Mr. Valentine

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “The, um, room service guy did this.” Krysta stepped from the shadows. “I guess he’d been given the word from Manchester that Candy Valentine should have a romantic dinner tonight even if she chose to spend it alone.”

  Jack stood transfixed by his first view of Krysta by candlelight. Exquisite.

  “You may not be able to see very well, especially if you’d rather not wear your glasses,” she said uncertainly. “We can blow them out and turn the lights back on if this is too much atmosphere for you.”

  He snapped out of his trance. “No, this is great.” He walked over to the table. “I just hope they’re not planning to send up somebody from an escort service to make your evening complete.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t think they would, do you?”

  “I was kidding. I can’t imagine anyone taking that kind of liberty if you made it clear that you wanted to be alone.”

  “Well, I did.” She looked at him, but when he returned her gaze she seemed to lose her nerve and glanced away. “I knew we needed to listen to those tapes together, especially the one from the revision session this morning. Maybe we should hear that now.”

  “Since we don’t have a strolling violinist, we might as well.” For a moment there, in the candlelight, he’d imagined she might be thinking along the same lines that he had been, but then she’d steered them right back to business.

  “I’ll find the place on the tape.”

  He glanced at the table and noticed an open bottle of red wine. While she fooled with the recorder he walked over and lifted the lid covering the plate of food to find out what she’d ordered to go with it. “Steak and baked potato?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Has life in the Big Apple corrupted Krysta Lueckenhoff?”

  She laughed. “No, you have.”

  How he wished that were true. “With one steak knife to our name I guess somebody better start cutting up this roast beast.”

  “Be my guest.” She came over with the tape recorder and snapped it on as she sat across from him. “I think this is the part I wanted you to hear.”

  As he listened to Stephanie Briggs begin discussing changes she’d like to see in Uptown Girl, he cut meat and put it on a saucer for himself before giving Krysta the plate. She took the potato off and plopped it on his saucer, along with some bits of salad. He was listening too intently to question her divvying up of the food.

  He ate without giving it much thought while he concentrated on the tape. Thank God Stephanie’s suggestions for the book were reasonable and wouldn’t require a lot of work, he thought. More than that, they didn’t veer much from his original image of the characters.

  Then the recorder picked up Krysta’s response. I disagree with your first suggestion, she said with sickening clarity.

  Jack dropped his fork and stared at his dinner companion.

  Christine needs to be very angry in that scene with her father, Krysta’s taped voice continued. And I don’t think she should cry. That’s a wimpy thing for her to do at that point, and she’s too strong to break down in front of him.

  Jack hit the stop button on the recorder. “You argued with her?”

  “Why not?” She seemed totally unrepentant. “Stephanie was wrong.”

  “But she’s the editor.”

  “And I’m a reader. I’ve been buying romances for years, and I know what readers want.”

  “That may be true, but a first-time author doesn’t argue with the editor. Especially not on her very first point.”

  Krysta shoved his hand aside and pressed the play button. “Listen to the rest, Jack.”

  “You mean the part where she cancels the contract because she realizes I’m going to be too difficult to work with? Krysta, you—”

  “Just listen! She went along with it!”

  And so she had. Jack gazed across the table at Krysta’s smug little smile as Stephanie retracted her original criticism and agreed with Krysta’s evaluation of the scene. He stopped the tape again. “Okay, so you got away with it. I sure as hell hope that was the only time you tried that.”

  “As a matter of fact, she changed three of her five points.”

  “My God.”

  “Jack, what’s the matter with you? Don’t you believe in the integrity of your work?”

  “Not as much as you, apparently.”

  “Then it’s a very good thing I handled the revision discussion. Ready to hear the rest of the tape?”

  “I don’t know if my heart can take it. You’re a dangerous woman.”

  “And one you need, obviously.” She punched the play button again.

  “If you only knew,” Jack murmured.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Stop your muttering and relax. Someday you’ll thank me for being so assertive on your behalf.”

  He found relaxing almost impossible as Krysta and Stephanie chose to discuss a love scene next.

  I’ll bow to your judgment on this, Candy, Stephanie said. But I wonder if Jake shouldn’t be a little more frenzied as he makes love to Christine that first time. After all, he wants her very much.

  That’s the beauty of his restrained approach, Krysta replied. I can guarantee that women will go crazy imagining themselves being seduced so slowly and expertly. His controlled passion makes him even more exciting.

  Jack risked a glance at Krysta and caught her looking at him. Was that a gleam of desire in her eyes, or the candlelight playing tricks on him? He’d give anything to know if this conversation was doing the same thing to her that it was doing to him. She glanced away, and he could swear she was blushing. He barely heard the rest of the tape and hardly tasted the food on his plate.

  When the discussion moved to the TV interview that afternoon, Krysta turned off the tape. “What do you think?”

  I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t make love to you very soon. “I think you’re amazing,” he said. It was all he had courage for. “You did a great job with Stephanie.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sipped his wine and watched the candlelight caress her soft skin and lustrous hair. “That haircut really does suit you. I would have voted against cutting it, but now I see I would have been wrong.”

  Her eyes grew luminous. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Perhaps it was only the candlelight that put that welcoming light in her eyes. Maybe it was only the force of his own desire that made her look like a woman who wanted to be loved. He decided to bring up the television show. After all, she’d said publicly that he wrote great love scenes. “You mentioned something in your interview today that I—”

  “Oh, I almost forgot! I have the proofs from the photo session, if you’d like to see them.”

  “Okay.” Well, he probably had his answer. She wanted to stick with business matters. Taking the wine bottle and his water glass, he left the table. “Bring your glass, and we’ll sit on the couch and go through them.” He was glad he hadn’t asked about the television show. He might not have liked what he heard.

  “You’d better get your glasses for this,” she said. “I’m supposed to give Stephanie my favorites tomorrow, and I want your input considering that one of these will end up on the dust jacket.”

  “I don’t need my glasses.” He snapped on a lamp next to the couch.

  She blew out the candles and walked toward the couch, her wine goblet in her hand. “Look, I know they must bother you, with that tape on them, but I want you to be able to see these pictures, Jack. You can take the glasses off again when we’re finished.”

  He sat on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee before taking a sip of his wine. “I’m wearing contact lenses.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe you.” Still holding her goblet she sat beside him and peered into his eyes. “You are. When did this happen?”

  “I picked them up today.” Only a few inches and his lips would be on hers. His heart beat faster. But she wasn’t offering to kiss him. She was only examin
ing his new lenses. Yet her breathing seemed a little quicker, a little more shallow.

  She moved back a bit and studied him. “You arranged for contact lenses in that short a time? You must have paid a fortune. The haircut was one thing, but buying contacts in a strange city on short notice is really beyond understanding.” The words sounded like Krysta, but her soft tone caught his attention.

  “I didn’t pay for them. I—”

  “Oh, Jack. Don’t tell me you put them on credit. That’s even more ridiculous than—”

  He pressed a finger against her lips. It was a subtle move, one that could go nowhere, or start them on a long, sweet journey. He’d know by her reaction to his touch which it would be. “Hey,” he said gently. “Stop talking for five seconds and let me tell you how I got the haircut and the contact lenses.”

  Her eyes darkened a fraction.

  A less observant man might have missed the change, but Jack had written about such moments, and he didn’t miss it. Slowly he removed his finger, but he kept eye contact. He wanted to build on what he’d started. Briefly he told her about tackling the mugger, trashing his glasses and accepting the offer of the grateful businessman to pay for contact lenses and a haircut.

  “You could have been killed,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his, her fingers tight around the stem of her glass. “You should never have tried to stop him.”

  “I acted on instinct. There was no conscious decision on my part.”

  “Now, that really scares me, thinking you might do something foolish like that again.”

  “Why?” he asked quietly.

  She swallowed. “Because I care what happens to you.”

  “You mean whether I take my vitamins or get enough sleep? That sort of thing?” He heard the edge of frustration in his voice but couldn’t control it.

  “Well, that, and whether you’re happy…and…and if you’ll find someone special some day.”

  “You’re worried about my love life?”

  “Not worried so much as…” She closed her eyes and took a long, shaky breath. “I can’t stand it another minute.”

  He noticed the tremor that passed through her, and hoped he could guess what she was about to say. “Can’t stand what?” His heart thudded wildly.

  “Wondering.” Slowly she opened her eyes, and they flashed green fire. “Can you kiss the way you wrote about it in the book?”

  The blood roared in his ears. “Yes.”

  “Would you…show me?”

  He turned away to set his glass on the coffee table. Then he took her goblet from her unresisting fingers and put it beside his before turning back to her. His hands shook slightly as he cupped her face with both hands, but the sensation of her warm skin beneath his fingers steadied him. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her the way she was meant to be kissed. If this was all he was ever allowed, it would have to be enough. And he would make sure that she never forgot the next few minutes for as long as she lived.

  “Close your eyes,” he murmured, gazing down at her. “Close your eyes, and empty your mind of everything else but this.”

  She looked more hesitant and vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “I don’t know if I can, Jack.”

  “You can.”

  “Should I…hold you?”

  “No. I’ll hold you.” For as along as you’ll allow it.

  With a little sigh she allowed her eyes to drift closed.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered. He started with her temples, brushing them with his lips before pressing his mouth against the gently beating pulse there. He breathed in the fragrance of her hair as he slid his fingers into the thick mass of curls.

  Holding her with firm pressure, he tilted her head back and kissed her closed eyes, willing her to see only pleasure, feel only delight. He stroked his fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head, then guided her backward until her head rested in his hands and her throat lay exposed.

  Beginning at the tender hollow that throbbed with excitement, he settled his mouth there, heating her already warm skin as he moved up the column of her throat with languid kisses. Her breathing quickened with each feathery touch. And each time his lips brushed her petal-soft skin, his soul became more enmeshed in the pure joy of loving her at last.

  He drew out the moment, drew out the risk for both of them. Searching out the sensitive spot behind the lobe of her ear, he rejoiced in her tiny gasp of surprise as he caressed her there. He traced the line of her jaw in reverent detail, and as his path took him closer to the corner of her mouth, she began to quiver beneath him.

  He teased her with a soft touch at one corner, a gentle kiss at the other. Her lips parted on a slight moan. He angled his mouth above hers, allowing her to sense him there, to feel his breath and to know he drew nearer. He touched down with the lightness of a breeze, the warmth of a sunbeam, and the gentle insistence of a man in love.

  It was his secret weapon, the force that made a mockery of mere technique. He loved her, had loved her for months, perhaps for years. Slowly he took command of her mouth and tried to tell her. The message was gentle at first, as he molded his lips to hers and savored the velvet softness and the delicate taste of her. He paid homage as a supplicant might.

  Until the fever took her.

  With a groan of surrender she pulled him in deeper, and as supplication transformed to demand, and sweetness to desperate hunger, he lifted his mouth from hers and drew back, although his whole being rebelled at being denied the satisfaction of loving her completely and thoroughly. But that next step would not be taken mindlessly. Too much depended on what happened next to let themselves fall into bed without thinking. He’d asked her to empty her mind. Now he would ask her to think.

  She didn’t open her eyes at first, and it was all he could do not to return to those provocatively parted lips.

  Then gradually her eyelids lifted to reveal a gaze that would melt steel. Her voice was blurred with passion. “Why did you stop?”

  His breathing was none too steady. “Because it was the end of the kiss.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You asked for a kiss. That’s what you got.”

  Awareness dawned in her expression. “I’m supposed to ask if I want…more?”

  “Yes.”

  Her voice was husky with passion. “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not the vice president of a company and probably won’t ever be one. Because I understand perfectly why you want financial stability in a man, and I may never have that. Because I’m in no position to make promises. If I were a stronger man, I’d tell you to stay the hell away from me. I don’t fit into your game plan.”

  A sultry smile tipped the corners of her well-kissed mouth. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “I liked the kiss, Jack.” Her slow, easy speech was the exact opposite of the brisk way she usually talked. “I liked it a lot.”

  Apparently he’d transformed her into a seductress, he thought in wonder as he gazed at her and waited for the rest.

  “And I was wondering…”

  He lifted his eyebrows as she paused dramatically.

  “I was wondering if you can make love the way you wrote in your book.”

  He thought his lungs would explode. “Yes,” he said, and scooped her up off the couch.

  As he carried her into the bedroom, the tie on her robe slipped and the garment fell open. He glanced down at the daisy nightie she wore underneath, then back into her face. “Did you plan for this to happen all along?”

  “No.” She smiled up at him. “But I thought if it did, you might want to do a little research on exactly how the nightie comes off.”

  “What you read that day’s been destroyed.”

  “Jack! It was good!”

  Pushing her discarded underwear aside, he eased her down to the bed and smoothed the hair away from her face. “This will be, too. And some things aren’t meant to be in print.”

 
; 10

  KRYSTA TREMBLED in anticipation as she gazed up into Jack’s face and realized that soon she would know what it was like to be loved by him. She thought of the scene in Uptown Girl when Jake had first made love to Christine. Jake and Christine. Jack and Krysta. She hadn’t noticed before.

  She touched his cheek. “The characters in your book—”

  “Are not us.”

  “But the names. They’re almost like ours.”

  “Almost.” He trailed a finger across her lips. “I made those characters just enough like us to inspire me. But Christine’s not you, because I hadn’t ever…I didn’t know you well enough.”

  Her mouth tingled where he’d touched her. “We hadn’t ever made love.”

  “Only in my mind.”

  The idea that he’d imagined making love to her while he wrote took her breath away. “So Jake isn’t you, either?”

  “No.”

  “He’s…a pretty sexy guy.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a smile. “Are you saying I’m in competition with somebody I made up?”

  “Well…”

  “Forget Jake. He’s not real.” He leaned down, his lips close to hers. “But I am,” he murmured just before he carried her away with another mind-shattering kiss.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and invited him to deepen the embrace. When at last she felt the thrust of his tongue, desire shook her with a force that made her gasp. He’d done nothing more than kiss her and she was already molten and ready for him, already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He caught her hands and finished the job far more efficiently than she ever could have. She ran her hands over the firm muscles of his chest and felt the answering shudder beneath her palms.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he gazed down at her with an intensity that tightened the coil of excitement deep inside another delicious notch. Moving from the bed, he finished undressing, his attention remaining focused on her the entire time. She remembered this part of his fictional love scene, remembered how Christine had responded to the first sight of her lover’s body. In the soft light from the bedside lamp, Krysta feasted on the unveiling of Jack, thoroughly aroused, and very real. In that moment she abandoned all thought of fictional heroes.