A Season For Romance

by Marks, V. R.

  Trish wiggled the doorknob again. "No emergency key on this side?"

  He shook his head. "I used to try to pick it for hours."

  She turned, horrified. "Your mother used to lock you up in here?"

  He laughed. "No, not even my mother is that crazy. I came and sat out there and tried to figure out how it worked."

  "Ever succeed?"

  "Nope."

  She pulled a hairpin out of her hair and poked at the lock. A curl tumbled over her shoulder. He reached out to touch it but remembered what had happened when he'd brushed the hem of her skirt. "Do you really think that's going to work?"

  "Have a better idea?" she asked without turning around.

  Several. But all of them revolved around the bed in the corner, not the lock. A bed he was never going to get to try out with Trish. He silently plotted revenge against his mother. "Right. Good luck with that."

  Her had shook. She was a mess. He could tell picking the lock was keeping her sane down here. Giving in to temptation, he brushed the curl away. "Hey."

  She kept working the lock, but he turned her to face him and pulled her into a hug. Citrus assailed him and he buried his nose in her hair for a minute, enjoying the scent of her. "I promise you're safe. It's okay."

  She clung to him and he felt her gulp in air. "I know it's stupid. I can't help it."

  He led her back to the bed, his hand resting lightly on her waist. "Sit."

  She eyed him.

  "You really think I'm going to take advantage of a terrified woman?"

  She seemed to consider it.

  "Trish, come on! I'd be a fool to try anything. You made your feelings known years ago."

  In the candlelight he thought she blushed as she ducked her head. She pulled the throw around her tighter and nodded slightly.

  He turned away to pull himself together. This woman drove him to distraction when she walked down the sidewalk on Main Street. Asking his body to ignore the fact she was wrapped up on a bed, like a present waiting to be opened was more than he could take.

  Knowing they were stuck in the cellar for a few hours at least, Jack reached for the corkscrew his mother had so kindly left for them, next to some fruit and chocolate. Seriously? "Red or white?" he asked over his shoulder.

  "Hmm?"

  "Wine. We're down here, we might as well enjoy some of the stock. Do you want red or white wine?"

  Hearing her response, he looked at the bottles his mother had left them and scoffed. "Like hell. You lock us down here, we're drinking the good stuff." He grabbed one of the candlesticks and said, "I'll be back in just a second. Stay there and warm up."

  "Headed for the secret stash?" she asked with a watery smile.

  "You better believe it. This will cost her on many levels."

  When he came back more candles lit the area, giving it a soft glow. He had to hand it to his mother. For any other woman this would have been a romantic love nest.

  "Where'd you find the candles?"

  "It didn't make sense that your mother would have just left the two. Wouldn't have created the right ambience. So I started looking around, and there they were. She's got a good eye."

  "So, if she'd locked us above ground…" He let the question hang.

  "Oh, I'd still be too pissed about being manipulated to do anything, but she's set the scene beautifully." And just like that her anger deflated and she was back to taking careful breaths. Jack went back to opening the wine. Maybe if he got her a little drunk, she'd relax enough to forget where she was and breathe normally again.

  "You know, this house has been standing for over a hundred and fifty years. It's not going anywhere."

  "That's a lot of years for dry rot, termites and water damage to build up."

  "Trish—" he said in exasperation, but she stopped him.

  "Rationally, I understand. The house has survived storms, the Civil War. It's not coming down… It's strong. I get it. But emotionally, it doesn't matter."

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "Not even a little bit. Have you won the battle with the cork yet?"

  He eased it out of the bottle and poured. "It really needs to breathe, but maybe if you drink some, you'll breathe instead."

  "Cute, Jack" she replied sharply. But Trish took a gulp of the wine anyway, knowing he was right. Then the chocolate and pepper undertones hit her palate and she slowed down. "Wow. What I just did was a sin. This is fantastic." She sipped slower this time, letting the flavors marry on her tongue. "Can I have a case of this for Christmas?"

  "Afraid not. This is the last bottle. Mom opens it on special occasions."

  "This qualifies?"

  "I wish. This is just Mom interfering again. I'm sorry. She doesn't take 'no' well. Maybe if it costs her, she'll start listening."

  "I said no ten years ago." The throw slipped off her shoulder, taking a bit of her sleeve with it. She'd been fighting the sleeve all evening. Given the choice between fighting the good fight and enjoying the wine, the sleeve could wait.

  "She seems to think you didn't give me a chance."

  "I was twelve. I wasn't giving anyone a chance."

  "Apparently she wants you reconsider."

  "By forcing me to marry you? That's not an opportunity to reconsider. That's forcing my hand. Not that I have one," she grumbled.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  Did she have a choice? They were locked in together with nothing to do but watch her spiral into insanity. Might as well chat. She nodded and focused on her glass when he came and sat next to her. She could feel the heat of his body teasing her senses.

  "Why did you say no? I mean, why not just go to a movie with me and then walk away?"

  Because this thing between them had always been there. Even when he didn't look like a god. And at twelve she didn't know what 'this thing' was or how to deal with it. "Because your mother was trying to force us into something without even bothering to find out if we cared for each other." She heard him scoff. "Look, I was twelve. I was just beginning to… I believed in Prince Charming and true love, and didn't believe your mother had a place in a love story. I still don’t."

  "So if she hadn't gotten involved and I'd asked you out, would you have said yes?"

  "In sixth grade?" She faced him then, surprised. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and a shiver of pleasure rippled down her spine.

  "No, silly. Later. Now."

  He leaned closer and she realized he was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. Regardless of the fact that his mother was once again trying to force them together, she wanted to. As her eyes drifted shut she caught sight of the greenery in the buttonhole of his jacket. "Is that mistletoe?" she murmured.

  "Hmm?" Her question seemed to confuse him so she pointed to it. He nodded. "Mark gave it to me for luck."

  Shock hit her full in the face and she jumped off the bed. "What did you need luck for?" She paused for a second. "Oh my god. You're in on this. You knew we'd be down here, didn't you?"

  And again, Jack began plotting his mother's death. Or at least her downfall. He'd been seconds away from heaven. "That's it. I'm moving out of this crazy town and as far away from my mother as possible."

  "I can't believe Mark thought mistletoe would help you get me into bed." She paced into the darkness, then quickly returned to the edge of the light, her hands clenched.

  How had one evening gone so totally wrong? Jack stood up and reached for her hand, trying to bring her back into the light so he could see her face. "He didn't. He wouldn't. He's not that stupid. Besides, everyone knows you're waiting until you get married."

  Her face flamed and she edged back to the darkness, but he held firm. "Well, you are. There's nothing wrong with that. I respect it. Unless you want to be talked out of it. Then I'm happy to help."

  "What?"

  He pushed his hand through his hair. "Trish, come back into the light. I'm botching this whole thing."

  "So you are in on it." She sounded tired.


  "I'm not in on anything except never talking to my mother again," he growled.

  "Then why did Mark give it to you?"

  Jack looked at the ceiling, the wine, anything but her as he said, "I was going to ask you out."

  "Excuse me. I'm right here," she said, waving her hand under his nose. "Could you please repeat that?"

  "I'd really rather not. It was a stupid idea. But I wanted… it doesn't matter what I wanted. I'm sorry about all of this, but I swear I didn't know she had this planned."

  Her breath caught at his words. He was going to ask her out. And now, he wasn't. Damn. She was going to have words with his mother when she got out of here. Assuming she wasn't immediately whisked away to Judge Michael's chambers for a quick ceremony. Because her mother would absolutely glom onto this as a way to keep her here.

  Trying to look calm, she stepped to the table, selected a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth. The nutty taste was a nice contrast to the wine. "Why?"

  She looked up at him and noticed his surprised expression. "Why what?" he asked.

  "Why ask me out? Why now? Why did you think you'd need luck?"

  "What difference does it make? I was going to, now I can't because you'll never trust me or my family again."

  Although she was dying to know, she let part of her question slide. "And the mistletoe?"

  "You made it clear to my mother in front of the whole town that you'd never come near me."

  She made a noncommittal sound. Never wasn't quite as long as she'd thought. She was suddenly giving better odds on the snowball. "So what was the plan? Obviously you had one."

  "I was going to ask you when we danced."

  Oh, those dances. She looked forward to three minutes every year when she was in his arms because he had to ask and she had to be polite and say yes. For three minutes, she forgot his mother was a shrew and the world melted away.

  In the quiet between them, she could hear the music faintly floating down over them. She looked him square in the eye. "You haven't asked me to dance yet."

  She could see the frustration and distrust in his face, but he didn't make a move toward her.

  She put her wine glass down and brushed his hand with hers. Desire skittered over her. "Jack, ask me to dance."

  He pulled her into his arms and swayed to the music, barely moving, and she nestled into his shoulder, happy for the first time all evening. In his arms it didn't matter that they were underground. She felt the tension ease out of her shoulders as awareness of a different kind settled in.

  "You don't have to do this," he said quietly.

  "I know. I'm sorry I can't say yes."

  "Will you ever be able to let go of the past and give me a chance?"

  She reached up and cradled his face in her palm. "It's not that."

  They stopped swaying and he covered her hand with his own. He raised his brow but said nothing.

  "I'm not staying here," she said quietly.

  "Sounds great. As I said, I'm getting out of here. I can't keep dealing with my mother."

  "You need to stand up to her."

  "You think I haven't? Hell, look at you. You always stand up to her, and yet here you are," he said, raising his hand to take in the cellar. "You're leaving."

  "I want to go to law school. I took the LSAT a few weeks ago and got my scores back this week."

  "Good for you. You'll be fantastic." She watched the pieces fall into place. "But your mother doesn't think so."

  "Well, if Harvard was in Blakely, she'd be all for it. But I'm the baby of the family and she doesn't want me to leave."

  "And you don't want to stay."

  "I want a chance to find myself." She laughed. "That sounds so 60s! Like I need to go find an ashram somewhere. But that's it. I want to get to know me without anyone else's influence before I come home and settle down. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Not at all. So, no date."

  She shook her head. "I don't want to grow attached knowing I'm leaving."

  "You might hate me. All I want is the chance for you to get to know me without my mother's influence." He barked out a sharp laugh. "But that's never going to happen."

  She slipped out of his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Are you really leaving then?"

  He nodded. "I always was. I took a semester off after graduation, but I'm starting my MBA next semester."

  "Going to move the corporate headquarters out of Blakely when you take over?"

  At his confused look, she continued, "You know, to escape your mother's evil clutches?"

  "She's not really evil. She just wants me happy."

  "And she thinks I'm going to provide that happiness."

  "Obviously, or else you wouldn't be down here."

  She shivered, cold without his embrace and looked around for the throw. He picked it up from where it had fallen and sat across from her on the bed. Stretching out, with his back propped up against the bedframe, he motioned her over. "Come here and get warm."

  She thought about arguing, but what was the point? She wanted to be there, and together they'd be warmer than apart. She crawled over and cuddled into the cradle of his arm while he covered them with the blanket.

  "Now see, if we were dating, I'd make a move right now."

  She smiled. "I'm not waiting until I get married, you know."

  "Was that a pass?"

  She giggled and refilled their glasses before passing one to him. "No."

  "You're not waiting for marriage, but I shouldn't take that as a sign?"

  "I'm waiting for love," she said simply.

  "Love?"

  She sipped again, and realized she needed to slow down. Between the wine she'd had at the party and what she'd consumed down here, she was getting a little tipsy. At least she wasn't flipping out any more. The room was beginning to grow on her. She nodded and her gaze caught his and she froze. "Yes. You know, that thing where you can't wait to see the person and they've just dropped you off from a date? And when you kiss, your toes curl? I'm waiting for that."

  "For your toes to curl." His tone made it evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

  "You've never had a kiss that made your toes curl."

  "Guys don't think like that."

  "It's not a thinking kind of thing. You've never had a kiss that you wanted to go on for days and not turn into more just because it felt so right?"

  "Uh, no."

  "Me either. That's what I'm holding out for. The whole enchilada. I want my first time to be with the person I think will be my forever."

  "Found him yet?"

  Yes. Maybe. "I haven't been looking. I want time to find me first, remember?" She wondered if he could hear the lie. She wanted it to be with him. Just not yet.

  -Four-

  She was drunk and she'd sort of made a pass. And while she wasn't headed for the bathroom drunk, she was definitely keep your hands to yourself tipsy. But she was in his arms which was more than he'd ever gotten before, so he'd take it.

  He felt the minute she stopped fighting and fell asleep. The night hadn't gone at all like he'd planned, but he'd gotten what he'd wanted. He'd asked her out. She'd said no, but really he hadn't expected anything else. But he couldn't help feeling let down. This shouldn't be the end.

  The way she'd looked at him when they'd danced, and before that, when they were about to kiss. There was something there. He had the feeling it was going to be a toe-curling experience if it happened. When it happened, he amended. Because whatever was between them, what he felt and his mother thought she saw, it was worth exploring.

  Maybe in a few years, when they were both done with school and his mother had been locked up in a mental institution, they could see where it led. He pulled her closer and gritted his teeth. Having her in his arms and knowing there was nothing he could do was torture. Would one date have killed her? All he wanted was a chance.

  Jack woke up to a warm elbow to his chest. He opened his eyes, saw the burned down candles
in the pale dawn coming from the tiny windows near the ceiling. Trish was sprawled across his chest, her leg across his. He tried to stretch his cramped body without waking her.

  She mumbled as he moved and he watched her slowly wake up. Confusion etched her features as she sat up, away from him. She brushed her hair off her face. Watching her wake up was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

  "Um, hi," she said shyly.

  "Morning." She'd run for the hills if she knew what she was doing to him. Impressive considering her tear-streaked face. She'd woken once in the middle of the night, terrified and crying. He'd told her all the nasty things he was going to do to his mother when they got out, until her sobs stopped and she drifted back to sleep.

  "Let's go see if Mother happened to come down and unlock the door." It would give her something to do before she freaked out again, which was good, because he'd run out of ways to calm her down. The only thing left was kissing her senseless, or more, until she was so satisfied that she forgot where she was entirely. As much as he'd enjoy that, he'd be damned if he'd let her first time be because she was terrified.

  She stood up and shook out her crushed dress. Anyone who saw her would assume… He studied her again. What they'd assume was that she'd gotten drunk and passed out somewhere in the yard. Not unheard of at one of their parties, but totally out of character for Patricia Robbins.

  The door was still locked. "She'll be here soon. This only works if someone sees us down here together."

  "Wonderful. Would you let your wife go away to law school for a few years?"

  Jack's head snapped back. "You want to be my wife?"

  "I was just thinking, wouldn't it be funny if our mothers got what they wanted, but it didn't work out anyway? We got married, but you went off to grad school and I went to law school and neither of them saw us for three years? It would serve them right."

  He grinned for a second, the sobered. "Sorry, babe. If we were married, we'd spend every night together."

  A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.