I’ll Be Seeing U

by Dianne Castell

  Ida blushed. “Including Preston. Isn’t it great, and that no one knows who I am makes this oh so much fun! I wear hats with a veil at the studio, adds to the mystique. I’ll have to come clean with Preston, of course, especially if I do an apology to him on the air. I believe he’ll get it even if I don’t use his name; he is a private investigator after all. I do believe we’ve finally broken the Landon curse. I’ve found Preston and you have Quaid. He’s a fine man; I regret that I misjudged him. I heard about Pete and the flagpole. You must love Quaid very much to have done that and I’m sure he loves you too.”

  “He thinks I love him because he can take care of me.”

  Ida chuckled. “Oh my goodness, he is one of those macho types, isn’t he? Then it’s up to you to convince him otherwise. And if you truly love him you’ll make it happen.”

  She kissed Cynthia on the cheek and nodded at the untouched tea. “I hope he doesn’t stay pigheaded too long, dear, for everyone’s sake.” She stood. “And now I have a letter to compose.”

  Cynthia felt her stomach roll. What was she going to do? She didn’t want Quaid to marry her because he was the great protector…sounded like a stupid campaign slogan. And she didn’t want him to think she was doing him some sort of favor by marrying him. Both reasons for marriage were completely unacceptable.

  She took the tea to the sink and dumped it down the drain. What happened to simple love without so much baggage? It didn’t exist. Then again maybe it did, and she was the one complicating the hell out of everything.

  Quaid stood in the pilothouse gazing at the charts and not really seeing the information there at all. If he didn’t start concentrating he’d run aground in no time, not too swift for the guy who ran the company. He looked to port. The lines were free and he heard Hank’s footsteps on the metal stairs leading to the pilothouse. Giving the engines more power, he headed for the channel and the deep water, till Cynthia opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Okay, why do you want to marry me? I want to know right now. It’s important.”

  He stared at her, not because he didn’t know the answer to her question but because she took his breath away, just like she always did. Suddenly there was a scraping sliding sound and the Annabelle ground to a halt.

  “Oh, crap.”

  “That’s it!” She threw her hands in the air. “You don’t have an answer except ‘Oh, crap’? You can’t even come up with one thing?”

  “I just ran the tow aground at my own dock.” He looked to port and saw Hank, laughing his ass off. “Why isn’t Hank here and what are you doing here?”

  “Getting answers, at least trying to. So…answer me.” She paced the little room. “I’m older and I’m not wealthy and I have a lunatic for an ex and my mother is “Southern Spice” on the radio—do you believe that? But you can’t tell anyone, and I don’t even have a job, though I’m thinking about opening a shop in Memphis to sell—”

  “I thought this was my question?”

  She stopped pacing. “Well you didn’t do too great with your original answer.”

  “Okay here we go, one more time…though I don’t exactly mind repeating it. I love you because you’re honest and brave and trustworthy and you’re a good mom and—”

  “No, no, no.” She held up her hands as if warding off an attack. “Good mom is not the reason to get married.”

  “Honest, brave and trustworthy were in there, too.”

  “Sounds like a Saint Bernard.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “Here it is. I love you, and I think you feel the same about me, and you being a good mother to Lawrence is important. It tells what kind of person you are, which is a damn fine one. Why are you making this so difficult?”

  She bit her bottom lip and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her except…“I need to know, Cynthia. You’re making us both nuts.”

  “I’m afraid. There, now you know. Terrified. Petrified clear through.”

  “Of me?”

  She punched his arm. “Of course not you. I’m afraid of making another bad decision. I think that’s been the trouble all along. I don’t trust myself. I don’t want to louse it up. I married the wrong guy, bought the wrong car from the wrong guy, had the wrong guy for my lawyer, and I don’t want you to be the wrong guy. I love you too much for that. I got over the others but I know me, and I couldn’t get over marrying you and then losing you. I have to get it right this time, Quaid. I got to quit lousing it up.”

  “You really think you’ll lose me?”

  “You got to admit, I’ve got a sucky track record going here.”

  He sat her in the captain’s chair where she’d sat the night of the storm. A tow out in the channel churned on by, sending rollers their way, rocking the boat, making her look apprehensive. He held her for reassurance. “I love you and I love myself. I’m not sure what that means but I’m working on it.”

  She didn’t look so good; guess he needed to convince her more. “I just bought myself a big old house I always wanted and I hope it will make you happy too. Got a hell of a third floor for a sewing loft.” She looked worse, a little green—actually a lot green. He wasn’t doing well at all. “I’m not going anywhere, Cynthia.”

  “Oh, dear. But I sure am. Oh, God.” She pushed him aside and ran for the door, yanked it open and tossed her cookies.

  He came up behind her, holding her. “Babe, you really don’t like boats, do you? Ginger tea is supposed to help, or those patches. You poor thing.”

  She turned around and pounded his chest. “I am not a poor thing, I’m pregnant.”

  “What? H…how?”

  She gave him an evil look and he rephrased, “I mean we used protection. Not that I’m not happy about you having our baby…actually I’m sort of ecstatic. He grinned. “Make that real ecstatic. But this is a little unexpected.”

  “Well, the best I can figure is it happened in the bushes when you were climbing the trellis and nearly killed yourself. In my sexual exuberance to jump your bones I tore open the little blue foil pack with my teeth. I don’t think that was one of my better ideas. They should add a warning, do not tear with teeth.”

  He leaned back against the door to the pilothouse, the sun warming his skin, Cynthia’s news warming his heart and his soul. “Are you okay with this?”

  Her lips relaxed, the first thing relaxed about her since she got in the pilothouse. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I always wanted another child. Aaron didn’t want the first, so two were out of the question. But a baby is not the reason to marry, Quaid.”

  He nodded. “But it is a reason to be damn happy.” He draped his arm around her and drew her close. “And you’ve made me the happiest man on earth, Cynthia Landon. I love you, want to spend the rest of my life with you and our kids. Will you please marry me?”

  “Yes! I think I should do that.”

  “What do you think Lawrence will say?”

  She laughed against his chest. “Oh, Quaid, he’ll probably want to deliver the baby. Do you think we’re up for all this?”

  He framed her beautiful face in his hands. “As long as we’re together we can handle anything.”

  Epilogue

  Rory stood in the doorway of Ryan’s room, watching his three sons get ready for his wedding. For a second his heart beat a little harder, squeezed a little tighter, and he saw them as three little boys playing together, having fun, the loves of his life. He was one lucky man to have kids like his sons and Bonnie.

  Quaid said to Keefe, “That’s not the way you do a bow tie. You have worse fashion sense than Old Miss Buzzy.”

  Keefe laughed. “Who the hell’s that?”

  “Someone who doesn’t massacre bow ties.” Quaid took the tie and knotted it neatly around Keefe’s collar. “There—at least you won’t be a total embarrassment.”

  Ryan said, “How’d a badass like you know how to do a bow tie?”

  “I’m engaged to a woman who designs wedding apparel. It’s in the air.”<
br />
  Rory came into the room and gazed at his sons. “Got to admit you all clean up pretty well. Your mama would be proud. I know I am. This is my wedding day, next month you three get hitched in a triple wedding.”

  Ryan, Keefe and Quaid chuckled and Ryan said, “It was either that or flip coins to see who got married first.”

  Rory laughed too. “Well, it’s going to be some blowout. Don’t think the Landing will ever be the same.”

  And deep inside he realized that after these weddings nothing would be the same. “For a lot of years now it’s been the four of us, the four O’Fallons.”

  “And it’s always going to be the four of us,” Keefe said. “We’re just getting bigger.”

  “And better,” Quaid added.

  Rory nodded, complete happiness welling up inside him. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing, better than family.”

  Take a look at Kathy Love’s

  I ONLY HAVE FANGS FOR YOU.

  Coming next month from Brava!

  “Why are you so scared of me?” Sebastian asked softly.

  She shifted away as if she planned to move down a step and then bolt. He couldn’t let that happen, not before he understood what had brought on this outburst.

  “Wilhelmina, talk to me.” He placed a hand on the wall, blocking her escape down the stairs.

  She glared at him with more anger and more of that uncomfortable fear.

  “You can bully your mortal conquests,” she said, her voice low. “But you can’t bully me.”

  Sebastian sighed. “My earlier behavior to the contrary, I don’t want to bully you. Or anyone.”

  ‘You can’t seduce me, either,” she informed him.

  “I don’t…” Seduce her? Was that what all this was about?

  “Do you want me to seduce you?” he asked with a curious smile. Maybe that was the cause for her crazy outburst. She was jealous.

  She laughed, the sound abrupt and harsh. “Hardly. I just told you that I didn’t want you to seduce me.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “You told me I can’t. That sounds like a challenge.”

  Irritation ?ared from her, blotting out some of the fear. “Believe me, I’m so not interested.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her disdain. “Then why do you care about me being with that blonde?”

  “That blonde?” she said. “Is hair color the way you identify all your women? It’s got to be a confusing system, as so many of them have the same names.”

  He studied her for a minute, noting that just a faint flush colored her very pale cheeks

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to seduce you?” he asked again, because as far as he could tell, there was no other reason for her to care about the identi?cation system for his women.

  She growled in irritation, the sound raspy and appealing in a way it shouldn’t have been.

  Sebastian blinked. He needed to stay focused. This woman thought he was a jerk, that shouldn’t be a draw for him.

  “Why did you say those things?” he asked. “What have I done to make you think I’m so terrible?”

  Her jaw set again, and her midnight eyes locked with his. “Are you going to deny that you’re narcissistic?”

  He frowned. “Yes. I’m con?dent maybe, but no, I’m not a narcissist.”

  She lifted a disbelieving eyebrow at that. “And you are going to deny egocentric, too?”

  “Well, since egocentric is pretty much the same as narcissistic, then yes, I’m going to deny it.”

  Her jaw set even more, and he suspected she was gritting her teeth, which for some reason made him want to smile. He really was driving her nuts. He liked that.

  He was hurt that she had such a low opinion of him, but he did like the fact that he seemed to have gotten under her skin.

  “I think we can also rule out vain, too,” he said, “because again that’s pretty darn similar to narcissistic and egocentric.” He smiled slightly.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she still kept her lips pressed ?rmly together—their pretty bow shape compressed into a nearly straight line.

  “So you see,” he continued, “I think this whole awful opinion that you have formulated about me might just be a mixup. What you thought was conceit, which is also another word for narcissism,” he couldn’t help adding, “was just self-con?dence.”

  His smile broadened, and Wilhelmina fought the urge to scream. He was mocking her. Still the egotistical scoundrel. Even now, after she’d told him exactly what she thought of him. He was worse than what she’d called him. He was…unbelievable.

  “What about depraved?” she asked. Surely that insult had made him realize what she thought.

  “What about it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, looking every inch the haughty, depraved vampire she’d labeled him.

  “Are you going to deny that one, too?” she demanded.

  He pretended to consider, then shook his head. “No, I won’t deny that one. Although I’d consider myself more debauched than depraved. In a very nice way, however.”

  He grinned again, that sinfully sexy twist of his lips, and her gaze dropped to his lips. Full, pouting lips that most women would kill for. But on him, they didn’t look the slightest bit feminine.

  What was she thinking? Her eyes snapped back to his, but the smug light in his golden eyes stated that he’d already noticed where she’d been staring.

  She gritted her teeth and focused on a point over his shoulder, trying not to notice how broad those shoulders were. Or how his closeness made her skin warm.

  He shifted so he was even closer, his chest nearly brushing hers, his large body nearly surrounding her in the small stairwell. His closeness, the con?nes of his large body around hers, should have scared her, but she only felt…tingly.

  “So, now that we’ve sorted that out,” he said softly. “Why don’t we go back to my other question?”

  She swallowed, trying to ignore the way his voice felt like a velvety caress on her skin. She didn’t allow herself to look at him, scared to see those eyes like perfect topazes.

  “Why are you frightened of me, Mina?”

  Because she was too weak, she realized. Because, despite what she knew about him, despite the fact that she knew he was dangerous, she liked his smile, his lips, those golden eyes. Because she liked it when he called her Mina.

  Because she couldn’t forget the feeling of his ?ngers on her skin.

  She started as his ?ngers brushed against her jaw, nudging her chin toward him, so her eyes met his. Golden topazes that glittered as if there was ?re locked in their depths.

  Once again she was reminded of the ill-fated moth drawn to an enticing ?ame. She swallowed, but she couldn’t break their gaze.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he assured her quietly.

  Yes, she did. God, she did.

  Here’s an advance peek at Nancy Warren’s

  “Nights Round Arthur’s Table” in

  BRITISH BAD BOYS

  Available now from Brava!

  The night was quiet and still. She liked the dark, though she was intensely aware of the man beside her. Once she stumbled over a rock she hadn’t seen and he grabbed her hand to steady her.

  He didn’t let go. She could have pulled away, but she liked the feel of him, the sturdy, capable hand, the warmth of his skin.

  “I bought one of your books today, when I was in town.”

  “You did? I thought Max was going to lend you one.”

  “I decided I’d like to have my own.”

  “Well, thank you. Which book did you choose?”

  “Tying Up Loose Ends, I think it’s called.”

  The book that ?rst put her on the Times list, but she didn’t tell him that. “Well, let me know what you think of it.”

  “I will.”

  After that, they didn’t talk much.

  When they reached her cottage, he still didn’t talk, merely turned her to him and took her mouth.

  Okay, so she’d guessed it w
as coming, had spent most of the short walk wondering how she felt about it and whether she’d stop him if he tried to kiss her. Now she knew that he wouldn’t give her time to stop him and how she felt about it was indescribable. It was even better this time. He was so warm, so strong, his mouth both taking and giving.

  Drug-like pleasure began to overtake her senses. It had been so long since she’d felt like this. Excited at the possibilities of a man, wanting, with quiet desperation, to be with him. Held by him, taken by him. She began to shiver and he moved closer, so her back was against the stone wall and his warm body pressed against her.

  Her hands were in his hair, wonderful, thick, luxurious hair. Her mouth open on his, wanting, giving, taking. She felt him hard against her belly and experienced a purring sense of her own power. And also a stabbing sense of regret.

  She couldn’t do this, she reminded herself. Her book. Her book was her priority. If and when she ?nished the novel, then she could think about indulging herself like this. Not until then.

  So she tipped her head back out of kissing range and looked up into that dark, intent face. “What was that about?” She’d meant to sound sophisticated and slightly amused. A woman who got hit on all the time on every continent. Instead she sounded husky and, even to her own ears, like a total goner.

  “I’m interested. I’m letting you know.”

  “Telling me with words would be too mundane?”

  “Words are your world. I’m more a man of action.” Oh, man of action. Oh, aphrodisiac to her senses. She’d always gone for the cerebral types, but there was something about a man who tackled the world in a physical way that appealed to her on the most basic level. His words from dinner came back to her. He’d kill to protect those he loved. Every other man she’d been with had been of the pen is mightier than the sword persuasion, mostly, she suspected, because their swordplay was so minimal.

  Arthur was a man who would make her feel safe. When she crawled into bed, terri?ed of the fruits of her own imagination, she could see herself burrowing against his warm skin, his arms coming round her in comfort.