Her Real-Life Hero

By Vicki Ballante

Romance Writer in Training...

Joanie wants to get her romances published but can't seem to get things right with her writing. She buys an antique bureau which the shopkeeper says has magic working through it. While using her new bureau, she begins to talk to the hero in her book, asking his advice on writing, all the while thinking it's her own imagination. She promises he can live in her home, eat at her table and sleep in her bed, if he helps her with her writing. She doesn't think he will actually knock on her door and insist she keep her promise.

He’s made a wish...

Theo has also bought a magic chest of drawers that brings him into Joanie's life. He wants to settle down with one woman, tired of shallow relationships, and Joanie seems like the perfect candidate if it weren’t for her insistence on getting rid of him.

Against her will...

The magic keeps on forcing them to live together and Joanie’s not happy. This is her first year alone and she’s been craving time to herself after looking after her younger siblings and an ailing aunt. Theo’s presence in her home, although unwanted, stirs up needs she’s suppressed for years. When they start to discover things about the magic and why it’s bringing them together, will Joanie recognize another type of magic at work? Will she succumb to the charm of Theo or will her need for breathing space pull them apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015

Vicki Ballante

Vicki writes erotic and fantasy romance. She loves taking her characters into an alternate world where strange and sexy things happen. She lives with her patient husband and three noisy kids in South Africa. In between being a busy stay-at-home Mom who hates housework and spends half her life cooking everything from scratch, she runs several blogs, writes under another name, and buries herself in the delightful world of her characters.

Book preview

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

Her Real-Life Hero

Copyright 2015 by Vicki Ballante

ISBN: 978-1-61333-896-4

Cover art by Syneca Featherstone

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

Look for us online at:

www.decadentpublishing.com

Dear Reader,

I’m so happy you have my book in your hands.

Every book I write holds a special place in my heart because each one has a message hidden inside. Joanie’s embarked on a new adventure in her life—writing romance and finding herself after years of caring for family members. When the hero in her romance novel comes to life insisting he’s her husband, she’s not too pleased. Sometimes, as women we spend a large portion of our lives caring for others. It can be exhausting, and at times, we long for our own space and just to pamper ourselves without worrying about anyone else. I can so identify with Joanie in that regard.

I loved weaving this tale of fantasy and romance. Joanie and Theo have such chemistry together and yet there are so many barriers to their love. I hope you enjoy discovering how the magic brings them together and take part in their journey as they find out the truth behind the magic antique bureau and chest of drawers.

Writing Her Real-life Hero felt to me like my emergence from a cocoon. My heroine is spunky, cheeky and very independent, but deep inside she craves to be loved and ravished by a man. She suppressed her sexual needs to look after her family and didn’t realize how ferocious they were until Theo came along and stirred up a storm in her body and her heart.

I come from a very traditional and conservative background. In many ways, I suppressed who I was inside so I loved writing about Joanie. I hope you enjoy joining Joanie on her journey to womanhood.

I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me on [e-mail]

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Also by Vicki Ballante

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Her Real-Life Hero

Romance Writer in Training…

Joanie wants to get her romances published but can't seem to get things right with her writing. She buys an antique bureau which the shopkeeper says has magic working through it. While using her new bureau, she begins to talk to the hero in her book, asking his advice on writing, all the while thinking it's her own imagination. She promises he can live in her home, eat at her table and sleep in her bed, if he helps her with her writing. She doesn't think he will actually knock on her door and insist she keep her promise.

He’s made a wish…

Theo has also bought a magic chest of drawers that brings him into Joanie's life. He wants to settle down with one woman, tired of shallow relationships, and Joanie seems like the perfect candidate if it weren’t for her insistence on getting rid of him.

Against her will…

The magic keeps on forcing them to live together and Joanie’s not happy. This is her first year alone and she’s been craving time to herself after looking after her younger siblings and an ailing aunt. Theo’s presence in her home, although unwanted, stirs up needs she’s suppressed for years. When they start to discover things about the magic and why it’s bringing them together, will Joanie recognize another type of magic at work? Will she succumb to the charm of Theo or will her need for breathing space pull them apart?

Dedication

To my awesome writing friends – Zee, April and Ylette, you rock. I couldn’t have done this without your input.

Her Real-Life Hero

By

Vicki Ballante

A Beyond Fairytales

Adaptation of The Frog King and Iron Henry

Chapter One

Once upon a time….

It’s magic, you know, the shopkeeper whispered in a covert tone.

Joanie sniggered. Was the woman teasing her? With that rainbow scarf wrapped around her head and all those beaded necklaces blinking from her wrinkled neck, she could pass for a gypsy.

I’m serious. The woman gave her a knowing smile, which caused her irritation to rise.

I’d like to take the writing desk right away, please.

Don’t be in such a hurry. The piece is not your everyday antique. It has magical powers.

What type of antique store had she chosen? She’d planned on stepping into the little shop on Essenwood Road in Durban, South Africa, for years but never had the finances to bother with expensive historical objects. Today, she’d come in to browse but had fallen in love with the Victorian walnut bureau boasting a curved roll top revealing nooks and crannies able to store her stationery as well as her bird-ornament collection. The desk surface could be propped at a slant for ease of writing by hand—perfect for someone who preferred paper and pen to a computer. Underneath were lots of tiny drawers accented with sweet, round knobs. She would have plenty of room to store all her equipment. All in all, a good space for her writing.

You will discover the magic soon. I’m warning you though…it might shock you.

Joanie rolled her eyes. Do you honestly think I believe you?

The gypsy laughed. I thought as much. Don’t come crying to me when things start happening.

Whoa. She pulled away from the woman’s front counter. Is there a curse on the desk, or is it haunted?

The magic is connected to your deepest desires. It will only surface if those desires are unfulfilled.

You’ve got to be kidding. This is like some crazy fantasy story on TV.

Beware. Not many people can handle the effects of the magic.

She studied the antique. Should I not buy it?

Your decision should be based on how in tune you are with yourself.

In tune with myself? Oh, what a stupid question. Getting a book published—that was her deepest desire. Something the bureau would help with. The dark-stained walnut would calm her. The ancient feel would transport her to other worlds, plus the lack of modern clutter, like files and electrical cables, would keep her from being distracted.

I’ll take it, magic or no magic. She handed over her bank card. For a minute, she’d let herself get swept away with the gypsy lady’s crazy talk.

Great. The lady craned her long, E.T.-like neck. Ivan, she yodeled toward a storeroom door.

Blocking her ears with her palms, Joanie frowned at the woman. How unprofessional, yelling at her employees.

A wizened old man with a shock of tight, white curls shuffled out of the back room.

Carry the walnut bureau to the car park for the customer, she told him.

With one swift movement, he picked up the bureau as if it were a child’s toy. Where do you want it, ma’am? He spoke with Queen’s English, peering at her with bright eyes.

This shop gets more bizarre by the second. Follow me.

He carried the bureau to her Mitsubishi Pajero. After she opened the back, he placed the unit inside with ease.

Thank you, Ivan.

Pleasure, ma’am.

Tell me, Ivan. Does the bureau really have magic in it?

Smiling, he tapped his temple with a knobby forefinger. The magic lives inside our heads. When we want it, it comes to life.

What the…?

Have a good day, ma’am.

You, too.

The old guy ambled off. After slamming the hatch, Joanie climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

I don’t think I’ll visit that place in the near future, she mumbled as she pulled out of the parking lot. With all this strange stuff happening, maybe I should write fantasy instead of romance.

Nah, the hero she planned to dream up would be as yummy as they come. He hadn’t materialized in her mind yet, but, when he did, she wanted to savor him before she sent him off to publishers. He would be the most romantic fictional man ever. He’d need to learn a few valuable lessons first, though.

Once she arrived home, at the top of Berea, the quaint, coastal suburb in southeast Africa, she realized she would have to carry the bureau into her study all by herself. Wouldn’t the hero from her book be a sweet addition to her life at this moment? A strapping, muscular man who could haul the furniture into her study without bumping or dropping it. Why couldn’t she think of a name for him?

What about Theo? Hmm, perfect.

Where are you, Theo? She laughed at herself.

Theo would be ideal for Kaley, the heroine in her book. Her heroine was a mess. Theo would teach her to think things through, to appreciate her life, to be less selfish.

Joanie had spent her whole life caring for others. She didn’t need a man to cramp her style. She had her own space for the first time ever. A man would want sex all the time, food prepared, clothes washed, and he’d check up on her wherever she went.

"Sorry, Theo. I eat my words. Kaley needs you more. I’m fine and dandy all by meself."

She ran inside to fetch her and her sister’s childhood skateboards along with a mat from the bathroom. She placed the boards on the ground next to each other with the mat on top and heaved, sounding like a pro tennis player whacking the service ball. The bureau landed unscathed on her makeshift trolley.

Next, I must maneuver it around to the kitchen door to take the stair-free entrance. Good thing she’d paid contractors to build a ramp for Aunt Edna’s wheelchair a couple of years before. Her aunt had passed away a few months before, and she missed her so much. She cut those thoughts out of her mind. Her aunt wouldn’t want her to pine. More than once, she’d told Joanie to enjoy being young while she could.

She pushed the desk along the walkway. Everything went well until she reached the ramp. Whoa! The slope appeared much steeper than she remembered. Would the bureau fall off onto the concrete and get scratched or even shattered into itty-bitty pieces? The antique shop had restored it to a gorgeous, rich-brown shine. She longed to run her fingers along the varnished surface as she entered the dreamy world of her sexy characters.

Last weekend, she’d even purchased an old-fashioned quill from a flea market near the Methodist Church in Morningside, not far from her house. She’d stumbled across the quill while rummaging through secondhand books. Yesterday, she’d filled her tiny inkwell, which would fit perfectly on the bureau. No more bright computer screen or scratchy ballpoint pen. She would write in style.

She just needed to get the bureau up the ramp.

She held the desk like her dear baby, one hand near the top, the other keeping the skateboards steady. The awkward position reminded her of those evenings playing Twister with her younger siblings—her whole body contorted into a most uncomfortable, stretched-out-of-place position.

She shoved the boards and the bureau. Panic seized her. The unit began to slide off the skateboards. She remained frozen, unable to work out where she should grab to steady it.

Help, she yelled, as if anyone could hear. A good chunk of her savings could collapse in a heap outside the kitchen door.

Miracles of miracles, the piece of furniture seemed to right itself without her assistance. With ease, she pushed it to the top of the ramp, surprised at its sudden lightness.

Once in the kitchen, she drove it to her study, and, with one last exertion, placed it in the spot where it belonged—next to her computer desk by the open window overlooking the city and the sea.

Standing back to survey the effect the new piece of furniture had on her room, she smiled. It did seem a bit out of place with its dark, ancient appearance, but it also brought a certain coziness to the eclectic décor in the room. Perfect.

Aunt Edna’s furniture filled the room. The woman had kept pieces collected from her two marriages as well as numerous garage sales. The décor was mix and match, with very little match.

So, the bureau didn’t stand out that much—nothing in the big jumble of things did. Yet, it had a certain mystical charm. That was what had drawn her to it in the beginning. How she needed something enchanting to inspire her muse.

She moved her writing materials to the bureau. After she stacked everything in its own spot and laid her bird ornaments out in alphabetical order on the shelves, she sat down to read through her rejection letters again.

Not long ago, she’d sent her fifth novel off to publishers. The large pile of negative responses she’d printed out mocked her. Who was she kidding? She had no idea how to make her writing better. Sure, she’d read blogs and spoken to other writers, although she didn’t know many others in South Africa, and most of them were into science fiction or crime. Why did she keep trying?

The latest letter, which she’d received the day before, still echoed in her brain.

You need deeper point of view.

For once, a publisher hadn’t sent out a form letter but actually said why they’d rejected her manuscript. Still, that didn’t help her.

What the heck did they mean by deeper point of view? Well, she understood it in theory.

Googling had brought a slew of jumbled results she had no idea how to implement, serving to confuse her even more.

How do I do it? Closing her eyes, she tried to picture her new hero. The night before, she’d started jotting down her new idea with a sexy young man who would rescue Kaley from certain death then from herself. Could this be the book that would win her a contract and enough money to go on that much-longed-for holiday? Cape Town, with its gorgeous Table Mountain and vineyards, called her name. Hours on the beach or tasting wines were on her agenda. Rest, relaxation, recuperation, and nothing else. Eight years of working a day job and caring for her family at night had taken its toll.

So, she did have unfulfilled desires. But since she knew what her deepest wishes were, the magic—if it existed at all—wouldn’t harm her. Which meant she was on the way to getting them fulfilled.

So, Theo, I need your help. Tell me what ‘deeper point of view’ is or how I can use it in my book.

As the hero’s image formed in her mind, her heart rate accelerated. At last, the man she needed for her story had come alive.

She imagined him in the pivotal scene of the book—on an island beach, wearing nothing but a piece of animal skin tied around his waist with Tarzan-like dried vines. He and Kaley had been stranded on the island for two weeks—no longer perfect strangers lumped together by tragedy. Instead, they’d become almost-friends who