Isn't it Romantic?

by Ronda Thompson

  His smile was lazy, sensuous. “It must be an omen.”

  “But, what could it mean?” she fretted.

  The smile he wore stretched over her acting abilities, He turned thoughtful, brooding, and looked all the more roguish in the role. “Though a rose is gentle on the eye, soft to the touch and pleasing to smell, to embrace its splendor, one must suffer the consequence. In all things living, within the beauty of perfection, lies the ability to deliver pain. A natural defense.”

  Her humor fled. How true were his mock findings, and how ironic the thorn had pricked the skin above her heart. “And you said you weren’t creative.” She glanced down with the intention of wiping the blood away.

  His hand stilled the motion. “And in all suffering,” he added, “lies the beauty of love, when the pain is shared.” He leaned forward and removed the small bubble of blood with his tongue.

  When he lifted his head, his expression challenged her to do the same. Her tongue touched his skin, tasted the saltiness of his blood and lingered against the warmth of his flesh.

  “Maybe we should eat,” he said hoarsely.

  “I wanted to see the house…” her voice trailed as she glanced around.

  “I have every intention of showing you the house. Every single room. Later.”

  Katrine’s gaze returned to his. Heat settled in her face, her neck and private regions. “Every single room?”

  “Even the pantry in the kitchen,” he answered with a wicked twist to his lips.

  “How many rooms are there? I–I mean total?”

  “Eleven.”

  “I doubt you could show me eleven rooms,” she said, her smile as wicked as his.

  “I forgot to count the staircase. Make it twelve. Back it up with a fifty, and you’ve got a bet.”

  She laughed at his daring. “Haven’t you learned your lesson about gambling?”

  “In this instance, the rewards to be reaped will be much sweeter.”

  Having thrown down the gauntlet, Trey removed the silver covers from their plates. Steam rose, and the smell of lobster mingled with the scent of roses and candle wax. Katrine glanced up at him with inquiry.

  “Surely you didn’t prepare this?”

  “No.” He uncorked the wine. “I mined your last meal at Chez Fred’s. I hope this makes up for it.”

  Chez Fred’s, to her speculation, didn’t offer a take out service. His thoughtful indulgence must have cost a small fortune, not to mention a room full of roses. She took the goblet of sparkling wine he handed her, waiting until he filled his own before bringing the glass to her lips.

  “Wait. I want to make a toast.”

  Curious, she lowered the goblet.

  “To the end.”

  Katrine’s heart twisted painfully. Her goblet remained untouched.

  “Of the beginning,” he finished.

  Slowly the frozen blood in her veins thawed. His smile reassured her. The future lay ahead, time needed to explore her feelings for him and the ones his heated regard said he felt for her. Katrine clinked her glass to his, sealing a promise to herself. The world waited. She felt strong enough to gamble on Trey, to believe in happily-ever-after. They began the meal in silence. Trey’s manners were impeccable, even if the hot stare he directed her way could only be labeled obscene.

  Stimulated to the point of discomfort, Katrine recalled the aspect of his barbaric mannerisms inside the restaurant that had heated her blood. She wondered if she could do the same to him.

  Setting her fork aside, she tore a chunk of tender lobster from the shell. She allowed the buttery juice to run down her fingers before bringing the morsel to her lips. Greedily, she sucked at the meat, popped it into her mouth, then lapped the juice from her fingers. Trey swallowed loudly. She smiled.

  After the third repeat, his fork dropped to his plate. Not that Katrine had seen him eat a bite since the seduction began. The fourth time she lifted her fingers, he snatched her hand.

  Firelight flickering in the blue depths of his eyes, Trey attended to the task for her. He licked the juice from her hand, sucked on her fingers and brought her breathing to a volley of soft pants. His mouth traveled up her sleeve, bit at the material of her jumpsuit, nuzzled her neck and hungrily lapped the juice from her lips. When she moaned, he stole inside, boldly caressing her tongue with his.

  Dishes rattled and wine spilled as he shoved the expensive meal aside with the sweep of his arm, gently lowering Katrine to the rug. When his hands moved to the buttons on her jumpsuit, she tugged the shirttail from his jeans. The speed with which he undid the long row of buttons caused her a moment’s annoyance. Pulling the shirt over his head, she sighed with bliss when his heated flesh touched hers.

  Trey drew back to run his gaze down her body. “Shit, you don’t have anything on underneath your clothes.”

  “You can’t say the ‘S’ word,” she scolded softly. “Not in romance.”

  “Can I say damn?” he wanted to know.

  “I don’t see why not,” she reasoned.

  He lowered his mouth to her breasts. “Damn.”

  As his lips fastened greedily on one passion-filled bud, Katrine arched her back and moaned his name. His hands clasped the material at her shoulders, and as his tongue traced a path down her body, Trey took the jumpsuit with him.

  When he pulled Katrine to her feet, she hurriedly kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her clothes. While Trey’s heated gaze hungrily roamed her naked curves, she reached for the fastenings of his jeans.

  “Not taking any chances with zippers, huh?” she asked with a smile. “I see you’re wearing button downs.”

  “Button downs about to lose their buttons. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “What’s wrong with right here?” Katrine managed to undo the buttons and he stepped out of his jeans in almost one fluid motion. Her fingers closed around him.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. “Don’t, Katrine,” he warned. “There’s something upstairs we need and the bedroom’s too far away as it is.”

  “You should have scattered them in with the rose petals,” she teased, refusing to release him. “Mmmm, you’re so hard, so hot, so … generously endowed.”

  “If you don’t stop that, you’ll find out just how generous I am. I thought about scattering them in with the rose petals, but then, that would look pretty presumptuous, and not at all romantic.”

  “Let’s go then,” she whispered huskily.

  This time, Trey didn’t scoop her up romantically in his arms. He took hold of her hand and practically dragged her from the room. In their haste to reach the bedroom, they tripped on the stairs. Katrine landed on top. Warm need encountered strained control. She moaned softly, unable to end the delicious contact.

  “Katrine,” Trey warned again, then sighed. “To hell with it. One time won’t matter.”

  Roughly, he grasped her hips, plunging into her with force. Katrine gasped with shock, then groaned with pleasure. His hands on her hips guided her movements until she understood the rhythm. Panting above him, the glow from a light upstairs outlining the rugged contours of his face, the first taste of her own power slid down Katrine’s throat. She rode him mercilessly, inflamed by the passionate words she stole from his lips, maddened by the building sensation she knew ended in release, and when he thought to slow her movements, she clasped his wrists and held them above his head. In retaliation, Trey licked and sucked at her breasts when they were within sampling distance. His teasing caused her to grind frantically against him, and when she felt the first shudder of surrender, Katrine threw her head back. An inhuman sound escaped her throat to merge with his growl of release.

  Trey thrust deep, giving his heart, giving all of himself, then held her when she collapsed against him. After his breathing slowed, an admission slipped past his defenses. “I could stand that for the rest of my life,” he said in a voice laced with tenderness. “Katrine, I realize we haven’t known each other that long, but I’ve developed feelings for you. I t�
�think I—”

  “I think I smell smoke,” Katrine sat up abruptly. She’d been only half listening to him while her brain tried to identify the faint odor.

  “It’s probably just from the fireplace.” He pulled her back down.

  “Oh.” Katrine snuggled next to his warmth. “Now, what were you saying?”

  He cleared his throat. “I said, I … smell smoke, too. I’m sure the screen on the fireplace was closed. ‘Christ,’” he groaned. “The candles!”

  Chapter 19

  “That’s it?” Cynthia Lane asked, obviously disappointed. “You managed to gook up a hockey game but good and he only wrote one line?”

  “Ah, but that one line says a lot,” Katrine said, refilling her friend’s coffee cup.

  “’This hardened realist is reconsidering the extinction of romance and questioning his belief in un-happily-ever-after,’“ Cynthia quoted, then smiled herself. “Sounds like our boy has fallen in love.”

  “I hope so.” Katrine’s expression became worried. “I have.”

  “I know,” the spunky brunette reminded. “I told you, remember?”

  Katrine brought Cynthia’s coffee, pulled out a chair and quickly seated herself. “No, I really love him,” she stressed. “I mean, I’m not afraid to love him anymore. Now that the feature has ended, all we have to do is write our last article and we’re free.”

  “Free?” Cynthia repeated, confused.

  “Free to have a relationship of our own without the nation looking on. Hopefully, without Elise Pennington hiding in the bushes, waiting to catch us at some embarrassment. We’ve agreed not to see or speak to each other until after the feature ends in this Sunday’s edition. Then we’ll celebrate.”

  “So.” Cynthia leaned closer. “How was the last date?”

  “Up until the fire, it was as romantic as it gets.”

  “The fire?”

  “A slight mishap with a burning candle.” So much for my black jumpsuit. “Once Trey and I emptied the rose vases and poured water over the flames, you could hardly tell the Persian rug had a burnt corner.”

  “I guess that left the evening on an exciting note.” Cynthia chuckled softly.

  “Actually, the evening didn’t end.” Katrine’s eyes took on a glazed look. “Trey showed me the house. Every single room.”

  Cynthia appeared to be puzzling over what could be so exciting about that, then she shrugged. “I gotta go, kid.” She rose from the table. “I told you there was a Prince Charming out there for every woman. Mine just happens to look like a frog. Yours? Well, his picture’s probably next to the word ‘gorgeous’ in the dictionary.”

  “Bye, Cynthia.” Katrine got to her feet and walked Cynthia to the front door. “Thanks for all the advice. You were right, the thought of a real flesh and blood man in my life scared me. But now, I can’t imagine existing without Trey. I just hope he feels the same.” Katrine worried her bottom lip.

  “You hope? Can’t you see it in his eyes?”

  “I think I do. But then, maybe I just want to.”

  “Don’t worry, kid.” Cynthia patted her arm. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. Now, go write that feature while I tell Shelly good-bye. I barely had time to say hello after she got off the bus.”

  Nodding distractedly, Katrine closed the door. “It has to work out,” she whispered. “I’ll die if it doesn’t.” Stop it! Katrine squared her shoulders. “I believe in love. I believe in happily-ever-after. I believe in Trey.”

  ———

  “Well, Westmoreland, we’ve squeezed the orange until the juice is almost gone.” Jerry sighed. “We’re number one. Kat’s editor called me this morning. He hopes you do better on the last feature. One damn sentence. Care to explain your strategy?”

  Pushing away from his computer, Trey reluctantly faced Jerry Caldwell. “There was no strategy. I wrote the truth.”

  Jerry rolled his gaze upward. “Oh, man. Did she do a number on you. Kat Summers managed to get exactly what she wanted without forcing you into anything. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Westmoreland.”

  “I’m not in the mood to listen to your snide comments about Katrine this morning. Maybe you’d better go.”

  His editor waved a hand. “I’m going,” he assured, moving toward the door. “I should call her and thank her for making this easier than I anticipated.” Jerry paused. “Tell me, did you romance her on the last date? Did you give her roses and candlelight? Has she made you into one of her silly, love-besotted heroes?”

  “Get out.” The order was given as Trey rose from his chair. “You’re ugly enough, Caldwell. Don’t tempt me to add further aggravation to an already sad situation.”

  “You did give her roses and candlelight, didn’t you?” Jerry asked, then shook his head. “You wanted her to feel special. Well, here’s a bulletin for you, Westmoreland, you’re not special to her. That babe could have any man she looked at twice. She probably has had any man who looked at her twice. Knowing how to pull all the right strings has gotten her exactly what she wanted, what her readers expect. You’re a fool, Westmoreland. A fool for love.”

  In the blink of an eye, Jerry found himself shoved against the wall, an angry columnist in his face.

  “Don’t talk about Katrine as if she were a whore! You don’t know her! She’s not that kind of woman!”

  “H–Hey, calm down,” Jerry stammered. “I got out of line, I’m sorry. I only have your best interest at heart. I think you’ve forgotten it’s all a game, only a story. I’m afraid she’s led you to believe there’s more to the feature than ratings and careers. Face it, Kat Summers would enjoy making you eat crow after the review you did on her three years ago. Although we’ve agreed you’ll shed a romantic light on the last article, I don’t want you to go overboard. Don’t give her more than is necessary, in case she pulls a fast one.”

  “What do you mean, ‘a fast one’?” Trey demanded, releasing Jerry’s shoulders.

  Tugging at his collar, Jerry explained, “You humiliated her three years ago. Hasn’t the thought occurred to you that she might be seeking revenge? Frankly, if she did decide to string you up and gut you in front of the whole nation, there’d he nothing I could do to stop her. Our readers will he waiting for her half of the last article. What could I do but publish whatever she hands over? Kat Summers would have me over a barrel, and she knows it.”

  Trey turned away from the disturbing possibilities. He walked to his desk. “Katrine wouldn’t publicly humiliate me. Not now.” He hated the insecurity in his voice. “I’ve done some rotten things to her. I’ve taken her on one hell of a ride over the past few weeks, but she knows my feelings for her have changed along the way. My opinion of what she does has changed. I respect her. I lov—” Trey abruptly cut himself off.

  “I rest my case,” Jerry finished. He sighed. “Trey, there’s nothing I’d like more than a fairy-tale ending to the feature. There is nothing our readers would like more, but fairy-tales are a fantasy, and the Trey Westmoreland I know lives in the real world. Give her some gush, but don’t lay your heart on the line. You’ve been charging to her rescue, fighting battles for her, defending her honor. You’ve become a perfect hero. Think about it.”

  The door closed. For six years Trey had wanted to punch Jerry Caldwell in the face, and for six years, he’d refrained. A moment ago, he’d almost given in to the irrational urge. And he would have, not for his own personal pleasure, but for Katrine. She wouldn’t lie to him, would she? The whole affair hadn’t been a game to her, had it? A game she intended to win by humiliating him in the end.

  Stop it! Trey straightened his shoulders and moved back behind his desk. “I believe,” he said, seating himself. He turned to the blank monitor. “I believe in Katrine,” he vowed, then began to type.

  ———

  For centuries, flowers and candlelight have topped the list of romantic ways to win a woman’s heart. Although a beautiful setting enhances the mood for love, without the proper chemistry betw
een a man and a woman, they go wasted. I have, on occasion, been asked to define romance, or more precisely, what I consider romantic. Once upon a time, I based my opinion on old movies, on the classics, on everything but personal experience. A date with reality taught me to look beyond the obvious. If when you speak, he listens, if when you cry he holds you, if when—

  The phone’s shrill ring interrupted Katrine’s writing. With an irritated sigh, she snatched up the receiver and muttered a hello.

  “Katrine? Hi, this is Jerry Caldwell.”

  “Oh, hi,” she said, surprised.

  “Listen, I know you’re probably busy working on the article, but it just occurred to me, I’ve never really thanked you for agreeing to do the feature. I realize the project has taken up your valuable writing time.”

  “That’s true.” Katrine felt a prick of guilt. She’d sorely neglected the novel she’d been working on before she met Trey. “But I consider it time well spent, Mr. Caldwell.”

  “Please, call me Jerry.” The editor laughed into the phone. “Mr. Caldwell sounds so stuffy, especially since I feel as if I’ve come to know you well over the past few weeks. If Trey’s been rather sketchy in his portion of the articles, he’s kept me well informed on what’s been happening between the two of you.”

  “He has?” Katrine asked weakly.

  “Oh, yes, I know what he’s put you through, and frankly, I’m surprised you’ve been such a good sport about it all. Of course, I fully expected he’d try to get his jabs in where he could. He knew from the beginning a certain criteria had to be met by the third date.”

  “Criteria?”

  “Surely Craig Martin filled you in on the details?”

  “No,” she answered. “He didn’t.”

  Jerry laughed again. “Probably because he didn’t believe Trey would deliver his part of the goods. Personally, I never doubted him. Trey’s a professional. He knew from the beginning what was expected of him, or I should say, what our female readership expected from him.”

  Katrine’s stomach twisted. She took a deep breath. “Exactly what was expected of him?”