A Low Blue Flame

by A. J. Downey

  “Thanks, bud, I appreciate your patience with me.”

  He rolled his eyes and shooed me out of his chair, saying, “You’re going to be late; you’d better go.”

  “I have no idea where the hell I’m supposed to be going.”

  “Lobby,” he sang out, irritated, and I shot him a short salute.

  I went down to the lobby in these expensive, shiny, Italian shoes that probably cost more than my brownstone, and Veronica waved me over.

  “Okay, so Lilli will be down soon, you’ll exit the lobby to the car waiting at the curb. Expect paparazzi, because Nathalie is here, and so is Kit.”

  “Seriously?”

  Veronica laughed and jerked her head, my eyes wandered over and sure enough, there were the lead actress and actor who’d played Quinn and Jack, Lil’s characters.

  “They’re a lot different in person,” I said, surprisingly underwhelmed, and Veronica smiled a secretive smile.

  “They usually are, people tend to forget they’re human beings, and when they’re humble, like those two, you can totally miss being in the same room with them.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can’t miss,” I said, eyes glued to the top of the stairs where they’d gotten stuck on Lil.

  “Ah,” Veronica said, pleased. “There she is.”

  She was beautiful, radiant in this form-fitting, simple yet elegant satin gown with just the right amount of shimmer to the cloth. It was a deep, emerald green, the perfect match to my tie and handkerchief, and I somehow didn’t think that was any kind of coincidence. At the same time, I didn’t care.

  In this moment, I burned for her; a low, blue flame that rose higher and higher with every step she took down those stairs.

  Her satin pumps were the perfect match to the gown. It was perfect for her, a halter-style with a plunging neckline that flared at her chest, dipped with the perfect amount of curve to follow the natural flow of her hourglass figure before flaring outward again to flow down her hips and near straight to the ground. It gave a last little flare at the floor into the smallest train and she was gorgeous in it. Her throat was adorned with a gold necklace in the perfect ‘Y’ shape; dangling from the end was a teardrop emerald. Her earrings matched, simple gold, delicate chains with smaller teardrop emeralds, dangling from her ears. Her golden wheat-blonde hair was swept into one of those classy twists where it was all tucked into itself, a long gold comb set with more emeralds pinning it at the seam, winking in the overhead lights as she turned her head to ask something of the man escorting her down the stairs.

  I squashed the flare of jealousy pretty damn quick. He looked old enough to be her dad, but come to think of it, she and I had never talked about him – her dad, I mean. There was still so much about her that I didn’t know, and I wanted to know everything.

  She caught sight of me and her perfectly-glossed, shell-pink lips parted in the most beautiful smile; I think my heart cracked from the pressure of it swelling so big. She reached the bottom of the stairs and I smiled down at her as she reached me.

  “You’re so beautiful it hurts,” I told her honestly, and I heard her suck in a breath, but then Veronica was doing her thing and we were supposed to play follow-the-leader and smile for the cameras.

  “Here we go,” Lil said lightly, and I could hear the static electricity of her anxiety crackle across the surface of her words. I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm all gentlemanly and tried for the life of me to figure out how to be her shield, how to make this easier for her in any way possible.

  Like I said, I was pretty much smitten and ready to do anything for her, whether she asked it of me or not.

  14

  Lilli…

  The first gauntlet of paparazzi wasn’t so bad. They were mostly here for the stars and could care less about me, which was helpful. We strode down the entryway carpet of the hotel and slid smoothly into the back of the waiting limo with no problems and I breathed a sigh of relief. Backdraft kept staring at me and I couldn’t quite read the look on his face; what he was thinking was a mystery to me.

  “You look really good yourself,” I said and smiled.

  “Hey, that’s all that Martine guy.”

  “He’s quite the fashionista,” I agreed, laughing.

  “Reminds me of Pasquale, back home.”

  “Who’s that?”

  He told me about the Trinity General nurse who had basically attached himself to the club. He sounded just like Martine, only funnier. I couldn’t wait to meet him. I hoped that Backdraft would want to keep me around long enough that I got the chance. Depending on how the rest of the night went, it could go either way. I was a little worried, he was already looking a little shell-shocked but I was also a worrier. That’s what I did. I was a world-class worrier.

  The car stopped and started, moving slowly through Manhattan traffic and we sat mostly in silence.

  “You ready?” I asked softly when we pulled up to the curb and he smiled the most reassuring smile. Still, before he could say anything, the door opened and he was out, his hand reaching down to help me. I took it, and no matter how many times you think you’re prepared, you aren’t.

  I stepped out of the protective confines of the limo into the maelstrom of strobing and flashing lights and a cacophony of shouts and shouting. I clung to Backdraft’s arm and let him guide me down the carpet in the slow, timed walk Veronica had reminded us must be maintained, behind some of the lesser stars of the movie.

  I would be grateful when Nathalie and Kit exited their cars because it would be sure to draw the attention off of me. I know, selfish, but true none the less.

  We stopped at regular intervals for still-photo opportunities along the carpeted walkway leading into the theater, and for the most part ignored the questions shouted at us, just smiling instead. The transition from still photos to video was a gradual one and eventually we couldn’t dodge any more questions when a microphone was thrust into my face.

  “Ms. Philips, how are you tonight?”

  I put on my best smile and went to work, stepping into my Timber Philips persona and acting for the camera.

  “Oh, I’m really excited!” I answered. “I don’t think this will ever get old.”

  “This is your third work made into a movie so far, how do you feel about that?”

  “Oh, blessed.” I put my hand to my chest and declared the truth. “I am so incredibly grateful to all of my readers out there for making the movies of my books as successful as the books themselves, and to the people who haven’t read my books but are enjoying the films? I can’t even tell you how happy that makes me that I get to welcome a whole new group of people into my worlds. The studios have done a phenomenal job bringing my worlds to life and I really couldn’t have asked for a better cast. I could gush on for days, but I think they’re expecting us further down the carpet.”

  “Well, thank you for your time!”

  “You bet!”

  I moved Backdraft and I to the next set of cameras to field the next question, “Timber! Who are you wearing tonight?” I laughed and they clarified, “The dress, of course!”

  I gave them the designer’s name that I’d been asked to memorize, and then they asked, “And who are you?” thrusting the microphone at Backdraft.

  “Oh, uh…”

  “Oh, he’s shy!” I covered for him. “He’s honestly just a friend,” I said, giving Veronica, up the carpet, the surreptitious hand signal. She sent a man in a tux with a clipboard and a headset our way and made it seem like we needed to keep moving. We moved off camera after a half-second more banter and had one more interview to go through, but there was already blood in the water and the sharks were circling.

  “Timber, who’s your new man?”

  Shit.

  “Backdraft is just a good friend,” I said and kept it at that.

  “How good?” she asked and I plastered a smile on my face.

  Backdraft leaned in and gave her a wink, “When it comes to real life, Timber doesn�
�t kiss and tell.”

  “Oh!” the gossip-show’s hostess laughed and we moved on before she could do or say anything else that could pry or be potentially embarrassing.

  “Nicely done,” I murmured close to his ear.

  He leaned down and said into mine, “It’s the media, they’ll find some way for it to bite us in the ass later.”

  I laughed and said, “You’re not wrong,” and we made the door and were safely whisked inside and out of the limelight.

  “That was exhausting,” he declared, flatly.

  “Now you see why I hate these things.”

  He grunted in agreement and my smile returned as several of the executives that made Hallowed Be Thy Light come off the page wandered our way.

  I felt bad, but I had warned him that it would be this way. Still, Backdraft listened, standing at my side, and did a fair impression of not being bored out of his skull while I talked business and did the professional banter as was required of these stuffed shirt functions.

  Pretty soon, drinks from the full bar in hand, we were led to our theater seats by one of the ushers and left, for a moment, to our own devices.

  “Jesus, I don’t know how you do it,” he said softly and I smiled genuinely. My face hurt from all the forced artificial smiles.

  “I don’t know either, sometimes. I know it sounds awful and ungrateful, but I really wish I could just write the books and interact with my readers and, well, now, viewers, versus all of these Hollywood types. I’m just not cut out for all of this corporate crazy-making.”

  “Well, you could have fooled me. You do extremely well at it.”

  “Not always,” I murmured quickly as a few of the lower-level producers and representatives from my publisher took nearby seats.

  I took a sparing sip from my champagne flute and we all settled. A few moments later, the lights lowered, the theater darkened and became more intimate, and the movie began.

  I sighed, and tight muscles eased as Backdraft slid his fingers through mine and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I held on and didn’t want to let go, and he smiled faintly and left his hand entwined with mine. I couldn’t tell you how grateful I was for the silent support and comfort. I genuinely didn’t deserve a man as good as he was to be here with me tonight. I really didn’t.

  The movie played all the way through, everyone politely sitting through the rolling end credits to the little bit at the end and there was my character Mags, a sudden surprise at the very end of the credits standing like Yoda on the little bar stool by Quinn’s drawing table, her hands resting atop her shillelagh as she stared at the camera.

  “Don’t you be leaving a mess, now,” she scolded, leaning forward imperiously. She winked and leaned back, cackling. “Now, off wit ye!”

  The music finished out and she disappeared in a sparkle, and the curtains closed over the screen to a chorus of light chuckles from the audience. I felt my eyes mist. The whole production had been just perfect.

  “Don’t do that,” Backdraft whispered. “Your makeup will run and I really don’t want to face Martine again so soon.”

  I laughed and stood and he followed suit, letting my hand go reluctantly. We filed out into the lobby and after-party and Veronica found us.

  “Want me to rescue him?” she asked.

  Backdraft looked at me amused, and I smiled up at him.

  “This next part is going to bore you to death. I have it set up that when it gets to be too much, Veronica will rescue you by way of needing a big strong man to get the swag bags and gift baskets back to the hotel. Lame, but all I could think of. I don’t want you feeling like nothing more that arm candy.”

  He nodded carefully and smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said genuinely. “A lot of these guys, the way they talk at you like you’re stupid, I don’t want to smart off and wreck something for you. I think I’m good for about half an hour to an hour, though.”

  “Good deal,” Veronica said and did what she did best. Melted back into the crowd to handle some bit of drama or business or other.

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “I’m sure. Whatever makes your life easier, I mea – “

  “Ah! There she is.”

  Backdraft was interrupted by the director and several producers wandering over.

  “I’m dying to know, Ms. Philips. What did you think of my vision where your work is concerned?”

  “Oh, my, I was so very impressed!”

  “Truly?”

  “Oh yes, it was like you were inside my head! You did beautifully, the actors were perfect and their performance nuanced. I’m afraid I may have teared up at the end.”

  “Excellent, excellent! And what about you, good sir? What did you think?”

  “Honestly, I was skeptical about cutting the part with Quinn’s conversation with Doan in the Summerland, but I understand why you did it. I thought for sure it would leave anyone who hadn’t read the books in the dark on what Lil – I mean Timber had going when it came to Fae history, but it was a good call and you and your team made up for it in other ways.”

  I stared up at Backdraft in shock.

  “You read my book?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Well… yeah,” he said.

  I stared at him, stunned, and he stared right back. The moment was heavy as I tried to process how monumental this was to me. I mean, no one I had ever seen had actually read one. It had always been some excuse or another. ‘Reading’s not my thing’, or ‘I don’t have the time’, or even ‘You really expect me to read a romance novel?’

  It had gotten to the point that I didn’t even ask anymore and here this man was, and he’d read my book without any expectation, or pressure, or ‒anything‒.

  “You read my book,” I said softly, and the director and the producers standing with us all chuckled, and with a few exchanged pleasantries wandered away.

  “Well, yeah, Lil. They’re your whole life. I wanted to know everything about you, and I thought they were a good place to start.”

  I fell in love with him, completely and totally, right then and there.

  He chuckled and leaned down, whispering in my ear, “I’m going to stop distracting you and let you take care of business. I’ll see you back at the hotel and we can talk about it, if you’d like.”

  I nodded dumbly and he laid a light butterfly kiss on my cheek.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay.”

  I watched him leave, dumbfounded, and didn’t know what to say. He found Veronica and she smiled and enthusiastically helped him gather the gift-basket-things that were a thing at every premiere and celebrity event.

  I moved through the rest of the evening in a bit of a fog, but it was an elevated one. I don’t know why it affected me so much, that he had actually read my book, but it did. Oh, lord, did it ever.

  15

  Backdraft…

  I brought up her gift baskets, chuckling at the contents of some of them. One had condoms in it, which made me smile as I set it on the bedside table.

  I missed Lil, like a fractured ache in my chest, but that was probably because the revelation that I’d read her book. Goddamn, I’d never been so in tune with another woman in my life. The look on her face. I knew I’d done something unexpectedly profound, but I had never seen someone fall completely in love and had that look trained on me. That was exactly what I’d seen, though, and it affected me like nothing else ever had.

  She’d looked at me the way Chrissy looked at Youngblood, the way Aly looked at Yale, and I had craved it like a drowning man craved air. I’d been a little sad to realize I had never seen a look like that on Torrid, but at the same time, I could honestly say, I’d loved her but not in the way I was falling for Lil. This was something so deep, so profound, that if I were drowning? Well, if this was what drowning in another human being was? I’d die a happy man and I hadn’t even gotten to so much as kiss her yet.

  I showered and when I got out, I lay on my back on my side of th
e bed mindlessly channel-surfing in a pair of my boxer-briefs. I had nothing else to do while I waited on Lil to come back to me. I had to say, it was a special kind of torture. I didn’t see or hear a goddamned thing playing out over the hotel’s TV set. All I kept seeing was that look she’d given me; all I could hear was that stunned dream-like quality to her voice. “You read my book?”

  Such an innocuous sentence, but one that changed me forever, soul deep. I shut off the TV and sat up when I heard her key card in the lock, leaping to my feet when the door handle depressed. I waited, my heart damn near in my throat, as she rounded the corner and stopped just a few feet from me.

  She looked up at me, those storm-swept gray-blue eyes of hers calling me home, like some sort of siren and I slowly closed the gap between us. I cradled her face in my hands and just drank her in by silent sight for several moments. It was the first time that I’d ever been with a woman where literally nothing needed to be said. Instead, I let my body do the talking and my lips do the walking as I lowered my face to hers.

  Her breath, sweet with champagne, fanned over my lips as she let out a relieved little gasp and then we were kissing. Slow and sensual, neither one of us wanting to be rushed, her skin smooth as silk under my hands as I smoothed them down her graceful neck and over her shoulders, leaping from her arms to her ribs to caress that hourglass shape through her gown.

  She let out a light little sigh of relief and I let my hands sweep to her back to find the hidden zipper there, lowering it, even as her hands fluttered lightly onto my heated skin, slightly cool to the touch and setting me further aflame from it.

  Her hands slipped down the back of my boxer-briefs, nails biting slightly into my ass as she gripped it, pressing our bodies tightly together and I groaned into her mouth. She was a fantastic kisser, her tongue taking its time to explore the inside of my mouth as much I took the time with mine to caress the inside of hers.