By the Book

by Nancy Warren

  “Wherever did you find them?”

  “A jeweler I know.”

  She removed the silver drop earrings she was wearing, and put on the new ones. Then she held out the necklace to Luke.

  He stepped behind her. “Lift your hair.” His voice was soft and sensuous, whispering against her hair. Her skin prickled as she complied, her own curls feeling sensuous as they tumbled over her hands and wrists. He fastened the clasp and his fingertips brushed the back of her neck, making her shiver. Before she dropped her hair he placed a quick kiss on her nape.

  She almost danced to her bedroom to check out the new jewelry in the mirror. She struck a pose with the shawl, and suddenly remembered how she’d left the bag with her dress and shawl in his car overnight when they’d been in such a hurry to get to chapter seven.

  She hadn’t retrieved them until the following afternoon. He must have taken the shawl with him to search for… Her fingers rose to her throat to touch the cheerful links, again noting they weren’t merely a close match to the colors in the shawl, but an exact match. Had he had the pieces specially made?

  It was such a sweet, thoughtful gesture, and the fact that he wasn’t boasting about his thoughtfulness made it all the sweeter.

  He was, she was beginning to think, a keeper. Now she simply had to get him believing it.

  “These are so perfect,” she said as she waltzed back out of her bedroom. “Thanks.” And she kissed him until her own toes curled.

  “Well? Are you ready to face B.J. and friends?” she asked.

  “One devoted love slave coming up,” he said, and held out his hand for hers.

  As they drove to the wedding she said, “I liked your feature in the weekend paper, by the way.” She’d read it this morning with her breakfast and chuckled all the way through, imagining Luke on assignment.

  He groaned. “I never, ever thought I’d write an article that included the benefits of breast milk. Hell, I never wanted to know what Montgomery’s Tubules were. Now I’ll never look at a breast in the same way.”

  She laughed.

  “No, really. I’m serious. Let’s pull over and I’ll show you. Your naked breasts will inspire nothing but a learned opinion on their perfection as ‘receptacles of nourishment,’” he said, quoting his article.

  “How did you end up doing it?” It wasn’t at all his usual type of article, though she had to hand it to him, he’d done a pretty good job of getting the breast-feeding club’s points across, without sounding like a guy. He’d written about everything from the natural antibodies in breast milk to inverted nipples, and managed to do it with a certain dignity. But she couldn’t imagine why the paper hadn’t assigned a woman for the job.

  “The truth is kind of embarrassing.”

  “Luke, you fainted at the sight of my naked body. I think we’re beyond embarrassing.”

  He sighed. “You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the two are sort of related.”

  She bit her lip and turned to him. “You didn’t faint at the breast-feeding meeting?”

  “Pass out. And, no. I didn’t. I agreed to do that article in exchange for taking your class on a tour of the paper.”

  She opened her mouth and then couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her lips formed a silent O.

  “I was sure you were going to dump me on my sorry ass after I had that little blood sugar episode. It was lame and pathetic, but that school tour was my best shot at keeping you still speaking to me.”

  She didn’t say a word and he shot her a mocking expression. “Well? Am I right?”

  She nodded. “Luke?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m glad you did the breast-feeding article. And the kids are so excited about touring your paper they’re working really hard on their articles, hoping they get a chance to be in print. You did a great job with them.”

  “It was fun.”

  She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to pulling the plug on their own deal. She’d have missed getting to know Luke better and, worst of all, she’d have missed becoming intimate with him. Maybe their lovemaking wasn’t as technically smooth as it would ultimately be, but they were avid students of that silly book of Luke’s. It was getting to the point where the sight of that garish red-and-black cover made her wet. And, advanced technique was great, but there was a lot to be said for raw enthusiasm, which was overflowing in Luke.

  “I’m glad, too,” he said at last.

  Since Luke was a good driver and she was a good navigator, they got to the church in plenty of time.

  She’d wondered how she’d feel when she saw B.J. again. It had been three or four years since Shari had seen her, and more like five since she’d seen Randy.

  When she saw her college boyfriend waiting at the top of the aisle, she wondered why her heart had been broken over him. He was all right, but nothing special. Then the music started and they all rose. After the parade of bridesmaids, B.J. walked slowly toward him in a wedding gown right out of Martha Stewart Weddings.

  Shari didn’t feel the anguish and hurt she’d expected the day would resurrect; she suddenly saw B.J. as the scrawny twelve-year-old she’d been when they first met. Then she had flashes of them as friends in high school and as dorm mates in college. She wasn’t going to pretend that it hadn’t hurt to have a close friend and her boyfriend abandon her for each other, but the fact they were still together and getting married mitigated the severity of their crime. Somewhat.

  Walt Whitman must have really done a number on them, for they were clearly in love with each other. How wonderful it must be to get married to the man you knew was your forever guy.

  She reached for Luke’s hand simply because she wanted to feel the warmth and weight of his hand in hers.

  The necklace he’d bought her lay smooth against her throat. He wasn’t the kind of man who was so busy climbing a corporate ladder he didn’t have time for the people he cared about in his life.

  Quite the opposite, in fact. He obviously worked hard and had enough drive and self-discipline to write a novel, but he also took time out to smell the roses. And send roses, she mused, remembering her surprise when she’d first received them. Since they’d become lovers he was always showing up with flowers.

  And he’d put a lot of thought and care into choosing or, more likely, having designed, the jewelry she was wearing today.

  Maybe it was attending a wedding ceremony that was making her mushy, but she suddenly saw Luke as the kind of man she could marry. He’d be great with kids, too, she realized, recalling how good he’d been with the teens in her class.

  The blond-oak pews creaked in unison as the wedding guests resumed their seats once the bride reached the groom.

  Shari sat there, surprisingly moved to watch two old friends getting married. A lot of her residual humiliation evaporated as it finally occurred to her that they really did love each other. At least she hadn’t been dumped for a two-week fling.

  Luke kept her hand in his, and she remained aware of the constant warm connection between them as the ancient words of the marriage ceremony echoed in the church.

  One day it would be her turn and, as her gaze dropped instinctively to their linked hands, she realized that it was Luke she wanted to marry.

  Her eyes widened in shock as the truth hit her. If she wanted to marry him then she must be…she must be… Oh, Lord. She was in love with him.

  The knowledge made her feel warm all over.

  Tears trembled on her lashes and spilled over during the marriage ceremony. They were tears of happiness, but not for B.J. and Randy. They were for herself. She was in love. And she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

  Once they got to the reception at a snooty country club, Luke kept his part of their original bargain. “You do a great job pretending to be my devoted love slave,” she told him laughingly as he brought her a glass of champagne and kissed her hand.

&
nbsp; His eyes laughed right back at her, but his words were seriously sexual. “I am your devoted love slave.”

  Her breath caught as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly, murmuring, “I’ll prove it when we get home.”

  Whether it was his teasing words that put her on simmer or her newfound knowledge that she’d fallen in love with him, she didn’t know, but desire bubbled constantly as she chatted with old friends and introduced Luke to them.

  With smug pride, she noted that he was quite a hit. And as a love slave he wasn’t bad, either. Throughout dinner, he took every possible opportunity to touch her, whether with a nudge of his knee under the table or a caressing finger down her cheek or his arm thrown seemingly carelessly along the back of her chair so his fingers just touched her bare shoulder.

  She knew it was deliberate. She knew it was extended foreplay. She suspected it came straight out of that damn book of his. It didn’t matter; he was driving her absolutely wild with lust.

  She hoped he’d had a recent physical, for she was planning to retaliate when they returned home, and he’d need all his strength to keep up with her.

  After the speeches, which she barely heard over the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears, they watched B.J. and Randy enjoy their first dance as a married couple.

  “I can’t believe you broke your heart over that guy,” Luke said.

  “What can I say? I was young and foolish.” She turned to Luke and patted his cheek. “I have much better taste now.”

  “Let’s dance,” he said when the floor was opened to everyone.

  She melted against him and found he danced with the easy athletic grace he did most things. She moved with him instinctively, and she imagined anyone watching them would immediately know they were lovers.

  It was heaven to be with him, to smell his scent when she laid her cheek on his shoulder, to know that soon she’d be in his arms making love.

  As though he’d read her thoughts, he said, “We’re getting out of here.”

  “But we can’t. It would be rude to leave before the bride and groom.”

  “Consider it payback time for Leaves of Grass.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I need to be inside you. Badly.”

  A tiny, helpless moan was surprised out of her. What were social manners when set against this kind of burning, physical need? “I’ll pretend I’m going to the washroom. You head for the bar, and we’ll meet at the car.”

  “Got it.”

  They snuck out of the country club parking lot like a pair of criminals.

  “Do you think they’ll notice we snuck out?”

  “Do you care?”

  If her choice was between socializing with people she hadn’t seen in years or making love with Luke, there was really no contest.

  She replied by leaning across the seat and tracing the curve of his ear with her tongue. “No. I really don’t care.”

  “Pass me my phone,” he said urgently.

  “Why?”

  “Need my GPS. There must be a shortcut to get home.”

  18

  “I’VE GOT SOME GREAT NEWS, Luke,” Matthew Hargreaves, his agent, bellowed from New York.

  “What is it?” Luke asked blearily, blinking and trying to find the clock so he could confirm that it was much too early to be awake and talking to anybody.

  His agent always forgot the time difference to the West Coast, despite repeated reminders from Luke, who’d been awake long after Shari had fallen asleep in his arms last night. He’d never spent a weekend like it. They’d barely left his bed since coming home from the wedding Saturday night.

  They’d made a game of the advanced positions in the latter chapters of the book, trying out every single one. It had been magical, funny, searingly sexual and scary as hell.

  He’d finally snuck out of bed around three this morning. Not wanting to wake her, he’d bypassed the computer and grabbed paper and a pen and taken them out to the couch in his living room.

  It had been a waste of time. He couldn’t write.

  He’d paced.

  If he’d been a smoker, he’d have puffed through a pack, one cigarette after another. If he’d been directing the scene, he’d have called for black and white and a solo sax wailing in the background. That’s what kind of a night it had been, what kind of a mood he’d been in.

  Shari’s scent was on his skin just as surely as she was sleeping in his bed. Every time he caught a whiff of her fragrance, or thought about her, he felt both panicky and relieved; in terrible danger and yet more secure than ever before.

  Something was different about the way he was with this woman than he’d been with any other.

  He was very much afraid that something was love.

  Halting his pacing to stare blearily out his window at the first streaks of dawn over Mount Rainier, he wondered, was this what happened to his father? Time after time?

  Could Luke be different? Or was he merely starting on the path to letting women down later?

  How could he tell?

  He’d crawled back into bed a few minutes before six-thirty, because he’d wanted to be there when she woke. He loved watching Shari wake up. This morning he’d watched her eyes blink the minute the alarm went off, then she’d eased back for a full-bodied stretch. Next she kissed him, and he’d realized he was kissing her for the first time knowing he was in love with her. He’d pulled her flush against him and tried to tell her with his body what he couldn’t yet say in words.

  “Stop, or I’ll be late,” she giggled, then rolled out of bed and whispered to him to go back to sleep.

  Amazingly, he did, feeling a sense of contentment that was both new and welcome.

  Now he blinked again, forcing himself to concentrate on his agent’s words. He hauled himself up to a sitting position and snapped on a light. He’d sent his novel to Matthew to read. Had he looked at it already? Did he like it? Luke wasn’t normally nervous about his work, but this book meant something to him.

  “Hey, Luke. You still there?” Matthew’s voice dragged him back to his search for the time. Not quite seven. Well, it wasn’t that bad. He was usually up by now, but he was functioning on so little sleep it felt like the wee hours.

  “Yeah, I’m here. What’s the news?”

  “Ginger.” Matthew stretched the word out like saltwater taffy, treating each syllable as though it were a complete word. “Gin. Ger.”

  Silence. What on earth was the man talking about?

  “She wants you on her show.”

  “Oh, that Ginger.” He made the connection. Daytime talk show woman. Right. He yawned, and moved his neck around to get the kinks out. Chapter twelve should come with a chiropractic warning.

  “What is your problem today? There is only one Ginger. And she reaches a core viewing public of a couple million every day. I sent in your sex book. She wants you. Next week. You fly down to L.A. Tuesday, appear on the show Wednesday.”

  “You’ve been conned, Matt. They book those things months ahead.” All Luke wanted to do was to go back to sleep. He wondered vaguely if Matthew had taken up drinking.

  There was a short pause. “I’m going to level with you, Luke. She had another one of my authors scheduled. Guy did a prima donna act and now he’s not doing the show.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “So it’s me you need a favor from. You want to slot me in a vacant spot.”

  “It’s still the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ve already contacted your publisher. They’re salivating. Already going back to press on Total Morons. This is huge, my friend. Huge.”

  Luke knew it was huge. If he wasn’t so tired he’d probably be pretty excited. People who appeared on “Ginger” sold a lot of books. He’d pole-vault to the next level. But his gut wasn’t happy. He scanned through all the reasons he didn’t want to do the show, but there was really only one that sprang to mind—he didn’t want Shari finding out. And that, of course, was that.

  “I don’t think so, Matt.�
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  There was a heavy sigh. “I wish you’d think about it. It’s a lot easier to sell a first novel from a writer who’s got some credibility.”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “If you do the ‘Ginger’ show, millions of readers see you. They see you’re a handsome guy, can string a few words together. Your how-to book becomes an instant bestseller. My job’s a lot easier.”

  Luke didn’t consider himself more of a fool than the next man. He knew when he was getting the squeeze.

  He might not be a native New Yorker like Matt, but he wasn’t a total pushover, either. “What did you think of the novel?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Good enough to publish?”

  There was another pause. Luke felt the weight of Matt’s calculation as they played a delicate game on the phone. Lack of sleep was a definite handicap in his corner.

  “I think it’s good enough. In fact, I think it’s great. Best thing you’ve ever done. But it’s the publishers who decide these things.”

  And the agent who led the cheering section and hyped the manuscript.

  “I want to send it out to a couple editors, see what they think.”

  Matthew didn’t mention the word auction, but it reverberated down the phone lines with deafening clarity. If the book was good enough, and more than one publishing house wanted it badly enough, they’d bid against each other. An auction was a writer’s dream, and Luke was as much a dreamer as the next lowly scribe.

  “Of course, if I tell them you’re going to be on ‘Ginger’ next week, they’ll be salivating. I could call any of my writers with a book out, and they’ll chop off limbs for the opportunity I’m giving you.”

  If it had just been the how-to book, Luke would have stayed firm, but the wily old devil had hooked him with his own novel. He’d do more than flog Total Morons if it meant a chance at getting Prisons of the Mind published.

  He ran a hand across his stubbly chin, ignoring the tiny warning voice whispering in his ear that he ought to confess to Shari that he’d written Sex for Total Morons before revealing his identity to daytime-TV-watching America. But she worked all day and had too busy a life to spend much time in front of the television. She’d never know he and Lance Flagstaff were one and the same unless he told her. And he would tell her, in his own time and in his own way. Sure, it would be available on the internet, but why would Shari see the interview? It would be like her finding he needle in the haystack she wasn’t even looking for.