Upon The Midnight Hour [Anthology]

Zanne Farrell, Tierney Linn, Melissa Glisan UPON THE MIDNIGHT HOUR BY ZANNE FARRELL TIENEY LINN MELISSA GLISAN 2 U...

Author: Glisan Melissa | Linn Tierney | Farrell Zane

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Zanne Farrell, Tierney Linn, Melissa Glisan

UPON THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

BY ZANNE FARRELL TIENEY LINN MELISSA GLISAN

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The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. UPON THE MIDNIGHT HOUR Copyright © 2005 by Zanne Farrell, Tierney Linn, Melissa Glisan ISBN: 1-59836-240-2 Cover art Copyright © Sable Grey All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com PO Box 584, Hillsborough, NC 27278

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GOING HOME

By Zanne Farrell

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Dedication

To everyone who dreams of second chances.

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Chapter One

His body was hard and damp as her fingers dug into his muscled shoulders. They moved in a perfect rhythm and his body contracted and released as he thrust himself deep inside her. The scent of expensive cologne, wine, and sex floated around them. Thick. Intoxicating. Sickening. A moan that started somewhere near her toes reverberated through her body. But it wasn’t out of pleasure that she wanted to cry out. “Thea. Oh God, Thea.” His quick shallow breaths warmed her earlobe, yet his words sounded a hundred miles away. What was she doing? Her heart felt empty, hollow. Grabbing his perfectly chiseled face, she looked deep into Michael’s brown eyes. In them, she saw nothing, felt nothing. This was wrong. It had been wrong for a very long time and she knew it. She was Thea Nicols, Hollywood’s new “it” girl. She should feel more than the empty ache that tugged at her insides. She should be on top of the world. A nobody, from nowhere Montana, had become the toast of Hollywood. Who’d have thought? Yet, with all her fame, with all her fans and friends and love interests, she felt totally and utterly alone. “Come on, babe. Work with me here.” The annoyance in his voice was unmistakable. Michael Clark. Thea’s male counterpart. The hottest man in the country and she was sleeping with him. And she could think of about a thousand other places she’d rather be at that very moment. It was New Years Eve. She should be with family – if she had any. Home. Not in a hotel suite in Vegas getting screwed by a guy that she wasn’t even sure she really knew. How could you know someone who always referred to themselves in the third person? He’d named his biceps for goodness sake. Did she really want to know someone like that?

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What the hell are you doing? She wondered again and pushed to get Michael off of her. Growing up she dreamed of being an actress, a star. How could she have known all those years ago how little her dreams would match the reality? It was a new year. At almost thirty, she’d expected her life to be different, golden. Instead, she was plotting an escape. Just a week of anonymity. How wonderful would that be? No one with a camera following her around, getting to just be, without wondering who or what would be lingering around the next corner. Her life was all about guessing what would turn up next in the tabloids. And she was tired. Damn tired. “What’s the matter with you tonight?” Michael rolled onto his side. A lock of his perfectly shagged, golden hair fell into his eyes. The clink of a champagne bottle as it fell to the floor and onto a shoe made her jump. “I’m sorry. I’m just not into this. It’s not you.” Propping herself up on one arm she tried to focus on him in the dim light of the bedroom. He was incredible. The ultimate specimen of male perfection. Hours in the gym, at the spa, and the beach had worked well for him. “Of course it’s not Michael Clark. You’re never into this. What’s going on Thee?” He brushed her hair from her face and smiled. The expression didn’t quite reach his eyes--a fact that hadn’t been lost on her over the past six months of their relationship. Six months of parties, events and premiers, photo ops, interviews and appearances. It was a whirlwind of activity. Any woman would be thrilled to be dating Michael Clark. Anyone but Thea. “I don’t know Michael. I think I need a break.” “A break? From what?” He pulled his hand from her face as if her skin was suddenly on fire. “This. Us. Work.” She flopped onto her back and rubbed at her temples. Her head pounded. Too much celebrating. What did she need? Did she even know? Closing her eyes, she willed an answer to come to her. “I don’t know. I think I need some time.” “Time.” His tone could cut glass. “Well, when you’ve had enough time give me a call.” The bed rolled a little as he stood. Thea didn’t bother to open her eyes. “I’m sorry, Michael.” “Don’t be. Michael Clark won’t be lonely for long.” 7


Thea held her breath and waited for what surely would be pain that followed such a statement. When nothing came, she sighed and turned over. She didn’t even flinch when the door to her suite slammed. In fact, relief seemed to consume her. She needed something. Anything. But what? And then it hit her. Squinting, she looked at the clock. Two a.m. If she called a driver and showered quickly, she could be on the road in an hour. Dare she? She was to report to the set in two days to start filming her next blockbuster. That didn’t seem to matter much. There were a hundred women dying for that part. They could have it. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that Thea Nicols had a plan. She was running away. She felt more alive than she had in weeks. Jumping from the bed, she grabbed her cell phone and called for her driver. Look out Canyon, Montana. Thea Nicols is coming home!

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Chapter Two

“Sarge, you need to hear this.” Sergeant Brandon Dean looked up from his laptop and tried not to frown at the young officer. It had been a long day and he didn’t have nearly all his work done. Hadn’t he told the officers, every last one of them, that unless the ground opened up and swallowed the highway, no emergency warranted his being disturbed? Obviously, Officer Martin thought he was kidding. Rookies. “What is it Martin?” Brandon leaned back in his high back chair and clasped his hands behind his head. Contracting and releasing, he managed to work and relax every major muscle group in his body. How many nights had he been in his office until the wee hours of the morning? Six? Seven? Too many to count, for sure. He needed to get a life. That went without saying. But then his work didn’t finish itself. There would be time for hobbies when he-- what? Retired? Him? He was the commanding Sergeant of Detachment 52 of the Montana Highway Patrol. He lived for his job. It was his life. Some life. Exhaling loudly, he returned his focus back to the rookie officer standing in his doorway. “A wreck, Sarge.” Brandon looked at his watch and counted to ten. Six p.m. Davis and Roberts would be on shift. Why the hell he needed to be involved in this ‘accident’ was beyond him. And without adequate sleep, he wasn’t in any mood to find out. “A wreck.” He exhaled again and looked at the monitor of his laptop. The lesson plan for the driving class he was teaching at headquarters the end of the week stared back at him. He didn’t have time for this shit. “Davis and Roberts can handle the wreck, Martin. Please close the door behind you.” Typing, his focus returned to the work on his laptop. “I think you might want to handle it, Sarge.” 9


Brandon stopped typing in mid word and looked at the young patrolman. “And why is that Martin?” He could tell by the way Martin shifted from one leg to the other that Brandon’s annoyance wasn’t lost on him. “It’s a limo, sir. Rodger Johnson ran into it as he pulled onto Highway Two.” “So?” How old man Johnson could hit a limo while he pulled onto the highway was a question he’d save for another time. It wasn’t like Highway Two was heavily traveled. It was a two-lane rural highway. He was losing his patience. And patience was not something Brandon was known for to begin with. He ran his division like a tightly run ship. Four years in the navy had taught him well. He demanded the best from himself and expected nothing less from his officers. All handpicked himself; he was rethinking his hiring this particular officer at the moment. This guy was obviously an idiot. Was that sweat he saw forming on the man’s brow? He tried not to smile. He liked that he made his officers nervous. He was the law in this detachment. What he did and how he did it may seem harsh to an outsider but it was his way, and it worked. “It’s Thea Nicols, sir. It’s her limo.” Like someone stood behind him, drove a blade into his back, a pain so real, and white hot sliced trough his chest. Thea. Or as he knew her, Cindy Carroll. What the hell was she doing in Canyon? Hadn’t she said that she’d never set foot in this Podunk little town ever again? Hadn’t she called him and all the citizens of his, and her, hometown, pathetic hicks? Her words still stung. Bad. “I see,” was about all he could manage to say. He inhaled deeply and let the anger that began to boil in his gut take a hold of him. Anger felt a lot better than pain. He’d go with the anger. “I’ll take care of it. At the intersection of Johnson’s place and Highway Two you said?” The officer nodded and stayed standing in the doorway. “Was there something else?” “She’s been injured.” Shit. “The ambulance is on the scene. Communication from them stated her injuries aren’t life threatening but they’re taking her to the hospital to have her checked out.” He talked a mile a minute like he was afraid he wouldn’t get a chance to explain everything. Like at any second Brandon would come flying from behind his desk and stop him. 10


“Davis is on the scene, but I figured with someone as high profile as Thea Nicols, you’d want to be there. This is going to be news. National. Possibly international.” A headache matching the intensity of his anger began pounding in his temples. He did not need this now, or ever, for that matter. Cindy, or Thea or whatever the hell he should call her, was going to be nothing but a pain in his ass. The fact that relief seemed to flood him the second he heard her injuries weren’t life threatening was not something he wanted to examine too closely. He needed to hate her. Hating her meant that she couldn’t hurt him again. “Thanks, Martin. You’re right. I’m going to need to go out there.” He rubbed his face with his hands and dreaded the next few days. With any luck, the woman was just up to visit her grandma in the nursing home and would be gone. Why else would she be back? Publicity? A shot of rage spiked in his gut. It was hot and intense and seemed to shoot through his veins like liquid lightning. He had his answer. He could read the headlines now: “Beautiful Young Starlet Shows World Her Humble Beginnings.” Damn her for using them all like this. He stood from behind his metal desk. His heart beat wildly in his chest. The people of this town, her town, weren’t good enough to keep in touch with over the years, but they were good enough to use to advance her popularity. What a bitch! The intensity of his anger surprised him. He thought he’d been over her for years. She’d left him, what, ten years ago? Yeah. It’d been ten years and some odd days to be exact. Who was he kidding? He’d never gotten over her. It hurt almost as much as if it happened yesterday. He’d loved her, would have given anything to make her happy. But he’d never been enough for her. She’d told him so that last night before she’d left for California. God, and now she was back. And he had to see her. Fuck that. “Johnson’s intersection?” he asked again, suddenly aware of Martin’s stare. “Yeah.” Brandon walked from behind the desk and passed Martin without giving the officer another glance. “Sarge?” Brandon stopped and turned, his mind racing only as fast as his heart. This was not the ending to New Years Day that he’d hoped for. Bury yourself in work, he’d decided. Treat the day like any other and maybe you won’t realize you’re completely 11


alone. It’d worked up until about ten minutes ago. Now he faced a past he in no way wanted to deal with, New Years Day or not. “What?” “Can you maybe get me an autograph?” He held out a notebook and pen, his eyes wide, a broad smile on his face. “Get it yourself,” he said and walked down the hallway. “But I’m not gonna see her.” Martin called after him, his obvious nervousness gone with the idea of Thea Nicols signature on a stupid piece of paper. “Neither am I,” Brandon mumbled back before he opened the door to the building and walked out into the freezing winter evening.

**** “It’s nothing major, Alex. I have a few bruises and my chest feels like an elephant kicked me, but I’m fine. Really.” Thea rubbed her left thigh as she talked on her cell phone. She more than ached. She hurt. Badly. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Alex that. Drama was not something she wanted to deal with from him. And he was the king of drama. Shivering, she struggled to keep her teeth quiet. The curtained off area that served as her ER room was freezing. How could she have forgotten Montana winters? She’d only experience like twenty of them in her lifetime. Had she really been gone that long? “What the hell are you doing up there anyway?” Thea sighed and closed her eyes. She’d avoided making this call to her agent for the entire thirteen-hour trip. He was not going to like this. She had contractual obligations. People counted on her. Combing her hand through her hair, she cleared her throat. They’d all have to understand. “I’m running away.” The curtain slid open and a nurse walked into her partitioned area. “The doctor will be with you in a moment, Miss Nicols. Is there anything I can get you?” The young woman stood at the foot of Thea’s bed and avoided meeting her eyes by staring somewhere above her head. Thea moved her cell phone from her mouth. “No, I’m fine. And please. Call me Cindy.” No point in sticking with her stage name. Growing up she’d always been Cindy 12


Carroll. No need to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. Wasn’t that the point of coming home? To strip away all the Hollywood frivolity and get back to reality? Cynthea Nicole Carroll. That’s who she was. “Okay, miss, uh, Cindy. Let me know if you need anything.” “I will. Thanks…” she strained to read the name on the dangling white nametag. “…Denise.” When the curtain closed, she returned to her conversation. “Where was I?” she said to Alex. “You were about to tell why the hell you are up there in Bumblefuck, Montana.” Cindy cringed. How many times had she referred to her hometown by that exact moniker? A hundred if it was once. Hearing it said back to her sounded so awful. God, she could be a bitch. “I told you, I’m running away. Just for a little while.” There was a commotion in the area next to hers where her driver lay. The need to finish the conversation quickly and find out about him was overwhelming. He was a lot more banged up than she’d been. “You damn right it’s only for a little while. Like two days. You’re due on the set day after tomorrow.” There was no light humor in his voice. Alex was pissed. And Cindy didn’t care. The voices next to her were too low to hear. But there was a flurry of activity. “I’m not going to be on the set in two days, Alex.” “What? I know I didn’t just hear you correctly.” He chuckled nervously into the phone. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be on the set.” There was more nervous chuckling. “I did. Look, Alex. I’m going to have to go. Don is being examined right now and I need to find out what’s going on with him.” She stood. Her body screamed at her as she lowered all of her one hundred and twenty pounds onto her feet. Damn, she hurt even in places she didn’t even think she could. “Don’t you dare hang up on me, Thea. Summit’s people will have your head if you don’t show. You have a contract.”

13


She carefully walked to the curtain. The searing pain in her chest only surpassed the pain in both her hips. “I know I have a contract, Alex. They’ll have either to wait or get someone else. I need this.” With all the strength she could manage, she straightened herself and reached for the white curtain. Her arms felt like they each weighed a ton and her head pounded in time with her racing heartbeat. “You don’t tell Summit to wait, Thea. You don’t tell Summit anything!” He mumbled something else she didn’t quite hear. “What did you say?” The curtain slid easily on the metal tract. Easier than she expected because she lost her balance and reached for a tray to catch herself. A loud clatter ricocheted around the sterile room as the table slid away from her and tipped, sending her, a pitcher of water, and two drinking glasses raining onto the floor. “I said, this could mean you’re fucking career. What the hell was that noise?” As Cindy tried to get to her knees, impressed with herself for not dropping the phone as she fell, a voice from above her made her breath catch in her throat. “Oh, for Christ sake. Let me help you.” If she lived to be a hundred years old, she’d never forget the sound of that voice. Deep and husky it seemed to seep into her pores and absorb directly into her bones. How could it be? “Alex, I’m going to have to call you back.” “Don’t you fucking hang up on me. Dammit, Thea. This is serious.” “I know it’s serious, Alex. And my name is Cindy. I’ll call you later.” Not daring to look in the direction of the voice, she closed her cell phone and took a long slow breath. Well Cindy, you wanted to come home. “Hello, Brandon,” she said and slowly raised her eyes. Her heart beat a Latin tango in her chest and her mouth went instantly dry. Why was it that she felt all of about thirteen years old and she’d just met the captain of the football team?

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Chapter Three

“Cindy. Or do you only answer to Thea?” He stood with his left hand extended to her. The venom in his voice was unmistakable. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. She’d been so awful when she’d left all those years ago. She lived with that guilt every day for the past ten years. Too embarrassed to apologize, she figured she’d never see him again and it would all just fade away. It didn’t. If anything, it only grew worse. It was a lot like a festering wound that went untreated over the past decade--her therapist’s analogy, not hers. And it still hurt like hell. How could she make him understand that she didn’t see any other way to break it off? That had she not left the way she did, she’d have never left at all? She’d have stayed in Montana waiting for him, crying over him, praying for him, while her dream slipped out of her hands. She couldn’t have him come after her. He’d still been in the navy when she’d left. He wanted to get stationed in California when she told him her plans. Had said that they’d make it work somehow. That if she needed to follow her dream, he’d follow it with her. The pain of that conversation spilled into her like a mountain waterfall. Like acid flowing through her, it still burned as badly as the night it happened. Her breath caught in her throat as her chest seized. She couldn’t be who he wanted her to be, a good wife, mother, and partner. When he’d looked at her, all the love she’d seen in his eyes, she knew it was true. And she hated it. Hated him. But mostly hated herself. She needed to try to make it. Needed to follow her dream. Or she would never forgive herself, or him. And that meant making a clean break from Brandon, Montana, and the old Cindy Carroll. It had made perfect sense at the time. But she’d been so young. Over the years, the logic of it was lost and only questions and regret remained. What if she hadn’t left? Would they have made a life together? Would they still be married? The “what if’s” hurt almost as much as the regrets. There was no way she 15


could make him understand any of that. And with the anger she saw etched on his face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She looked deep into his eyes and nearly lost her breath. He was as beautiful as she remembered. Even more so. In her mind, she hadn’t aged him as perfectly as time had. His eyes were still the deep blue that she remembered. Only now they we bordered by what she could only assume were laugh lines. They were the kind of eyes that could draw her in and make her forget her own name. And God help her, they hadn’t lost that affect. His shoulders were broad, like they could carry the weight of the world, and his hips and waist was narrow. By the way, the muscles in his arm contracted and released as he clenched and unclenched his right fist, she could tell he worked out--a lot. Time had been very kind to Brandon Dean. Too kind. A part of her ached to touch him. Another wished he’d let himself go. Why couldn’t he be out of shape and ugly? Even then, she’d probably have had the same reaction to him. Because she saw him with her heart. And always would. “You can call me whatever you’d like,” she said and shrugged. There was no way she’d let him know that her mouth had grown as dry as the Vegas desert, or that her stomach twisted and turned faster than an amusement park ride. “It wouldn’t be very polite of me to call you what I’d like.” The back of her gown was flopped open. Trying to hold the gown closed, while holding her cell phone in her free hand, was turning out to be quite the challenge. She had no other choice than to accept his offer of assistance. When their hands touched a rush of white-hot energy raced up her arm and ended squarely at her core. She hated herself for reacting so intensely to a man who obviously despised her. And rightfully so. She’d been wrong. So very wrong. “Thank you.” After standing, she cleared her throat and looked around Don’s partitioned room. A couple of nurses and someone she presumed to be the doctor stood over the bed he lay in. They still talked low enough that Cindy couldn’t hear them. “Is he going to be okay?” she finally asked. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes seemed to pierce her very soul, was unnerving. She shifted her stance and winced. Even the smallest of movements hurt. But his gaze hurt worse. “He’ll be fine.” Brandon crossed his arms and widened his stance.

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“Good.” She looked around the tiny area. Somewhere outside the curtain were beeps and whistling noises. The smell of bleach was almost suffocating in intensity. Her palms slicked and she struggled to avoid eye contact. It didn’t work. And the awkward silence made her chest even tighter. “So,” she started. “What are you doing here?” Brandon’s brows furrowed together and his perfectly full lips puckered. “I live here.” “I know that. Well, I do now.” She tried to wipe her palms on her gown without him noticing. The cool air of the room, as it hit her exposed backside, made her jump. Damn. She had to hold on to the gown. No matter how slick her palms became. “I mean, why are you at the hospital?” His expression hadn’t softened in the least. “I’m the command sergeant for the highway patrol in this area of the state. If there’s an accident outside the city, it’s my job to handle it.” “Command Sergeant? Congratulations.” He’d done well for himself. But then it didn’t surprise her. He was Brandon Dean. She remembered there being nothing he couldn’t accomplish once he’d set his mind to it. A twinge of pride sprung deep inside of her and heat spiked in her gut. When he didn’t change expressions or respond to her comment, she simply nodded her head, her feeling gone. “But there was a patrolman at the accident who took my statement. Why do you need to be here?” “Seems we have a celebrity among us now. And since she had an accident on one of my highways, I need to make sure I understand what happened in case someone from the media wants a statement. We wouldn’t want to misinform her fans, now would we?” Cindy nodded her head in understanding and did her best not to react to the bitterness in his tone. Of course, he wasn’t there out of the goodness of his heart. He looked just as uncomfortable as she felt. She’d hoped to enter town quietly. Well, as quietly as you can in a limo at least. She guessed the accident more than shot that plan out of the water. If she remembered anything about her hometown, it was how fast information traveled. This had to be a hot topic at most of the dinner tables even as she stood there. “I’m sorry,” she said, without thinking. 17


“Unless you forced old man Johnson to try and cross the highway without his glasses, then you really have nothing to apologize for now do you?” There was so much she wished she could tell him to take that angry expression off his face. So many things that needed to be resolved. She’d give almost anything to see him smile. “No I guess there isn’t. But I hate the thought of taking you away from your family on New Years. I hope your wife isn’t too upset.” “No. Everything’s fine.” For some reason, Cindy’s heart seemed to drop low in her chest. He’d married. When she’d had a string of empty, meaningless affairs, Brandon had fallen in love and settled down. Life goes on, she reminded herself. What did she think? He’d pine away for her, shunning all women and relationships? Well, yeah. That’s what she’d hoped. Because isn’t that what she’d done? Sure, she’d dated, but every man, no matter how successful, beautiful, whatever, had been compared to Brandon, her standard. And none of them, without exception, had measured up. Another revelation she had her therapist to thank for. She really hated her therapist. When, no if, she ever went back, she’d fire her. The last thing she needed was more painful insight to her pathetic personal life. “Good.” Hopefully her voice didn’t reflect her disappointment. Another awkward silence seemed to stretch for what felt like an eternity. But was only about thirty seconds. “Are you Mr. Stewart’s family?” Doc Bell asked. “I’m his employer.” She moved closer to the bed. Brandon’s heart ached just a little at her obvious discomfort with each step. He immediately stopped it. There was no point in feeling anything for her. She’d take what she needed and just leave. Stay detached. Unaffected. When she’d reached for his hand, however, it was very evident that he was anything but unaffected. The spark that shot through him nearly brought him to his knees. And for someone 6’2”, two hundred fifteen pounds, certified in every form of defense imaginable, that was saying something. Nothing caught Brandon off guard. But then it had been a decade since he’d come face to face with his one weakness in life--Cindy Carroll. “We’re going to need to observe him over night. He’ll have to be admitted to the hospital.” 18


“Is he all right?” Her voice broke when she spoke and when he looked there was deep concern etched on her beautiful face. He hadn’t noticed before but dark shadows seemed to haunt her. There was no sparkle in her pale green eyes. It could be that she was just in a major accident, but he didn’t think so. She looked exhausted. Her long dark hair was dull and lacked the silken sheen he remembered. And she was so thin. She’d always been curvy. Those curves haunted his dreams. Secretly, he’d tortured himself watching all of her movies. Never, in all the years since she’d left had she looked so frail. The things he remembered most about Cindy were that she was feisty, stubborn, and strong. No one had stood up to him the way Cindy would. She had opinions, strong ones, and was never afraid to express them. She’d never backed down from him. Ever. But Thea seemed to be the opposite and it hurt in a way that worried him. It hurt in the most dangerous place of all--in his heart. He couldn’t get sucked in again. No one would ever hurt him the way she had. And letting her into his life, his heart again, was beyond insane. “He’ll be fine Miss…” “Carroll. My name is Cindy Carroll.” She moved closer to the bed and touched her driver’s hand. “…Miss Carroll. Mr. Stewart hit his head pretty hard on the steering wheel and I just need to make sure there’s nothing more serious than a wicked bump going on.” Cindy nodded and looked down at the older man in the bed and smiled. It was at that moment that Brandon knew that with all the good intentions in the world, he was sucked in. He’d lost his heart to her all over again. And it pissed him off. “Nurse, please move Mr. Stewart to the second floor. Miss Carroll, when we’re done with your exam, assuming you are okay and free to go, I’ll need you to fill out the admittance papers for Mr. Stewart if you would.” “Of course. Whatever you need.” Dan Stewart lay sleeping on the bed when the nurse began unlocking the wheels of his bed. “Miss Carroll, if you could step into your area, we’ll do your exam.” “Of course, doctor.” Cindy squeezed the older man’s hand and slowly turned toward her bed. Brandon had to remind himself to breathe. All the air had been sucked out of the room and he needed out. The fabric walls seemed to be moving in on him. 19


He’d never been one to be claustrophobic until that very minute. Panic like he’d never experienced before ripped through his chest. “Miss Nicols…” Cindy shot him a look of annoyance that stopped him in mid sentence. It’d been pathetic of him to try and hurt her right then “…I mean Cindy, I’ll be out in the registration area. I’m going to need to ask you some questions.” Cindy turned toward the bed and didn’t look at him again but nodded her head. The temperature in the room had dropped several degrees and he was confident no one had adjusted the thermostat. As quickly as he could without being yelled at for running in the ER, he left the room and entered the lobby. It was the first time he could remember that the smell of a hospital made him sick to his stomach. At least that’s what he told himself was making him ill.

**** “Is that all?” Cindy asked and leaned back in the metal chair. She’d been up for far too long and her head was moving past fuzzy into a thick dense fog. Her eyes felt like they were bleeding. And she hurt. Everywhere. “Yes, Miss Nicols.” Cindy started to correct the admissions woman but decided against it. She was too tired. “Um, if you don’t mind,” the woman fumbled with the papers Cindy just signed. “My daughter is a huge fan of yours. I think she’s seen Toxic Teenager a hundred times.” Cindy struggled not to scream at the lady that she was Cindy Carroll from Canyon, Montana, but that seemed incredibly stupid. Just because she left California, or Nevada as it were, didn’t change the fact that she was still Thea Nicols, movie star. Calling herself by her given name in a different location didn’t change that. “Would you like an autograph?” “Thank you, Miss Nicols. I hate to ask.” The woman grabbed a piece of paper and pen from her desk. How she’d done it so quickly with the amount of papers and mess scattered over the hidden top was beyond Cindy. “It’s no problem.” Cindy forced her most genuine smile. The one she used on the red carpet when she felt like she was going to vomit with every step she took. She’d 20


been well practiced with that smile. Nerves seemed to rule her life, so smiling a genuine fake was a well-honed skill. “Thank you, Miss Nicols. My daughter’s name is…” Cindy only half listened, mechanically writing the most impersonal personal message she could, and signing her fake name. So much about her and her life was that way. Fake. Fake name, fake life, fake friends, and lovers. Reality loomed all around her and she realized that she had no place in it. Why she thought she could simply return home to her old life and old identity was beyond her. It was true what they say, you can never go home. Tears welled in her eyes and her heart beat heavy in her chest. As soon as Don was well, she’d charter a plane and get them back to California. At least there, her fake friends spent a whole lot of time kissing her ass. She turned as Brandon walked through the sliding glass doors into the lobby from the parking lot. Kissing ass was a much better alternative to the expression she read on Brandon’s face. If she wasn’t mistaken it looked to her that he would be more than happy to kick her ass as kiss it. She held in a smile when she realized she got a little bit of satisfaction knowing she could evoke such intense emotions in him. Maybe there was something to reality after all. Maybe she should stay around and see what other “things” she could make Brandon feel. A couple days in Montana wouldn’t hurt anything. She already had the word out she wouldn’t be showing up on set. And Don could use the rest. And even though she’d gotten pain medication, her body hurt. She needed rest, too. A sense of calm moved through her, something she hadn’t felt since she’d left this place. She’d started this New Year in a place she swore she’d never return to. But the look on Brandon’s face, the pure and true anger she saw there was the first “real” thing she’d seen in a very long time, and that alone gave her reason to celebrate.

21


Chapter Four

“Thanks for the ride home. You didn’t have to do that.” Cindy sat looking out the passenger window of Brandon’s GMC truck and watched places of her childhood float past her like movie trailers. It was as if she’d stepped into a time machine and traveled back in ten, fifteen, twenty years. Nothing had changed. Everything looked exactly as she remembered it. And it was comforting. Like a worn old blanket in the dead of winter, she inhaled the familiarity of it, drowned herself in it, and relished every breath. Home. There was no place like it. “Well, we hick types are nuttin’ if not hospitable.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off the road but Cindy could see the annoyance in them nonetheless. She supposed she deserved that little jab but she was tired–bone tired–and didn’t have the patience to deal with Brandon and his anger at the moment. “Stop it, alright? I’m sorry. How many times do I need to say it?” “Once would be nice.” He turned the truck carefully onto the snow-covered street of her Grandmother’s house. “I assume you’re staying at Margaret’s house?” Cindy nodded without speaking, her eyes transfixed on the street of her Grandmother’s. She strained to see in the dark. When had it become tree-lined? And the houses. They all looked so...old. And run-down. A twinge of sadness tugged at her heart. It had been too long. “I’ve apologized,” she said absently, her eyes darting from either side of the street. And then she saw it. Grandma’s house. And there were people grouped on the sidewalk. Reporters? Photographers? Her blood pressure shot up and her face heated. Damn it!

22


“Well, look what we have here. Someone knew you were coming. I’m shocked.” The look he gave her as he turned toward her cut deeper than if he’d called her some horrible name. For a second, time seemed suspended as snow flakes began to lazily float from the sky. They swirled and danced on the street before falling in piles all over the ground. “You think I let the paparazzi know I’d be here?” She clutched the door handle so tightly one of her perfectly manicured nails snapped. The sound was as loud as a gun shot in the silence of the truck cab. “Go into the alley and let me off behind the house.” It was a command, not a request. “What? And not give the press a chance for a photo op? What will your adoring public think?” He was being mean. He knew it. But he couldn’t help it. For a second, just a brief moment, as he watched her out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw real emotion in her. This homecoming was more than publicity or a ‘behind the story’ kind of event. Seeing the cluster of photographers standing in front of Margaret Carroll’s old house, however, wiped away all doubt. “Yeah, I ran away from Hollywood, my career and the lead in Summit’s next blockbuster so I could come here and have the press follow me. I need publicity, negative publicity, that bad.” Her eyes narrowed and her face flushed. For a second he though she might start screaming at him. A part of him hoped she would. It would feel good to yell back at her. Maybe a good fight would be the kind of catharsis he needed. He’d had too many emotions pent up inside of him, stewing, rotting, for far too long. Instead, she let out a long breath and fixed her gaze on the dark alley he’d just turned into. “Whatever. I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me anyway, and I guess I can’t expect you to.” The way she gave up so fast, her unwillingness to defend her actions, or herself, caught Brandon off guard. Where was her fight? Her spunk? If he wasn’t mistaken, she sounded almost defeated. Cindy Carroll. The toughest chick he’d ever known. Had Hollywood done that to her? The movies? Or a man. The thought of Cindy with another man sent a trickle of jealousy moving through him. It was far more intense than any other emotion he’d had in the past few hours.

23


Jealous? Him? He glanced across the cab at her. Her beautifully carved features silhouetted in the dim glow of the light being emitted from the houses they passed. Her long hair moved ever so slightly with the rise and fall of her chest. An ache began deep within his gut. An ache to feel, taste and smell her. It was just the beginnings, nothing he couldn’t control, but it was there. Like a hunger, if left unsatisfied could drive a man to do crazy things. And he couldn’t afford any moments of insanity. He pulled his truck along the chain link fence bordering the back of Margaret’s house and slipped the gear into park. Taking in a quick breath, he opened his door and stepped into the frigid night. “What are you doing?” Cindy was out of the truck and standing with her hands on her hips. The most defiant thing he’d seen her do yet. And it excited him. Now that was the Cindy he knew and loved. Liked. Shit. He didn’t love her anymore. Hell, they’d been just kids when she’d left. Had they ever really been in love? Reaching into the bed of the truck, he pulled out her luggage, if that’s what you could call it. A small bag and even smaller suitcase. She didn’t travel like anyone who planned on spending too much time in this time zone. That was good. “I’m helping you in with your bags.” “I can get them myself.” She walked towards him with her hands outstretched. With each step, the pain from the accident was carved on her face. “Right.” He chuckled and walked past her without giving her another glance. “Let’s just say this will be my last act of Montana hospitality and then you’re on your own.” Truth was, he believed her when she said she hadn’t called the reporters. He may be small town but something about so many of them showing up on her Grandma’s front lawn didn’t sit well with him. He needed to make sure everything was okay in the house and then he’d wash his hands of her. Sure, he would. He was buying that line less and less as time passed. And the fire that blazed deep in his groin didn’t help much, either. “I don’t need your help,” she called after him as he walked through the backyard and up the cement stairs. “I know you don’t. Give me your key.” He stopped at the landing and waited for her to catch up. Her step was unsteady in the thick blanket of snow, and she almost slipped and fell walking up the slippery steps. If Brandon hadn’t reached for her and kept her standing, she’d more than likely have landed ass first in a snow bank. Would’ve 24


served her right. Who the hell wears such high heels this time of year? What was the matter with her? It’d serve her right if he just let her fall. Damn his gentlemanly instincts. There was a moment when the air seemed to hang suspended around them. As Brandon grasped on to her upper arm, they looked deep into each other’s eyes, neither seeming able to break away from the stare. “I can get the door,” Cindy finally said. Her words were far too breathy for her own tastes, and her heart was running at NASCAR speeds. She needed his hand off her body so she pulled her arm away with a force that sent her flying down the two stairs. Thanks to Jimmy Choo boots and their lack of tread and three-inch heels, her feet came out from underneath her and she landed with a loud grunt, on the ground. She wasn’t sure which hurt worse, her pride or her ass. Both were pretty bruised at the moment. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked to keep them from spilling on her face. This was just great. A flash of light came from somewhere to her right and a loud laugh. Damn it all. The photographers. She could see that headline. Even in the place where she looked for a little privacy, there was none to be found. “Give me your keys,” Brandon said, this time more aggressive than the last. Cindy didn’t argue. He seemed to scoop her up with one arm and threw her up the stairs as if she was a rag doll. Reaching into the pocket her leather coat, she pulled out the single key and handed it to him just as another flash went off. “Hurry. Please,” she whispered as tears streamed down her face. It was bad enough she’d been embarrassed in front of her ex, but now it would be plastered in every rag all over the world. When had it happened? When had she lost total control of her life? He grabbed her once again by her upper arm and pulled her into the kitchen just as another flash exploded. “Those bastards are ruthless, aren’t they?” Flipping on the light switch, he closed the only opened blind and threw the key on the counter top. “How do you put up with it?” “You have no idea.” Cindy stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around her body, and rubbed her upper arms. A chill had settled over her, and she trembled. And hurt. If she hadn’t felt like hell before, she certainly did now. 25


Brandon stopped and turned to her. His expression had softened and she thought she saw compassion in his eyes. “No, I guess I don’t, do I?” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. And she nearly melted into a pool on the kitchen floor. “I didn’t call them. I swear to you.” She didn’t know why she felt so compelled to make him believe her. At that moment, though, there was nothing she needed. And then it happened. He smiled. The smile she dreamed about nightly, the one that could steal the breath from her lungs and the strength in legs. And it was all for her. “I know. C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.” Turning, still holding her bags, he walked into the living room to the stairs that led to the bedrooms. Bed. Sleep. Nothing sounded better except maybe Brandon joining her. To make her feet move, one in front of the other, took a tremendous amount of concentration. That smile had made every muscle in her body rubber. “That sounds wonderful,” she said and started up the stairs her eyes focused squarely on Brandon’s very tight ass as it walked in front of her. The sound of shattering glass and shouts from the street didn’t allow her the pleasure for long. As if thousands of windowpanes had been dropped, the sound ricocheted around her like a ball in a pinball machine. “Stay here,” Brandon shouted and ran past her down the stairs. Slowly she sunk onto the step where she stood. Tears spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. What the hell was going on?

**** “You have no idea who’d throw this through your window?” Brandon sat on the chair at the foot of Cindy’s Grandma’s bed and watched her carefully. The brick that had crashed through Margaret’s front window he held firmly in his right hand. The note banded to it was in his left. She’d upset a lot of people over the years since she’d left. But enough to have them make threats? “You mean besides everyone in town, the studio I’m contracted with, the actors working on the picture I walked out on, and my agent?” She rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. The shadows that had underscored her eyes were now black and pronounced as if she’d been punched in both eyes. She shook her head. “Nope, can’t think of anyone.”

26


“Why did you do it?” Leaning forward in his chair he watched as she pulled her hair back in a loose knot. “Leave L.A.?” Kicking off her shoes she gently lifted her feet onto the bed and leaned against the carved, wooden headboard. “Yeah. You’re a star.” She chuckled but there was no smile on her face. “Do you know what that means?” She folded her arms across her chest and then unfolded them and leaned forward, crossing her legs kindergarten style. She winced but kept her position. He didn’t know what to say. Of course, he didn’t know anymore than the obvious money, parties, glamour, etc. It was everything she said she wanted. Her dream. Isn’t that what she’d said the night before she left him? “It means I have no life. Everything I do, say, think is public domain. I just wanted a break. I just wanted to be me for a little while.” “And who is that exactly?” He couldn’t help it. He had to ask. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. The woman sitting on the bed in front of him, although sexy as well, barely resembled the woman he’d been in love with. Did she even know who she was? “I don’t know.” The raw emotion in her voice, the way it broke when she spoke, ruined him. She looked so small and vulnerable on that giant bed that he couldn’t help himself. Pushing up from the chair, he let the brick and note fall to the floor and walked to the bed.

27


Chapter Five

The second their lips touch, Cindy lost herself. Her mind spun wildly out of control and her body became consumed by a fire that started in her core and spread through every inch of her body. The flames lapped at her nerve endings and tortured her with a burning heat like she’d never felt before. “What about your wife?” She had to ask. She’d never been ‘the other woman’, no matter what the tabloids said she’d done. “What wife?” “You’re not married?” Her heart leapt in her chest and she mentally punched the air with her fist. “A die hard bachelor, I’m afraid.” She smiled and leaned up and pressed her lips into his. Inhaling, she took in his scent. He smelled like she remembered him, soap and spice. Nothing fancy or fake. It was a scent she’d always associated with pure male power and had never smelled in L.A. This is where men roamed. This was home. As his tongue traced the outline of her lips, she found herself aching to melt into him, to have his body open up and consume her. She needed to feel every inch of him. It was a need as elemental as air or water. Parting her lips, she allowed him access to her mouth. As their tongues danced in a rhythm of exploration, she leaned back into the pillows lining the headboard of the bed and allowed his body to press even closer to hers. The skin of his face, scratchy from needing a shave, tickled her palms as she placed first one, then the other, on his cheeks. With his chest pressed into hers, their heartbeats became in sync and their breathing mingled in such a way that she didn’t know where his started and hers ended. It was all so familiar, so wonderful. 28


It was as she’d remembered. With his hands tangled in her hair, his fingers gently massaging her, every detail of their time together slammed into her mind and shattered her heart. She’d been so wrong to leave him. So wrong to pick her career over her love. Everything she’d ever wanted was in this very room--love, safety, and peace. It started and ended with Brandon. A deep moan resonated through her chest, vibrating her every fiber. Was it hers? She didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. They existed as one, she and Brandon, as it should be. Should’ve always been. “We need to stop.” Brandon pulled away from her, breaking their connection. His voice thick and painfully deep. No! She wanted to cry out. Her hands still rested on his cheeks. She looked deep into his eyes and saw her own desire mirrored in the depths of the incredible blue. But behind the desire were shadows of hurt and doubt that couldn’t be ignored. “I am so sorry, I…” “Shh…” he put his finger over her lips. “Not now. We need to figure out who wants to hurt you.” When he pulled away from her and went back to the chair, it felt like a part of her went with him. There was a hole in her heart, her very soul, that she hadn’t realized was there. And when they came together, when they’d joined their bodies and their hearts, that void was filled. God, she’d been such a fool. But this was a new year. Anything was possible in the infancy of a new year, wasn’t it? Exhaling, she tried to focus on his words and not on the aching need beating in rapid time with her pulse. “Who could’ve told the press you were here? None of those people out there are from around here.” She shrugged. It could’ve been anyone. Her little departure wouldn’t win her any fans back in L.A. In fact, the list of people wanting to scare her was so large it was overwhelming. The movies were a competitive business, and very few actually rose to Cindy’s level of fame. She’d stepped over a whole lot of hopeful starlets to get where she was. And then to run from it, that was unheard of. “Well, we’re going to take this threat as seriously as it was written. The threat of murder is never taken lightly.” 29


He read and re-read the note that had been attached to the brick. His forehead creased and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you care?” The words flew from her mouth before she could censor them. But it was a question that had been floating around in her mind the second he offered to give her a ride home from the hospital. He looked up from the note, the look of concentration melted from his face. “I’m a cop. It’s my job to care.” The coldness of his words didn’t match the softness of his tone and she smiled. “You’re a Sergeant in the Highway Patrol. I don’t think this would fall under your, uh, jurisdiction.” She tried her hardest to keep the smug look off her face but doubted she was very successful. The expression on his face changed very little. “Unless the borders have changed, Grandma lives in the center of town.” It was his turn to shrug. He looked a lot like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. All he needed to do was shuffle his feet under the chair and he’d look exactly like a twelve year old boy. It was as adorable as it was endearing. “We were friends once.” “We were more than friends.” He nodded. “Yes, we were more than friends. Consider this concern for an old girlfriend.” They’d been far more than girlfriend and boyfriend, they’d been each others soul, each others life, but she’d let it go. She supposed she given up the right to talk to him about it the night she left him. Up on her hands and knees, she crawled to the end of the bed and leaned over the footboard, her face only inches from his. “Are you going to be my bodyguard, Officer Dean?” She leaned closer to him. His breath became shallow and fanned across her cheek. “I guess I am.” He hadn’t moved an inch. She could see his pulse pounding in his neck. His hands clasped in his lap, his knuckles were white from the strength of his grip. Leaning even closer, she lost her balance and fell off the end of the bed, onto his lap and onto the floor. Graceful, it wasn’t. The loud thud of her landing seemed to echo around the room. 30


“And from the looks of it, you could use it.” Smiling, she blew a tendril of hair out of her face and looked up at him. Her face heated and she wanted to crawl away in shame. That would hurt too much. The pain that raced through her was tremendous. But he’d said he wanted to help her. And when they’d kissed, she knew he’d felt it - the magic that had been part of their time together all those years ago. When they’d kissed, his body pressed against her, his heart beating in time with hers, it was as if the years melted away. Like nothing had happened and they were one again. For a chance to feel that on a regular basis, she’d wallow in embarrassing acts in front of him forever and take whatever pain came with it. Standing, he picked her up from the floor and put her back on the bed. “Don’t move. I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself even more.” When he smiled down at her, her bones turned liquid and her heart skipped several beats. This would be one of the few times she’d actually do what she was told.

**** The steady cadence of her breathing, the way the quilted blanket rose and fell in time, almost lulled Brandon to sleep. But the internal battle that raged deep within him wouldn’t allow it. He’d kissed her. Dammit. Why had he done it? Part of him was ecstatic at her response. The other part, the sensible part was mad as hell. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. That was the problem. Without thought, he reached up and rubbed his lips. Her taste, passion laced with a hint of sin, still lingered in his mouth. It was a taste he’d been addicted to in the past. And just like an alcoholic or drug addict, all it took was that one taste, that one luscious sip and he was hooked all over again. There wasn’t a twelve-step program in the world that could save him. If he were a smart man, he’d run out of her room and never look back. Save himself. That’s what he needed to do. But the way she looked, her long, dark hair fanned out across the pillow, her face so peaceful. Well, it was obvious that Brandon wasn’t known for making the most sensible of choices. He smiled, sunk low in the chair, and propped his black boots on the footboard of the bed. So much about her hadn’t changed. Her humor, her clumsiness, her beauty. God, why couldn’t she have come back being a royal bitch? Or ugly? Or anyone other 31


than Cindy. He’d been wrong about her. She was the same. Too much the same. And she’d been right. Her problem wasn’t any of his professional business. He should have called the PD and got a uniformed guy over. But he couldn’t. He needed to make sure she was okay. He tried to tell himself it was because of their past. She was a local after all. A famous local. But he knew the truth. He still loved her. With all of his heart. And he’d still do anything to keep her safe and happy. That was a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share with her, however. She’d still hurt him. Badly. And no matter how much he felt for her, the memory of that kind of pain was still very close to the surface. Cindy let out a long breath and rolled over on the bed. No, he wouldn’t tell her anything of what he was feeling. He couldn’t expose himself like that again. In a few days, she’d be gone and then where’d he be? Still in Canyon, Montana with nothing but another broken heart. But while she stayed in town, he’d be her bodyguard. And God, what an incredible body to guard.

32


Chapter Six

Cindy woke to the most god-awful pounding sound she’d ever heard in her life. It was almost as painful as the pounding in her head. What the hell was that noise? Reluctantly, she sat up, her head and body still thick with sleep, and looked around the room. It was just as she remembered. Nothing had changed. Except that her Grandma wasn’t downstairs making something yummy for breakfast or planning an incredibly fun day. She missed her Grandma while she was in California. Too much time had passed since she’d visited her. Years of guilt and regret churned in her gut and tears filled her eyes. That had been happening a lot lately. But she was home now. The nursing home was only a few blocks away. With a town the size of Canyon, everything was only a few blocks away. She could have some coffee, get ready, and go for a visit. At the foot of her bed was her silk robe carefully spread out. She smiled to herself. Brandon. Pulling it on, she stretched, trying to work out the stiffness of the accident. The falls she took didn’t help her much either. Walking out of the room and into the long hallway, her body seemed to heal with each step. Along each wall hung pictures of her family at various stages of their lives. Her parents’ wedding photo, her cheerleading pictures. It was like walking through the best memories of her life. On the wall lining the stairs, pictures of her in various stages of her career greeted her. Grandma, her biggest fan. By the time she reached the fifth stair, she was hit by the most amazing scent. Bacon, eggs and potatoes. In an instant, her stomach growled and her mouth watered as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. It had been a while. And it had been years since she’d eaten such fatty, unhealthy, unbelievably delicious food.

33


“Brandon?” She walked into the kitchen but found it empty. On the counter sat a tray. A plate of all the food she smelled was in the center with a glass of juice and water. Breakfast in bed? “In here. Go back upstairs. I’ll bring your breakfast up.” She followed the voice into the living room. With a hammer in one hand, and his back to her he pounded a nail into a board that covered the window shattered the night before. And he didn’t have a shirt on. It was very obvious that Brandon spent a whole lot of his spare time in the gym. As he moved, the muscles in his back rippled and the fire that had started last night while they kissed was back. The men in Hollywood had nothing on this guy. Her fingers ached to trace the outline of his spine. She longed to watch his skin tremble beneath her touch. “It’s good to see you haven’t let yourself go.” Folding her arms, she leaned against the door jam and watched. Her mouth watered again, but this time for a very different reason. Brandon oozed sex appeal and her pussy slicked with need. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even bother to stop and look at her. With his free hand, he pulled another nail from what Cindy could only imagine was his mouth and pounded it into the wood with two swings. The way his muscles danced under his skin as they moved had her mesmerized. Absently, she licked her lips and her desire exploded as the heat from the night before returned to a full-blown blaze and threatened to consume her. Standing there, watching him, she felt like one very exposed, very raw nerve. Her senses were hyperaware of every move he made. There was sweat glistening on his back. A tiny drop slid from the base of his neck to the small of his back and disappeared into the waistband of his Levi’s. God, what she wouldn’t give to follow that little droplet further on its journey. “Are you going to join me?” She hoped the double entendre wasn’t lost on him. And she wasn’t disappointed. “Absolutely.” Turning, the wicked smile that spread across his face made the breath catch in her throat. With strength she didn’t even know she possessed, she stayed standing in the doorway. The urge to run to him, bury her hands into his thick dark hair and pull his mouth to hers had her nearly insane. She could taste him; feel his body pressed against hers. Every inch of her ached to touch him. 34


“Don’t keep me waiting long. I’m, uh, starving.” She wanted to smack herself upside her head. That was the best she could come up with? Why couldn’t she have had some snappy, sexy something to say? Because sexy and alluring were not two of her personal traits. Why couldn’t she remember a line from one of her movies? She was always saying something clever in her movies. But then that wasn’t she. It was the writers. And it wasn’t for the writers, Thea Nicols would be no more alluring than Cindy Carroll. And Cindy Carroll was no Hollywood starlet. She was just a regular girl from Montana. “I can tell,” he said and turned back to the window. Not sure exactly what that was supposed to mean, and wanting to avoid a fight with him at all costs, she said nothing and walked silently up the stairs.

**** “I know they’re mad, Alex. I can’t get back now even if I wanted to. Remember? We had an accident yesterday? Dan is still in the hospital.” “I know that, Thea. It’s all over the papers. I can have a plane chartered in twenty minutes. They do have airports in that God forsaken place don’t they?” Cindy rolled her eyes and let out a long exasperated breath. She supposed she couldn’t expect Alex to understand. After all, she’d spent the better part of their working relationship complaining about this place. “I can’t leave Dan up here.” She could, but she didn’t want to. As long as he was still in the hospital, she had a very valid excuse not to go back. “When is he getting out?” “I don’t know.” The fact that the doctor had told her that he’d only keep him over night didn’t seem like a pertinent bit of information at that moment. “Thea, Summit’s people are threatening to sue you if you aren’t on the set as scheduled.” Cindy closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. The idea of being sued was not something that appealed to her in anyway. “Can’t you stall? Alex, isn’t that why I pay you? So you can handle stuff like this?” “Thea…”

35


“No. Alex, I have never asked you for anything like this before, ever. I’m not a diva, I do my job, and I do it well. I’ve never been drunk, caused any of the studios embarrassment, and I’ve made a whole lot of people a whole lot of money. “But…” “Including you. Earn your percentage, Alex. Stall for me.” Exasperated, she hung up the phone and threw it on the bed. With her legs pulled up in front of her, she covered her eyes and rested her forehead on her knees. Sued? How the hell was she going to fight a studio? Especially one as big and powerful as Summit. She’d have to go back. With that thought, her heart sank to her feet. Her blood seemed to drain out around her. But she didn’t want to go. Not yet. What would she do? “Breakfast is served.” In an instant tears spilled onto her cheeks and she looked up to see Brandon standing in the doorway holding the tray of food. No. She couldn’t go back yet. Not when her one true chance at happiness resided inside the city limits of this little town.

**** As fast as lightning, he was in the room, the tray on the bed and Cindy wrapped in his arms. The way her body relaxed against him made his pulse race and his cock hard. “You okay, Cin? Did you get another threat?” Her body shook from the sobs. With every one, his heart ached for her. He would get the bastard that did this to her. She shook her head and kept crying. “Then what is it?” He pulled her from him and looked into her eyes. The pain in her eyes tore at his soul. She looked so vulnerable sitting on the bed like she was. Wearing an old ratty UCLA t-shirt that was about five sizes too big, her hair was a wild mess and her makeup was smudged under her eyes. She didn’t look anything like the woman America saw on the big screen but to Brandon she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And every instinct he had demanded he protect her from whatever it was that was making her so upset. “I’m going to be sued.” 36


He let out a long sigh of relief. Although bad, being sued wasn’t the kind of threat he was concerned about. “Oh.” “What do you mean, oh? They have me by the short hairs, Brandon. If I don’t go back and be on the set tomorrow, the most powerful studio in the world is going to sue me for breach of contract. I’ll have to pay back the advance they gave me and probably estimated loss of revenue, and…” “Shh. Calm down. It’s okay. You’ll just have to go back.” Even as he said it, he didn’t like the idea at all. He was trying to figure out just how much money she was talking about and if he had it to pay off for her. He’d just gotten her back. She couldn’t leave already. Without giving too much thought to what he was doing, he lifted her chin and pressed his lips into hers. They seemed to fuse together. Her mouth was the perfect balance of hard and soft. And her taste. It was like nectar. He wanted to devour her. As he slid his tongue into her mouth, she opened to him and he explored. Her teeth were slick against him. The moan she let out seemed to go straight to his groin. Pulling away, he looked down at her, her eyes still closed and her lips still puckered. It was so sweet, so endearing that he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You hungry?” Her lips felt like velvet as he ran his index finger over them. “Mmm hmmm.” She didn’t bother to open her eyes. Without taking his eyes from her face, he reached for a slice of bacon and put it in her hand. “Can I feed you?” With eyes still shut, she put the bacon in her mouth and slowly chewed. “God, this is good. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had real bacon.” The pressure against his fly was almost unbearable. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Killing him. That’s what she was doing. Torturing him in a way that would cause him to explode into a million pieces if he didn’t do something about it soon.

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“Uh, sure. I guess.” What was he going to say? No? Hell no. Anyone who looked that sexy eating a piece of bacon in a ratty old t-shirt could do anything she wanted. Thank god, he was there to help her. “You put your shirt back on.” She was on her knees in front of him, pushing against his chest. He moved in the direction she pushed, his back propped against the headboard. “It’s the middle of winter. I don’t just walk around without a shirt.” He felt suddenly self-conscious and didn’t particularly like it. “That’s too bad. You look very good without your shirt. I’d love to see the rest of you.” If he wasn’t mistaken, she was blushing. And it was damned cute. “Thanks. You look good too. A little thin, but good.” Damn, he shouldn’t have said the thin part. The way she sat back on her heels and looked at him told him he’d misspoken. “You think I’m thin?” He felt trapped like a dear in headlights. This felt like a no win situation. Nothing good ever came from those. “I remember you being curvier. I liked that.” “I like it better too. Unfortunately, I don’t get parts when I put on weight.” Brandon nodded. He guessed he understood. Seemed kinda silly but then he wasn’t an actor. It probably made perfect sense to an actor. With one quick move, she had her t-shirt over her head and dropped it beside her on the floor. It floated to floor to land in a pile next to her bed. Brandon couldn’t take his eyes off it. “I, uh, thought you were going to feed me?” His mouth dried and his hands sweat as if he was a teenager on prom night. As she knelt naked in front of him, her pert breasts peaked and practically begged him to suck. He fought like a prizefighter against the need to reach out and flick one of her pebbled nipples with his finger. Goose flesh covered her skin, but she sat perfectly still, her eyes locked on his. Thin or not, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her skin was the color of cream. And although not as pronounced as he’d remembered, the curves were there. Every cell in his body longed to feel her pressed against him. 38


The look on her face made him shudder. It was as if she would eat him alive. Consume him. And he liked it. Ached for it. Yet she didn’t move. She only stared at him through heavy lids. What was she going to do? And without a doubt, Brandon had no intentions of fighting it, whatever it was.

**** Doubt and fear threatened Cindy from doing the one thing she so desperately wanted to do--seduce Brandon. When he looked at her, his blue eyes the color of the sky right after sunset, he seemed to look through her. Like he could see her every flaw, her every insecurity. The urge to cover herself was overwhelming. But she fought it. She had to. This was a new year. A new start. And the only other person she wanted in that new life sat directly in front of her. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession. His jaw clenched and unclenched in a cadence that only he could hear. What if he rejected her? What if he couldn’t forgive what she’d done to him so many years ago? “Brandon, I’m sorry,” she blurted out without thinking. “Not now.” His jaw relaxed a little as he spoke. “Feed me.” The glint in his eye, the way his left eyebrow raised slightly as he looked the length of her, told her all she needed to know. There would be no rejection this morning. And her channel clenched in anticipation. Leaning into him, their lips connected and an explosion of need wracked her body. Her mind reeled and she lost focus. His lips were amazing. Hard and soft. Tender and decadent. Pulling away, she let her forehead rest on his and scanned the expanse of his chest. Remembering what he’d looked like standing in her Grandma’s living room, his torso bare, his muscles moving so fluidly beneath his taut skin, made her even more wet with need. Without asking, she began unbuttoning his flannel shirt. The pearl fasteners slipped easily through the holes in the fabric. When she reached the bottom, she smiled up at him, her head, and hands painfully close to his sex. Lightly she brushed against the bulge in the denim of his jeans. With his eyes closed, his head fell back and he let out a long, low moan. Never had a sound caused her such pleasure. A tingle began in her apex and itched its way through her body. Like pulses of electricity, the tingling catapulted

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her growing need to feverish heights. God, how she wanted him. No, needed him. Every nerve ending leapt to life, throbbing with consciousness. “May I?” she asked, tugging on the brown leather belt strung loosely around his waist. “Please.” Barely audible, Cindy looked at him. The look in his eyes, the primal need she saw swirling in their depths, the dark fiery promise of a hunger he would satisfy, nearly caused her to orgasm right then. No one had ever looked at her that way. No one had driven her to such crazed yearning with nothing more than a glance. Mindlessly, she undid his belt, unsnapped, and unzipped his jeans. With his cock freed, she gasped. He was commando. And huge. Drenched in liquid heat, her pussy pulsed with need. Brandon smiled at her, a Cheshire cat grin that made her shudder. “Feed me,” he said again. His voice deep and thick. Grabbing a piece of bacon, she put the crisp strip between her breasts and crawled up his body. “Is this what you want?” Gone were her apprehensions and insecurities. This was more than two people having sex, more than anything she’d ever had with anyone in Hollywood. This, to Cindy, was freedom, forgiveness and a second chance. What she felt at that moment, what poured from her and filled the room, swirling like a river current around them as they sat on the bed, was love. Pure, unfiltered emotion. Gone was the hurt, the fear and the questions. As he leaned into her, he whispered, “I plan on tasting every inch of you,” before lightly kissing the top of one breast then the other. Heat from his touch spiraled through her in time with her pulse. The thick shaft of his cock pressed against her folds, teasing and enticing her. With a simple tilt of her pelvis, he would enter her. And then he started to nibble on the bacon and all coherent thought vanished. Sensations ruled her consciousness. Wildly erotic and sinfully pleasurable, his mouth seduced and tormented her. Slowly at first, Brandon took the end of the bacon in his mouth, with it still stuck in her cleavage, and made small bites. The soft flesh of his upper lip grazed her skin. Fragments of pleasure, like shards of broken glass, raced from her chest and ended in her core.

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Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back between her shoulders and she moaned. He continued to nibble, now faster, and his teeth grazed the skin between her breasts. Between bites, he began sucking first one globe then the other. His tongue danced across her chest in a choreographed number that sent waves of desire crashing through her. Deep within her, a scream built until she couldn’t contain it anymore and she had to let it escape. He chuckled into the tender mound as she cried out. While his tongue and lips drank in her flesh like a kitten lapping cream, his throaty laugh resonated through her body. The deep vibrato sent her mind spinning wildly out of control. He had barely begun touching her and already she teetered on the precipice of ecstasy. The pleasure grew in her with every touch and sound. “More,” he said with his lips still pressed into her breast. “What?” He had to be kidding. How could he think of food? “I’m starving. I need more.” His voice had lowered an octave and his eyes had turned the color of midnight. She didn’t know what to do. All she wanted was to mount him and slide that delectable cock deep inside her. This foreplay would kill her. Of that, she had no doubt. “Lay down.” It was a command not a request and she obeyed. In one smooth motion, he completely removed his opened shirt and jeans and lay astride her. His powerful legs straddled her upper thighs and his cock pressed lightly between her legs. It was delicious torture. “Close your eyes.” He looked down at her. The desire in his eyes was almost frightening in its intensity. Lying beneath him, eyes closed, she held her breath. Something soft and warm began sliding onto her body, starting at her cleavage and ending at her pubis. “Don’t peek.” She had no intentions. The heat and texture of the scrambled eggs was incredibly erotic. She could only imagine what he’d do next and couldn’t wait for him to start. “Hmmm, you taste good,” he said as he began eating off her abdomen. Something that should have had her curling her lip in disgust instead had her body

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burning from the inside out. She flexed and pointed her toes to keep from screaming in rapture. Reaching for him, she messaged his well-developed shoulders. The smooth skin over the rock hard muscles reminded her of velvet covered steel. “I love it when you touch me,” he said between bites. His voice was light. Had there been any noise in the room Cindy wouldn’t have heard him. “How can you do this to me?” She melted at his words, her body losing all sense of form and structure. She entwined her fingers in his thick dark hair, pulling his head lower on her abdomen. He fought her and continued to eat the food off her stomach. Each time his lips brushed against her skin, a little piece of her burst into flames. The blood in her veins surged, bubbled, and boiled like molten lava. When his chin brushed against the wiry hair of her sex, she nearly dissolved into the bed. Lightly, he blew a hot moist breath across her clit and flicked his tongue against the hypersensitive nub. With the intensity of a nuclear explosion, she climaxed and her body exploded into a million pieces, each one more sensitive than the last. Like a roman candle on the Fourth of July, colors erupted behind her closed lids. Greens and yellows, reds and blues filled her darkened sight and for an instant, she felt like she was floating. Crying out, her body was spent yet she needed more, needed him. All of him. “You are so beautiful,” Brandon said as he moved over her. The pressure from his shaft as it pressed against her channel made her open her legs in acceptance. So consumed with emotion, a tiny tear slid from the corner of her eye. “Please, make love to me.” He smiled down at her as he pushed himself deep into her core, filling her. The walls of her sex stretched to almost discomfort as she took him clear to his base. With his balls pressed against her ass, he pressed himself even further. Throwing her head back, she screamed in pleasure. The sensation, so close to pain, made her crazy. As he withdrew himself, her channel clenched around him, milking his shaft, trying to keep him from completely leaving her. Just as the lip of his head broke past the rim of her opening, he slammed back into her sending another scream bouncing around the room. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her angle changed and he hit a spot deep within her cavern that caused her body to be thrown off the edge of sanity and spiraling 42


into oblivion. She was lost. Her mind had detached completely from her body and flew her through the clouds into the heavens. Light as air and filled with pleasure like she’d never known, Cindy traveled the universe, her mind’s eye taking in all the beauty of the heavens. She felt him thrust deep within her a few more times then stiffen, his cock spilling his seed deep within her. But she couldn’t respond, couldn’t participate. She was too far gone. No longer aware of the room, his release was lost on her. She’d experienced true bliss, a connection of body and soul that she’d never believed possible. She had no desire to lose that feeling. “I love you,” he said, and lightly kissed her temple. She was back. “I love you, too,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “There is so much I need to say to you but for now know that I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I plan on spending the rest of my life making up to you for all the terrible things I did.” His body went stiff but he didn’t say anything. Cindy guessed that was the best that she could hope for at this moment.

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Chapter Seven

“How could she not even know me?” Cindy walked with her arm looped through Brandon’s. Both her heart and her step were heavy as they walked through the lobby of the nursing home and out into the bright afternoon light. “She has Alzheimer’s, Cin. You know that.” The way he patted her hand felt more like something she’d get from a relative and not someone she’d spent the better part of two hours making love with. Even now, her body hummed from the energy they’d shared. Thank God, he was there. A distraction was what she needed right then. And she couldn’t think of a better one than Brandon. “I know. It still hurts, though.” Walking through the parking lot, familiar faces passed and Cindy smiled. No one bothered to give her a second glanced. Several people mumbled. “Did Mrs. Arneson just hiss at me?” She tried to stop but Brandon pulled her along, never breaking stride. “You weren’t exactly nice in some of the interviews you gave. Calling this place an embarrassment, backwoods, Hicksville. We do get cable TV, ya know. And People magazine. What did you think? We wouldn’t hear?” Never bothering to look at her, he kept pace, his voice even. But there was an edge to his words. A flush starting at her toes quickly covered her body and guilt sliced through her leaving a gaping wound the size of a moon crater. The interviews. She’d been so stupid back then. Her first movie. She wanted to sound cool, sophisticated. And then a reporter showed up with information about Canyon and her childhood. It was wrong. She’d been wrong. Again, it seemed to be the story of her life. But she’d make up for it. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked, barely able to speak. A vice seemed to have gripped her chest, making breathing difficult. 44


“I know. But they don’t.” The tilt of his head made her look around the parking lot at all the people averting their eyes and whispering. The grand homecoming of the little girl who made good. Some homecoming. Cindy wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Instead, she squared her shoulders and started looking those that would allow her in the eye. And she smiled. A genuine smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Martin. It’s so good to see you.” The gentleman’s eyes grew wide and he smiled. “Cindy. Glad you could come see your Grandma. She talks about nothing but you,” he said and nodded toward Brandon. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. But she kept on smiling. And that’s how the rest of the afternoon continued. Everywhere they went, Cindy was met with apathy, but she confronted it head on. Everyone received a smile and a word or two. And little by little, Cindy could feel it. The anger towards her was slowly melting away. Her old drama teacher even asked if she’d be willing to talk to the drama club, to which she gladly agreed. It would take a while, no doubt about it, but she would do it. Cindy would win back the respect of the town.

**** “Thank you. Yes, I’ll be there in about a half an hour.” Closing the phone, Cindy set it on the dash and looked at Brandon. It didn’t matter what the situation. Her look did the same thing to him. The way her eyes seemed to look right through him. He melted. No one could do that but her. And he hated it. It was as if when around her, he couldn’t think, focus, or breathe. She became everything to him, and he was lost without her. When they made love, his heart was so full he believed it would burst. She was everything he’d remembered. Soft, tender, and sexy as hell. And they way they fit together. It was as if she was made only for him. Damn it! “Who was that?” he finally asked. A part of him didn’t want to hear the answer. “The nurse from the hospital. Dan’s been cleared to leave.” His heart sank and his world crumbled a little around the edges. He wouldn’t fall apart this time. This time he was strong. But he didn’t feel strong. He felt weak, and small.

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“Ah,” was all he could say. Turning his attention back to the road, he focused on the passing scenery. The simple act of inhaling and exhaling had become difficult. Trees lined residential streets that he’d driven through a million times before. But they all looked different this day. Children laughed and played in fenced yards. Where did all the children come from? It would be nice to have children. The pain in his chest sharpened and he focused his attention on the clear, cornflower blue sky. “I guess I’ll have to send him home alone.” “What?” The pain lessened in his chest but didn’t disappear completely. “I’m not going back.” Her eyes focused on the passing terrain, tears filled their corners. “What about the film? Your career?” his pulse quickened. Could it be true? She wouldn’t be going back? He didn’t dare get his hopes up. Yet, he did. There was a long pause. The only sound in the car was the low hum of the heater as it forced out warm air. “The film will be fine without me. And my career…” What about her career? Was she willing to give it all up? She’d worked so hard. Yes, she wanted a break but quit? Completely? Serenity spilled through her, filled her. For ten years, she’d worked and struggled to make it. And now that she had, fame made her miserable. Did she want that for the rest of her life? “My career will be fine. This is a new year and my new life. I don’t need to be in California to be in movies.” The possibilities were endless. And she certainly didn’t need money. The last two films she starred in had left her quite comfortable. As they pulled into the driveway of her grandmother’s house, Cindy gasped. The door stood wide open. She distinctly remembered locking it. “Wait here.” Brandon made a call for back up. Jumping from the car, he ran up the stairs and into the house. Never having been one to follow commands, Cindy followed. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as she entered the home. Furniture overturned, pictures strewn over the hard wood floor, the place was a mess. Above her, on the second floor, hollering filtered down. Two very deep, very angry voices filled the quiet of the house. Running up the stairs, she made it to the room she stayed just in time to hear a loud thud and hear a siren come down the street. 46


“Brandon!” Running into her bedroom, she found Brandon on the floor, his eyes closed, and the bedroom window open. God, was he dead? Panic gripped her chest and paralyzed her lungs. Crumbling next to him, she wrapped him in her arms she slowly rocked. Silently, she prayed to God. Tears dropped on his messed hair. “Please be okay. You can’t leave me. Not now. Please be okay.” She sat holding him, until an officer came into the room and called for an ambulance. “Miss? Uh, Miss Nicols?” The young officer put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. “It’s Carroll,” she said, clearing her throat. “My name is Cindy Carroll. Please help Brandon.” She didn’t look at the young man. She couldn’t. “Are you all right, Miss Carroll?” She nodded but didn’t speak. It took only seconds until another siren came racing down the street. When the paramedics took Brandon, Cindy stood in a daze and watched. It was as if she watched a movie in a theater. It didn’t seem real. Surreal. That’s how it felt. Surreal. Her body numb, her mind refused to completely comprehend what had happened. “Can you take me to the hospital?” she asked the young officer once Brandon had been loaded onto the ambulance. “Of course.” Glancing to the street she watched as a young man was put into the back of a squad car. “Who is he?” she asked and motioned toward to the car. “He says he was hired by Alex Reynolds. He was supposed to scare you into leaving.” Cindy stood frozen. This couldn’t be happening. “Please get me to the hospital.” “Yes, Miss Carroll.” Walking to the car, she said another prayer for Brandon. And for herself. Suddenly she really was all alone in the world. And she didn’t like the feeling one little bit.

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Chapter Eight

“How are you?” Cindy smiled down at Brandon as his eyes slowly opened. “Like I’ve been hit in the head with a baseball bat.” “Well I guess that’s understandable, since you have.” She squeezed his hand and let out a long sigh of relief. “I’m so sorry.” “Will you stop with the ‘I’m sorry’s’? Is that all you can say?” The smile was weak, but it was a smile, and it melted her heart. “If I hadn’t been here, you wouldn’t have…” “Fallen in love with you all over again and been happier than I’ve been since you left.” He struggled to sit up. Groaning, he closed his eyes and lay still for a moment. “Damn, my head hurts.” Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled. “Did they tell you who was threatening you?” “Yeah,” she nodded her head, “my agent. Seems he was desperate to get me back.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “You have to go.” “What?” “You have to go back and do the picture.” He winced as he spoke. “They can’t intimidate me.” “No, but you’ve worked too hard and you can’t give up on your career.” “I’m not leaving you again.” The pain in her chest was back and she felt panic rise and burn the back of her throat. “Hell no, you’re not leaving me. I’m going to take some time off,” he rubbed his head and winced again. “And go with you.”

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A smile that felt as big as the room spread on her face. “You will? But what about everything I did? I haven’t had a chance to explain. Why I left you as I did. There are so many things I need to tell you.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I think I know. And you’ll have a lifetime to make it up to me.” How could he forgive her like that? But she didn’t want to question it. He was going with her. She would finish the film and she’d move home. And she would make more films if she wanted or maybe she wouldn’t. But they’d been wrong. Thea Nicols, a.k.a. Cynthea Nicole Carroll, had proved it. You can go home. And happily ever after didn’t just happen in the movies. Leaning in, she lightly kissed Brandon and smiled. Her heart felt full enough to burst. “I love you, Sergeant Dean.” “I love you, too, Thea Nicols.” Rubbing her nose against his, she laughed. There was no doubt in her mind that this was going to be the best year ever.

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About the Author

When she's not hanging out at the beach or lost in a novel by one of her favorite romance author's, Zanne Farrell is busy creating stories that are as smart as they are sexy. A fun loving resident of Florida, Zanne is always busy on her latest work in progress and hopes that her readers enjoy her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

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SWEET DECEPTION

By Tierney Linn

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Dedication:

To my family and friends. Thanks! To my critique partners, Gail, Eileen, and Suzi, your wealth of knowledge and support has been invaluable. Don’t know what I’d do without you.

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Chapter One

Shelby O’Neill lifted the glass of champagne to her lips, drank deeply, and listened to her agent. “Uh, huh,” she murmured a few times. Holding the phone a few inches from her ear, she walked from one end of the empty room to the other. A pang of loneliness crept inside her heart and squeezed tightly. “I’m fine, Simon, really,” she said for the tenth time. “Yes, I know its New Years Eve. No, I’m not coming back to Boston. I love Florida.” Kind of. She could practically hear his ulcer churning through the phone line. It didn’t matter what he said, she wasn’t returning to her old, miserable life. There was nothing in Boston for her anymore. Besides, as a romance writer, she could live anywhere. All she needed was her computer and an idea for a plot. She had the computer, but no plot. Not one idea. Not anything! It was nearly midnight and Shelby roamed into the second story sitting room. Moving from one window to the next, she noticed that there was enough moonlight to create spooky shadows in the trees outside. Lucky her. Everything creaked in the small antebellum house she’d recently bought. She loved her new house with its unusual floor plan and high vaulted ceilings, but without furniture, it was creepy and scary. Even it’s location on the St. John’s River added to the mood. “No Simon, I’m not going to change my mind.” She laughed at his next comment. “I know I live near where they caught Ted Bundy. No silly, I’m reasonably sure there aren’t any serial killers lurking outside my house.” She gave a quick look outside the window just in case she was wrong. “I’m willing to bet my life that I won’t meet any murderers in Jacksonville.” 53


He was pulling out all the stops to get her back to Boston. He must be worried if he was trying to scare her back. She listened as he predicted all kinds of horrible things, and then warned her to eat right. “Simon, please don’t be a mother hen. Yes, I’m writing. It’s going really well. Nope, Florida seems to have been the cure. I’ll forward the first three chapters after I edit them. Okay?” Edit them, hell. When she wrote them would be more like it. She hadn’t typed a word in six months. Simon’s excited voice filled her with guilt. He’d been patient, supportive and a good friend while she suffered through a terrible case of writers block and a nasty divorce. She hated lying to him. “It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever written.” Lies, more lies. “Give me a week and I’ll email you the rough draft.” What was she saying? No way would she be done in time. He raved, his excitement filling the phone. Oh man, did she feel guilty. Now she had to come up with something even if it was crap. “Listen, I’m going to bed. I’ll call you in a few days. Yes, I promise. No, I don’t need you to fly down here, but I appreciate it, Simon. I really do. Good night. Uh, huh. I’ll be fine. Bye, now.” Shelby hung up the phone and stood sipping her warm champagne. She grimaced at the rolled up sleeping bag that lay in the corner near the fireplace. She feared the hardwood was going to be as uncomfortable as it looked. With a heavy sigh, Shelby closed her eyes and breathed in the cool night air. The chilly weather felt feel familiar against her skin. A familiarity tugged at her heart and reminded her of Boston in the fall. Florida was a long way from Boston, in more ways than just seasonal. The air smelled sweet here. The fresh scent of winter’s flora and fauna teased her senses as she stood in the dark. Florida was alive. Even in December, the cicadas and frogs sang through the night.

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New Years Eve and she was alone. Well, technically, not quite New Year’s Eve yet. She glanced at her watch, ten more minutes until the official start of her new life. And three months to the day, since she’d been served with divorce papers. But that was then, this was now. New Years Eve, a new beginning. She had plans. Okay, a plan, but she didn’t want to think too much about that right now. Shelby walked to another window, one that faced the house next door. The trees were sparse on this side of the property and she could easily see into her neighbor’s house. It was similar in structure. Old and inviting. Unlike hers though, theirs was freshly painted and the grounds well manicured. She hadn’t met the family who lived there yet, but she would. This time there was no running away. She was here to stay no matter what. The long lines of cars parked in the circular driveway, spilling down the street. Looked like they were having a very big New Years Eve bash. Too bad she wasn’t invited. She pushed the depressed feeling away. She refused to feel sorry for herself. Didn’t she have a plan? She wouldn’t feel like this for long. No sir, tomorrow would be the first day of the new her. She turned her attention back to the party. Must be some guest list because there were luxurious cars. Mercedes, Porsche, and a few BMW’s. Sliding the window open, she could hear the deep throbbing of the music and the happy screams of the boisterous group. Sounds of laughter and voices flowed over her and Shelby took a sip of her champagne. Despite “the plan,” years of insecurities crept in. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to move all the way across the country to Jacksonville. Her four-year marriage to a Boston attorney ended unexpectedly when her husband decided he wanted something else in life. Namely, his yoga instructor. A skinny, big-breasted woman, named Susan. She had the brain of a twig and the body to match. The roars and screams of “Happy New Year’s” and then an off-key version of Auld Lang Syne drifted up to her window. “Happy New Year, Shelby,” she whispered as a tear slid down her cheek.

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God, she hated this. Hated crying the most. The pathetic “poor me” routine she’d perfected the last year was getting old, even for her. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Why? Why? Why? Well, no more. This was going to be her year. She’d moved into a new home, in one of the south’s most exciting cities and was making a fresh start. Tomorrow, the new Shelby would emerge. New adventures and excitement awaited her. She’d go on a diet, buy beautiful clothes, and break out of her sexual shell. Okay, maybe the sexual breakout was going a little too far. After all, she wasn’t the type to go out and just pick up any man. She was picky, selective. Oh, yeah, and look where that got me. What I need is to be less selective! Okay then, sexually less picky, it was! Mostly she was determined to make her writers block disappear. Hell, she’d gotten rid of the rat bastard husband who’d been cheating on her. In the morning, she’d try and make damn sure her career didn’t go the way of her marriage. She knew she’d write again, she just had to find the right incentive. Sipping more champagne in a pathetic nod to the holiday, Shelby watched through her neighbor’s window, mesmerized by the huge Christmas tree inside the house. Guests moved in and out of the place and spilled over into the backyard, laughing and carrying on. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, especially one man in particular. He stepped in front of the window directly across from her and was talking animatedly as if telling a story. Tall, his black hair was on the longish side. He pulled part of it back in a ponytail and the rest hung loose almost to his shoulders. He was tan and extremely well built. The high cheekbones and full lips attracted her instantly. Who wouldn’t have been? Wow, he was hot! She chuckled when she realized that he looked a lot like the male cover model on her last book. He was enormous. Shelby could see his massive arms as they wrapped themselves around the waist of a reed thin blonde who’d walked into view of the window. Figures. Why couldn’t he be hanging all over a well-rounded girl like her?

56


The man’s head dipped and he kissed the woman’s neck, moving to her capture her lips. Large hands grasped her bottom, pulling her against his. They were locked in a very passionate embrace and Shelby’s cheeks grew warm. She felt a tingly feeling race from her belly to the juncture between her legs as she watched. This was turning her on! God, she was pathetic. She should look away, close the window, and crawl into her incredibly uncomfortable sleeping bag, and go to sleep. But she couldn’t. Her eyes were fixated on the couple. The man’s hands pulled the miniscule dress up and over her hips, sliding the hot pink thong down her thighs. His hand moved over the perfectly shaped globes of her bottom, trailing through the dark hair between her legs. Wow! Shelby fanned herself and took a fortifying gulp of bubbly. Oh my God! What was she doing? She couldn’t watch this. She was probably breaking a hundred laws! But damn, she didn’t want look away. An old familiar rush of arousal sifted through her veins. No, she had to watch. Well, they were fooling around in front of the open window where everyone could watch. New adventures and experiences were part of her “new me” plan, so why not? She wasn’t hurting anyone. The woman lifted her leg, giving him easier access to her pussy. He complied, his fingers moving in and out of her. Shelby’s stomach clenched in excitement. Removing one hand, he licked the wetness from his fingers. With a quick pull, the woman’s dress was up and over her head. He unzipped his jeans and eased them down his thighs. One long surge and he rammed his cock inside the woman. A slick coating of sweat covered her face. Oh, how she wished it were she. Shelby was sure she could hear the woman moan all the way across the yard. Hell, she’d be screaming her head off if it were her. In and out, he moved. Planting his face between her large breasts, he sucked and pulled on the woman’s nipples. She fisted his long dark hair. Shelby’s body was responding as if she were the one having sex with him. She was tempted to reach down and see how wet she was. Maybe run her fingers over her clit and pleasure herself. No, she couldn’t. That would be way too creepy.

57


Lifting her hand, she clutched the window sash, watching as his hips moved faster. He pounded at the woman. An expression of ecstasy glossed over his face, and Shelby knew he was about to come. Just then, his eyes opened and he looked right at her! Shock blazed across his face and Shelby jumped back from the window, sloshing her champagne everywhere. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Damn. Damn. Damn. Embarrassment washed over her. What had she just done? Racing downstairs, she grabbed a sponge and went back upstairs to clean up the spilled wine, calling herself every kind of fool. She peeked over the window sash but they were both gone. Shelby sat on the floor just below the window, wishing she were anywhere but there. Even Boston was looking better than where she was right now. Within minutes, a loud pounding filled the quiet of the house. Oh, this wasn’t going to be pretty. She glanced at her watch. Twelve-fifteen. There was little doubt of who was standing on her front porch. Stealing herself for the inevitable apology she needed to make, she moved toward the door. What if she didn’t answer? Maybe he’d think she was sleeping and go away? He pounded again. Her hopes died a quick death. Nope. Shelby opened the door hesitantly. Holy Hannah! He was much bigger up close. She was tall, but really, he was ridiculously tall. He stood at least six five. He was enormous and amazingly gorgeous. Except for a break in his nose, he could have been mistaken for a Greek God. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. The man cocked his head, raising an eyebrow at her perusal. Blushing furiously, a cold nervous sweat beaded across her upper lip. Broad shoulders tapered into a small waist. His legs were the size of, well, she didn’t know. He was the biggest man she’d ever seen before and the angriest if his scowl was anything to go by. Crossing his muscled arms, he stood like an unmovable statue. “Well,” he snapped.

58


Shelby knew she was staring but couldn’t help herself. He was perfect. She had been wrong earlier. None of her cover models looked this good. She blinked. “Well, what?” He cocked his head as if he were dealing with an idiot. “Seen enough?” She mentally slapped herself in the head. Cripes. This was unbelievable. As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, she was caught gawking like a star struck teenager. She winced. He moved his hands, settling them on his hips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing watching me through the window? Are you from the press?” As he stepped closer, the scent of expensive perfume and the musky scent of sex filled her senses. Crossing her arms, she was instantly annoyed and defensive. “What are you doing having sex in front of a window with no curtains? In a house that size, you couldn’t find a room? I’m sure if you ask, your host could probably get you one. And no, I’m not from the press. What does that mean anyway?” Shelby twirled the loose ends of her hair nervously. His eyebrows shot up. “Ahh, maybe you want to join us and watch the rest live and up close?” Her eyes widened in shock and distaste. “Ohhh, yuck! You’re a pig!” She tried to shut the door but his enormous hand prevented it. “That’s rich coming from the woman who just watched two strangers having sex. Did it for you, didn’t it, peeping Tomasina? Are you all excited? Did you get off too?” He stepped closer. “Get off my porch and go back to your emaciated plaything.” Shelby slammed the door in his face and prayed he wouldn’t tear it off at its hinges with his teeth. Incredibly, she heard laughter from the other side. It was probably the most embarrassing moment of her life, and he was laughing? What kind of nut job laughed at a situation like this? Men! Resting her back against the wall, she hoped he’d just go meander his way back to the party, drive home at the end of the night and never show his face in her vicinity again. What an incredible, breathtaking face and body he had!

59


Honestly, after watching the scene through the window, she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t be begging to be in his arms next. She’d seen him in action, and damn if she didn’t want some of that.

60


Chapter Two

The loud banging from downstairs reverberated painfully in her head. Way, way too much champagne. Shelby rolled over, searching for her lost pillow. Somehow, in the middle of the night, she’d wiggled herself right out of the sleeping bag and onto the dusty hardwood floor. Yuck. Another quick rap on the door had her sitting up and looking at her watch. God, it was barely seven in the morning! What thoughtless moron is banging on my door? Pushing her sleep-tousled hair away from her face, Shelby kicked aside the sleeping bag and stood. Whoever was pounding on her door could wait. She had to pee, a more pressing matter to be sure. Once that need was taken care of, she stomped down the stairs and flung the door open. On her step stood the hunk from the night before, looking well rested and refreshed. Damn him. “Oh, God. When is this nightmare going to end? What do you want?” she moaned, dropping her head and praying the throb would stop or she’d die at his feet. At this point, she didn’t care which. Yikes, was she even dressed? Glancing down, she noticed clothes. Clothes were good. Wrinkled, but presentable. Pushing the uncombed strands of hair from her face, she looked up and stared. If she had known it was him, she’d have showered, put on some perfume, slipped into the jeans that made her look thin. Hell, who was she kidding? She didn’t own any jeans like that. No way could she compete with his girl dujour from last night. Men like him always had them. Pretty, perfect, skinny, and perky. All things she wasn’t. 61


“Rough night?” “God, go away,” she pleaded. “Uh, huh.” His long dark hair hung loose, barely touching his shoulders. Shelby just stared helplessly into his blue eyes. They reminded her of the clear blue seas off the Cayman Islands. Paradise. “Didn’t make it home last night, I see?” She eyed the box and grocery bag he held in his hands. The box was gift wrapped in pretty, yellow paper and had a pale green bow on top. “Yeah, I did and now I’m back.” “Why?” “I brought you a present. You gonna let me in or not?” “Not.” When his left eyebrow rose slightly, she caved. “Oh, all right. I can’t image why you’d want to though, given last night’s, um - unfortunate event.” “Yeah, well, we’ll get to that later. Right now, you look as if you could use this.” He handed her the gift. “Open it.” Shelby turned and walked into the house, not bothering to check if her unwanted guest followed. On her way to the kitchen, the phone rang. She grabbed it and kept on walking. “What now?” she murmured. Probably Simon, she thought, making sure she a Ted Bundy wannabe didn’t get her. “Hello?” “Shelby. This is Martin.” “Oh, for the love of Pete.” She groaned loudly. Why was she surprised her morning was starting like this? She was hung over, the exhibitionist from next door was looming behind her, and her cheating ex-husband was calling. “What do you want Martin? Never mind. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Good-bye.” Shelby was about to hang up. “No, Wait. I just want to talk. Can we talk, please? I…,” he began to plead. “No, Martin. We cannot talk. Go find your little girlfriend and leave me alone.” She hung up the phone with a bang and turned to see her gorgeous visitor standing inches from her. 62


“Oh, God. Are you still here?” “Oh yeah. Who’s that? The ex?” She ignored him, though it was difficult given the size of his very muscular arms and shoulders. “Ex what? Husband, boyfriend?” She sighed and headed to the back of the house. “You’re not going to let it go are you?” “Highly doubtful,” he grinned. “Ex-husband, then.” The bright sunny yellow walls of the kitchen and hardwood floors greeted her. Since her furniture hadn’t arrived yet, there were no knick-knacks covering the windowsill or pots hanging from the pot rack she’d bought and hung yesterday. In the recent past, Shelby spent a lot of time in the kitchen thanks to her husband’s weird idea that wives should be gourmet cooks. Ex-husband. Remember, exhusband. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look around the empty room. “I’m going to guess and say last night was your first in the house, right?” “Uh, hmm. What gave it away?” Duh! He nodded to the box. “Go on. Open it. I think you need it.” Ripping the paper away, she discovered a new shiny state of the art coffee maker. Even in her current hung over condition, Shelby could appreciate the value of the gift. “Wow, I’ve seen this at Sharper Image.” “Here,” he said, handing her the grocery bag. Inside were two mugs, a bag of freshly ground coffee, sugar, cream, and bagels. A confused and suspicious expression crossed her face. “Why are you giving me this? And why are you being so nice?” “One, last night I noticed you didn’t have any furniture, therefore, I assumed no coffee maker. Two, I thought you looked like a coffee drinker, and three, I am, so welcome to the neighborhood.” “Thanks, but…” She stopped cold. Oh, no, no, no. The icy fingers of dread crawled over her. “What exactly do you mean, welcome to the neighborhood?” She gulped, praying the throb in her head would stop. 63


He chucked and Shelby stared. God, those perfect lips, movie star white teeth and smooth smile. She was behaving like an awestruck fan. Her pulse exploded and raced around her insides like wildfire. Hung over or not, she wanted him. “I mean, Sweetheart, I live next door. You going to make that coffee or just stand there holding the bag?” She covered her face with her hand, praying aloud, “Oh God, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m gonna have to relocate again.” Turning toward the sink, she muttered, “Maybe I can call the movers and tell them to turn around and go back to Boston.” For some reason, he found this funny and laughed even harder. “Woman, you crack me up.” “Glad I could provide you with morning entertainment. Remind me again why you’re here?” Turning, she washed out the new coffee pot while he put the cream in the refrigerator. Once the rich smell of Starbuck’s best filled the large kitchen, she turned to face him. “Christian LaCroix,” he said as he held his hand out. She felt the rough calluses against her palm. Tiny sparks of awareness tingled up her arm at the touch. His low seductive voice floated over her. She was beginning to love the sound. His eyes moved, taking in every detail, almost as if he was a starving man and she was breakfast. And wouldn’t she just love to gobble him up? Self-consciously, Shelby ran her hand over her bangs. God, why hadn’t she at least put on some makeup? “Shelby O’Neill,” she murmured. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She lifted her eyebrow at that comment and snorted. “Yeah, right.” She was mortified by her behavior last night and surprised by her body’s reaction to him. What had gotten in to her? She’d never behaved this way before. “No, really. About last night, I’m actually the one who owes you an apology. I shouldn’t have been, um, you know, in front of the window. You’re probably not going to believe this, but I’m a very private person. I hate scandal, despise the media and nosy people in general.” She had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “Huh”? “Never mind.” 64


She felt her face flush and knew her skin was red. Was he referring to her? Damn, she had been nosy last night. But who could blame her? If had been raining gold, she wouldn’t have turned away from that window. Was it her fault she secretly wanted it to be her? Wait a minute. That was the second time he mentioned the media. What was up? Glancing away, she said, “Can we please just forget it?” “Hell, no, we can’t forget it. I’m trying to apologize here.” “I’m sure your girlfriend would prefer if you just forgot it. I know I would. She’s probably as mortified as I am. Besides, it was my own fault.” “Nah, and Sheila’s not my girlfriend. At least, not for some time now. Last night was a ‘for old times sake’ kind of thing. You know what I mean?” Actually, she didn’t, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Wait a minute, no girlfriend? Hard to believe that this hunk didn’t have one or two, or ten, hanging around. He was the type women dreamed of, fantasized about, drooled over. Heck, hadn’t she spent all night dreaming about him? He’d make a fantastic hero for one of her books. Oh, the things she would make him do. A bolt of anticipation shot through her. Wait a minute. Wait just a minute! She was getting an idea here. A deliciously, naughty and wild idea - involving the semi-god standing in front of her. Mentally, she clapped her hands and jumped up and down. After all these months of writer’s block, of not being able to come up with one decent plot, she had an idea. And God, it was a great one. She had deadlines and contract obligations and she’d been unmoved or concerned about them for months. Since her husband delivered his, “I need someone more in tune with my needs,” speech, her writer’s block had been paralyzing, scaring, life altering. But now, hallelujah, she had an idea and was positively giddy. It was so incredibly simple. What if she used him, her babe-o-luscious neighbor as the hero in her new book? God, this was good. He’d never even have to know she was doing it. He acted interested in her. Why, she had no idea. Not that someone like him would ever be romantically interested in her anyway. Maybe they could at least be friends. Not nearly enough in her opinion, but if that’s all he was offering, she’d take it. Why not? 65


“Hello. You in there?” he asked waving his hand back in forth. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’m a little tired,” she said trying to cover her foray into fantasyland. “No wonder. I’m sure I kept you up all night.” He chuckled. “You have no idea,” she mumbled. “What was that?” “Never mind.” “Let’s jump back here. What did you mean when you said, it wasn’t your fault?” “Oh, um, well, you were standing in the window.” “Yeah, I was. Sorry. I’ll try and be more discreet next time. “Uh, yeah, sure. Next time.” There would be a next time? Her poor heart would never survive. “So, you’re new to Jacksonville, huh? Where you from originally?” “Uhh.” Her mind went blank. Could she talk him into being indiscreet? With her? “Was that a trick question? Are you on the lamb? Witness protection?” he teased. “Ha, funny. I’m from Boston.” “Really, a Yankee huh? Well, that ought to be good for a few laughs. So, how about I make all this up to you and take you out to dinner? A small token for embarrassing my pretty new neighbor. Come on, it’s the least I can do after what I subjected you to last night.” God, yes! Let’s leave now! “Why? Why on earth would you want to go out with me? I stood at the window watching you have sex for god’s sake!” “Well, there is that.” He was teasing her, being playful, but why? “You have seen me at my worst. Or, I guess my best, depends on how you look at it.” He chuckled. “Eeeoow, you’re not one of those creepy kind of guys who likes girls to watch, are you? Are you here to invite me over to watch more? That’s disgusting!” He laughed, his thick black hair falling forward. Tucking the shiny strands behind his ears, he said, “No, fraid not. But,” he paused. “On the other hand, you gotta admire a woman who’ll stand at her window and watch. Okay, yeah, I admit it. It was kind of a turn on once I thought about it.” 66


“You’re a little sick, you know that?” Shelby tried hard not to smile but couldn’t help herself. She knew he was teasing her and her body was reacting. God help her, she wanted him. “Sad, but true. You can’t tell me it didn’t do anything for you. I refuse to believe it. You wouldn’t have stayed there watching for as long as you did, if I hadn’t turned you on.” “No comment.” Christian laughed and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Okay, so we’re both a little twisted. What about dinner?” “Again, why? I’m not exactly your type. I saw the kind of girl you’re attracted to, stick-like and blonde. Neither of which I am.” Not for the first time in her life, Shelby wished she were a size two instead of a size ten. “Nope, you’re not, but that’s what appeals to me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a pretty big guy. You’re tall. I like that. And you’re not frail.” At her look of shock and mortification, he quickly backtracked. “No, no, no.” He held up a hand. “Damn, what I meant was, you’re not so skinny I’d break you if I wrapped my arms around you. You have curves. I like curves. What did they used to call it…statuesque.” Statuesque? Oh, nice. That’s just another name for chubby. “Uh, huh. You just met me. Despite my, statuesque appearance, you know nothing about me. I could be a lunatic. For god sakes, I watched you having sex. Doesn’t that weird you out?” “Look, for some unknown reason, I was attracted to you the second you opened the door last night. I feel it again today. I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that you slept in your clothes or look like you combed your hair with a pillow. I’m attracted to you, okay? Just go with it. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t go back to her. My date, last night, I mean. Last time I saw her, she was heading home.” He leaned against the counter next to her. “Come on, we can explore the quiet local attractions, or maybe fight the hoards of tourist’s downtown? I’ll even buy a few tacky souvenirs. But, if you’re not interested, just say so.” “I didn’t say that,” she admitted shyly. Oddly, she did feel better knowing he hadn’t gone back to his “friend.” 67


“Look, you don’t know a soul in town except me, right? I’m a great tour guide. Who knows Jacksonville better than a hometown boy?” “How do you know I don’t know anyone in town?” “Hmm, if you did, you’d have slept at their house instead of in your empty one. Right?” “Yeah, I guess so.” Now that she thought about it, he did fit her new dating criteria. She was, after all trying to be less choosey. Why not? She was through with love so there was no way she was going to actually fall for him. “Well?” He sipped his coffee and waited until her internal debate ended. Chewing the inside of her lip, she considered him. He was a perfect candidate for her new dating experience. No strings. She was clearly attracted to him, so he fit the bill for an uncomplicated sexual experience. What more could she want? Besides, she thought. She had a plot to flush out and she wanted him. No telling how long she’d have her new guinea pig, so using the time wisely was smart. She needed ideas, experiences, and a plan. Being with him first hand was one way to get them. He ran his finger down her cheek. “If I give you too much time to think it over, you’ll come to your senses and reject me. Then you’ll have to look at my poor rejected face every time you leave the house. May as well just say yes.” “Yes.” She answered so quickly; a confident grin crossed his face. “I’ll be by about seven. Wear a skirt, something loose.” “Why?” “So I can get my hands under it.” “What?!” she yelped, but felt her nipples bead with pleasure. A quiver of excitement surged through her, erupting into pure lust. He laughed, rinsing his coffee cup out in the sink. He set it on the counter and turned back to her. “Relax. I’m kidding. Just wanted to see if you were awake.” “Rest assured. I’m fully awake.” “Yeah, I can see that,” he said in a low sexy voice, his eyes trailing over her breasts. “See you at seven.”

68


Chapter Three

“Okay, try this. You’re gonna love it, I promise.” Christian broke off a piece of the fluffy, powdered sugar confection and held it to Shelby’s lips. She opened her mouth and he slid the pastry inside, tracing her coated lips with one of his fingers. Without thinking, she licked the sugar and his finger in the process, sucking the sweet taste from his skin. A searing streak of pleasure raced through her and she all but moaned. A quick intake of breath and little shiver told her all she needed to know too. He liked it. A lot. She’d certainly use that sexy move in one of her love scenes for sure. The entire night had gone like a play, well-rehearsed seduction scene. Right down to the expensive dinner and fine wine. The man knew his way through a seduction; she’d give him that. He had provided her so many ideas and moves, she’d be writing for weeks. She was in no hurry to race home to an empty house either. Not when she could be with the most gorgeous man, she’d ever known. Nope, if she was going home, she wanted it to be with him. Smiling, she silently thanked her New Year resolution. They sat outside of a small restaurant next to a beautiful fountain in the middle of the town square. It was the kind of place where all the “beautiful” people gathered to be seen. The night air was clear and mild. The sweater she wore over her dress kept her plenty warm but Christian sat close “Just in case you get chilly,” he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. January was quickly becoming her favorite month. “So? How was it?” He asked as he fed himself a piece. “You’re fabulous…I mean, it was fabulous.” Oh god, you idiot! That was smooth. “What was it called again?” 69


A knowing half-smile teased his mouth. “Dessert.” Suddenly, a flash of light temporarily blinded her. She covered her hand over her face and felt Christian clutch her tightly. A bear of a man in a black Budweiser t-shirt and a blue Panther’s hat yelled, “Hey Christian, you gonna take us to the super bowl next year, man?” He rushed to their table, shoving a small throwaway camera in her hands. “Hey, do you mind, lady? This guy’s the best defensive end the Jags have had in forever.” Christian turned to her and grimaced an apology. She gave him a confused look. “I’ll explain later,” he whispered in her ear. “Uh, okay?” Was he a local celebrity? More people seemed to notice him and began shouting questions or offering encouragement for next season. Ahh, defensive end. She got it! Football! He played football. Well, she thought slapping her head mentally. That would explain his size. The man was enormous. Holy Hannah, he played for the Florida Panthers!! She couldn’t believe it. She was out with a celebrity. Not that she wasn’t used to being around famous people, she was. Fans knew him by sight and that had to mean he was a big deal in football. A sport she knew nothing about. She was a noted author, and so were most of her friends. She’d even been on the New York Times bestseller list several times. But never had she associated with a real sports celebrity. “One quick one and then I gotta run,” Christian stated as he stood next to his fan. “Okay, sweetheart, go ahead.” Christian dwarfed him by a foot. “Thanks man. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. My friends are never going to believe it. Have a good night.” He grabbed the camera from Shelby’s hands and made a dash into the crowd. Christian sat back down and pulled her close. “I’m sorry about that. I guess I should have warned you. This happens all the time. I was hoping since it was after midnight, no diehard football fans would be around. Do you mind if we get out of here? Looks like a storm is coming in anyway.”

70


Just then, a bolt of lightening zagged across the darkness. She shook her head and picked up her purse. There was rumbling in the distance. She hoped the storm would hold off, mostly because she didn’t want the evening to end. Unfortunately, the heavens decided to open up as they rounded the corner of a quiet street. Christian grabbed her hand and pulled, running toward the poorly lit doorway of a closed business. Driving her backward in the darkened corner, he did his best to protect her from the chilly rain. He could hear other people running past them trying to stay dry, but he barely noticed. Her scent washed over him, fueling the need she created in him. All night long, she’d been like a siren, calling him, drugging him with her allure. The smell of her, the way she touched him when she wanted to emphasize her point. How he kept his hands to himself, he had no idea. He didn’t care if the whole damn city was watching. If he didn’t kiss her, he’d regret it the rest of the night. Tilting his head, he stared at her lovely face. Even in the shadows, he could see the bright green eyes flash with desire. She was like fire in his arms and his mouth took hers. She responded wildly, arching up toward him, begging for his touch. She trembled, caressing his neck. He wanted her, wanted everything from her. He’d die if she denied him. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he lifted so his erection fit perfectly against the sweet notch at the top of her legs. She moaned in pleasure and he rubbed himself back and forth. He wanted to reach between her legs and stroke more than his next breath. Did he dare? Would she pull away? Thunder and lighting raged beyond the doorway cocooning them in intimate warmth. A loud banging down the road reminded him of where they were. He looked around but the sensual haze that had clouded his mind made caring impossible. He caught a glimpse of her eager face and plundered her luscious mouth. As her arms came up, his tongue dueled with hers, sucking and nibbling.

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He felt her thighs clench against the rising desire and throbbing that he’d begun. “You’re going to have to open your legs, not close them if you want me to take care of that for you.” His hand slid up the outside of her leg, caressing her through her skirt. “Please,” she whispered, touching his lips. Pulling the shirt from his waistband, she stoked his smooth muscled bare skin. With just a touch, he was ready to come. When he did finally get inside her, he knew he’d probably explode within seconds. The sweet smell of rain teased his senses and temptation gnawed at him. He hesitated for a second. As she clutched him tighter, he slid his hand under her skirt and underneath the silk of her panties. He thrust a finger between the wet folds and soft downy hair, rubbing slow circles around her engorged clit. She cried out in pleasure, pushing, seeking more. His breathing was fast and urgent as he forced a finger inside her warm, drenched pussy, the muscles clenching and unclenching around him. God, he wanted inside. She whimpered into his mouth and he flicked the little nub until she began to moan wildly. As she neared completion, he took his mouth away from hers, but she pulled him back, demanding her pleasure. She screamed her release, body quivering and shuttering with need. He barely captured the erotic moans as she flew apart in his arms. “Christian. Christian,” she sobbed. He kissed her over and over. Desperately, he fought for a fraction of control. If he didn’t find it soon, he’d take her against the door and damn whoever saw them. With his luck, it’d be the press. The thought brought him back with a jolt. His unsatisfied body cried out. Man, he ached for her. He withdrew his finger from between her legs slowly, savoring the warm wet feel. He wanted to finish in a more private setting. His house maybe, but would she? His behavior probably scared her off for good. This was no way to treat a lady. He’d never acted this way, ever. Nor had he ever been so clouded by passion he was oblivious to his surroundings. Or, damn, the ramifications of almost making love to a woman in a public place. Then again, no woman had ever made him lose control like Shelby did. The cool air caused her to shiver in his arms. It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t said anything. Was she upset? God, what was he thinking mauling her in public? 72


Her head rested against his chest and he stroked her back gently, almost apologetically. He touched his lips to hers and held her tightly. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Are you kidding? Do you have any idea what you do to me? Right at this moment, I can barely keep from shoving my cock deep inside you.” She moaned in delight. So, she likes dirty talk, huh? He pushed his erection against her and she sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do.” “Come on. Let’s go to my place. I’m not nearly done with you.”

**** When she woke, Shelby was wrapped in cool sheets and the arms of a warm hard body. She was spent, satiated and had been pleasured in ways she’d only imagined before. Instinctively, she knew he’d been holding back. Maybe because it was their first time? Who knew, but she sensed he was wilder in bed, more earthly and adventurous. Christian. As experiences go, he was the best and couldn’t wait to see what else he had to offer once he let himself go. She turned her head to stare at him while he slept. His lashes were long, and dark stubble covered the lower part of his face. A few tiny scars marked his chin and forehead but only added to the tough guy image. His lips were parted as if he were waiting for her kiss. She was tempted to trace her tongue over his mouth, easing him awake. In sleep, his powerful body was relaxed. He overwhelmed her. Trembling, she lifted a hand to brush the long shiny strands of hair from his face. He was so unlike the sorry excuse for a man she’d left behind. Thank goodness. After a night with this man, Shelby would never again settle for amateurish fumbling again. Martin claimed to be unfulfilled sexually. He constantly harped on her about her appearance. It still irked her. For years, he’d chiseled away at her self-esteem, leaving her unable to write and feeling inadequate as a woman. How ironic that he turned out to be the one who was lacking. All those wasted hours fretting over her inability to please him.

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So what if she’d let her once blonde hair grow back to its natural dark brown color. It wasn’t as if she was an old woman letting the gray sprout and take hold. She had lovely dark hair. And so what if she’d put on twenty pounds. She wasn’t overweight. Well, not exactly. She had put on a few pounds. Big deal? Instead of her usual skinny one hundred and twenty pounds, she was now almost one-forty. For god sakes, she was fiveten, not five-two. His leaving was actually a godsend. Without Martin keeping her down, Shelby packed her laptop, her clothes and left everything else behind. She bought an SUV and began the long trek from Boston to Jacksonville spending the solitary time outlining all the steps she’d need to create a “new” her. The new her. The idea thrilled and scared her at the same time. She decided that she had to do two things as soon as possible. Have wild monkey sex with a hunk who made her breathless. She could check that one off. Two, get rid of the writers block. She was working on that one. Most importantly, “no serious commitments.” What she didn’t need was a man bringing her down and plunging her back into the depressed mood she’d been operating under for the last year. What did a man like Christian want from a slightly round, plain woman like her? Admittedly, the sex was phenomenal, at least from her perspective, but he could have any woman in the world. Why her? She knew what she wanted from him–good sex and inspiration to combat her writer’s block. Well, he had certainly inspired her. Already her fingers itched to get to her keyboard. Boy, did she have a plot in mind. She could barely wait to get to her computer and start recreating the scene she and Christian had just played out. He groaned and pulled her closer, nibbling the soft flesh under her ear. Goosebumps raced across her flesh. He must have felt her shiver because he asked, “You okay?” His rough, calloused hand rubbed up and down her bare arm warming her. As her stomach tightened with desire, his hand slid over her belly, stroking the sensitive skin of her belly, inching lower.

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“I am, yes,” she whispered. She gripped his hand, halting his exploration. Their lovemaking had been sensuous, wild, and erotic, but now she wanted more. She wanted to know him, for the sake of her book. At least, that’s what she told herself. “So, you’re a football star, huh?” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He rested his hand on her stomach, taking the hint. “Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far, but yeah, I play a little.” “Just a little, huh? I know nothing at all about the sport. Now baseball, there’s a sport.” He grabbed her playfully and rolled her beneath him, his long hair hanging like a curtain around them. “Baseball? What kind of woman are you? Baseball is for sissies.” “And I take it you’re not a sissy?” she teased. When his mouth began making its way down over her breast, sucking gently, she felt a flood of desire ignite between her legs. “If a sissy can make you melt like this, then yep, I can be a sissy. Seriously, I guess we haven’t gotten around to the details of our lives, have we?” “Nope. We seem to get sidetracked each time.” Shelby smiled and waggled her eyebrows. He chuckled and squeezed her tightly. “Well, since you’re a football novice, it’ll be my pleasure to introduce you to the sport.” There was a suggestive promise in his tone. He laved her taut nipples, pinching them between his teeth. Cupping the pale globe mounds tightly, he sucked deeply. Holy Hannah. Shelby smiled to herself and felt her palms become damp with expectation. “Since I’m a beginner, what’s the first thing I should know about football? Maybe you could tell me what position you play?” she asked breathlessly. She was shocked to discover that her voice had taken on a kittenish purr. Where had that come from? His hand entwined with hers, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. “Defensive end,” he whispered, leaning forward to brush the hair from her face. His tongue traced the gentle slope of her cheek, trailing across her neck to the sensitive spot below her ear.

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“Well, you have a tight end? Shouldn’t you play that position?” she murmured as his mouth moved to hers. Sliding her hands over his buttocks, she squeezed. He chuckled and sucked on her lower lip. “Very tight,” she teased. He tossed the covers over his head and said, “Why don’t you come under here and let me show you what a squeeze play is.” “Hey, even I know a squeeze play is baseball.” He laughed and began kissing his way down her abdomen.

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Chapter Four

The gentle sounds of dusk wafted through the open window, mixing with the rapid clicking of the computer keys. The repetitive sound echoed through the empty house, but Shelby didn’t notice. She was absorbed. Consumed by the story unfolding on the screen in front of her. Never, in any of her romance novels had a hero seemed so alive. He compelled her even as she was creating him, just as Christian had. Christian. He’d single handedly helped her get rid of her block. She giggled to herself. Matter of fact, he’d unblocked her several times last night and this morning. He was a woman’s fantasy come true and all hers to enjoy. A persistent tug of guilt pulled at her. Should she have told him that he featured as her hero? That her hero bore a remarkable resemblance to his tall perfectly sculpted body. Or that his long dark hair was the same wonderful mink brown? Their time together had been a whirlwind of fabulous sex and erotic temptations. There hadn’t been a good opportunity to share any real personal history or specifics anyway. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. He didn’t even know what she did for a living, but tomorrow she’d tell him. Explain everything and hoped he understood. Actually, now that she thought about it, there hadn’t been much conversation at all. Just lots of sex. Great sex. Phenomenal sex. She nibbled on her lower lip wondering how he’d feel if he found out, she was writing about him in her book. He had a clear disdain for the press. Would he be angry or flattered? She didn’t know him well enough to know but now that she thought about it, it might be better if he never found out. Besides, men didn’t read romance novels. 77


Shelby continued writing about last night. It was truly the most erotic experience she’d ever had. The ringing of the phone jolted her out of the scene she was writing. Her heart was pounding and she was wet with excitement. Even writing about Christian got her all worked up. “Hello?” she answered distractedly. “Now there’s my favorite author. How are ya doing, honey?” “I’m doing well, very well in fact, Simon. Are you calling to check on me, or the book?” “Why you, of course. What else?” “Uh huh.” She knew him well enough to recognize his interest in her efforts. Especially this one, he’s been patient during the long wait. “Okay, I’m dying to know. How’s the book coming?” “Great. I’m right in the middle of a scene right now.” “Fantastic. I can’t wait to read it. It’s been a long time in coming, Shelby. I guess the move was a good idea after all.” “Well, that and a few other things,” she murmured. “A few, what things? You met a man, didn’t you?! I can’t believe it. I distinctly remember you swearing off men for life.” “Yeah, well, it’s not love, its just sex. Nothing more. It’s just my incredible good fortune that he’s a perfect hero.” “More. Tell me more.” “God, Simon, he’s perfect. He’s phenomenal, pretty to look at, and a real man’s man. Ya know? I couldn’t have asked for a better model for my hero.” Simon was practically salivating. “Shelby, I’m extremely excited. When do I get to see the first three chapters?” “I’ll send them out tomorrow.” “It’s going that well?” “You have no idea.” “I guess not. So, tell me. Are you falling for this guy? You sound like a woman in love.”

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“Nope, only lust this time around. No love for this girl. Uh uh. No way, no how.” Simon’s skepticism was clear. “Okay, I’m sure you know what you’re doing.?” “Of course. Don’t worry.” “It’s my job to worry, sweetie. Does this guy know he’s going to be the star in the famous Shelby O’Neill’s latest New York bestseller?” Guilt. “Um, not really. Honestly, he’s not the type to read a romance. For goodness sake, he plays football.” Simon laughed. “You’re kidding? He’s a professional football player? Which one?” Simon loved football, college, professional, international, he loved it all. No doubt he’d heard of him. “Christian LaCroix.” “Oh, God, Shelby. He’s one of the best NFL players in the league.” “So, I hear and he’s as nice as he is good.” “Well, good luck with that sweetie. I’ve seen this guy on television. He’s definitely hero material.” After finishing her phone call, Shelby sat, her thoughts wandering to Christian and her failed marriage. Would she be able to keep him firmly in the “no commitment” category? With all her being, she hoped so. She needed him to be nothing more than a plaything. For her hearts sake. A man like him could destroy a woman. Sitting in the corner on the floor in her living room, Shelby stretched her aching back. She rubbed the curve of her neck wishing that Christian’s large hands were doing the job instead. She hated to stop her muse and was resentful of her aching body. She needed to write. Write about him, his touch, his taste, everything. Her furniture hadn’t arrived as planned this afternoon either. There she sat, computer in her lap, roughing it on the wooden floor of an empty room. The cool January air caused chill bumps on her bare arms. She wasn’t willing to put down the computer even for the minute it would take her to grab a sweater. Nope, for hours, she’d typed like a mad woman, the words pouring from her. She was truly inspired. The sound of the door opening startled her. She saved her work and rose slowly from her cramped position, stretching as she stood. 79


Goodness, this was ridiculous. She should have borrowed a chair from her hunky next-door neighbor. Hopefully, tomorrow her furniture would arrive, most importantly, her desk. Sitting on the floor was killing her. “Hey!” came the shout from across the house. Footsteps on the hardwood echoing throughout the empty house. She recognized that deep, sexy voice. He was back, just as he promised. A small herd of butterflies fluttered madly in her belly and her palms got sweaty. “Hey, yourself,” she offered with a smile as she walked through the library to the foyer. He flicked the light switch on the wall and the small chandelier blazed brightly. He watched her intently; lust flickering in his eyes as she drew closer. “You’re not dressed,” he stated, looking disappointed. She stared at her wrinkled jeans and faded Red Sox sweatshirt. “I beg to differ.” Walking toward her, he pulled her into his arms for a slow kiss. “I’d like to see you beg.” She pinched his rear and laughed. It was a good feeling. “It’ll take a bigger man than you to make me beg,” she teased. Christian rubbed his erection against her belly. “Ya think so?” She hugged him tight. Too bad, she’d decided no long term, serious relationships for her. No sir, men were nothing but trouble. Pleasurable trouble, but trouble nonetheless. Even knowing he wasn’t hers forever; she still blessed her good New Year’s fortune. Who knew she’d be standing in the arms of a man too good to be true. Thank God she’d been standing at her window on New Year’s Eve with a bad case of the blues. It was truly a night of new beginnings. “Yeah, I think so,” she bantered. “Are you daring me to make you beg? She tilted her head and gave him a sultry smile. “Don’t you know that Southern men rarely back down from a dare?” “Is that so? What are you gonna do about it?”

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Christian’s eyes narrowed and a devilish look crept into his dark blue eyes. Oh, she was so in trouble now. He looked like a man with a mission. “Well darlin', why don’t you go on up, put on a fancy dress and leave the rest up to me? I’ll have you begging in no time.”

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Chapter Five

The low wail of the saxophone filled Shelby’s body, causing goose bumps to race across her flesh. The lonely sound pierced her soul ripping emotion from her. The music pulled her in and captured her. The throb of the bass pounded in time with her pulse and she ached to be out on the floor with the hundred or so other people. Well, later maybe. Right now, she was happy to be where she was. Closing her eyes, she let each note of music wash over her, as she stood enveloped in Christian’s arms. They’d been in The Blue Note, a club right outside the city, for less than an hour and already she was a jazz fan for life. Standing against the wall in the dimly lit room, they were hidden by the shadows. His arm was wrapped around her waist tightly, holding her close. He’d told her to wear a dress and that’s exactly what she’d done. She’d worn a dress that had her sister insisted she buy. Frankly, she hadn’t the nerve to put it on, let alone wear it in public until tonight. The short, flirty, silk skirt and tightly beaded bodice hugged her body like a glove. Shelby liked to call it her “happy homemaker meets happy hooker dress.” The black stilettos she’d worn with it, added to her height so her head rested perfectly against Christian’s shoulder. The air in the club was cool, but not cool enough to quench the heat climbing her body at his touch. As they moved gently to the music, the hard bulge between Christian’s thighs grew and teased her. His cock nudged her bottom playfully. Tender nipples beaded against the fabric of her dress. She shivered and his arm tightened, pushing her breasts dangerously close to spilling over the top of her bodice.

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She almost brought her hands up, shielding them just in case, but then heard his murmur of appreciation. He growled in her ear, “You have beautiful breasts, baby.” He traced the shapely pale globes, dipping inside to caress the erect nubs. “What are you doing?” she asked, mortified that he’d fondle her in public, but aroused by his audacity. “Someone will see.” His laugh tickled her ear. God, he was bold. Did she dare let him continue? Yes. More than anything, she wanted him to continue. He whispered in her ear. “I can’t wait to roll your pale pink nipples between my lips and suck till you scream. I want to spread your thighs open and slide my tongue over your clit till you come.” His hand moved lower on her stomach. Almost, but not quiet reaching the ache between her legs. God, she loved when he talked like this. His deep throaty descriptions almost did her in and her body begged for more. “On second thought, I want to slip my hand under your dress and finger your wet pussy until you come. Think I can do it?” Breathlessly, she answered, “I don’t know. Probably. You can’t. Not here.” “Let’s find out.” His comment brought her out of her sexual haze. “What? Now?” “Why not?” “Are you kidding? You want to fondle me in public? Couldn’t we be arrested for that?” He chuckled in her ear. “Okay little miss innocent, you wanna dance instead?” he offered. Turning her head, she trailed her mouth across his neck, sucking and lapping at his skin. A slight taste of salt tickled her tongue and invited exploration. She felt his erection pressing against her bottom in all his glory. If they’d have been naked, he could have slipped right inside her. Wiggling a little in pleasure, she enjoyed the power she claimed over his body. “Um, maybe in a few.” Christian groaned, grabbed her hand, and pulled her in his wake. 83


“What are you doing and where are we going?” she asked, though she had a good idea. “What if we get caught?” “Trust me. You’ll enjoy it.” In no time, they were wedged in the darkest part of the club, standing in the shadows. Patrons of the club moved and danced in front of them but she doubted they could see much. Christian placed her in front of him, facing the crowd, her back pressed against his chest. Just the thought of being caught was enough to send her excitement level shooting through the roof. Shelby felt him caress her leg. Trailing his fingers up the outside of her thigh, he slipped them underneath the loose skirt. When he hooked a finger in her thong, she looked back at him in question. “What are you doing? Someone’s going to see,” she said in a breathless voice. “There are like a billion people in here.” His breath teased her ear. “No one is going to see anything. It’s too damn dark in here for one and your skirt will cover my hand. Just relax and enjoy the experience. Bet you’ve never done anything like this in your straight laced life, have you?” “Well…no, I haven’t.” “Then it looks like I’ll expand your education in another area besides football,” he sucked on her lobe and slowly pushed the panties down her thighs. Without much effort, they slid to the floor and pooled at her ankles. “Bend over, pick 'em up, and hand them to me, okay?” Shelby nodded and bent to gather the small triangle of silk. She felt him raise the back of her skirt up to her waist while the front remained in place. Air filled her lungs in one quick breath at the erotic feel of his jeans against her bare bottom. Only the knowledge that the front of her skirt was still covering key parts of her body kept her from pulling away from her lover. Gingerly stepping out of the fabric, she handed him the fragile silk. “Thanks.” “My pleasure.” “Oh Baby, I hope so. Now don’t move or we could have a situation here.” “What?” she yelped. 84


He lifted her hands over her head and placed them around his neck. The rumble of laughter filled her ears. “Just hold perfectly still.” Christian’s hands traveled under the layers of fabric, touching her thighs. He teased his way to the downy tuft of hair that grew between her legs and the wetness that coated her channel spread. Slowly, practiced fingers slid between the sensitive folds, spreading them wide apart for attention. She felt the cool air against her flesh and her pussy clenched in pleasure. A couple, staggered passed them, walking alarmingly close to their hiding place. Her heart jumped and fear began to pound through her veins. She tried to pull away, but his arms kept her close. What if they were caught? Worse, what if he made her fall apart, scream her release and embarrass them both? Well, on second thought, would that really be a bad thing? Fortunately, for her peace of mind and the wonderful sensations running over her skin, the couple stumbled past none the wiser. Waves of passion bombarded her as Christian kissed the bare skin on her shoulder. Softly, slowly, his fingertips moved over her swollen folds, circling her clit. She thrust her head back against his shoulder running her fingers through the long strands of his hair. The sensations were driving her to the brink of madness. He caught her moan with his mouth as it slid past her parted lips. Lust unlike she’d ever felt shook her to the foundation and suddenly liked the idea that someone might catch them. She felt naughty, powerful. Sensing a new level of excitement, Christian traced his tongue over her lips, capturing them roughly beneath his. His finger began rubbing and pulling at her sensitive bud and she cried out. Suddenly, it was hard to care who saw them. Moving over the swollen folds to the waiting wetness, he slid two fingers inside her. She squirmed as someone appeared and walked passed them but pumped her hips anyway. God, she didn’t want the sensations to stop. She needed him. Needed this thing he did to her body.

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“Relax, baby. If you don’t move, no one will see a thing. I promise,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled this hand away. “I’m just going to rub your pussy until you cum in my arms. Then we’ll try for round two.” She whimpered at the loss and he shoved three fingers back inside stretching her wide. Her body tightened anxiously, release just a stroke away. Her hips pumped slightly against him. “Don’t move,” he reminded her. He withdrew; spreading the wetness over her clit, then began pinching and rubbing at the swollen gem. “Cum,” he ordered, licking a path down her neck. “When we get home, I want to taste your cunt and lick your pussy until you scream my name. That’s for later. Right now, I want to finger fuck you until I feel the tremors of your orgasm.” Shelby could barely respond. He flicked the engorged nub back and forth and had her begging for release. “Faster,” she pleaded. Instead, his thumb pressed against her clit sending her shooting toward the stars and heaven. The perfect spot. Waves upon waves of pleasure washed over her as he continued to stroke her. They stood locked in the intimate embrace, his hand shoved between her legs while the other stroked the goose bumps covering her arm. She giggled and shied away from his hand. “Stop. That tickles now.” He chuckled, withdrawing his fingers slowly from her body. With a quick squeeze and a turn, her back was against the wall and his body was shielding them from the crowd. Tender lips touched hers. There was more to this kiss. She felt it, knew instinctively that she was more than a quick tumble for an athlete in the off-season. The loud wailing trumpet and Christian’s lips lead her down a path of dark pleasure. Despite her best attempts, he’d slipped past her New Year’s resolution not to get emotional involved with a man. He touched her heart. Just as Christian leaned in for another kiss, a sharp blinding light flashed in her eyes. Not again! “Fuck!” Christian yelled, shielding her head in his chest. “Nice one, LaCroix!” came the mystery voice. “Who’s the chick dujour?” 86


“Fuck off, Mathers. And give me that camera.” Christian grabbed at the photographers equipment and slammed it to the ground, shattering into pieces. “You’re gonna regret that LaCroix. I mean it! You’re gonna fucking pay.” Christian just grinned. “So, sue me. I’ve got a hundred witnesses that’ll say you assaulted us. Isn’t that right, honey?” Shelby tried to lift her head but Christian didn’t release his hold so she mumbled her support against the fabric of his t-shirt. Thanks to his quick thinking, no one would know who she was. “Doesn’t really matter, LaCroix. I already have all I need. You’re gonna be on the front page of every rag in the country by this time tomorrow,” he taunted. Shelby lifted her head and watched as the man held a small digital camera just out of reach and snapped another picture. This time of her face too. Mathers raced through the dance floor and out the door. “Son of a…God damned…fucking bitch!” he roared. If she weren’t so stunned by what just happened, Shelby would have been impressed by his extensive swearing abilities and the sheer raw anger. “Fuck! I can’t believe I let this happen. I’m sorry, honey. I’m afraid were going to be tomorrow’s trash news.” “Do you think he saw us doing…you know?” she asked shyly. She was worried that more than just their faces would be in the newspaper. He pulled her close rubbing the chill that invaded her body. “No, there wasn’t anyway he could have seen anything. Even if he had, it would have been of us kissing. Besides, we were in a dark corner. We would’ve noticed the flash and I broke the camera.” “Okay. I guess I’m kind of confused. You’re a professional athlete. Why would having your picture taken upset you? It happens a lot doesn’t it?” He slung his arm around her shoulder and steered her toward the front door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here so we can talk.” They pushed their way through the crowd, a handful of dancers yelling out Christian’s name. He waved and kept walking. As they left the club, the fresh January air slid over her skin and soothed the heat created by the man next to her. Walking silently down the sidewalk, Shelby watched him 87


out of the corner of her eye. If the scowl on his face was anything to go by, the incident clearly pissed him off.

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Chapter Six

Christian pulled his SUV in front of Shelby’s house and turned off the engine. Staring at the darkened house, he muttered, “fuck this,” restarted the engine, and backed out of the driveway. “What are you doing?” “We’re going to my house. You still don’t have furniture and I’m sure as hell not letting you sleep on the floor. Neither am I. Besides, I want you with me where I can get my hands on you.” Shelby pondered his answer. A little arrogant of him to make decisions for her, but it was also kind of sexy. Like he needed her or something. Of course, she’d much rather be lying with him in his soft king size bed with him. “You have a problem with that?” “Nope, not at all but I’m going to need a few things.” He breathed a sigh of relief. For a second he thought he came on too strong and scared her off. “No you don’t. I have an extra toothbrush and you won’t need any pajamas. Anything else?” He picked up her hand and kissed her palm softly. “I guess that covers it nicely.” He didn’t know what it was about this woman. Why she drove him to uncharacteristic behavior but she tangled him up inside. Hell yes, he did. She was warm, giving and didn’t seem to care what he did for a living. Apart from their conversation last night, she hadn’t asked another question about his football career. Didn’t seem to care, actually. If she was putting on a show, he was fooled. Wouldn’t be the first time though. “Come on. Since we didn’t get to enjoy our evening as planned, I’m going to improvise. Ever done a body shot? 89


“Body what?” “That answers that question. Baby, do I have a surprise for you.”

**** They lay naked on his bed, candles burning around the room creating intricate shadows on the walls. He wasn’t usually the kind of guy that lit the sweet smelling things but he wanted to give Shelby a little romance. Soft jazz music filled the room from unseen speakers. He appreciated the mood it created. So far, their relationship had been fast and furious. She deserved a little seduction and he was just the man for the job. Christian pulled the dark sheet away from her naked body, exposing her breasts. The beautiful milky globes fit perfectly in the palms of his hands. Bending his head, he lapped at a pretty, pink areola gently watching it darken and bead. She caught her breath in pleasure, her head falling backward. He didn’t know what was more seductive, her long dark hair lying against his white sheets or her breathless anticipation for his touch. “So, tell me what a body shot is,” she asked distractedly, trailing her hand over his abdomen. “A body shot,” he said, reaching for the bottle of tequila that sat on a tray next to the bed, “is about seduction.” “So are you,” she whispered playfully. He smiled, poured the clear liquid in the small glass. Picking up a lime, he turned to her. “Open your pretty little mouth,” he asked. “I want you to hold the lime between your teeth like this.” Placing the fruit against her lips, she bit gently. “Perfect.” Lapping at the notch between her neck and shoulder, he wet the area then ran his tongue along her collarbone simply for pleasure. She moaned softly. Taking a small glass bottle, he shook salt over her wet skin. She watched intently, he knew her body was moist and ready for what he had in store for it. Christian picked up the shot of tequila, tossed it back and bent slowly to lick the salt from her skin. Each lick caused her breath to catch in her throat. Staring into her eyes, he leaned in to nibble at the lime between her lips. The tart juices assaulted his senses. Finally, he took the slice of fruit from her with his teeth. 90


She watched in fascination as he ate the pulp. Her fingers tangle in the hair on his chest, caressing his skin. Excitement and anticipation raced across her face. “Where did you learn that? I want to try,” she said, reaching for the tequila. He captured her hand, “I’m not done yet. One more for me.” He ripped the sheet completely back and away from her body, running a hand along the inside of her thigh. Spreading her legs wide, Christian rolled between them and sucked at the tender skin on her belly. “What are you doing?” she whispered. Her hands began running through his hair absently, twirling the strands between her fingers. He doubted she even knew she was doing it. “Just watch.” He placed the lime in her mouth again and refilled the glass. Lowering his head, he kissed the soft tuft of brown hair inhaling the sweet, flowery smell. Like summer flowers, he thought. God, did he burn for her. Gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over her clit, Christian gave the little nub his full attention. Nothing less than full arousal would suit him. She panted slightly and lifted her hips in response. Spreading the dewy folds, he drizzled tequila all over her pussy. The liquid slid down her cleft and between the cheeks of her ass. She gasped at the sensation and he smiled. “That’s it, baby. I gonna make you cum, but first…” He flicked the swollen pebble with his tongue, sucking the liquor and her juices. The strong burn of the alcohol stung his lips but he loved it. She bent her head and he ripped the lime from her mouth. Spreading her folds wider, he rubbed the lime over her until he felt the sweet tension build in her body. Shelby cried out and lifted her hips for more. He was glad to give it to her and slid two fingers inside her wet sheath. “Please,” she begged. Moving his tongue quickly up and down, she screamed her release bucking against his face. “I want to fuck you, now!” he declared.

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Christian moved up her body, flipped her on her hands and knees. Fisting his cock, he ran the tip over her ass spreading the pre-cum that had escaped. Finally rimming the entrance of her pussy, he slid home with a groan. A thousand tiny explosions danced behind his closed eyes and a feathering sensation tickled his balls. God, he couldn’t get enough of this woman. Minutes, maybe hours later, Shelby lay on top of her lover. His fingers trailing up and down her spine mindlessly. Her whole being sang with satisfaction. The passion between them still surprised her. Kissing his shoulder softly, she breathed the musky scent she’d come to associate with him nuzzling his neck. “You know,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand. He stared intently at her. “I don’t have any idea what you do for a living. Since I met you, I haven’t been able to think about anything but getting my hands on you. I’m sorry, baby.” She tensed. “That’s okay. I’ve kinda of felt the same way.” The soft strains of jazz filled the room. Christian continued to stroke her. “So, what do you do?” “Um, well, nothing very exciting?” “Come on,” he cajoled. “Spill it.” “I write, uh, I’m a romance novelist.” Silence, then laughter burst from his mouth. Quickly he flipped her over and underneath him. “You’re kidding?” Of all the responses, this wasn’t the one she was expecting. “No, why?” “You write those little girlie, touchy feely books? Are you actually published?” Okay, this was more like the response she was expecting. “Yes, I do. And yes, I am. You have a problem with that?” she asked, pinching his butt. Laughing, he swore he didn’t. “Then what’s so funny?” “I don’t know. I expected you to say something like investment banker, or lawyer. Not romance novelist.” Shelby punched his massively muscled arm playfully and he wrestled until he held her captive.

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Lively blue danced as an idea occurred to him. His good mood was infectious. “Hey, wait a minute! Any sex in those books?” She considered his gorgeous face for a second. “Of course. Why?” “Descriptive sex?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down. She laughed. “Sometimes.” “How descriptive?” “Very, very descriptive,” she teased, running her fingers over his chest. He groaned and kissed her neck. “Next time you come over can you bring one and read the sex scenes out loud?” Shelby laughed even harder. “No way.” “Why not?” She shook her head. “Come on. You write it, why can’t you read it to me?” His hangdog expression made her practically cry with delight. “You will. I know you will. I think it’s pretty damn cool.” “Well, it pays the bills,” she murmured, still chuckling at the response. Shelby thanked her lucky stars and tried to control her runaway heartbeat. She couldn’t believe he didn’t even consider that she might be writing about him in a book. Considering his opinion of journalists, she got off easily. “Must pay pretty well if you were able to buy the house next door.” “Yeah, and the generous settlement from my rotten ex-husband.” “Yeah, divorce is never good. Thank God, the man’s a fool and I’m damn glad he is.” Christian wrapped her tightly in his arms, kissing the top of her head. “I guess you’ve had the experience too?” “Yeah, about five years ago. Tried to take me to the cleaners. When that didn’t work, she sold me out to the press. Told some damn reporter every intimate detail our life together. Ever since, the press hasn’t left me alone.” A cold feeling of dread washed over her. She was doing the same thing. Except it was worse. She was the one writing about every sexual detail, every touch, kiss or word. That made her so much worse than his ex-wife. God, should she tell him? He took her nipple deeply and sucked. “How about another body shot?”

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Chapter Seven

Shelby sat on the balcony enjoying the sunrise and sipping her hot coffee. The light, barely over the water, already warmed her face. A perfect start to the day, or would have been if her lover were here to share it. The cool air made her glad she threw on her new sweatshirt before coming out. Compliments of Christian. Before he left three days ago, Christian pulled the soft thick sweatshirt over her head with a kiss. “Think of me while I’m gone. Better yet, be waiting for me when I get back. Preferably in bed. Naked.” He grinned as he jumped into his car and sped off to the airport. Three days ago and she hadn’t stopped thinking of him yet. How did he do it? She missed him. That sure wasn’t supposed to happen. No commitments, she decided. No emotions, sex only, she told herself. Well, apparently, she didn’t consider the effect Christian would have. He was stuck firmly in her mind and in her heart. Despite it being off-season, the world of the NFL football still turned. Christian had commitments and public appearances to make. That left her here, alone for the past few days. Shelby knew about contracts and commitments. Her own deadline was looming. Fortunately, with all that Christian had given her, the book would be done in a few weeks. In fact, she’d never written this fast before. Or better, she liked to think. Picking up the days old newspaper, she admired their picture in the society section again. She had to admit it was a good one. Taken from the side, Christian’s arm rested on the wall over her head as he leaned in for a kiss. Their faces were clearly recognizable. The photographer had done his homework and connected her face with her

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name. The caption read, “Jacksonville’s own LaCroix puts the moves on local romance novelist in area club.” What could she do? Part of her was proud to be seen with him and the other part of her was terrified what would happen when he found out about her deception. As the sun rose in the sky, Shelby finished the last of her coffee. Picking up her laptop, she quickly reread the last few chapters becoming absorbed in her hero’s attempts to seduce the heroine. A small smile played on her lips. Damn good, if she did say so herself. Good enough to email to Simon. For two seconds, she hesitated before pushing the send button. This book was too long in coming and going to well to stop now. It was too late to turn back. Maybe if she prayed hard enough…? Would anyone who read the book know who the hero was? She didn’t think so and it would be too late then. If she came clean, told Christian everything, would he understand? Maybe. Not. He’d dump your ass and toss you right out of his life and you know it. The guilt would go away, she hoped. No, she couldn’t tell him. No sense in telling him, really. It wasn’t as if they talked about commitment or anything. The ringing phone startled her. Pretty early for a phone call, unless it was Christian. A little pang thumped in her heart as she reached for the phone. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much missed him. There was no hope in it for them, but her feelings for him were hard to control. “Hello?” “Shelby?” With a loan groan of disappointment, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Martin. I thought I asked you the last time you called not to contact me again?” “Shel, I made a mistake,” he began. “Yes, Martin, you did and now you have to live with it.” Was he expecting sympathy? Did he think his ridiculous attempts to be nice would woo her? Make her forget his cheating? Boy, did he have another thing coming. “I want you back.” The pathetic whine caught her off guard. She was speechless. “What did you say?” 95


“I need you. I want you to come home. I can fix this. I know I can. Just give me the chance.” Oh the irony! She’d waited for this moment for months and now she didn’t care for the opportunity. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Not even for a movie deal would I come back to you. Ever.” “But, Shel…” “What happened to your yoga instructor?” Not that she really cared. It was for pure enjoyment that she was reveling the groveling, the begging. A small part of her wanted to hear more. “I don’t want her. I want you.” “Uh huh. She dumped you right?” She tried to imagine remorse plastered on his face, but just couldn’t do it. “How does it feel to want something and lose it, Martin?” Silence. “I guess I deserved that, I know...and more. I deserve more. Let me prove to you how sorry I am.” “Oh, as much as I love to see you want and not receive, I’m gonna have to pass on your little offer. Let me be very clear. I don’t want you, Martin. I don’t need you and I am certainly not ever going to take you back.” “You love me Shelby, you know you do. How about I fly down there. We can spend sometime together. Find the romance we lost and put things back together.” Oh, the gall of the man. Completely ignoring her requests or needs was just like him. “We’re not a puzzle to be put back together. Listen closely. I’ve met someone else and have all the romance I can handle right now, so stop calling me!” Slamming the phone back on the table gave her immense satisfaction. How she fooled herself into believing that she was in love with that moron for three years was mind-boggling. You didn’t know a man like Christian back then. That’s how. She smiled and started writing again.

**** Christian said to be waiting in bed and she was. Her bed. From the beginning of their relationship, he’d been in control. Initiating their sexual encounters, feeding her 96


needs and pushing her over the edge, over and over again. Well, this time she was taking charge and giving him a little surprise. According to the itinerary that he’d left her, his flight landed at four thirty. Considering the time to would take to claim his baggage and reach his car, he should be home soon. She was ready. A low throbbing arousal plagued her all day as she prepared for this evening. It was like constant foreplay. It never stopped. No doubt about it. She was swollen, wet, and ready for him. After she left a note on Christian’s front door inviting him over, she ran back home to shower and set the scene. Who better to set the stage then a writer? Wearing nothing but her brand new official Christina LaCroix football jersey, she waited at the window watching for him. She considered a teddy or a negligee, but she just wasn’t the type. Something told her that Christian would appreciate her nude body beneath his name and the number ninety-three. She loved the way the soft jersey brushed across her bare nipples. Stimulated and getting wetter by the minute, she could barely wait. A quick glance at her watch had her wondering when he would get home? Her insecurities kicked in. What if he wasn’t coming? Had changed his mind in three days and was just waiting for her to get a clue and move back to Boston. Her heart dropped at the thought. What if he really didn’t want her anymore and wasn’t going to come over? Devastating. That’s what it would be. Nah. She was being silly. His flight was probably was delayed A quick look around her bedroom confirmed everything was in place. The candles were burning and the sweet scent of vanilla drifted through the air. A chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses rested on the dresser. She walked from the window over to the unmade bed. Might as well get comfortable. Crawling on top of the duvet, she folded her hands across her stomach and waited. Her fingers practically itched to pleasure herself. The room was cast in shadows creating an intimate atmosphere and she fell completely under its spell. Romance, it was after all her specialty. Her body was wet with anticipation, hoping he’d be here soon. 97


Hell, if Christian didn’t get here quick she might take advantage of the setting and take matters into her own hands. Closing her eyes, she imagined him as her own hand slowly caressed her belly, slipping under the jersey to find bare skin. Reaching down between her legs, she ran her fingers lightly over the hair covering her excited flesh. She wanted to keep touching herself, so badly. Should she wait? Spreading her legs wider, she fingered her clit, rubbing slow round circles around the swollen nub. She moaned and used the other hand to spread her nether lips wide.

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Chapter Eight

“You startin’ without me, baby?” Her eyes flew open and quickly pulled her hands away from her body. Embarrassment flamed on her face. He was sorry she moved her hands from her body because watching her touch herself was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life. Christian leaned against the door jam, arms crossed. A small smile of pleasure covered his mouth. He hoped the huge bulge in his jeans told her just how much he loved seeing her this way. “Yes. No. How long have you been standing there?” she asked as she sat up. “Not nearly long enough. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight than you playing with your pussy.” She smiled shyly. “No way.” Running her hands nervously through her hair, she watched him through passionladen eyes. “Don’t stop. Let me watch you pleasure yourself for a while.” She didn’t move. “Come on love, spread your legs wider so I can get a better look.” Hesitantly, she lay back against the pillows, moving her legs open for his scrutiny. “Why don’t you come here?” “Nope. I think I’ll enjoy you this way for a while. Touch yourself.” “No. I can’t. It’s…” she stammered. “You’ve never masturbated in front of anyone before, have you?” He was so aroused that sweat beaded on his forehead. Praying for the control he knew wasn’t there, he waited. Would she do it for him? She shook her head and he said, “Okay. How about if I tell you, what I want you to do and you do it? Think you could handle that?” She nodded, a naughty smile playing at her mouth. 99


“Slid your hands down between your legs and spread those beautifully swollen lips.” Her hands moved over the soft skin, fingers spreading the dewy flesh wide for his perusal. “Do you know how much I love to run my tongue over you and taste the sweet juices of your cunt?” A soft moan escaped her mouth. She moved restlessly on the bed as his coarse words flowed over her. Though he doubted she’d admit it, she loved when he talked to her this way. Her body didn’t lie. “Now run your finger over your clit,” his husky, passion laden voice ordered. “That’s right, honey. Back and forth. Faster.” He couldn’t wait. He had to be inside her or cum while he stood in the doorway. He watched her closely. She was in her own little world and didn’t even notice that he shed his clothes. He placed one knee on the bed and lay between her legs. She moaned at the first touch of his tongue, thrusting her hips higher. She was wild, writhing on the bed. So out of control for him. Everyone women in his past paled in comparison to the beauty that lay before him. No, he was wrong, she wasn’t beautiful. She was much more. The smell of her skin after he made love to her, the way she caressed him until he fell asleep. Was it possible he was in love with her? He smiled as he inserted two fingers into her vagina, moving them in and out. A teaser for what was in store for her. “Be inside me. Now, Christian, please.” He grunted and moved quickly up the chenille-covered bed. His body covered hers. Shelby’s long shapely legs slid up and around his hips grasping him tightly. Just as she cupped his ass, he surged inside her. Only when he was buried deeply inside Shelby did he acknowledge his feelings. Yeah, hell yeah, I’m in love with her.

**** “By the way, great shirt.” “Like it? It’s my favorite.” “Don’t tell me you’re a fan?” “Sure am. Maybe I can get an autograph?” 100


He smiled, ran a hand over her breast, and said, “Where should I sign? Here?” Christian slid a hand under the jersey and squeezed her breast. “Here?” Another hand made its way to the apex of her thighs. She signed heavily. “Yes, both. Anywhere.” He withdrew his hands and pulled her to his body to snuggle. “Okay, promise.” “Hey, don’t let me stop you now? I wanna keep playing Fan and the Football Star.” He chuckled. “Nope, go dig out one of your books and read to me,” Christian suggested as they lay in the quiet aftermath. His hand stoked her back in small lazy circles. “Good God, no,” she said pretending to shudder. “Why not? I’m dying to hear your sexy voice read a sex scene.” He squeeze, tickling her. “Come on. Go get one.” “Nothing can compare to this...us...you know.” His face took on a serious, tender expression. “Yeah, I know.” Punching him in the arm, she giggled as he ran his knuckles up and down her ribs. Reluctantly, Shelby slipped out of bed, opened her closet, and dug around for a book. It was her last New York Times bestseller. “Okay, but you’re asking for it. If you laugh, I’m gonna pinch you. Hard.” “I won’t laugh, I swear.” At her skeptical look, he promised and made a crossing motion with his hand. “I swear it.” He pulled her into his arms bringing her back to his chest. Throwing the blankets over them, he snuggled her tightly. Shelby opened the cover and turned to the middle of the book. She began reading the most graphic of her love scenes and created a vivid picture of her hero and heroine. She didn’t know how much time went by before Christian said anything. Even through the sex scene, he was quiet. She could feel his arousal pushing against her back. Finally, “Shelby, that’s amazing. You can seriously write.” Chuckling, she turned her head and kissed the underside of his chin. “Of course I can write. They don’t put you on the New York Times Best Sellers list if you can’t.” “What? New York Best Seller, huh? No kidding. I’m impressed.”

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Shelby rolled her eyes. Most people didn’t know romance could even make it to a best sellers list. “So, you just make all this stuff up? It’s not autobiographical, is it?” He nuzzled her neck playfully. “’Cause if it is, let’s try that thing with the feather.” She laughed and turned in his arms. As she began to weave tiny kisses across his chest, he clutched her head and moaned. “Nope, its not, but I’m more than willing to try it out.” He groaned again. “Woman, I think I’m in heaven.” As she made her way down his body to nibble on the beautifully hard cock surrounded by course dark hair, she knew he meant it. His “oh Gods”, followed by “Jesus” convinced her.

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Chapter Nine

Shelby ran for the phone and picked it up on the fifth ring. “Hello?” she answered breathlessly. “Good morning. How is my favorite author this bright day?” Simon’s cheerful voice sang through the line. Shelby smiled. “Just fine. I take it you read the rough draft?” “Read it? My darling, I’m calling to let you know I loved it so much I had to come here in person to tell you just how much.” “What?” she asked surprised. Simon rarely left New York unless it was absolutely, positively necessary. “I’m right outside standing on your porch. And sweetie, you need some serious landscaping help. Open up and let me in.” She clicked off the phone and walked to the door. Before she could even turn the knob, Simon came flying through the opening, arms stretched wide. “I love it. I love it. I love it. We are so going to the bestsellers list again.” “I’m fine Simon, thanks for asking,” she chided. “Oh you silly girl. You must be wonderful if you’re writing again.” “I am,” she said with a smile. “Yeah, I really am.” He walked through the house, eyeing the old house. She hadn’t fully unpacked but it was becoming home already. “I like it. Somehow it suits you.” “Thanks. I think.” Simon crossed his arms, gave her a once over and asked, “So darling, tell me what has made you come alive again? I refuse to believe it’s all because of a move to the South.” 103


He gave a shutter. It was well known that Simon has little use for any city that wasn’t New York, unless it was London. “Your writing is alive, the descriptions powerful. And the sex! My God woman, the sex was superbly written. Unlike anything you’ve done before.” Shelby just smiled as if she had a little secret. You can say that again. “Oh, wait a minute. I know that smile. I want details!” Trying hard to hide her happiness, she wiped the look away. “Simon, I’m not saying a word.” “Well, sex with Martin certainly wasn’t worth talking about and we all know it. So, tell me all. I’m going to guess and say that we have him to thank for the outstanding book in my briefcase.” “Well, I…” A loud banging interrupted her sentence. She and Simon shared a look and she shrugged her shoulders. Christian was at a post-season team meeting at the stadium and wouldn’t be home for at least an hour so it couldn’t be him. Walking to the door, Simon trailed behind her. “Maybe it’s your hero.” “Nah, he won’t be back till later. Besides,” she said with a grin, “he doesn’t knock.” Shelby swung the door open. The very last person she expected to see standing in the waning sunlight was Martin. Simon peered past her; disappointment and annoyance clear in his tone. “Oh, it’s you Martin. What? Did they cancel your yoga class or something? Thought you’d pay a visit to Florida? “Martin. What in the hell are you doing here?” Shelby demanded. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.” He pushed past them. Shelby’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Well, come on it. Don’t wait for me to be polite,” she murmured. His familiar black suit looked crisp and unwrinkled as if he’d just dressed. Rarely, did he deviate from the boring tradition of a plain white dress shirt. Today, though he favored a dark blue one. Despite the uncharacteristic change, she was unmoved by his appearance.

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Had she never noticed that Martin’s hair was thinning and he had the beginnings of a comb over? Ooh. That gave her intense satisfaction. He was so vain she knew it must bother him. “Shelby.” He eyed her appraisingly. “Simon,” he uttered. Simon leaned against the wall watching her ex-husband. “Marty. How’s it going? Passing through? We were just on our way out. Things to do you know.” “I came to see Shelby.” Pushing his hands in his pockets, he stared at Simon almost willing him to leave. Simon shook his head. “No, way. I’m staying right here.” With an impatient sigh, she pushed her hair behind her ears and tapped her foot. “Martin, you’re wasting your time. I told you on the phone to stop calling me. You’re wasting your time and mine. Go back to Julie. She wants you, I don’t.” “But Shel...” he whined. She hated it when he did that. Grating and annoying, that’s what it was. Lucky for her she didn’t have to listen to it anymore. Nope, he was someone else’s problem now. “Take me back. I can make things right. Besides, think of your writer’s block. You know you haven’t written a word since this whole mess began. That alone is worth trying again, isn’t it?” She chuckled. Damn, the arrogance of the man. Patience wearing thin, Simon bolted from the wall and blurted, “Bloody hell, no she doesn’t need to come back to you and especially not for her writer’s block. Why you ask? Well, let me be the one to tell you. She doesn’t have writer’s block. Gone. Forever.” “Simon. Be quiet.” “What do you mean you’re block is gone? I don’t believe it,” he scoffed running a hand down the front of his suit. It was a telltale sign that Martin was uncomfortable. He always brushed at himself when things weren’t going his way. Again Simon and his grand proclamation, “Our very own little Shelby has met a new man. A hunk. A hottie. Someone completely different than you,” Simon said looking down his nose at Martin. “More importantly, a man instrumental in “unblocking” her if you know what I mean,” he snickered. 105


Martin stared at her as if she were a stranger. His gaze roving up and down her jean clad body. She wanted to laugh, so badly but knew it would just add fuel to the flame. She had to give him credit; Simon was creating his own inferno. “And she’s patterned her hero after him. How’s that make you feel Marty? You were always annoyed that Shelby wouldn’t put you in one of her books. Now, her new lover has a starring role.” Simon leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with satisfaction. “What? Is this true Shelby? Have you met someone and put him in your book?” “Yeah, Shelby. Is it true?” came the deep sexy voice she’d come to know and love. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No!! Turning, she tried to smile but failed miserably. From the expression on his face, he’d heard Simon’s statement. Her heart pounded and she felt light headed. Instantly she knew that she was about to loose everything that mattered to her and it wasn’t the stupid book. “Christian,” she said, walking up to give him a hug. His arms barely rose. She stepped away. “Having a party and forget to invite me?” he asked blandly. Thank God for Simon. He pushed away from the wall and walked to Christian, hand extended. “Hello. I’m Simon McCafferty, Shelby’s agent and dearest friend. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Christian LaCroix. Shelby’s lover and apparently the hero in her new book.” “You didn’t tell him? Oh that’s rich Shelby,” Martin taunted. Clearly, his attempts at winning her back were over. He was back to being the jerk ex-husband. “Oh shut up, Marty. Why don’t you crawl back to the hole you came from?” Simon snapped. “With pleasure,” he sneered. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it. She’s a large pain in the ass and not very good in bed.”

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Christian snatched out and grabbed Martin’s lapels, hoisting him off his feet. “She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s my pain in the ass. Don’t ever talk about her like that again. You hear me?” And with that, he let go of Martin’s suit and tossed him toward the door. Stumbled backward, he yelped, “Touch me again and I’ll sue!” “Oh, is that a threat? Go ahead and sue me. You wouldn’t be the first. Assuming I don’t beat the snot out of you right now.” Christian took a step closer, his tall figure looming over her ex-husband. With a squeal, Martin rushed out of the door. Turning to face them, she could see his look of hurt and confusion. It was etched clearly on his face permanently implanting itself on her heart. God, she hated hurting him. “I think I’ll excuse myself and make sure Martin moves along his merry way,” Simon stated as he moved past them and out the front door. Christian faced her, hands resting on his hips in a deceptively casual pose. “So, when were you going to tell me? The day it appeared on the shelves?” “No, it’s not like that. Christian…” “Have you been writing about me from the beginning? Did you specifically target me as your hero?” Shelby clutched his arm, “No, I didn’t specifically seek you out. I--yes, I have been writing about us, not you, us, from the beginning. Since New Year’s Eve night,” she admitted shamefully. Hanging her head, she knew she was in danger of loosing the most important thing in her life. “I had to.” Tears streamed down her face. “You had to?” He asked his face was a cold mask of indifference. “You don’t understand what’s it’s like to not be able to do write. I haven’t written a word in six months. Couldn’t write a word. Nothing. Then I met you and suddenly the story just flew from my fingers. You were my inspiration.” Shelby clutched the fabric of his shirt, silently imploring him to understand her dilemma. Her dark eyes wet with tears and sadness didn’t seem to move him. He stood like a rock giving her nothing and Shelby’s heart plummeted. She’d lost him.

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“Please Christian. Please believe me. I didn’t do it to hurt you or us. Part of me even thought you wouldn’t care.” “Wouldn’t care? You thought that I wouldn’t care if the woman I was fucking wrote about it in a book? After telling you how I felt about reporters, you thought I wouldn’t care?” he spat the words at her, condemning her. She deserved it. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think it through. I was so wrapped up in writing again I really failed to think about your feelings. If it counts for anything, I’m in love with you, you know,” she whispered tearfully. His face formed a tight smile. “Ya know, Shelby, the funny thing is, I would have probably gone along with being in your book if you’d have asked me. Why? Because I’m in love with you, too. But I guess your book means more to you than I do or you’d have clued me in on the big secret.” Christian pushed her aside, walking toward the door. He was leaving her. He couldn’t. “Christian. Please don’t go,” she begged. Turning, he stared at her. “See ya around, Shelby.” She flinched as the door slammed behind him. Sliding to the floor, she sobbed. For the first time in her life, she was utterly, truly in love. Instead of enjoying her new lover, living in the love that surrounded them, she was watching him leaver her forever. Why? Because of her own thoughtlessness. “Shelby, honey, are you alright?” Simon was sitting on the floor next to her, pushing the hair away from her tear-streaked face. She cried harder. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he pulled her close. “It’ll be alright. You can go talk to him. Make him understand.” She sniffled. “No, he’s right. I should’ve told him. Let him make his own choice on whether or not he wanted to be my hero. But I didn’t.” “Maybe he’ll come around?” “I don’t want him to come around, Simon,” she stated as she pushed out of his embrace. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she snatched Simon’s hankie from his pocket and blew her nose. “He’s right. I can’t let you have that book.”

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Shelby nearly laughed at Simon’s expression. His eyebrows were lost in his hairline with horrified shock. “Are you out of your mind?” She smiled sadly. “No, I’m not.” “But...” Shelby raised her hand. “I know what you’re going to say.” “Well, then. That makes this so much easier. You are out of your mind, woman. That is the best manuscript you’ve written in your entire career. Entire career. Not just better than the last book, your entire ten year career.” “I know and it’s all because of the man that just left me. A man I love more than anything.” “Shelby…” “No, Simon. You can’t have it. If I never wrote another word, I still wouldn’t let you have it.” Throwing himself beside her on the floor, they sat in silence. Simon rested his head against hers. “Jeez woman, what are you going to do now? We’ve got contractual deadlines, talk show spots, book signings - the list is endless. We’re obligated to do all of them. All based on that book.” She sighed deeply, sniffing one last time. “I know. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, but I got us in this mess and I’ll get us out.” “How about you just publish the damn thing? You’ve got one hell of a hero,” came a deep voice from the front door. Shelby and Simon both turned to look at Christian. While they’d been lamenting the loss of both their careers, he’d come back into the house, clearly overhearing everything. “How long have you been standing there?” “Not long enough. I’d like to have heard how you were going to get out of this one.” With a groan and a wince, Simon stood. “Okay, this time, I’m going upstairs to unpack.” “You do that,” Christian said.

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He watched her carefully as he knelt and took Simon’s spot next to her. Placing an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and kissed her temple. “I guess I forgive you.” “You do?” she whispered hopefully. “Yeah. I heard you tell Simon he couldn’t have the book and I knew you didn’t mean to hurt me.” “But I did hurt you, Christian and I’m really sorry. I don’t have to give it to him. I can write something else. I still have time.” “No, baby, this one can be ours.” She scrambled on his lap, resting her head on his broad shoulder. “Does this mean you forgive me?” “Yeah, looks like.” A mischievous smiled covered her face. “Then can I ask a favor?” “Uh, yeaaahhh…I guess.” “Will you be my cover model? Pose for me?” Laughter filled the room. “Hell no! I love you, Shelby, but I am not stripping down to my loins for a million women to stare at, even for you.” Shaking his head, he said, “No way, no how.” “Well, see.” Somehow, Shelby knew she’d convince him to do it. “Why don’t we go over to my house and you can try and talk me into it?” he suggested, his tongue tracing the gentle curves of her ear. “My powers of persuasion are phenomenal, you know. You don’t stand a chance.” “Try me.” She nipped at his lips, tasting him with her tongue. “Race you.” She jumped out of his lap and out the door before he could gather his wits. “You know, I run and chase people for a living, right?” Giggling, she teased over her shoulder, “Then you better hurry up.”

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Chapter Ten

“What are you thinking about so deeply, my love?” Shelby turned her head and saw Christian leaning against the door, his arms crossed. He was watching her. “I’m writing a scene in my head.” She’d been sitting at the computer for hours and was finishing up a love scene. Of course, it featured the two of them. He was, after all, the hero in all her books now. “Really? What kind of scene?” he asked as he moved to stand behind her chair. His strong hands began rubbing her shoulders, relieving the knots of tension. Her eyes closed in pleasure. “A shower scene,” she moaned, as his hands found a particularly tight spot in her neck. “Describe it to me.” Popping one eye open, she looked up at him. “Really?” He smiled and slid his hands to cup her breasts. “Really.” “I was imaging you sliding into the shower behind me. I can feel the cool skin of your chest against my back. Almost immediately, I want you deep inside me. So deep that I don’t know where you begin and I leave off. I can barely wait. I imagine you licking the moisture from my neck, as you push me forward. My forearms rest against the cool tiles while I wait impatiently for your touch. I moan as your muscular arm surrounds my waist, anchoring me to you firmly. I can’t get away, but I don’t want to go. I long for what's coming. My body is anxious, tense with anticipation and consumed by lust. Reaching down, you spread my swollen lips, pinching and flicking at my clit.”

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Christian’s pulled the hem of her shirt over her head, taking her bra with it. The cool air chilled her already beaded nipples. Turning her chair to face him, he knelt between her legs pulling her body toward his mouth. “Finish,” he demanded. “‘Please’, I beg and you lift my leg, slipping your engorged cock inside my tight wet pussy, inch by incredible inch, filling me so full, I want to scream. In and out, you ram inside of me until I can't take anymore. I reach down, run my fingers over the tight nub, and make myself come just as you do.” He gulped and rested his head against her chest. “That’s what I was thinking.” “Good God woman, I’m about ready to come right here in my jeans. Damn! I love the way your mind works. If I hadn’t already married you, this would be reason enough,” he teased. His hard, calloused hand slid between her thighs rubbing firmly against her. “Gimme a chance to make your fantasy come true.” “You already have,” she whispered as Christian plucked her the chair and strode to the shower. There were pleasurable advantages to having her very own hero.

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About the Author

Tierney is a Yankee living in the Deep South. Thank goodness for direct flights to Boston! When she’s not working for the United States Navy, she can be found at home with her family or writing like a mad woman. A world traveler, Tierney searches exotic locations for new story ideas and incredible experiences.

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The Ballet

By Melissa Glisan

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Dedication

For Boyce Watkins…come home safely.

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Act One

New Years Eve, 2003 He hated spectacles, and New Years Eve balls were nothing but. Ryan Moran was twenty-three going on fifty. Six years in the military visiting every hellhole his country could find to drag him through had left its mark. He felt old beyond his years, beyond the allude to sophistication spilling across the wood and marble floor with near manic abandon. There were two years left on his contract with the Army and tomorrow he was shipping out. Mocking his soft spot for his brother, Ryan wondered over how he was spending his last night of freedom. Standing with Brad, who would never understand that at this moment, Ryan was actually longing for another unpronounceable sweltering warzone, complete with hot skies and lonely nights. Anything was better than the torture of being in a room filled with loud, overbright fakes trying to out-do each other in hopes of finding an anonymous face to take home and ring in the New Year with a “bang.” Literally and figuratively, he sneered as a slim, razor-edged uniform package of man-imposed perfection sauntered past. From her elegant nose, to high, full breasts, he calculated, she was utterly recyclable; more silicone than a computer. The room roared to life as another pulsing disco-techno beat blasted to life from speakers cannily hidden around the room; a song completely out of place in the opulent room done in shades of cream, beige and gold-leaf. Silk damask decorated the walls and shivered lightly under the auditory onslaught. All around Ryan, a sea of faces feigned age, trying at once to be mature and untouched. He was willing to bet the wealth of parade medals weighing heavily against his heart, that no more than two or three of the twirling youths knew the true forces that could break a man, defeat a woman. Those he could pick out, kindred spirits with eyes 116


like cigarette burns, tired smudges under those dead orbs as they streamed past seeking a distraction from their misery in booze, drugs or the arms of a stranger. Turning, Ryan gazed in bemusement at another group. Artificially colored heads bent together forming a panoply of seething glints to make any drug-induced dream seem tame by comparison. With sudden raucous glee they all leaned outward laughing, reminding him of parrots whose beauty they aped in their blues, reds and greens. Shrill hilarity vibrated on their lips as sly glances slid from under kohl-lined lids. The group took wing and scattered to infiltrate the rest of the room with cutting innuendo and vicious slights. Each verbal barb delivered with talon-tipped caresses on victims shoulders. Ryan almost laughed, his uncle had been into the punk movement as a teen, his tales of the 1980s bore no resemblance to the nouveau clique element now in play. Inevitably, Ryan’s eye was drawn to a silent beauty sitting near a small table across the room. Downy dark brown hair that caught the light, bent and twisted it around each silky fiber revealing hidden strands of sunshine and fire captured and released indoors as if for his pleasure. Ryan’s heart swelled as he took in her simple, honest good looks and ached in his chest. Her hair was swept up in a simple style that allowed select strands to rain about her delicate shoulders in cool streams begging to be touched. Gentle tendrils danced merrily framing porcelain cheekbones, she titled her head and a lone fringe of hair brushed her cheek, Ryan’s hand itched in jealousy of that small strand. Brad crowded close, bumping Ryan’s shoulder and interrupting his scrutiny of the lonely girl. Looking down at his smaller brother, he frowned. What upset him? Looking around he caught a glimpse of the honey blonde girl with all the implants and nearly wrinkled up in disgust, but a look at Brad showed that he wasn’t watching the female but the young man stepping around her. Drawn to the glassy, polished flawlessness, he preened like a male peacock. Ryan studied the guy. Nothing much, lifted weight or took steroids to get so big, probably nothing more than looks, like the rest of the guys on display. Man-whores, that was what a lot of the guys arrogantly called themselves; proud of nailing anything that simpered by. His kind poured themselves into designer jeans and marinated in equally expensive fragrance that made Ryan’s eyes water and nose clog. Usually that kind of guy looked for someone weaker to pick on, an easy mark. Going by Brad’s reaction, Ryan figured this

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particular peacock had used Brad that way in the past. His spirit sinking, Ryan gazed longingly at the clock. Its hands slowly crept towards the midnight hour. Were it not for his seated beauty and masochistic brother, he would have left hours ago. Ryan found himself simply staring, drinking her up with his eyes. In the maelstrom of dancers, drinkers and pulsating lights she sat silent, pale hands folded demurely on her pale silk lap. Her skirt swirled in graduating bands of color from cream to dark brown swirls around trim ankles. The only indication of nerves gathering under her placid surface was a single finger softly caressing the gold circle watch face on a slim wrist. His body tightened imagining the feeling of those cool thin digits caressing him in such languid sweeps. Never had Ryan wanted to be a watch so badly. Subtle glances of her midnight blue eyes marked the time between slippery caresses of her distracted finger. Almost angrily, he watched as a herd of brassy blondes who sacrificed beauty for artifice, heritage for pop-culture conformity, surrounded the young woman in the chair. It was depressing to see how generations of pride in heritage had been ruthlessly scraped aside and discarded with a bottle of peroxide and polish. Their clothes were cleverly crafted to scream anger, lust, dissolute jade and more. Not a dress or outfit on parade accentuated beauty, instead it stood on its own in homogenous media endorsed diversity. Seductive hip-hugging pants rode low on virgin planes, slouching down the road towards promiscuity and pain that was hinted at with sparkling navel piercings. Instinctively, Ryan looked away and took a step back as a hostile twentysomething stomped past with white-boy dreadlocks and hemp sandals slapping the oaken floor with sharp staccato slaps. Cotton clothes, braided rope belt and homespun cloth peeped almost self-consciously from under the angry ropes of hair as he tossed the thick locks from one side to another as if looking for something or someone in particular. Given a larger bubble of floor space due to his flailing hair he sneered contempt at Ryan and made as if to spit on the wooden floor next to Ryan’s black polished shoes. Spit-Kid turned, shoved through the throng moving away from Ryan who was silently counting to ten for the umpteenth time that night. For a moment, Spit-Kid paused to gyrate in derision behind a dancing couple before he moved to stand in front of her. Without realizing it, Ryan clenched his hands and took a few steps forward, held by his promise to stay next to his brother and his desire to see the darkly beautiful young 118


woman reject such an idiotic male. Her lovely face lifted with a small, shy smile and Ryan’s heart twisted at her gentle soul shining out of her eyes. Nervous tension stiffened her spine as the callow man appraised her soft smile. Teeth that had the same imperfect exquisiteness of being uncorrupted, natural smiled hopefully upwards. A thunderclap of silence made Ryan’s ears whine, it was a pause between the deafening songs. In the echoing quiet he clearly heard Spit-Kid mock the young woman’s dated, hand-me-down dress and boring features. Much to the delight of the celluloid crows screaming in glee, Spit-Kid continued unabated as the next song roared to earbreaking proportions. Riding the heady high of populist opinion, he sneered at her and stalked off. The bitter jibes took a toll, Ryan watched in shock as she wilted under the barrage, the brilliance of her gaze unfocused behind the haze of encroaching tears. If only he could go to her! Ryan lamented in his heart, that he could not be her mirror, her teacher in love, not when he would leave in the morning for the uncertainty of war. A fluffy horde of chaperoned ducklings flitted past her chair. All underage princesses dipped in vats of cosmetics sporting padded bras and bell bottoms glowing with freakish brilliance. Why did she stay in the damned chair? He couldn’t understand what held her to the spot. The gaggle of gigglers danced about her perch like crones cackling and casting cant about a bubbling human cauldron. The words score points and her softly rounded nose pointed dejectedly towards the floor, her shoulders sagged and hands fisted in the material of her skirt. Feeling a bump against his side Ryan looked down and away from the other’s pain into the sad eyes of his younger brother. Brad had kept close all night. Not because he was underage and in need of a sharp eyed chaperone, but because his slim build, popbottle thick glasses and soft freckled feminine face made him a target for every moron with a need to prove his masculinity. “Ryan, man, you have to do something for her.” He begged pushing his glasses up the slope of his nose. Tugging at Ryan’s sleeve he tried pulling him without seeming to be interested and Ryan’s heart softened. “Are you interested in the girl?” Brad flushed in embarrassment. “No, I’m not, she’s way out of my league, but she gets picked on like me for being different. She was in a car wreck a few years ago and her leg got screwed up. She has a limp.” Brad announced the last as if it were a good excuse for treating the young 119


woman like a social pariah. Ryan seethed and allowed himself a moment to despise the elements of society that deigned it proper to heckle and abuse anything that wasn’t perfect. It was moments like this that made him sick to his soul that he risked his life to keep such assholes safe in their bubble of false reality. No wonder so many of his wounded friends ended up with a psych profile. He was incensed. Anger twisted to want and coursed through his blood as Ryan looked at the seated young woman and hoped. “Who is she, Brad?” He hoped that the longing he felt didn’t show. “Rose Fineman, the Jewish girl two years behind you. Don’t you remember the wreck?” Brad gawked; the accident had been the talk of the town. A drunken teenager had stolen a car and led state police on a high-speed chase that ended when he slammed into the side of a station wagon. Inside the station wagon had been the Fineman family returning home from services marking the Jewish New Year. Mother, father and brother died, only Rose emerged alive from the wreckage, but her right leg had been broken in so many places that only surgery had saved her from amputation. Ryan fought a war with his heart. He wanted to be her knight, ride to her rescue, tuck her shining head against his shoulder and promise that everything would be better from now on, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to Rose, she had suffered so much already, how could he give her promises of a future he might not have? “Please Ryan,” Brad begged, nudging him with an elbow as a tear fell from those sad, blue eyes across the hall. Straightening Ryan nodded and stepped forward. Immediately, he was besieged by forward females on the prowl for new, available meat. Compliments and coy invitations fell from pierced tongues and lips like water through a sieve. The words were thin, shallow and without substance. Come-on lines played out, rehashed, reused and abused as insincere hands tugged, pulled and groped as Ryan sidestepped to avoid the full body-lock the owner of the fast fingers that had found and measured him in greedy abandon. Ryan felt embarrassment for them as well as himself. He shook his head slightly to the negative, astounded at the intimate touching the women engaged in so cavalierly. It seemed that all they were interested in was his capacity for indulgence in a night of sweaty sin and nothing more. Cat calls, whistles and a few last pinches in tight places indicated he made “the grade” but it only made him feel slimy,

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degraded. With a shake of his head at the ‘sweet American femininity’ he was drilled into defending, he found himself standing in front of his goal. Eyes the color of the storm-tossed Atlantic peeked nervously though wispy bangs, a delicate blush accenting her baby fine cheeks. Dropping to one knee at her side, Ryan placed his head beneath hers to spare her from having to crane her neck and look up to meet his gaze. “Ryan Moran,” she smiled as the warm contralto voice shivered up his spine. How had this beautiful creature shared space in his world without him ever noticing before? Plucking up her skirt, she slid to the side and patted the warm red leather spot next to her. Settling in to the small ledge she shared, Ryan’s mind reveled in the heat from her body that burned along his left side and under his thigh from where she’d warmed the seat. “Rose Fineman, thank you, the pleasure is all mine,” smiling crookedly he gazed into her pinked face as she ducked her head nervously before looking back out at the sea of faces. “May I?” he asked, but she never looked up to see only nodded furiously. Softly he smiled at her confusion as he placed an arm on the back of the chair. It was torture being this close without truly touching. The skin of his fingers tingled and burned to touch the soft shoulder and silken hair that swayed scant inches away. Looking out at the crowd together, watching the fleshy crush of humanity gyrating in slick machinations of implied sexuality. Ryan grinned, suddenly feeling lighthearted. How many hot dancing women had he led from the floor to find them lying beneath him in bed, cold and unresponsive? Guess they figured they did enough work getting his attention, his smile soured. Overhead a tolling sound marked the progress of time. Only bare minutes were left to the year. Ryan’s heart felt the sound like a knife, it told his foolish brain that he had only minutes to hold his angel and hope against hope to make her his. Standing, his back to the room grinding in a parody of frenzied love as chainsaw riffs and repetitive shrieks screamed against the ears. Holding a hand out, he begged, “Dance with me,” at her look of horror, he amended, “Not like this. This,” he gestured in disgust, “this isn’t dancing. Not to my way of thinking.” Her eyes spoke fear, fear of failure of seeming reduced in his eyes, “Please,” he begged. 121


Silently, Rose stood and accepted his hand with its long, blunt fingers tipped in clean squared nails. Rough and clean, an honest texture abrading her soft palm. Straightening with a wince, she clasped his much larger hand between her two, caressing his strength with the tips of her fingers across the flat of his palms to shrapnel scarred wrists. She looked up and Ryan felt his entire body go still and quiet under the consideration in her eyes. There was no false refinement in her classic lines, no purchased post-pubescence but a maturity of having lived through real life. He felt humbled then on fire as she nodded with the deliberate assent of woman. Slowly, Ryan allowed Rose to lead him to the center of the dance floor. Every slow, calculated step was a study in grace, no matter the small stiff second as her hips swayed through the crowd. Turning she looked up and waited, not a question on her face, nothing but shining hope and honest feminine interest. Sliding a large hand into her smaller one, Ryan slid his other arm around the small of her back and pulled her close, yet allowed space to separate them. He wanted to see her face, look at her body in motion. He could wait to feel and experience every lush inch later. If all he would take from this night was a picture, he wanted it painted in loving strokes with as much detail as his mind could hold. Her hand spasmed in reflex, twining her fingers through his as her cool fingers heated with a flush of warmth on contact. He stared at their braided fingers and shivered as desire slammed through him just looking at their fingers entwined aping that singular sensuality of the ultimate embrace. Breathing out unsteadily, he moved as his mind rocked with emotions, body swamped with feelings and desires. He wanted her with every vestige of his battered soul but was unable to act on those needs. Standing, touching fingertip to fingertip in a pause between the heartbeats of eternity, the eye of the center of a tornado of skin and cloth. Bodies raged around them, spinning, stepping and laughing, reaffirming life with a mad beat. Ryan’s heart raced in time to the crowd wildly pulsing past but he forced his body to move slowly out of respect for the love he found waiting in the woman standing before him. “Our hearts will beat a rhythm for us to follow,” Rose leaned and spoke under his jaw. Ryan nearly lost control as his heart dropped south and his body demanded he make the smiling woman before him his.

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Instead, they stepped together, barely brushing, yet still connecting as they danced hand to hand, finger to finger. Rose moved forward and Ryan retreated, as he advanced she fell away, staying close enough that the rough cords of his pants caressed her silk clad knees. The softer material clung and held as if her skirt wanted to rub against Ryan as much as she did. Her eyes blazed sapphire bright as Ryan swung her into his arms changing the tempo to reflect the need growing brighter. Her lips fell open as her breath came faster and Ryan imagined her splayed beneath him on cool sheets, gasping his name in the same soft way. Dropping his nose to the shell of an ear, he caught the scent of strawberry dipped in jasmine flowers. His senses spun even farther out of control over the mystery of simple tapestry that was woman held gently in his arms. Rose titled her ear closer and he shied away, but not too far, just enough distance that he could see her lowering lids and appreciate the sensual arch of her back as she tried to slide in closer, seeking his heat. Ryan felt her body go incredibly limp, pliant in his embrace. She was so amazingly feminine, deftly held by his hunger that could break her. In response, he moved sweetly, gently sating his need on sips of her nearness. Ryan watched as her eyes darkened, shades of late-night skies shot through with lightning bottled blue that struck his core with madness, a symphony of needing more than could be delivered on a dance floor. Growling in want, he pressed in, advanced his arousal against the softness of her stomach. A mere shock of sensation that made her eyes fly open then soften with liquid hunger that sped his steps. Moving forward, twisting aside, tugging her against his length yet never letting her hide her growing arousal from his sight. The very air seemed to burn as more than desire grew between them, trust formed and grew with every coordinated brush of their bodies as Rose felt his need, his want and his careful restraint tendered with caring as he supported her weight in his arms. A metallic tribal beat surged in the air, capturing the couple on the floor, a staccato scream of industrial accidents joined by wailing voices. Ryan felt the beat pounding through his sensitized flesh and moved his fingers to play a tapping dance up and down her spine. The air between their bodies rarified, he imagined his hand not just cupping her hip but sliding lower and exploring the sensitive skin behind her knee. Rose felt the throb of the song in the trilling notes he played on her bones. Breathing hard her head dropped back and to the side in silent invitation as his lips descended and savored 123


the salted skin just above a creamy shoulder. Butterfly light his tongue slid as his lips caressed and her knees went weak as molten heat flared through her body. Ryan longed to taste the perfection of her lips and instead studied the shell pink cashmere sweater that formed around the gentle swell of her breasts. He envied the soft fabric its ability to cup the fullness brushing lightly against his wool-clad chest. The soft coral pink tip of her tongue flashed out and wetted her plump lips and Ryan was lost. He lifted her in his arms and tilted her against him capturing her tongue lightly between his teeth as she sucked lightly at the tempting distraction. Hungrily his mouth moved against hers, seeking entrance, but lightly as if fearing rejection. Rejecting the crush of bodies, Ryan gave in to the moment as Rose opened to him. She tasted of sugared mint, craving more he deepened the kiss, plundering her soft liquid heat. Another dancer bumped the pair and slowly Ryan surfaced and began retreating. As he pulled back, Rose pushed forward and captured his tongue delicately between her teeth and suckled the wet appendage. Instinctively, Ryan’s arms banded tight as steel around her waist but she didn’t seem to care. The soft bump of their noses reminded him, with fleeting caresses along her jaw line, Ryan seduced her into loosening her hold and lightly they parted. Swaying eye-to-eye Ryan lowered her down his body, across the rigid expanse of flesh that fairly pulsed against her soft hip as he settled her between his thighs. His heart thundered erratically, their measured waltz had spun into the tarantella then slammed into a dance as old as time. Ryan’s mind raced, in Rose he saw everything he wanted but couldn’t possibly have and that knowledge crippled him. A simple soldier he had simple needs and wants, but her brow had the clear stamp of wisdom. Everything about her was alien to his world and he desired her all the more for being the freshness to his stale existence. They came to as the furious dancing slowed and voices began chanting down from thirty. The New Year was upon them. Ryan looked down into the bright, shining eyes of the only woman who had ever touched his heart and was lost. He brought his hands up and cupped her sweat-damp face and caressed the fine bones of her cheeks with his thumbs before lowering his mouth and losing himself to the blinding light her lithe form brought into his lonely life. He wanted to sink into her beauty, surround her body and swim in her mind, bathe his drowning form in the luminance of her soul.

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Rose stood before him, swaying slightly in bemusement as Ryan stepped back, saying, “I can’t,” in pain-choked tones. He made to move away, soul bleeding, but she wouldn’t let him withdrawal. Rose pulled him close, forced him still as the crowd roared, horns blew and confetti rained a parti-colored storm around their heads. All Ryan could do was stare dumbly into her beautiful face. Seeming to understand, Rose slid her hands up his forearms and over his biceps. He shivered in reaction as her thumbs brushed over his cloth-covered collarbones, her fingers kneading the taut muscles of his neck. Rising unsteadily to tiptoe, Rose pressed her lips against his, softly, sweetly promising a welcome he never hoped to find. Suddenly he clasped her waist and lifted, moving to her abandoned chair he sat and slung her softly into his arms, cradling her head under his own. “I want so much more. Will you wait for me? Will you pray to speed the days, weeks and months ahead of us to pass?” Gulping he nibbled desperately at her chin, jaw, and mouth before begging, “Will you wait for me?” Rose stilled and Ryan looked at her in painful misery, everything he hoped for showing in his rough-hewn face. With every second she remained silent a part of him fell dead inside. “You are all I want,” he gasped out, striving for equilibrium as the room canted crazily. He had been a fool to hope for so much so fast, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Quickly she grabbed him when he would have let her go, grasping his face and made him look at her again. “Where are you going Ryan Moran?” “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--” “Hush” she said placing a soft finger against his lips. “Never tell me you are sorry for what you made me feel tonight. Where are you going?” He shook all over as his lungs worked like a bellows, he hadn’t felt so scared since he stepped on the plane to come home scant weeks ago. “I’ve been recalled, back to Iraq.” His lips twisted in pain. He’d served two tours in Europe, one in Afghanistan and the last months in Iraq. While his time in the service had concluded, he was still bound for another two years at the discretion of the Army. His explanation tumbled out in a jumble, it made no sense to his ears, but she seemed to understand.

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He groped at the medals on his chest and hurriedly unpinned one then with shaking hands fastened it to her sweater. “Please,” he begged in a shaking voice, “please wait for me.” Rose couldn’t seem to find her voice. He watched her mouth move convulsively, her eyes filled with tears as she looked in askance from him to the medal glinting on her chest. He had picked his Silver Star to represent hope, she was his evening star and he was wishing with desperation, that she’d take a chance, not reject him. Words didn’t seem to come to her trembling pink lips; only stuttering attempts. Almost afraid to breathe, Ryan waited as Rose closed her eyes, swallowed and tried again. “Your family,” she started hesitantly. Ryan swore lightly. His family was a bunch of dark Irish heathens known for brawling and drinking. He should have known that his sacrifices and Brad’s softness wouldn’t be enough. “Yeah, my family has a reputation.” His voice was dulled with pain. “No,” she smiled and pulled his head back, kissing his chin. “You aren’t letting me finish.” She reached around her neck and unclasped a necklace then shyly secured it around his neck. “Your family is Catholic, I’m Jewish…that’s all I worried about.” Ryan looked intently into her eyes and a spark blazed deep inside, she wasn’t shrinking from his service or from his family. He looked down and saw the small gold star of her faith shining against the olive drab jacket and never thought anything looked so beautiful. Recklessly he kissed her one last time, pouring his heart and soul into every touch of his lip and tongue, urging her to open one last time. Her hands cupped his face holding him still as she pulled back. “I will wait for you.”

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Act Two

New Years Eve, 2005 Rose stood next to Brad Moran in the airport, waiting and worrying. Ryan’s flight had been delayed because of the weather. It wasn’t much comfort that the night looked like a fairyland of crystalline beauty, not when it risked Ryan’s life to fly in it. Three days after their dance, Rose had started feeling stupid in her promise to wait. Women who worked with her in the call center had gone from hung-over and spiteful to open jealousy that faded into sneers of pity. Ryan Moran had been a childhood dream handed to her on a silver platter and she had committed. Every night on the way home from work, she stopped in the Temple then crossed the street to the small Catholic church the Moran family frequented. There was a small altar to the side where she purchased a candle and lit it in his honor. Rose felt torn in two. She had wanted this man when he was nothing more than a boy. Now that he was hers for the taking, she risked losing him in the same violent way the rest of her family had been stripped from her side. Could she stand losing love again? Looking into the small sputtering light of the candle took her back to standing on the dance floor, gazing into his tortured eyes. She couldn’t imagine a life without a chance at happiness, and for her happiness was bound to Ryan Moran. Closing her eyes, she let the memory of the night steal across her mind. He groped at the medals on his chest and hurriedly unpinned one, then with shaking hands fastened it to her sweater. “Please,” he begged in a shaking voice, “please wait for me.” Rose couldn’t find her voice, glinting on her chest was a shining star. She knew him brave but not the details of what he had suffered. The local paper had done a welcome home story that had brought tears to her eyes at what wasn’t said. She wished to be young in heart and spirit, to comfort him and promise to make all the pain go away. 127


But she couldn’t, she knew better and so she risked what little was left of her own sanity and promised, “I will wait for you.” At the one-month anniversary of their dance, she almost didn’t stop. It was still cold and the lane treacherous. The steep, stone steps leading into the small Catholic Church were doubly dangerous to someone like herself. Rose’s leg stiffened in the cold, but she forced the aching muscles to carry her to and from work on even the ugliest of days. Lighting her candle she had turned and nearly collided with Brad Moran. She’d felt a twinge of guilt at the look in his eyes. Before the car wreck, Rose never even noticed the painfully shy boy; afterwards he was one of the few who sat with her at lunch. Her dreams of being a ballerina shattered, all she did was sit at lunch and stare at her food. From strong and graceful to weak and stumbling, all she wanted was to escape the pain and the loneliness. But Brad poked and prodded her along, nagged her into eating, bossed her into picking up her school books. Of all the Moran’s, this was the one she should have fallen in love with, not his older brother. Without thinking, she blurted out all of that and more. Brad simply smiled and took her by the elbow, helping her down the steps and to a small coffee shop by her apartment. The house of her childhood held another family, she couldn’t bear to live in it. Silently he handed her a small ragged bundle of coarse brown paper. It had her old address on the front and a dark red stain of “return to sender” from the post office. The Moran house was listed as the sender’s address. “What is this?” Rose had asked, plucking at the small torn spots on the edges. “I imagine it would be a letter from Ryan to you,” he smiled, honest happiness in his eyes. Her hands stilled at the words. A letter from Ryan. Gently Brad tugged it from her hands and peeled open the wrapper, inside was a battered looking tablet covered in squared off print. The pages were stained. Rose hoped it was just dirt and oil as she slowly started to read through the pages. She didn’t even notice when Brad slipped from the table, crossing the room to meet a rather mannish looking girl with a heavy tool belt. The letter read, “My gentle briar Rose, do you remember our dance?” His letter talked of fear and bravery and her heart ached. One small shared moment leapt to mind. Music grated and skipped, tripping into a sultry beat. Slowly, she gathered Ryan’s hands in hers and held him there. She willed him to look at her, into her and see that she wanted and feared as much as he did. All night she sat on her chair and hoped against hope that 128


the solitary soldier would do more than look at her with his piercing, bright blue eyes. She wanted to feel the soft silk of his wavy black hair but the image conjured scenes of naked flesh sliding together in sweated heat under satin sheets. Rose gave in to the feeling and forgot the room of people surrounding them as she opened to his kiss. He tasted of hot caramel and cinnamon, a drugging combination that made goose bumps race down her spine to pool in her lower belly as hunger drove her to daring. She didn’t care who saw or knew of their arousal, it was heady knowing she had this immediate power over the dark haired warrior. Tucking the papers into her handbag, she hurried home to read what the words really said instead of the shining light they conjured in her heart.

**** At the second meeting, Rose looked up and saw the other woman. Smiling she waved and watched as the other fidgeted and nodded back self-consciously. When the third letter came by way of Brad, Rose wasn’t as happy. She’d been sending Ryan back letters with her new address. Brad dug out of his wallet a bunch of wadded paper. Each held a different military address. Ryan was moved frequently and it took months for his mail to catch up, he explained. For eighteen months, Rose looked forward to the stained, folded notebooks full of Ryan’s fears and worries. Every single tablet began the same way, “To the one who holds my heart and waits for me.” When the letters stopped coming, Rose dredged up the courage and went to the Moran household. It was an old farmhouse on the edge of a section of the city called Irish Town. Mostly poor, totally wild and clannish to a fault, Irish Town was that place in every town that was jokingly referred to as “the other side of the tracks.” Before her raised hand knocked, a small stout woman was dragging her in the door. In a whirlwind of emotion and activity, Rose was introduced to all seven of the Moran “boys” as well as their patriarch, Galen. The oldest was also named Galen and worked as a pipe fitter. Rose learned it was through Galen that Brad met his current date, Kelley Rohaley. There was Sean, the baby at thirteen, Connor at the ripe old age of fifteen, Brad, Ryan, Finn, Riley, Owen and finally Galen the Second. Eight boys, including Ryan. Shocked at the collection of huge males, Rose sagged onto the couch and stared uncomprehendingly at Brad as he introduced his mother, Maire. 129


“Myra doesn’t sound Irish,” popped out before she could consider how bad it sounded and the room erupted in laughter. Money changed hands and Rose’s eyes boggled. “Sorry, Rose,” Brad apologized with a grin, “the guys were betting on what you’d comment on first, me being the runt or mum’s name.” Finn tousled Brad’s hair and dragged him off to the kitchen. He looked so much like Ryan it was scary. Maire waved a hand in front of Rose’s eyes and she snapped to. Laughing the older woman explained the meaning of her name and the spelling. Embarrassed, Rose tried to apologize but Maire would have none of it. “They all take after their da, but for my little Bradan. Best you ask about my name than his puniness.” For the next few hours, Rose basked in the feeling of family. She hadn’t realized how much she missed her own parents and brother until she was surrounded by the Moran’s. Feeling tears on her face, Rose shook her head and returned to the noise of the airport. The night she found family she’d also learned about Ryan being wounded. The family wasn’t given many details, but that it was bad. Maire Moran called her scant days later and Rose sat with the silent clan as they listened to a uniformed officer explain that Ryan had been issued his last rights but was holding on. Gruffly, the man joked that Ryan had two sets of last rights owing to the confusion of his wearing a crucifix and a Star of David. That night of waiting, worrying and praying reminded Rose too much of this night spent in the airport. “He’ll be fine,” Brad reassured her again. Kelley moved to his side and hugged him close. The unlikely pair had gotten married over the summer in an effort to lift the flagging spirits of the Moran family over nearly losing Ryan. Rose fidgeted and wished she would have given in to the silly impulse to wear the same outfit she’d been wearing the night Ryan asked her to wait for him. But it had been so bitterly cold she feared her leg wouldn’t hold up to the hard airport chairs. It chafed, not being able to wait for him at the gate, but the whole family patiently bided their time in the small area outside of baggage claims. For the hundredth time, Rose smoothed the soft grey Merino wool pants and jacket as finally Ryan’s flight was called as “arrived.” Suddenly the soft, warm sweater 130


felt too tight and hot. Nerves wracked her. What if he changed his mind, didn’t want her anymore? What if it was just pity that moved him to write to her after their explosive dance? He hadn’t sent her a single note since he was wounded, but there had been small notes to his family. Rose knew it, though they tried to make less of the letters he sent home. It was a kindness that she was starting to regret indulging in. “There he is,” Maire breathed from behind Rose. As if it were a signal the family surged forward and surrounded Ryan with hugs and hand shakes, laughter and tears. Rose felt like an interloper as the Moran’s surrounded a tired and wan looking Ryan. He’d lost weight and color but seemed unhurt as he traded embraces with his siblings. He never looked beyond the circle of his family, Rose noted, pain lancing her heart. Feeling incredibly foolish, she turned and started walking away. Over the thundering of her heart in her ears, she never heard the voices call to her. Walking through the automatic doors into the cold night air, the wind slapped her tear wetted face and it stung. The arctic air seared her lungs and eased the pain around her middle. She was shivering, trying to find her bearings when hands gripped her upper arms from behind. Startled she froze and tensed as the grip loosened and turned her around. Staring at a brass button her eyes filled with fresh tears, she’d forgotten how tall Ryan was, he had almost carried her in his arms the night of their dance. “I waited for you,” she said into the front of his jacket, too afraid to look up. Hoping against hope, she had pinned his medal to the inside lapel of her jacket, as she had every morning, holding hope close and tight over her breast. Fingers lifted her chin and she cursed her tears as she looked into his face. Ryan’s cheeks were almost too pale but the wind brought a healthy pink to the protruding bones. Up close, he looked the wounded soldier he was and she felt remorse at making him follow her into the cold night. His mouth opened and closed into a thin hard line. He was tense, eyes full or turbulent pain. Just like that long ago night, Rose reached up and clasped his face. “Where are you going Ryan Moran?” He sagged and she dropped her arms to his shoulders clutching him to her. When he moved to lift her against his chest she yelped, “Don’t you dare!” Pulling back she had every intention of showing him his hidden medal

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but his hands found it first as he opened her jacket. Blushing she didn’t realize he had held her close enough to feel the small decoration. “I’m going where you’re going.” His deep voice sounded tired, but his eyes lost the haunted pain as he smiled down. “But why didn’t you write?” Rose clapped hands over her mouth. Any other time she had grace and tact, around the Moran’s she turned into an idiot. “I couldn’t,” Ryan explained tugging her back inside to the baggage area. “All the letters the last few months nurses wrote for me, my arms were in casts.” He smiled self consciously. The rest of the family crowed around the pair in silence, listening as he explained how he’d been shot by the strafing fire of a machine gunner. The bullets had broken both arms, pierced a lung, and nicked his heart. “They told me I almost died the one night,” he smiled at Rose, pulling her close. “All I remember was feeling so tired and wanting to go away. I heard this voice, your voice,” Rose peered up into his bright blue eyes and saw nothing but love and awe. “You asked me, ‘Where are you going Ryan Moran?’ but I had no answer. Then I heard your voice calling me back, telling me you were waiting for me.” Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on her stunned mouth to the cheers of his brothers. Rose’s heart ached for his pain but she couldn’t resist tugging his head back for a proper kiss. Just being this close to his heat made her feel like she was covered in static electricity. His mouth was hot and sure as it covered hers again, making her head spin. For months, she wondered if the heat of the moment, the brilliance of the lights and the music had seduced her, but now she was sure, it was nothing more than the incredible man in her arms. “So, Rose Fineman,” he teased, fingers tugging the waistband of her pants, “where are we going?” Joy in her heart, Rose smiled back and answered, “Home.” The ride home was full of laughter and conversation, everyone tried to talk at once. Ryan nodded and seemed to pay attention but he never looked away. Rose felt giddy and nervous, just as nervous as that night two years before when he held his hand out and asked her to dance. A thousand little doubts warred with her excitement. She had reddened up like crazy when Maire informed her that everyone expected her to stay the night at their home. Impossibly, not a single grinning Moran male made a comment. 132


Sitting in the back of the ancient van, Rose saw nothing but love and hunger in Ryan’s eyes. She knew he had scars; scars didn’t bother her they were an unfortunate part of her life. What worried her was him seeing her scars. As if reading her mind, Ryan cuddled her close and lightly caressed her wounded leg. His hand moved on to caressing her hip and higher, sliding under her jacket to the soft material of her sweater. A part of her mind listened to the conversation flowing past. Finn it seemed had the most questions and kept expecting answers. When Ryan’s hand found the warm skin of her stomach, Rose stopped thinking. His touch was so impossibly warm, she leaned into the gentle teasing caress, wanting more. “Mom,” the older brother called out in a loud whiny voice, “tell Ryan to quit playing with Rose and pay attention.” Rose felt her face bloom scarlet as the two youngest Moran males doubled over in gales of laughter. Ryan laughed and pulled his hand away to smack Finn. “You only had one brother, didn’t you Rose?” The laughter died down as she remained silent in her mortification, nodding yes. “Well then, we’ll have to see about getting you used to having seven of them.” His teasing had a profound effect on the van. “What?” He asked his silent family, “Of course we’re going to get married.” In the silence Connor spoke up, “So that’s why he’s allowed to have his girl sleep over and not me.” Galen the Second started laughing, deep and hard and pulled the car to the side of the road, wiping his eyes. In the back of the van, Rose felt beyond mortified-she was shocked beyond embarrassment. But she felt moved to tears when the older man gripped his wife’s hand and said, “You always wanted daughters, but had all these goons. What do you think, she good enough for our boy?” Maire looked at her husband and laughed gaily. “I was wondering if he was good enough for her truth be told. This is a much easier way of getting daughters I think.” She turned and directed a deep blue wink to Rose before focusing on Connor. “I got one daughter already and another on the way, you feeling matrimonial boy?” The rest of the car ride passed in laughter and teasing. Rose leaned in, “You want to marry me?” It was all she could think to ask. “Of course. Why else would I ask you to wait for me? I see you and everything is brighter, I see beauty and love. I see nothing but us. Don’t you feel the same?” He asked,

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pulling the pins from her hair, letting it fall haphazardly across her shoulders. Rose didn’t notice or care. “I wanted so much, I didn’t dare let myself look past being in your arms,” she admitted. “Well,” Ryan whispered against her ear, “there will certainly be a lot of that, starting tonight.” The late celebratory dinner passed in a whirl of laughter, warmth and shared memories. Towards the end, Ryan took Rose’s hand and tugged her toward the stairs to his room. On the stairs, Rose started and tried to pull back. “Ryan, this isn’t…I mean we shouldn’t…here in your parents’ house.” Her face was flushed trying to explain, but he grinned roguishly and cupped the back of her head. “My parents know we love each other, that’s enough for them. You didn’t hear any complaints did you?” A quick kiss and her world righted. She went from nervous and cramped to dancing in her blood. Whirling with a smile, she opened the door to the room Ryan once shared with his two older brothers. The space had been jammed with beds, dressers, trophies and ribbons, now it stood empty but for Ryan’s scant possessions. Stepping back, Rose gave Ryan space to enter the room and adjust to the changes, but he was having none of it. Hooking an arm around her middle, he guided her to the bed, catching the door and shutting it with his heel. Instantly she felt nervous again. “I was going to wear the skirt and sweater from our first New Years,” she blurted out, staring at the buttons on his shirt. Warm rough fingers feathered her cheeks in tacit understanding. “Then change and we’ll dance,” amusement and something else deepened his voice. Gazing up at him, cheeks warm with embarrassment, Rose saw only love in his neon blue gaze. Slipping from the bed she reached self consciously into his closet and pulled out the shaded skirt and pink shell and fled for the bathroom. Locking inside she chastened herself a fool and worse as trembling fingers buttoned, smoothed and twitched soft fabric into place. The smooth fabric worked miracles on her nerves. She’d worn it that long ago night out of whimsy. Before the accident that claimed her family she had a small supporting role in a ballet-opera, a true main stage production. In pride over her achievement her mother insisted on having a

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copy made of her stage costume, one of good quality material so Rose could sparkle and blossom at her prom. But prom never happened. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door and forced her feet to move slowly, gracefully into the bedroom she was to share with Ryan. He’d turned off the overhead light and the room was cast in shades of gold. A lamp along the far wall was lit and glowed like a small sun under a thin handkerchief. From somewhere came the dulcet tones of a gentle Brahms piece. Rose walked into the room confused, where was Ryan? The sound of the door closing answered her question. He’d been waiting behind the door; by the look on his face, he’d been watching her as she entered gauging her reaction. “You are the most graceful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on,” his tone was awed, reverent and Rose bit down on the impulse to correct him. So what if he never saw her dance, never knew the true beauty she once held. “Hey,” he lifted her chin, “don’t look so sad. When you danced in my arms, I truly never saw another with more grace.” His eyes burned with honesty and she felt herself falling into the brilliant pools. As from a distance, Rose felt him take her hands and move into the waltz position, but her heart beat a different tempo and feet soon followed suit. Eyes locked, nearly nose to nose, raised en pointe without realizing, feeling anything but a low building need. The music changed, Rose felt pulled closer to his spicy scent and supple chin. His hands guided her arms up to crown her head and playfully she did a small spin, a pirouette that never faltered, he was there to smooth the way. Supporting hands slid over the sleek silk and lower as she turned in the shelter of his arms, Rose felt like the beautiful dancer in a jewelry box. Strong fingers played along her muscles, calves to knees to thighs, flattening on the planes of her stomach. Rose’s eyes closed on the world and followed the one of notes strung together in heaven. Song twisted into harmony with a backdrop of sultry drums that increased the urgency in her blood as Ryan’s hands dipped beneath the thin cotton panties and slid them off her undulating hips. The shock of his lips caressing the backs of her knees caused her steps to falter as shivers racked her spine. Standing slowly, he slid his hands along the outside of her slim legs bunching the material, slanting his knees behind hers, urging her head to lean against his shoulder as the music pulsed with salsa heat from his hips to hers. 135


“Only in your arms can I dance again,” Rose breathed against his neck, hunger growing, making her restless. The feel of his heavy length fitted intimately against her crease made her wriggle, nervous bubbles forgotten as the soft notes spun out on the night air. “Our dance has just begun,” Ryan smiled, nuzzling the baby fine skin of her neck as her pliant buttocks gyrated against his impatient erection. Heavy with need of her sweet welcome, he pushed the need down as it thrummed through his veins in time to his heart and the new vibrant melody flavoring the air. Rose sagged against Ryan, arching her back suggestively, swaying and rubbing against him like a cat in heat as the guitar in the background whined and begged for faster fingers to speed the blues away. Taking a hint from the crying ballad, she thrust her breasts forward, drawing his hands to cup them, restrain the wild flight. He seemed everywhere at once, murmuring, tasting a shoulder, caressing hips and lower. Biting her lip, Rose choked back a whimper. There was something she wanted, needed just outside her grasp. A nip on her upper arm, turned her eyes to meet his. Heaven waited in the clear depths of shimmering desire she saw there. Without a word, he lifted her hands to his shoulders as he loosened his pants and let them fall to the floor forgotten. The wailing radio finally forgotten as they moved in small rocking steps, shedding pieces of confining material. Ryan’s eyes never left Rose’s, her scars faded to a memory and her heart lifted with love and trust seated in desire. Almost timidly, she watched her fingers trace the planes of his shoulders, chest, stomach and lower to tangle in the soft fur around his manhood. Embarrassment shuttered her gaze and brought a blush to her cheeks as Ryan backed her knees against the bed and pulled her close. Nerves fluttered to new life in her stomach, Rose felt on fire, as Ryan’s hands swept her lower back, catching her close. So many textures, he was hard, sleek, rugged and crisp, a half-smile lifted her lips as her fingers wandered to the tender flesh of his chest and burrowed in the curling hairs, lifting them, tugging lightly on the downy fabric of Ryan. In the nights she laid curled around his notebooks, hearing his gruff voice reciting the words committed to memory from the smudged pages, she never expected the gentle sadness to take form in her arms. Seduced and seducer, she melted against him, licking lightly at his lower lip, hoping to catch a taste of his fire. 136


Walking backward, knee to knee on the giving surface of the bed, Ryan denied her his mouth for just a moment more, whispering, “Slowly, we have time.” Her hands wound around his neck, begging as her lips pouted, porcelain cheeks glowing. A hand on her back he lifted slightly and eased her to lie beneath him, pulling her nimble legs around him, cradling his throbbing rod at the opening of her sheath. As she opened her mouth to gasp at the movement, Ryan captured her lips and drank deep, suckling her tongue, sliding his against hers mocking the act he longed to plunge into. But he held back as his fingers slid over feather-fine hair, between petal soft lips to find the hot liquid core of his dancer, teaching her to lift and tilt to accept first fingers then more as he traced her hungry bud. Her young body opened, raised seeking his and he moaned into her mouth and pushed in slowly, deeply, feeling her racing heart beat pulse around him as her weeping walls swallowed him inch by inch. She was tight, so tight that he started pulling back to let his fingers bring her along but she lifted on slim heels and welcomed him home. Breathy cries crooned in his ear as sharp teeth worried at an earlobe and he was lost to the need to possess as his hips rocked into her pelvis, deep into her core, never leaving but moving in time to her give and take. Impossibly she tightened and the fluid dance turned jerky as her eyes went vague, calling his name in shallow throaty sobs. He’d never felt so alive as he drove forward, tingling built at the base of his skull, like an electric charge, pulsing, goading him forward, faster, lower but he held to the rhythm, gloried as her gaze shattered into tears with the power of her release, hips bucking against his hungry yet sated as he thrust, meeting every parry and sally as his own end rose. Biting on a creamy shoulder, he gave in and shuddered, growling her name against her hair as he poured into her hot and wild. Gasping for air, Ryan turned on his side, pulling Rose with him, keeping her as ever, under his wounded heart. “Together we are new, we are healed,” she marveled against his chest and he was whole. “New beginnings,” he kissed the rim of her ear. “My ballerina,” Ryan smiled caressing her injured leg, feeling nothing but wondrous woman. Placing her hand on the twisted skin above his heart, she intoned, “What was broken, scattered and lost has been renewed. I love you, Ryan.” 137


“And I you, my New Year’s dancer.”

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About the Author

Clutching a bowl of popcorn, wide-eyed and fixated on Chiller Theater and Terminal Stare at the age of five, Melissa knew that horror and cleavage were inexplicably bound, today she lives it. When she isn’t pecking at the keyboard she enjoys maintaining the family graveyard, swamp hikes and lurking in the hills of Southern Pennsylvania.

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