by Gina Wilkins
“I’m the flavor of the month,” he replied prosaically. “When I was new at this business, I believed the hype. I nearly fell into the Hollywood trap of believing my own press. Three years ago—on my thirty-first birthday—my dad had a long, no-holds-barred talk with me and told me I was getting obnoxious, and that I’d better keep in mind what really mattered in life. If not, he said, I was going to be left with nothing when the fame fairy moved on to the next lucky sucker.”
Savannah couldn’t help chuckling. “The fame fairy?”
“That’s what we call it. Here today, gone tomorrow. Sometimes nice and pleasant, other times wicked and uncomfortable. Thanks in part to my dad’s advice, I’ve learned to enjoy the good parts of success and to try to ignore the downside. Like the tabloids.”
“Your dad sounds like a very nice man.”
“He’s great. Both my parents are. They’ve always encouraged me to go after whatever I wanted, never led me to believe there was anything I couldn’t achieve if I worked hard enough at it. But they always stressed that enjoying life and living it with honor and dignity mattered more than money. I try to keep that in mind.”
“You like what you do?”
“I love it,” he answered simply. “All I ever wanted to do was to create stories. Entertain people. It was as if I had no choice—as if I was born to do this. I wanted my work to be appreciated, of course, but I never expected all this other stuff. The talk shows and tabloids, I mean.”
He shook his head in apparent amazement. “I had no idea that the public would decide I was as interesting as my stories. Most of it, of course, comes from having a good publicist. Once my photograph got into that embarrassing ‘Fifty Most Beautiful People’ article, he took it and ran with it. And I guess I’m pretty good at working the TV shows—I like talking to people and making them laugh. Again, I suspect that the public interest won’t last forever, though I hope they continue to enjoy my books and films.”
Savannah hadn’t known about the “Fifty Most Beautiful People” thing. She had always thought Kit was gorgeous, but it was a bit daunting to realize that he was officially recognized for his looks.
She couldn’t help wondering again what she was doing with a man like this. A man whose life was so diametrically different from hers.
She still found it hard to believe that, with all that attention and all the women he must surely have available to him, Kit had chosen to follow her to Campbellville, to spend the past few days with Savannah and her family.
“You, er, never married?” she asked, toying with her food.
“No. I came close a few years ago. It was during that early flush of success. I was dating a fashion model and I thought I was incredibly lucky to have gotten her attention. But all she was interested in was the fame and the parties and the attention. I realized then that I wanted a marriage like my parents had—one that would be as strong during the bad times as it was during the good. I wanted to be part of a union that held together when everyone else turned away, when there was nothing else to hold on to but each other.”
He looked a bit embarrassed by his outburst. “That’s the way I always thought of my parents,” he admitted. “They have such a great relationship. I’ve seen them have some pretty heated battles during the years, but I’ve always known that nothing could come between them for long. I didn’t have that with Kyra—and I knew I never would. That was when we went our separate ways. She pretty much shrugged and moved on to the guy who plays the lead character in the films based on my books. They’re still together, for now, but I’ve been hearing rumors that she’s getting restless again.”
He made a face and refilled her wineglass. “Enough about me. Tell me more about yourself. Why did your mother name you Savannah?”
Caught off guard, Savannah answered automatically. “My parents honeymooned there. I was conceived there. Mother thought it was appropriate.”
“What was your father like?”
“Kind. Funny. Very hardworking. He died when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Tell me what it was like when you were growing up. How you learned to love the old songs and movies.”
A bit awkwardly at first, and then with increasing ease, she talked to him. Savannah had spent many hours with her grandmother after her father’s death, and it had been Grandma McBride who’d loved the old standards and had shared her enjoyment of them with Savannah.
Kit seemed to be fascinated by everything Savannah said. Encouraged by his apparent interest, she found herself revealing more than she’d intended about her youth. She told him about the long hours Ernestine had worked in a grocery store in Honoria to pay for her daughter’s stylish clothes and dance lessons, cheerleader expenses and pageant dresses. It had been so important to Ernestine for Savannah to be popular. She had deliberately sought the kind of attention for her that Kit’s father had warned him about.
“Why was it so important to her?”
“Mother came from the wrong side of the tracks, from a poor, rather dysfunctional family that left her with a lot of emotional scars. She wanted better for me, but she was a bit confused about what constituted a truly happy childhood. She measured it in peer popularity. I’ve learned that there’s a great deal more to it than that. I’ve tried to pass that advice on to my children.”
With Kit’s prodding, she went on to describe the years since she and her mother had moved to Campbellville, twin babies in tow. She talked about her job with the construction company, the few close friends she’d made there, the challenges of raising twins. How carefully she’d tried to live a quiet, unremarkable life, giving the local gossips little to say about her.
Kit’s expression held an understanding that she found oddly touching. “You have a real thing about gossip, don’t you? Did people talk badly about you when you had the twins?”
She nodded. “Honoria, the town where I grew up, is very much like Campbellville. Small, tight-knit, wellinformed about the lives of its residents. And, yes, the people there talked about me. Particularly when my boyfriend decided to deny his own responsibility by spreading stories that he wasn’t sure he was the twins’ father. It wasn’t true, but he had money and a prominent position in the town, and enough friends willing to lie for him that my reputation was trashed.”
Kit reached across the table to lay a hand on hers. She thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, and knew that it was directed at the people who’d hurt her. “You didn’t have any friends willing to speak up for you?”
“My cousins did, though they weren’t taken very seriously because the McBrides already had a reputation for being wild and irresponsible. A couple of my closest friends tried to defend me. No one believed them.”
She shrugged. “To be honest, there was some general satisfaction in seeing me brought down a few pegs,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’d been head cheerleader and homecoming queen, and I’d gotten pretty spoiled. Just as you did at first—I believed my own publicity. I thought I was hot stuff. Thought I would always be everyone’s sweetheart. There were some who believed I deserved exactly what I got.”
Again, his expression was sympathetic. “And maybe a part of you agreed with them.”
“No, of course not,” she protested, though she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“So why did you move to Campbellville? Isn’t one small town the same as another when it comes to gossip?”
“My mother had a cousin who owned a store here. He offered her a job that allowed her to support us all until I finished school and went to work myself. We talked about moving to a bigger city, like Atlanta or Macon, but she only had the grocery-store experience and she wasn’t sure she could find a job right off. Besides, we thought it would be better for the twins, in the long run, to grow up in a small town with good schools and a low crime rate.”
“And how did people here react to your arrival with two babies? Did they pry?”
“Some did,” she admitted. “
Others didn’t say anything to my face, but probably speculated behind my back. The majority of the townspeople, though, have been very kind. It’s not as if single motherhood is all that uncommon these days, though it’s still not accepted quite as calmly in the deep South as it is in Hollywood.”
“Did you ever think of having an abortion? It was legal then. You were little more than a child yourself. It would have been the easiest way out for you.”
She didn’t resent the question. She knew that Kit was trying very hard to understand her. What made her tick. What motivated her.
What frightened her about him.
“I thought about it,” she replied. “And I finally decided that it wasn’t an option I could live with. I would have spent the rest of my life wondering if I’d made the right choice. And I have never had one day of regret that I chose to have my babies.”
He nodded, as if her answer wasn’t at all surprising to him. Maybe he was starting to know her, after all, she thought, shaken by the strength of the bond that had developed between them in such a short time. It seemed so real, so solid. It was going to hurt all that much worse when it snapped.
Dessert was rich, chocolatey, decadent. Savannah put all thought of worry and calories out of her mind and ate every bite. She noticed that Kit refilled her wineglass several times, but she didn’t protest. It was a night for indulgence, she decided.
After all, who knew how many more enchanted evenings she and Kit would have?
THEY FELL SILENT as they finished their dessert, and Savannah began to pay more attention to the music. A song she and Kit had danced to on the island began to play just as finished the last bite.
Kit promptly stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
She didn’t hesitate. She swayed a bit on her feet when she stood, but Kit promptly steadied her by pulling her into his arms.
“I think I’ve had too much wine,” she confessed. “I rarely drink.”
“Just lean on me,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her hair. “I’ll hold you.”
It felt so familiar to dance with him. She matched her steps effortlessly to his, only slightly hampered by the uneven flagstones beneath their feet.
She couldn’t remember ever dancing with anyone else. Or wanting to.
She felt Kit’s lips brush against her temple. She shivered in reaction.
“I think you’re trying to seduce me,” she accused him.
His chuckle rumbled in his chest, making it vibrate against her breasts. Even that feeling was seductive.
“Is it working?” he asked, without denying her allegation.
It was working all too well.
“No, not at all,” she fibbed, and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Liar.” He sounded more amused than offended.
Probably because he had no doubt that she was rapidly turning to putty in his hands, Savannah thought in resignation.
They danced close to the back wall of the cabin. Kit reached out and snapped off the overhead lights, so that their only illumination came from the moon, the stars and the candles.
Savannah slid both arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair. His lips brushed her temple, her cheek, then sought her mouth. She tilted her head back to give him better access.
The kiss lasted for an eternity. By the time it ended, Savannah knew her world had changed forever.
Sometime between their first dance on Serendipity Island and this dance in rural Georgia, she had fallen desperately in love with Christopher Pace.
She’d done some really dumb things in her life, a tiny part of her brain acknowledged as she lost herself in Kit’s embrace. But falling in love with this man had to be the most monumental mistake she’d ever made.
It couldn’t work. They were too different. Too many obstacles stood between them. She was going to be hurt.
At the moment, she couldn’t seem to care.
Kit’s hand slid slowly down her back, following her curves. He swayed slowly in place, hardly dancing now, just holding her while the music flowed softly around them.
Savannah nuzzled into his throat, enjoying the very faint, spicy scent of his aftershave. She felt well-defined muscles beneath his shirt, and longed to explore them with her fingertips. And her lips.
She wanted him. It had been so very long since she’d felt genuine physical desire that she was surprised by the force of the hunger that swept through her.
Kit made her feel like a different woman. Bold. Daring. Reckless. Things she couldn’t usually afford to be. But was there really any reason she couldn’t be all of those things…just for tonight?
Kit sought her mouth, found it, claimed it. She parted her lips for him, welcoming the eager thrust of his tongue. Wanting so much more.
She murmured her need into his mouth.
He seemed to understand and he pulled her firmly against him, kissing her until her head spun.
His hand slipped between them to cup her right breast, and his thumb swept across her hardened nipple, causing her to shudder in reaction.
“Savannah.” He spoke without pulling away, his voice a hoarse growl against her lips. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
She drew back a few inches to look up at him. The candlelight from the table behind her highlighted his face, letting her clearly see his hunger, his need. He’d looked like this that night on the island, when she’d been so tempted to make love with him. And now his desire seemed even more intense, more demanding.
He wanted her, she thought almost in wonder. Enough that he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to find her. Enough to come all this way to be with her, and then to stay when he discovered that she wasn’t an easy woman to be with. Enough to go to this much effort to give her a perfect, romantic evening.
She had no doubt that if she told him she wasn’t ready for this next step, he would back away—as he had once before. He would be disappointed, and he would no doubt make every effort to change her mind—but he wouldn’t force her. Wouldn’t intimidate her into giving him what he wanted.
This was Kit, not Vince.
That comforting awareness was almost as seductive as his beautiful smile.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she slid her hand down the back of his neck, over his shoulder, and across his chest. Then she unfastened the top button of his shirt. And then the next.
Kit caught his breath sharply when she slid her hands inside the open shirt to stroke his chest.
He was as beautiful as she’d imagined he would be, she discovered in delight. Warm and sleek and strong. His muscles flexed involuntarily beneath her exploring fingertips. His nipples were tight and hard when she brushed her palms over them, causing his stomach to tighten in reaction.
And when she moved closer to him, pressing her abdomen against his, she found that the rest of him was equally hard.
He wanted her. And tonight there were no prying eyes. No questioning looks. Nothing hidden between them.
Just the two of them…and the moon and the stars and the music.
“I hope I’m reading you correctly,” Kit muttered, his hands gripping her hips to hold her snugly against him. “Maybe you’d better tell me what you want, just so I don’t misinterpret anything.”
“I want you,” she whispered, tugging his unbuttoned. shirt from his waistband. She slid her bare arms beneath it, burrowing into his warmth, his strength.
“Tonight? Now?” He seemed intent on making her spell it out.
She nodded against him. “Yes.”
“You’re very sure?”
“Kit.” She laughed softly and looked up at him. “Do you want me or not?”
He moved against her, leaving little doubt of his answer.
“I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my entire life,” he said, sounding so sincere that a lump formed in her throat.
She managed to speak around it. “We have this time together,” she said. “Let’s not waste it.”
The sound he m
ade was part groan, part jubilant laugh. “I don’t intend to waste a minute,” he assured her, and lifted her against his chest to crush her mouth beneath his.
Savannah felt Kit tremble when he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. She was trembling, too.
Her dress parted, exposing her back to the cool night air. A moment later, it pooled around her feet, leaving her wearing only a lacy red bra and tiny, matching panties with her high-heeled black sandals. She felt a blush rise on her cheeks.
This was a man who’d once considered marriage to a professional model, she remembered unwillingly. Savannah didn’t have the skinny, willowy figure she saw on fashion runways. Her curves were fuller, more mature. She was a thirty-year-old woman who had borne twins, and wore a few thin, white stretch marks as evidence. She wasn’t ashamed of those marks—how could she be when they were physical reminders of the children she loved so very much?—but she was aware of them, particularly now.
Kit looked at her for a long time. “You’re so very beautiful,” he murmured. “In sunlight, or moonlight, or candlelight—you’re exquisite.”
That carping little voice of reason inside her reminded her that he was a writer. Pretty words were the tools of his trade. It would be incredibly foolish of her to take him seriously.
Well, tonight she wanted to be foolish.
“Thank you,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
Kit shrugged out of his shirt, and tossed it aside. He broke away from her only long enough to pull the puffy cushion from the chaise longue and drop it on the flagstone patio. And then he reached for her again, lowered her carefully to the long, soft cushion and followed her eagerly down.
He kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat. Kissed her breasts through the red lace of her bra until her skin tingled beneath the fabric, aching for his touch. Only then did he release the clasp and toss the skimpy garment aside, exposing her tightened nipples.
And then he lowered his mouth again, at the same time sliding his hand down her stomach and beneath the waistband of her rapidly dampening red panties.
She nearly arched right off the cushion in reaction.