Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Their little TV sat on a stand against the wall opposite the couch, but it was the three rows of framed pictures above it that caught his attention. He rose to his feet to go take a better look and Loral met him there with his mug. While his attention focused on the color one of Loral at about age five, dark curls framing her cute face with those amazing aqua eyes, she pointed to the bottom row.

  “Those are my great-grandparents, Marcus and Patricia Widener.”

  Taking a sip of coffee, sweetened just the way he liked, he leaned closer for a better look. The middle black and white photo was of a well-dressed couple standing on a dock with a large ship in the background. They both smiled for the camera, and Jake noticed they held hands. Marcus was formally elegant in a top hat and tails, while Patricia’s look was more classically beautiful in a tight-waisted traveling dress common in the early 1900’s. A shawl was fastened about her slim, regal shoulders, held in place by some sort of jeweled pin.

  Jake started to shift his attention, but something about that ship snagged his attention. He stared at the smoke stacks, searching his memory for why it looked familiar. Recognition dawned and his eyes widened in amazement.

  “Is that the Titanic?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had relatives on the Titanic?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Fingers wrapped around her mug, she shrugged one shoulder. “Depends how you look at it.”

  Jake gave her a questioning sideways glance.

  “Out of two thousand, two hundred and twenty-four people on board, my great-grandmother was one of the seven hundred and five survivors.”

  He angled so he could see her face better. “And your great-grandfather?”

  Sadness swept across her expression as she shook her head. “Women and children were boarded first on the lifeboats.”

  “How’d she manage to save the photo?”

  “A friend of theirs sent it over from England after the ship sank. Patricia was devastated and desperate for any memory of Marcus—especially when she found out soon after she was pregnant with my grandmother.”

  “Wow.” He skimmed the other photographs, but quickly returned his focus to the one featuring the ill-fated ship. “So, that jewelry you sold me tonight...you’re telling me it has ties to the RMS Titanic?”

  “I guess...if you want to look at it that way.” She took a sip of her coffee before turning to head over to the couch. “Although, I don’t think it matters since they’re fakes.”

  Jake followed her across the room and took a seat to her left, propping his forearm along the back of the couch. She didn’t understand what the historic connection could mean, he realized.

  “You said she had the replicas made during the Depression. Do you know where the original pieces went? Any records of sale?” he asked.

  “No, why?”

  “I just think it’d be interesting to see where they are now. Maybe find out if there was more to the story.”

  She smiled. “I already know the whole story. My grandmother kept a diary that passed on to my mom when she died.”

  “Yeah? And...?”

  A slight head tilt accompanied her next question. “You really want to know or are you just being nice?”

  Besides being honestly curious, he wanted to keep her talking. “Hello? History major. Antique dealer. Talk.”

  Her laugh was as warming as the mug balanced on his thigh.

  “The story my grandma used to tell me is exactly what you’d expect to see in a movie. Patricia and Marcus met at a ball and fell in love despite the fact that her family forbade any contact between them. See, she was a blue-blood, born of old money that only married into old money, while Marcus was an untitled American who’d made his fortune in the States. Patricia’s parents didn’t consider him worthy to kiss her hand, let alone marry her.”

  “Let me guess—they eloped.”

  Loral grinned. “Yes. When Patricia’s parents found out, they disowned her. Coming to America was their new beginning, and what better way to start than aboard the unsinkable Titanic?”

  “Ouch,” Jake murmured.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. She stared down into her coffee as if lost in thought, then sighed and lifted her gaze. “Anyway, after the ship sank, instead of returning to England, Patricia stayed here. Grandma said she never got on another boat again.”

  “Understandable.”

  “She never remarried, either, choosing instead to raise my grandmother, Nicole, as a single mother. At first she had the money left after Marcus died, and a large house he’d had built before his trip to Europe. But then, she lost everything in the stock market crash of 1929 and to survive the Great Depression in the 1930’s, she turned her home into a boarding house. She named it Dragonfly Dreams, but unfortunately, the income wasn’t enough, and that’s when she had to sell the jewelry Marcus gave her. So she could keep the house.”

  “She sounds like one tough lady. That must have been very difficult.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what she went through,” Loral said quietly. “Losing her husband, then having to sell the only thing she had left from him besides their daughter. That’s why she had the copies made, to have something to hang on to and pass on to my grandmother.”

  Jake found his gaze straying back toward the photo. “Makes sense about the copies, but I gotta say, it still seems strange the dragonfly wasn’t signed.”

  Loral leaned back, resting her head against the back of the couch with what Jake could only call a dreamy sigh. Then she lolled her head toward him.

  “The dragonfly is my favorite part of the story, though maybe the saddest. Marcus had Native American friends, and apparently, some tribes believe dragonflies are a symbol of renewal after a time of great hardship.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard of that before.”

  “With that in mind, Marcus designed the brooch himself and gave it to Patricia the day they set sail to mark their new beginning. My theory about the lack of signature is she didn’t want the copy signed because she didn’t want someone else laying claim to something Marcus created for her.”

  “That would be one explanation.”

  The romantic explanation. But Jake’s line of reasoning sparked a thrill of excitement. He’d sensed something about the dragonfly the moment he laid eyes on it, and after hearing the whole story, he wondered if that particular piece had ever been replicated.

  Could it in fact be real?

  “Dragonfly Dreams,” Loral murmured. “I just love that name.”

  “It’s lyrical,” he agreed, still considering his theory.

  “When I open my landscape design firm, that’s exactly what I’m going to call it.”

  That caught his attention. “When? This is in the planning stages now?”

  “Not quite, but someday.” She was quiet a moment. Then her lips curved in a smile. “I can imagine dragonflies flitting about the colorful gardens I create. Dancing with the butterflies.”

  Jake closed his eyes to see the picture her words created. “Mmm. Sunlight is shining on their wings.”

  He drew in a deep contented breath and opened his eyes again. The lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow on her cheeks. The decorations and lighting created an intimate atmosphere, adding to the enjoyment of just sitting there with her, talking. The undercurrent of attraction still hummed through his veins, but it was a pleasant feeling that didn’t detract from the simple contentment of listening to her voice.

  Unfortunately, his intention of lengthening their conversation was shot down when she lifted her hand to cover a yawn.

  “It’s getting late,” he said reluctantly. “I should let you get to bed.”

  She looked like she might argue, but yawned instead. Pink tinted her cheeks. “I’m sorry, it just kinda snuck up on me.”

  “It’s okay, I’m pretty tired, too.” A white lie, but the slight smudges under her eyes suggested she needed some sleep.

 
; “If you don’t mind rinsing these, I’ll get you a toothbrush and some fresh sheets on the bed.”

  He took the her mug in his free hand and then called after her back, “I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  She swung around at the hallway entrance. “Hello? Six foot whatever? Tiny couch? I don’t think so.”

  He chuckled at how she copied him from earlier.

  “I’m serious, Jake. You’re sleeping in my bed—end of discussion.”

  First time he’d ever been ordered into a woman’s bed before. As she disappeared into her room, he continued to the kitchen, thinking, too bad she’s not going to be in it with me. He grabbed a cloth and washed and rinsed the three mugs before setting them on the drain board to dry. After dumping the last half inch of coffee, he washed the pot, too. By the time he’d located the garbage under the sink and emptied the used coffee grounds, Loral had returned with a toothbrush that sported a dentist’s name printed on the package.

  “Thanks.”

  While she made up the couch for herself, he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Just as he finished rinsing, he noticed in the mirror that the door to the linen cabinet behind him hung ajar. As he reached to close it, the sight of an orange prescription bottle made his hand halt in mid-air.

  Memories inundated him. Those last months his mother had taken so many different pills. His heart beat faster. Is that why Loral and her mother had been selling all their family heirlooms? The thought made his chest ache.

  Don’t look.

  Many people had prescription bottles in their bathrooms. For common things that weren’t life-threatening in the least. His hand hovered closer to the cabinet door handle.

  Do not look.

  Jake pushed the door closed, cringed at the loud thump, and hightailed it out of there. Back in the living room, he was relieved when sounds from the TV registered. Hopefully Loral hadn’t heard the cabinet door; he wouldn’t want her to think he’d been snooping.

  She didn’t acknowledge his return, and a quick glance at her face sent a chill down his spine. Her hand covered her mouth and though she’d turned off all the Christmas lights and unplugged the tree, even with only the dim light from the kitchen and the TV screen, he saw the distress in her wide eyes.

  “What is it?”

  Her gaze remained trained on the black and white images flickering in front of her. When he moved closer to the small screen, he saw footage of a multiple vehicle accident, including what looked like a city bus. Emergency lights from police cars and ambulances strobed on the scene, illuminating crushed vehicles and the crumpled bus. God, it looked bad.

  “Is that that accident on I-10?”

  “Yeah. Seven people were killed and three more were taken to area hospitals in critical condition.”

  Her voice held an odd note. Moved by a need for contact and to comfort, he moved closer, until their shoulders rested together.

  “It was all that ice under the snow—”

  “That was my bus.”

  The whispered words cut across Jake’s as if she’d shouted.

  “What?”

  “I should’ve been on that bus.”

  Her shock took on a whole new meaning as she faced him, arms hugged tight across her stomach.

  “The seven-twenty-nine has a pick-up downtown at seven-fifteen p.m. and then gets on the I-10 until I transfer at Southridge. If you hadn’t argued with me about selling the dragonfly, I would’ve caught the bus. That one extra minute literally could’ve saved my life.”

  His chest tightened at the moisture brightening her eyes. “I’m glad I argued with you.”

  “Me, too.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek and he lifted a hand to wipe it away with his thumb. When she swayed toward him, he pulled her into his arms, holding tight, stunned by a feeling of never wanting to let go. Cheek pressed to his chest, she clung just as hard.

  Horror receded, banished by the soothing thud of her heart against his. Fate had granted them life. The urge to reaffirm that life put thoughts in his head that sped up his pulse. After a rub of his palms across her back, during which he immediately noted no bra, he quickly pushed back to hold her at arms length and reached to turn off the TV.

  In the sudden silence, with her gazing up at him, he had to clear his throat before he could speak.

  “You should get some rest.”

  “Like I could sleep now.”

  The shadows in her eyes made it damn hard not to lean down and kiss her until she forgot about everything but him. Only now was not the time. If this thing between them went anywhere beyond their earlier kiss—and he’d do everything he could to make sure it did—it would be because she wanted him, not because she’d been faced with the possibility of her own mortality.

  Loral lowered her gaze to the bunnies on his borrowed shirt as she reached out and flattened her hand against his chest. The firm contact made his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation.

  “Jake...”

  Hard swallow. “Yes?”

  “I...I can’t be alone tonight.”

  His heart threatened to pound from his chest beneath her palm. Heat spread through him like a wildfire fueled by the Santa Ana winds and his good intentions did a fast downward slide.

  Suddenly, she took a quick step back, eyes wide, cheeks flushed bright red. “Oh, God, that just replayed in my head and I realized what it sounded like. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…that.”

  He chuckled with his own embarrassment because that was exactly what he thought she’d been suggesting. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I just want you to lay with me, because, out here on the couch, I’d just lie there, wondering, thinking... imagining.”

  A shudder shook her slim shoulders.

  “I can’t be alone,” she repeated, the words a plea. “It’s a queen bed, so there’s plenty of room, and you don’t—”

  “Shhh.”

  Draping his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her to his side, and led her to the bedroom, letting his actions speak his agreement. In deference to her mother, he left the door open. Only to turn and freeze at the sight of Loral climbing atop that bright pink bedspread. It wasn’t the pink he was worried about.

  A quick reach flipped off the light switch. Relax. You can handle this.

  Feeling his way through the dark, he made his way around to the opposite side of the bed and stretched out next to her on the comforter. Careful not to touch and test his own traitorous willpower, he listened to her breathing across the mere inches of separation.

  Think about work.

  Her hand found his in the darkness. She laced her fingers with his, seeking comfort. When he squeezed gently, her grip tightened and held.

  “Goodnight, Jake,” she whispered.

  “Night, Loral.”

  Like he could sleep now. Eyes wide open, he stared toward the ceiling, more stimulated by her lavender scent with every controlled breath he took. The softness of her skin seduced him—and that was just her hand. How would it feel to skim his fingers across her stomach...her ribs...her—

  He squeezed his eyes shut tight. Christ, now he was the one lying there wondering. Imagining.

  Her own shallow breathing made him wonder if she was as aware of him as he was of her.

  Painfully aware.

  Work. McClelland Barclay. Costume jewelry. Dragonfly brooch. Dragonfly Dreams. Loral’s dreams—

  Loral shifted, and he sensed her leaning over him. Rational thought fled when soft lips touched his chin. Air seized in his lungs as those lips searched along his skin until finding his mouth in the dark. The harder he tried not to give in to the heaven of her minty kiss, the bolder she became. By the time she nibbled his bottom lip and sucked away the arousing sting, any reason to resist was incinerated in a white-hot flash of fire.

  A groan rumbled deep in his throat. He brought his hands up, burying them in her silky curls to pull her closer, surrendering to the desire fast spinning out of control. Her tongue due
led with his as he explored the hot recesses of her sweet mouth. She tasted better than he’d ever imagined over the past year. And he’d been right about something else.

  Once would never be enough where Loral was concerned. Hell, a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

  It didn’t take long before his prone position frustrated him enough to execute a quick roll that put him on top. Soft curves gave way for the hard planes of his body. Now he took control. Tasting, teasing, nipping at a sensitive spot he discovered near the base of her neck. She breathed in soft little bursts, her warm breath on his skin as exciting as her touch.

  As she raked her nails through his hair, ripples of pleasure radiated throughout his body. He slid his hand beneath her shirt to discover firm stomach muscles and skin softer than silk. When he pushed up, the over-sized Miller High Life shirt bunched against his knuckles until he reached the swell of her breast.

  Tunneling under the material, he cupped her breast in his palm and brushed his thumb over the pebbled nipple.

  “Jake.”

  His name escaped her lips like a plea before she fused her mouth with his again. Pressing harder, he rotated his thumb in a circle. She gasped. The upward arch of her back broke their kiss but thrust her hips against his. Throbbing desire became painful pleasure.

  He wanted her so bad, his limbs trembled with the intensity of his need. Only, the moment he wondered about a condom, common sense reared its ugly head. He’d left the door open for crissake!

  Jake lifted his head and sucked in a deep breath, then another, willing his body to stand down. But it was no use with her leg now curled over his hip, pulling him as close as their clothes allowed. Hell, it was amazing the material didn’t just burn off the way this attraction blazed between them. He’d never experienced anything like this before.

  And yet…

  “Jake?”

  Loral’s husky voice now held a gut-wrenching note of uncertainty. He groaned and flopped back onto his side of the bed.

  She pushed up on one elbow and leaned toward him. “What’s the matter?”