My Geeky Valentine

by Jeanne McDonald

  Xtine cover her mouth with the back of her hand. “You heard that?”

  He nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. “I did, and frankly I’m disgusted by it.”

  “Oh.”

  Sherman stopped his pacing and met her watery eyes. “It’s not your fault. I put you in that position. Had I been truthful, he never would’ve cornered you. This all lands on my shoulders. I’m the one who made you lie to my family for me.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

  “But I didn’t─”

  “You don’t have to keep up this charade for me. We both know what I made you do. But don’t worry, I’ll still pay you.”

  “What?”

  He lifted his hand in supplication. “I said I’ll still pay you the money I owe you. A deal’s a deal.”

  Xtine’s blood ran cold. Her face twitched as a surge of emotions welled up inside her. “Money. Right. Sure. Whatever.”

  She stood up and turned her back on him. Tears pricked her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. “I’ll collect my stuff and be gone within the hour.”

  Before he could say another word, she left the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. On her way to her room, she bumped into someone, but didn’t stop long enough to see who. A mere ‘sorry’ was given and she was gone, fearing they might try to stop her from leaving. Once again she was reminded that Sherman couldn’t be her knight. If he were, he’d be racing after her, telling her he was a fool, and that he felt for her the same she did him. But he never showed.

  An hour later, she was packed and in another Uber. She’d stay in a hotel for the night and return home in the morning where she would force herself to forget about Sherman Campbell forever.

  #9: Be Careful What You Ask For, Because You Just Might Get It

  A knock at the door pulled Xtine from her broken slumber. Her eyes felt swollen and stung from the countless tears she’d cried throughout the night. Another knock came, this time with more force. She clambered from the bed, searching for her robe. Her flight wasn’t set to leave for several more hours, so it couldn’t be concierge coming to collect her bags already.

  “Just a second,” she called out, wrapping her robe around her and meandering to the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  She came to a dead stop at the sound of Sherman’s voice.

  “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”

  “Xtine, please. We need to talk.”

  “We did that already. Last night. Remember?”

  “Open the damn door, Xtine. Now.”

  Xtine flattened her hands against the wooden surface. There was a forcefulness in Sherman’s demand that was arousing, but her hurt and anger had a stronger hold. She took in a deep breath and opened the door.

  Xtine almost didn’t recognize the man before her. Gone were the dark rimmed glasses. Sherman’s hair was styled, and the cut of his tuxedo accented his lean, muscular body. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes feasted on this gorgeous specimen of a man.

  Sherman stepped into the room, seemingly unaware of her gaze locked on him. She closed the door and he pivoted on his heel to face her. “I need to hear it from you.”

  She tightened her robe around her middle, suddenly feeling self-conscious in his presence. “Hear what?”

  Sherman stormed through the room, ripping his fingers through his hair. “Spencer said…but he’s wrong. It can’t be true.”

  “What can’t be? And where are your glasses?”

  Sherman reached up to the bridge of his nose and attempted to adjust the frames that weren’t there. “Oh. I’m wearing contacts,” he noted, a little disoriented. He rubbed his forehead, taking in the sight of her. She was breathtaking, which made what his brother said about her even harder to accept. It was impossible for someone like her to want someone like him. They were from two different worlds. She was a social butterfly and he was socially awkward. They didn’t match. Yet he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

  The sight of his distraught state caused her heart to seize. This man, though he’d hurt her, had a good heart. She’d known that much from the beginning. While she still felt an insurge of anger over his behavior, she couldn’t stand idly by and let him fall apart. Especially not on his sister’s big day.

  Xtine took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. “Baby, what’s going on? You’re worrying me.”

  He froze. His eyes narrowing on her. “Baby?”

  “I’m sorry. I know you hate that word.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “And I know you hate the words I’m sorry.”

  Xtine sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, locked in the immensity of his stare. “Only coming from you.”

  Sherman took a step toward her, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. “Can it really be? Spencer and Sabrina both say it is, but it can’t be…”

  She took another step toward him, drawn to him. “What are you talking about?”

  He lifted his knuckles to her cheek. In his touch, all of the anger and confusion she felt dissipated. She wanted to hate him, view him like every other man she’d ever met, but she couldn’t. Sherman was different. He wasn’t afraid of being himself, even if it meant wearing an elf costume to dinner. He was true and real. Everything she wanted. She knew that now, and wished she hadn’t been so blind to see it the night they met.

  “My brother and sister seem to think you really care about me,” he breathed, brushing her hair back from her face. “But that can’t be.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t stand me.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re reaction at the restaurant, for starters.”

  Xtine licked her lips and let out a soft sigh. “I was wrong that night. I over reacted, and because of my silly pride, I let someone special walk out of my life. I realized that the instant we kissed.”

  “You did?”

  She pressed her hands to his cheeks, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs. “Didn’t you feel it?”

  He exhaled and gave her a single nod. “I thought it was just me.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “So you weren’t lying at the table or to Spencer?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a lot of things, Sherman, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

  Their gazes held for a moment, locked with fierce tension. He searched her face, his thumb brushing along her bottom lip. It was there, in her eyes, the honesty of her words. The air around them changed. He felt it and knew she did too by her deep intake of air.

  Driven by his desire for this woman, he captured her lips with his. At first his kiss was soft, gentle, but with each pass of his mouth over her warm, smooth lips, his need became hotter. His hands moved to her hair, tangled in her soft locks. Their tongues collided in long, languid strokes, tasting each other. Blood rushed through his veins, his body reacting to this woman pressed against him.

  Their kiss grew deeper, stronger, more intense. He relished in the sound of her moans, and she devoured his passion. He refused to release her mouth from his. Needing more. Willing to give everything. She plagued his mind and burrowed her way into his heart.

  Each stroke, the simple touch of her skin to his, was all consuming. Their eyes had drifted closed, and every action ran on pure instinct. The feel of his long fingers trailing down her body, mapping his terrain ignited her soul. Delicate shivers of excitement flittered over her skin. His touch was unbelievably tantalizing, new yet familiar. She had that same sensation she’d felt during their email interactions, as if she’d known him all along.

  Slowly he lightened the kiss, brushing his lips gently over hers. Breathless, a moan hung in the back of her throat as his kissed each corner of her mouth. “Will you go with me today?” he whispered, pressing a kiss below her ear.

  She released her hold on the back of his jacket, her eyes fluttering open. “As your date?”

&n
bsp; “As my girlfriend.”

  Xtine pulled back to meet his eyes. “Well, when you put it that way. How could I tell my boyfriend no?” Her voice breathless.

  “A wise decision,” he teased, kissing the tip of her nose. “Now, you better get dressed, because I don’t know that I can be trusted much longer with you in only a robe.”

  A girlish giggle bubbled in her chest. “Sherman Campbell, how dare you be so forward with me!”

  His eyes grew dark with desire. “Oh, baby girl. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Xtine’s stomach fluttered with desire. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer. “Show me,” she dared him.

  He could feel the quivering tension of her body beneath the thick robe. “We’ll be late.”

  “The wedding isn’t for hours.”

  A guttural moan rumbled from deep within his chest. “Exactly.”

  “Oh!” Her voice low and husky, filled with desire.

  Heat surged through his body in an ungovernable rush. He pulled her tight to him and pressed his lips to hers, giving into their passion and desire.

  #10: Today Was a Fairy Tale

  Hours later, they arrived at the wedding, both glowing. Spencer was the first to greet them at the door.

  “Damn, Bro. You smell like sex.”

  Sherman rolled his eyes, drawing Xtine into his side. “Say it a little louder. I don’t think the Pritchards heard you on the second row.”

  Spencer laughed and nodded to Xtine. “Good to see you finally made it. Get upstairs. Sabrina and Mother are waiting for you.”

  “Me?” Xtine asked in surprise.

  “You’re one of the girls, right?”

  “But I’m not family.”

  Spencer clapped Sherman on the back. “Maybe not yet. But you will be.”

  Xtine’s eyes widened at the innuendo followed by a laugh. “Is he…”

  “Oh yeah,” Sherman admitted, drawing her to his chest. “But is that a bad thing?”

  “Absolutely not,” she assured him, pulling him down to her lips. “Absolutely not.”

  Life doesn’t always adhere to story books. Sometimes love isn’t all fireworks. Sometimes the one you need isn’t the one you seek. Sometimes love takes us by surprise and never lets us go.

  While her knight hadn’t arrived riding his gallant steed, he did appear carrying a dagger and bow, at ready to defend her honor.

  And as it is with all great fairy tales, they lived happily ever after.

  Portraiture artist, Shadow Kingsley, is on the brink of success after years of struggling in the art industry. Her unique style channels her muses and captures their spirit on canvas. That is until she meets the man with the most alluring blue eyes. The draw to paint him consumes her. But Lucian Britton is more than a muse. His music inspires her soul and captivates her heart.

  She knows she should keep her distance, but Lucian’s allure is too strong. With the opportunity of the lifetime staring her in the face, she must make a decision─maintain professional distance or allow their arts to combine to create the perfect masterpiece.

  “Congratulations, Shadow.” A man I didn’t know from Adam passed behind me, patting me on the back.

  “Thanks,” I replied, giving him a half grin and a nod. Tonight, the room was full of people, all here to see me. Or at least my work. If someone had told me six months ago I’d be standing in the center of a gallery, drinking expensive champagne, and talking to the upper crust of the city who purchased art not for the sake of its beauty or importance, but for the value it would bring to their portfolio, I would’ve laughed that person right out of town.

  One might say I’ve spent the better part of my adult life as a starving artist. I did the art school thing, spent many years in Europe studying the greats, and while I always dreamed I would one day find success, I never believed it could truly happen for me. Portraitures are a dying art form. Sitting still for hours on end is daunting. And who needs their picture painted when digital photography captures the perfect likeness of a person. What most people fail to understand is a portrait, when done right, can encapsulate the very essence of a person’s soul. Henry James said it best when he wrote, “It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance…and I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of its process.”

  So, for me to be standing in this vast gallery, with my portraits lining the walls, and people of great importance and wealth actually buying my work, well, it would be safe to say that I’d arrived.

  “Ms. Kingsley, I presume.” A powerful male voice purred near my ear.

  I jumped, startled that the owner of the voice was so close to me. “Yes.” I twisted my body to meet my new companion. A small gasp escaped from me and my hand flew to my chest at the sight of him. For standing beside me was Steve Solomon, one of the wealthiest men in the world, and my benefactor for the evening. Until that moment, my only contact with him had been handled through my agent. He was more intimidating than I’d imagined with his perfectly tailored suit, salt and pepper hair, deep brown eyes, and overwhelming height. Though that was all superficial. For me, I could see beneath the surface of his dark orbs. Call it a gift, but I had the distinct impression that Steve Solomon harbored loneliness deep inside him. “Mr. Solomon, sir,” I fumbled. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise.” His timbre deep and commanding.

  “Thank you so much for making tonight possible. This is a dream come true for me.” I sipped my champagne, hoping he wouldn’t notice how his looming presence unnerved me.

  “I’m a fan of your work, Ms. Kingsley. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to showcase you.”

  I worried my bottom lip, my eyes darting around the room, unsure of what I should say. Off in the corner I caught sight of a young man, around my age, sipping a cocktail and gazing at one of my favorite paintings. His gait was laxed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. When he turned in my direction, I was blown away by the immensity of his blue eyes. The hue was as blue as when the sky and ocean meet. In that deep horizon, where the world seems to end. The corner of his mouth perked up and he nodded in my direction, lifting his glass to me.

  My eyes dropped and I felt the heat of my blush burning beneath my skin. “He’s handsome.” Steve’s comment broke through the clouds in my head.

  I nodded, as the young man turned away and moved on to another painting. “He’d make a great portrait.”

  “His eyes,” Steve noted. “They’re soulful. As if they’ve seen many lives.”

  I glanced up to the older gentleman, taking note of his expression. He had an artist’s soul beneath that gruff exterior. “You see it, too.”

  He smiled. “It’s why I’m impressed by your work. Someone so young is usually blind to the inner workings of humanity. You, it comes naturally, and it’s reflected in your art. Your work is honest. I like that.”

  I lowered my gaze, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I’m honored, sir. Truly.” I glanced back toward the direction where the man with the amazing blue eyes had been, but much to my chagrin, he was gone.

  “I must know, Ms. Kingsley─”

  “Please, call me Shadow.”

  “Shadow,” he rolled my name around on his tongue, testing it. As if satisfied by the way it sounded, he pressed on, “do you choose your subjects at random, or is there a pattern you follow?”

  I finished off the drink in my hand in one massive gulp. Lady-like, I know, but talking about my craft always unnerved me. “Most of my subjects are at random. I get the occasional wife looking to have a nude painted for her husband, or a family wishing for a portrait. Those pay the bills, but what you see before you,” I waved out around the room, “is my passion. These are people who speak to me.”

  “That’s actually how I came in contact with your work,” he continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  He dropped his gaze to meet mine.
“A board member of mine has one of your pieces in his office. I was amazed at how you captured the pure essence of his wife in that painting. It was more than her face on display. It was as if you painted her soul. You have a remarkable gift, Shadow.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck a little nervous. “If you ask some painters, they’d say what you call a gift is really a curse. There have been countless stories written about the curse of capturing a person’s soul on canvas.”

  “The Oval Portrait, for one,” he offered.

  I grinned. “An excellent example.”

  “Those are only stories, though.”

  A waiter stopped by with another tray of champagne. I traded my empty glass for a fresh one. “True. And not everyone believes in the stories, but art tends to breed superstition.”

  “Interesting,” he noted. “So when you find your new subject, do you simply start painting them?”

  I swallowed down the sip of champagne I had in my mouth. “Mhm. Goodness no. I don’t touch a brush for weeks after I find a muse.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the blue-eyed man once more. He was sliding on an overcoat. His tousled brown hair glimmered under the spotlight and his lips spread in a sexy grin as our eyes met again. The power beneath those deep blue pools took my breath away. Steve had nailed it when he called Blue-Eyes an old soul. My paintbrush could have one hell of a love affair with him. Okay, maybe I could, too. The idea of kissing those lips was quite compelling.

  I was about to excuse myself, to stop him at whatever the cost, when I noticed a woman approach him. He helped her with her coat, then placed his hand at the small of her back and escorted her out the door. All the air in my ego deflated. Of course he had a date. How silly of me to think otherwise.

  “If you don’t start painting immediately, what is it you do?” My eyes fluttered as I attempted to push aside the image of Blue-Eyes with the striking blonde walking out into the cold night.