Some time later, as sanity slowly returned, they abandoned their place on the carpet, gathered up their clothes and settled themselves in the king-size bed.
He stretched out beside her feeling sated, although he assumed the feeling wouldn’t last long. He sighed. “That’s better.”
She smiled. “Better than what?”
“Anything. Making love to you is better than anything in the world.”
“You may not think so when you hear my news.”
“I’ll still think so. But you might as well tell me this all-fired important info that you thought was more critical than a rendezvous on the rug. I don’t want it to interrupt the proceedings again.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “There will be more proceedings?”
“I believe there will be. So tell me. What did Stephanie have to say?”
“She loved the new book.”
“That’s great.” Funny how anticlimactic it was after what he’d just shared with Krysta.
“You don’t seem very excited, Jack.” There was censure in her tone.
He positioned himself so he could nibble at her lower lip. “My priorities have changed.”
“She offered more money, but not as much as I thought you deserved.”
Jack leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. “Here we go.”
“But I think we should take it, because I negotiated a one percent raise in royalty rates and a guaranteed advertising budget in the amount of the advance.”
He wondered if she realized how she’d phrased that. I think we should take it. Part of him was overjoyed at the sense of commitment that implied, but the other part was terrified she was expecting too much from this fledgling career of his. It wasn’t strong enough to keep them both afloat. Not yet, in any case.
“You’re not saying anything, Jack. I think it’s a good deal.”
He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “It’s a very good deal. Thank you. Getting a higher royalty percentage is a real coup. You do know your contracts, lady.”
“There is one other thing. It has to do with Uptown Girl.”
“I’ll bet she asked you about that dust jacket picture. I remembered we hadn’t picked one out while I was mucking out the bedroom and found the proofs on the floor.”
“Stephanie did mention that, but I can tell her what pictures we’ve chosen when she and I have dinner tonight.”
He frowned. “Do you really have to go to dinner with her? I was hoping—”
“I have to give her an answer about the contract, don’t forget.”
He’d thought they might take a walk through Manhattan tonight. It would be their last chance to do anything like that considering that the plane left first thing in the morning. Maybe by then he’d have worked out a strategy for them to spend time together during the next year without getting either of them fired. “Phone her.”
She shook her head. “No, Jack. Now is not the time to appear unfriendly.”
He approached her delicious mouth again. “I can testify that you’re definitely not unfriendly.”
“She wants Candy to go on tour for Uptown Girl next February.”
He paused a fraction away from her delectable lips. “I hope you told her it was impossible.”
“Actually, I told her I probably would.”
His head came up again. “You did what?”
“I’m sure there’s a way we can manage it. And I think without the tour the whole deal might go sour. I—”
“No.” Dammit. Dammit to hell. He’d hoped to avoid a moment like this for a long time. If nothing else was required of her he could have somehow tried to keep the connection between them for the next year until he could be more certain of his publishing career. But this proposal of Stephanie’s changed everything. He couldn’t ask Krysta to jeopardize her career by making a commitment to go traipsing over the country masquerading as him. The outcome was too uncertain.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean you’re not touring for me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t ask it of you, and that’s that.”
12
KRYSTA WAS STUNNED at Jack’s reaction. “Of course you can ask it of me! I would be happy to do that for you. Or have I embarrassed you so much during this trip that you can’t trust me to represent you on tour?”
Pain flashed in his blue eyes as he reached for her. “No, no. Never that.”
“Because I realize I haven’t been perfect at this Candy Valentine business.” She stumbled over the words, her heart aching because he wouldn’t accept her help. “Just this morning Stephanie caught me smuggling croissants, which probably didn’t improve Candy’s image, and I know you think I’m too tough with the negotiations, but I’m only trying to protect your—”
He pulled her close and gazed earnestly into her eyes. “Krysta, you’ve been wonderful. We haven’t discussed it, but I know you’ve put your job at risk by coming here. If Hamilton finds out you lied about the spa trip to spend the weekend with me, he might figure out a way to fire you. I’m sure he could dig up some ancient company policy about sexual relations among employees, even if he’d planned to violate the rule himself.”
“He’s not going to find out.”
“I don’t plan that he will, either. I’m prepared to go to great lengths to prevent his finding out. But if you went on tour, I’d have to go with you, and that will be nearly impossible to keep secret.”
That was the part she’d looked forward to with the most relish. In fact, floating through the hours in a haze of love, she’d even dreamed that they might be married by then. It could all work out so perfectly that way. She’d keep her job at Rainier as insurance for a while, but she didn’t expect to need it very long after Jack’s first royalty check arrived.
Then gradually Manchester could discover that Candy had a writing assistant named Jack Killigan, and eventually they could learn the true author of the books so Jack could get his rightful measure of praise. Money wouldn’t be a problem, because she was a good negotiator, a function she’d continue to fulfill, and Jack was a tremendous writer. They’d be a great team, and knowing Jack’s generous nature, she knew her father would be provided for, as well.
“Maybe we wouldn’t have to keep the trip secret,” she ventured. “I could pretend I’d written the books for as long as you wanted to keep up the pretense, and then we could announce the truth when you were ready.”
“And commit career suicide yourself? How long do you think Hamilton or his buddies would want to keep you on if they believed your heart belonged to the publishing world? He’d still be smarting from your rejection, and he’d just love to be able to question your dedication to the company in light of your new interest in becoming a bestselling author. He’d start documenting every slip you made.”
She moved away from him. “You’re letting that famous imagination of yours run away with you. You don’t know that anything of the kind would happen.”
“Don’t I?”
Privately she had to admit he’d made some valid points. What hurt the most was his apparent refusal to consider the obvious—getting married and sharing in the success of Candy Valentine. But in order to propose marriage to someone you needed to love them, and he’d never spoken those words to her. Words were his strength, his magic wand, his sorcerer’s power. He’d used words to tempt her into loving him, but he’d withheld the words she most wanted to hear.
Apparently she was only the means to fulfilling a fantasy for Jack. Once he’d discovered what was under the daisy-patterned nightie, he was compelled to move on to more imaginative conquests. She’d never known much about artistic personalities, but she seemed to be learning in the school of hard knocks this weekend.
She turned onto her back and closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She didn’t want this scene to end up in a Candy Valentine novel. She swallowed. “What—what would you su
ggest I say to Stephanie about the tour?”
He put a hand on her bare shoulder. “Krysta.”
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Everything you said is absolutely on target, Jack. I don’t know what I was thinking of. I guess I got carried away with pretending to be you. I wanted it to go on…forever. But of course that’s—”
“I wish it could, too.”
For the first time since she’d known Jack, she didn’t believe him. She figured he was jollying her along, getting her used to the notion that the party was over. Well, she was a grown up and she didn’t need that sort of coddling. She, of all people, understood how the world worked. Jack was about to become famous, and he was hesitant about making commitments at a time like this. One never knew where the road to fame would lead. One needed to keep one’s options open.
But she had to convince Stephanie to abandon the idea of a book tour for Candy’s first novel. She had no clue how to do that. She took a deep breath. “I just need some ideas, Jack. Some reasons why a book tour would be a bad idea.”
“All right,” he said quietly. “Remind Stephanie that some very successful authors don’t tour, like Danielle Steel, for example. Tell her that you think an air of mystery would be as beneficial as having you out there. And if none of that works, tell her you have motion sickness and nothing cures it. Tell her you barfed all the way to New York and you’ll probably barf all the way home.”
She just might, at that, Krysta thought. She continued to gaze up at the ceiling. “I’ll try those things. I can’t guarantee that it won’t affect the deal, though. She seemed really keen on this idea of a book tour. But I’ll do the best I can.”
“With you, that’s a given.” He shifted his weight and moved the upper part of his body over hers, bracing his hand beside her head so that she was forced to look at him. “I want you to know something. I wish circumstances could be different. But you need to hang on to your job at Rainier if you hope to be able to help your father. My future is very…uncertain. I can’t have you hitching your wagon to a star that might very quickly fall to earth.”
“You won’t fall to earth, Jack.”
He smiled. “And you’re prejudiced.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been hearing what Stephanie says, and you’re…” She blinked. The tears were very persistent. “You’re really going to make it,” she finished, and turned her face toward the pillow.
“Hey,” he murmured, touching her cheek. “Please don’t—my God, you’re crying.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Krysta—” He turned her face back toward him. “Krysta, don’t.” His lips covered hers.
A woman with a stitch of pride would push him away, she thought. So what if his kiss moved like velvet over her bruised lips? So what if he knew just how to comb his fingers through her hair so that she felt treasured for all time? He didn’t mean a bit of it. He was a fantasy lover, just like the heroes in his books. He’d needed her to play a part for him, just like he needed the heroines of his novels to play a part each time he started a new book. And now the role was complete. But he wasn’t a mean-spirited person, so he didn’t want her to feel sad about it. She just wished she could stop crying.
“Hush, Krysta,” he crooned, taking her more fully into his arms. “It’s been a rough few days. Everything will be okay. I’ve expected too much. I’m sorry. There, now. I’m right here.”
Which only made her cry harder. Of course he was right here. But after tomorrow, when the plane took them back to Washington, where would he be? Oh, she might see him in the company cafeteria now and then, but soon he’d leave Rainier to write full time and become a bestselling author. And she would be a memory. A sweet memory, perhaps, but part of his past, part of his beginnings, before he became rich and famous.
“Krysta,” he murmured, kissing her damp cheeks. “Please, sweetheart. Please don’t cry.”
She could only think of one way to make herself stop. Taking his head in both hands, she brought his mouth down on hers. She might not have Jack Killigan for long, but she had him now.
He needed very little urging to make love to her again. At least she still had the power to ignite his lust, she thought with some gratitude. Maybe there was even a little bit of love mixed in there, too. She imagined there was as she gazed into his blue, blue eyes while he moved gently within her. Funny how she’d once thought Jack was beneath her notice. Now he seemed beyond her reach.
JACK FELT LIKE a first-class heel. Damn Stephanie Briggs for making it seem as if Candy Valentine was only a step away from the New York Times bestseller list. Damn Stephanie for suggesting a book tour for Candy, which forced him to take a protective stance with Krysta, who naively thought he was a shoo-in for fame and fortune. He could try to tell her his future as a novelist was far from secure. But he was quite sure he could tell her until the cows came home, and she’d never believe him after the way she’d been dazzled by Manchester. She thought he was putting her off, delaying a commitment, because he didn’t care enough. The truth was he cared too much.
So because he didn’t feel free to say it all—that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—he said nothing. Instead, he spent the rest of that day giving her pleasure and praying that she’d absorb the depth of his caring through his touch. His heart wrenched with the knowledge that she loved him, but felt she couldn’t say the words any more than he could. Each of them existed in a self-imposed prison, and the only communication they allowed themselves was a physical expression of desire.
When at last Krysta left for her dinner with Stephanie, Jack had never felt so sexually satisfied in his life. Or so unbearably heartsick.
KRYSTA SAT ACROSS the table from Stephanie within the jeweled interior of Tavern on the Green in the midst of Central Park. From the kaleidoscope of multicolored crystal and stained glass inside to the fairy lights and Chinese lanterns outside, the restaurant sparkled with an intensity befitting Stephanie’s vision of Candy Valentine’s future.
“Believe me, you’re going to be big. Very big,” Stephanie said as dessert was served. “But the tour is all part of the plan. We’re not just selling the book, we’re selling you, and the idea of an author as delicious as a box of chocolates. You’re perfect to promote that image. I can’t believe you’re turning your back on it.”
Krysta had tried all of Jack’s arguments and none of them had worked with Stephanie. She’d dismissed the Danielle Steel comment as irrelevant in today’s market. Steel already had her audience, she’d said. Candy Valentine had to build one, and not by appearing mysterious, but by appearing accessible. When Krysta had finally played her last card, Stephanie had promised to find her a specialist on motion sickness who would certainly cure her of nausea.
Krysta was out of ideas and out of energy. Abandoning the argument for the time being, she pulled the photo proofs from her tote bag and she and Stephanie spent the rest of the time in the restaurant deciding which one to use. They ended up with the shot of Krysta in the full-length coat.
Finally the meal was over and Krysta hoped to be allowed to go back to the hotel with the matter of the tour on hold, at the very least.
“I think I’ll just share a taxi with you as far as the Marriott,” Stephanie said.
Krysta groaned inwardly, knowing the campaign would continue in the cab. Sure enough, it did.
When the cab driver opened Krysta’s door at the hotel entrance, Stephanie got out and paid the fare.
Krysta glanced at her uneasily. “Aren’t you taking this cab home?”
“I just had a better idea. How about a nightcap?”
Under the bright lights of the Marriott’s portico, Krysta felt as if she were standing on stage and she didn’t know any of her lines. “I’m a little tired, Stephanie. Sorry.”
“Just one. A brandy would go perfectly right now, don’t you think? A farewell toast, so to speak.”
No, Krysta didn’t think so at all. But Jack’s career depended on
the goodwill of this woman. She wouldn’t get Candy to go on tour, so Krysta decided maybe a farewell toast was required. “Why not?” she said.
“Excellent.” Stephanie smiled and took her arm as they walked into the hotel and headed for the elevator.
As they waited for an elevator to be free Krysta turned toward Stephanie. “Would you rather go to the lobby bar or the revolving one on top of the hotel?”
“I think it would be much cozier if we just went up to your suite and ordered room service. I’m interested in what sort of room Manchester reserved for you.”
Krysta felt as if Stephanie had just doused her with ice water. “Oh, let’s not,” she said quickly. “The place is a mess. Truly. I’d hate for you to see what a slob I am.”
Stephanie laughed. “What nonsense. I’m not going to be the least bothered with a few articles of clothing lying around.”
You might if they belonged to Jack, Krysta thought. She mustn’t panic. There was a way out of this. “I haven’t been to the rooftop bar yet,” she said. “I’d really like to see it.”
“Next trip.” The elevator arrived and Stephanie walked inside. “Coming?”
Krysta hurried into the elevator after her. “Look, Stephanie, this is a very bad idea. I don’t feel well. I think I’m coming down with something. Something contagious.”
“I know what your problem is. You’re afraid I’ll convince you to go on that tour. That I’ll wear you down. What floor?”
Krysta panicked. “Stephanie, please—”
Stephanie stood with her hand on the Door Open button, which held the elevator in place. “What floor, Candy?”
Krysta hadn’t seen this side of Stephanie, the side that wouldn’t take no for an answer, but it explained her attaining such a position of power with Manchester Publishing at a relatively young age. Krysta had the feeling that if she didn’t go along with Stephanie and take her up to the room, she might cancel Jack’s contract, unreasonable though that might be. “Forty-fifth,” she said. “But I insist you give me thirty seconds to pick up the place before I invite you in.”
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