew accused. "You’ve always loved this show. I think you want to meet this Sinclair guy."

"Have you ever seen his picture?"

"Don’t be absurd. How could I have seen his picture?"

"It’s on the back cover of all of his books."

"I don’t read science fiction. I read literature. I’m a professor of English literature, remember? If anyone at the university caught me reading this stuff I’d never hear the end of it."

Tiffani snorted again. "If you’d ever seen his picture, you wouldn’t be surprised that I want to meet him. You’d want to meet him too. Trust me. He’s gorgeous."

That observation caught Drew by surprise. If Tiffani said he was gorgeous, then maybe he was, but Drew was pretty certain sci-fi fans and writers didn’t come in the hunk variety. Looking around her, she had no difficulty picturing the guy. Geeky, thin, stoop-shouldered, and probably wearing inch-thick glasses.

Gorgeous? Yeah, right, she scoffed.

"Look," Tiffani said, gesturing at a table that could hardly be seen for all the people crowded around it. "He’s over there."

Drew, with the advantage of her much greater height, could see quite clearly the long purple banner that proclaimed MAX SINCLAIR, CREATOR OF FARTHEST SPACE in extremely large letters. She could also see that the chair behind the table was empty.

"He’s not there right now," she said.

Tiffani came to a halt, scowling with disappointment. "He’s supposed to be signing books, darn it."

"Maybe he had to take a break." The crowd began dispersing as Max Sinclair’s devoted fans began to move away from the table. Drew grinned as she looked back at her sister. "Even gods have to pee, you know."

"Well, let’s go over there. We can be first in line when he gets back."

Swift Creek, Virginia, was a small college town. Drew was pretty sure there were more people packed into this convention hall than lived in the entire town. She guessed the convention center was crowded with attendees from Richmond, the nearby state capital, as well as with the tourists that flooded Williamsburg and Virginia Beach this time of year. "Why are there so many people here?" she said irritably as a black-clad man stepped on her toes.

"I told you already," Tiffani said, deftly sidestepping an alien. "Farthest Space is a big thing. And the conventions that Max Sinclair attends are really big, because he doesn’t go to many. There was an article in the paper this morning that said people from as far away as Washington would be attending."

Pushing their way through the crowd, they halted next to the table, piled high with a very large quantity of paperback and hardback books. "Jeez," Tiffani said. "Look at them all."

Drew glanced idly over the brilliantly colored covers. One in particular caught her eye, a hardback that showed two men fighting with some sort of swords, while near them stood a woman clad in an extremely revealing, and very uncomfortable-looking, metallic bikini.

"I bet that gets really hot in the summer," she muttered, and picked the book up. She turned it over, curious despite herself, and found herself looking at a full-color photograph of Max Sinclair.

"Isn’t he gorgeous?" Tiffani gushed.

Gorgeous wasn’t the word Drew would have chosen. Incredible was more like it. Max Sinclair was a big, broad-shouldered guy with rough-hewn features, a crooked grin, and blazing green eyes. If he wasn’t a male model in his spare time, he certainly ought to be.

Max Sinclair was undeniably a hunk, through and through.

"He’s not my type," she lied, and flipped the book open at the middle. After a few paragraphs she snorted. "This is tripe, Tiffani."

Tiffani scowled, looking as irritated as she was capable of looking, which wasn’t very. Irritation didn’t go well with perpetual perkiness. "I happen to like his books, Drew."

"But it’s sheer escapism. It has no literary quality whatsoever. I mean, listen to this ..."

"I am not listening to you," Tiffani said, covering her ears.

Drew ignored her, cleared her throat, and began reading loudly. "‘Despite her orange skin, she was the most breathtakingly lovely creature he’d ever seen. Her huge purple eyes stared at him, begging him to do something, anything, to save her, and he uttered a silent vow that, somehow, he would rescue her.’"

"So what’s wrong with that?" Tiffani demanded in an annoyed tone, dropping her hands. Drew noticed a few other nearby people were looking at her with irritation as well. She’d forgotten this writer was a "god." She forged ahead anyway, raising her voice to encompass the nearby fans as well as her sister. It wouldn’t hurt these weirdos to hear something less than positive about these books. Maybe some of them would be inspired by her words to go read something genuinely interesting, something challenging. Something along the lines of Austin or Fielding. It wasn’t likely, but it could happen.

"It’s a throwback to a hundred years ago, that’s what’s wrong with it. Not only is it bad writing, but it’s typical male fantasy—saving a helpless damsel in distress. Hasn’t this Sinclair guy ever heard of feminism?"

"Lots of women like these books, too. Maybe women like to dream about being rescued."

"I doubt it. All these nerdy guys—" Drew waved a hand to encompass the entire vast room—"like to imagine they could save women. They like to imagine they might have a social life someday. But if they really think like this, they might as well forget it. No modern woman would go for a man with thought processes like this. This Sinclair guy is a Neanderthal. He makes Tarzan look enlightened."

A couple of the "nerdy guys" near her were starting to look distinctly angry, and Tiffani glared at her. "Will you please keep your voice down?"

Drew met the dark glower of the nearest fan, a skinny sixteen-year-old with a pimple-studded face, unflinchingly. "No. Someone might learn something."

"This isn’t a lecture hall at the university, Drew. If someone wants to learn something from you, they can enroll in your History of Western Poetry class. I don’t think anyone here wants to hear your opinions on Farthest Space. I know I don’t." Clearly miffed, Tiffani stepped away, heading for a table laden with plastic action toys. "Keep an eye on Alice, will you?"

Drew shrugged and put the book back on the table. "Fine," she said huffily to her sister’s retreating back. "I’m just trying to say that Max Sinclair is a sexist pig. That’s all."

"So I take it you won’t be buying one of my books."

At the unexpected baritone voice behind her, Drew spun around. An extremely large man, even taller than she was, stood there, regarding her with a bemused expression. His golden-brown hair was a little too long, but combed very neatly, and he wore a white polo shirt and a pair of pressed khaki slacks.

And he had eyes like emeralds. Eyes she’d seen not two minutes before, looking out from the cover of a Farthest Space book.

Drew hadn’t felt her cheeks grow so hot since she was fourteen and a tampon had dropped out of her purse in the middle of algebra class. She decided her best option would be to sink through the floor and disappear.

Maxfield Sinclair regarded the tall woman in front of him with curiosity. It wasn’t often someone badmouthed him at a Farthest Space convention. Most of the fans who attended these conventions were, to put it mildly, obsessed. They spent hours online discussing the probable plot of his next book, they discussed every detail of every TV episode with a frenzied fanaticism most people saved for presidential elections, and they lived for the day they could meet the actors, and, to a lesser degree, himself. On fan websites he was usually reverently referred to as "The Creator."

It wasn’t cheap to attend a convention, either. So why had this woman, who was clearly not a fan, chosen to attend? Just for the sake of disparaging his books?

Noticing she’d gone beet red, he felt some pity for her. "You know," he said mildly, "it’s easy enough to criticize. Most people think they could do better than a professional writer, but they don’t realize how hard it is to turn out a hundred thousand words a year."

She lifted her chin and met his eyes, and he noticed that she barely had to look up to meet his gaze. She was easily the tallest woman he’d ever met. The tallest woman — and one of the most gorgeous. She wouldn’t have looked in the least out of place on the cover of his latest book, except for the gold-framed glasses that gave her a slightly intellectual look. She had platinum blonde hair, scraped tightly back into a long ponytail, and an incredibly lush mouth. And despite the very unglamorous faded jeans and university T-shirt she wore, there could be no doubt that her figure was amazing. She looked for all the world like an extremely tall Barbie.

"I write articles for professional journals all the time," she informed him coolly, "and I’ve published three books."

"Nonfiction books, I suppose."

She barely inclined her head. "Works of criticism."

"Criticism is certainly something you’re adept at."

If anything, she went redder. "Look, I ... I’m sorry you heard all that."

Max shrugged. "You might be right." Flashing a self-deprecating smile, he tilted his head toward the table and its mountains of books. "I know it isn’t great literature. But a lot of people like it."

"I can see that," she said, nodding toward the room at large. "Evidently there’s something about your writing that appeals to the average person." She broke off abruptly, apparently reconsidering what she said, and turned red all over again. "I mean, people who aren’t interested in literature." Her cheeks went so hot that Max idly wondered if he should call the fire department. "I mean ..." She trailed off.

"I get your meaning," he said. Despite himself, he was getting a bit annoyed. "You mean anyone who reads my books is an uneducated moron."

She swallowed. "I think that’s a little harsh."

"I think you’re a little harsh. Sometimes people like to read for entertainment. Where’s the harm in that?"

She fell silent, apparently considering what he had said, and he noted from the corner of his eye that a wave of fans was moving in his direction. It looked like his break was over. Just behind the oncoming swarm of humanity, he saw a fan dressed as a Va’ra, one of the gray-skinned aliens, leaning against a wall and staring in his direction. At least, he thought the guy was looking at him, although behind the latex mask it was all but impossible to tell. All the same, something about the Va’ra’s steady regard made him uneasy.

"Excuse me," he said to Barbie. "Duty calls."

He started around the table, and a movement caught his eye. The Va’ra had pulled his gun from his belt and was pointing it in his general direction. It looked like a particle weapon—a ray gun, as the uninitiated were wont to call it—but the noise it made when it fired was unmistakably not a science fiction sound.

Fortunately, the fan wasn’t as good a shot as the Va’ra warriors that populated his books. The first bullet missed him, digging into the wall behind him. As the crowd began to mill in panic, the blonde woman stood still, glancing around at the mob with confusion. Evidently she hadn’t figured out what was going on. Either that or she was simply frozen with fear. Realizing that she was directly in the line of fire, he grabbed her and hauled her bodily over the table— no mean feat, considering she was almost as tall as he was— and knocked the table over, hoping against hope its metal top would provide some sort of protection for them. As Farthest Space books cascaded in every direction, he yanked her to the floor with him, knocking the breath out of her. Which at least had the positive effect of shutting her up.

And then he heard a baby crying.

"Shit," he muttered, vaguely recalling seeing a toddler sitting in a stroller a few feet away. The last thing he had expected this morning was to be on the receiving end of some psycho’s fire. But better him than a baby.

Without conscious thought he bounded to his feet, leaped over the table, and headed for the toddler. There was another sharp crack, and he felt a searing pain in his shoulder. He staggered but kept going, grateful that the child wasn’t far away.

Skidding to a halt next to her, he didn’t bother wasting the time to unbuckle the strap that held her into the stroller, just picked her up, stroller and all, cradling her protectively against his chest, and dashed back toward the table. He slammed the toddler down on the far side of the table and vaulted over himself.

The psycho was still firing. Max couldn’t see him and wasn’t inclined to lift his head to look around for him, but he heard the occasional unmistakable cracking sound of a gun. Abruptly there were yells of "Halt! Security!" and then the noises ceased, although the huge room was still filled with the tumult of panicking people.

Max collapsed against the table, realizing with relief the guy had run for it. He looked back at the toddler who was crying, startled and frightened by the abrupt way he’d grabbed her, slung her through the air, and slammed her down again. Barbie grabbed the little girl’s hand and began looking her over carefully, reassuring her in a soft, gentle tone at complete odds with the razor-edged voice she’d used when criticizing his books. The child’s crying stopped almost at once.

Max’s pounding heart nearly jerked to a halt as he saw the streaks of blood that were smeared on the toddler’s face, all but obscuring her cherubic features. "Oh, my God," he whispered in horror. "Is she all right?"

Barbie lifted her head and looked at him. He saw shock in her eyes and wondered vaguely what had caused it. "She’s fine. But you—"

He heard the horrified concern in her voice, and for the first time it occurred to him to wonder how badly he’d been hurt. He dimly recalled feeling a pain in his shoulder, but it didn’t seem to hurt too much now. He glanced down and saw that the front of his white polo shirt was soaked through, crimson with blood. His own blood.

Abruptly his head whirled, and he felt like his shoulder had suddenly caught on fire. Pain crashed over him in an agonizing wave.

Just before he passed out, it occurred to him that his life had hit an all-time low.

He’d been shot by one of his own characters.