Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “I just lost twenty pounds,” Helen said as she topped the pile with her wool cap.

  Courtney laughed and reached in her purse for her binoculars. She liked watching the cheerleader routines before the game started. She flashed back to her high school football games. She’d played the tuba in the band. She remembered standing on the sidelines, watching the cheerleaders hug the football players after the game. What if she’d gone to school with Eric? He would have been one of the football players, probably team captain. But of course, she wasn’t a cheerleader. She was the tuba nerd, and though she looked fashionable now on the outside, she was still a geek inside—the geek entranced with the football player, Eric.

  Really, this obsession was getting old. She had to move on. “Let’s get a pretzel.” Courtney bounded out of her seat and grabbed Helen’s elbow.

  “Already?” Helen brushed off Courtney’s hand. “Let me sit for a while. We can get a pretzel at the half. That way, it’s like a reward.”

  “You need a reward to watch basketball?”

  “I need a reward for braving this weather, and by half-time, I’ll be thinking about bundling up again. The pretzel and a beer will keep my mind off the icicles I’ll have to chip off my nose.”

  “Okay, I get that logic—sort of.” Courtney sat down.

  From the buzzer that signaled the game’s start, the players shot back and forth on the court like racehorses. Maybe they were chilly and had to get their blood pumping, but whatever the reason, the scoreboard could barely keep up with the points … on both sides. Courtney and Helen were out of their seats cheering with the rest of the hyped-up Washington crowd.

  “And who said you can’t get exercise as a spectator?” Helen asked. “My thighs are burning from all the up and down.”

  The two women started making their way to the concessions just before the bell sounded for first half. The Wizards were beating the Orlando Magic by two points.

  Standing in the pretzel line while Helen got the beers, Courtney breathed in the mouth-watering aroma of pretzels, popcorn, and hot dogs, and then she felt a tug on her jean pocket. She turned, and her heart leapt when she looked down into Travis’s brown eyes.

  “Like my grill?” He smiled up at her, displaying new braces.

  He must be here with Eric. Thud. “Very nice, and I like the red and black accents.” And I wish my stomach would stop churning.

  “They’re my school colors. Cool, huh?”

  She wanted to look around for Eric in the worst way, but she forced her eyes to stay focused on Travis. “I had braces, too, but not until I was in college. You’re smart to get them while you’re young. And they really are cool.”

  “Eric got ’em for me.”

  She heard his hello before she saw him. When she looked up, he smiled warmly. “I didn’t know you were a basketball fan.” He handed a Coke to Travis.

  “Well, I figure I should support the home team.” She smiled back.

  “As a Floridian, I’m surprised you’re not rooting for the Magic.” His eyes grew dark and sexy as he looked at her.

  Courtney’s knees trembled. “No, I’m a Wizard through-and-through.”

  Travis poked her in the ribs. “Move up or somebody’ll butt in line.” He looked back and forth between Eric and Courtney. “You two are gettin’ googly-eyed, and I don’t wanna miss the second half. Can we get a pretzel, please?”

  Eric laughed. “Sure, buddy.”

  Courtney was next in line, but Eric came forward and bought pretzels for her and Helen, as well as for Travis and himself. He handed her the pretzels and then motioned toward the condiment bar, where they squirted mustard into little plastic cups.

  Eric tore off a piece of his pretzel and dunked it in the mustard, leaving a smudge of yellow on his lip when he took a bite. Courtney wanted to lick it off.

  “Look who’s here.” Helen walked up and handed Courtney a beer.

  Courtney ran her tongue over her lips, hoping to give Eric the hint about the glob of mustard. Instead, he simply stared at her lips.

  “Oh, geez, you guys. Just kiss her and get it over with,” Travis said. “The game’s about to start.”

  “You’ve got a …” Courtney reached up and touched Eric’s lip. She swiped the mustard off and then licked her finger.

  Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Her beer sloshed over the rim.

  She looked up into his gorgeous eyes.

  With his lips close to hers, he murmured, “Lady, you’re driving me crazy.”

  Just before their lips met, a flash blinded her, and she realized a photographer had just snapped them. She squinted at his press badge but was only able to read Washington Tattler at the top, not his name, before he scurried off into the crowd.

  “I guess we’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow,” Eric said.

  Courtney thought he looked remarkably calm … under the circumstances. “I’m sure the headline will be a shocker,” Courtney said. She pressed a hand to her chest to still her racing heart. And then her brain kicked in. Again, she hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. She’d just told her boss that Eric was persona non grata . She’d have to add “lack of credibility” to her growing list of character flaws. “If they call us an item, they’ll be off base.”

  “That’s a shame. I’d like to be your item.”

  Courtney sucked in her cheeks to suppress a smile. But it didn’t work. She felt her eyes crinkle and her lips turned up. “What if they used the word ‘romance’?”

  “That’s even better.” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

  Courtney wanted to leap back into his arms. She took a deep breath and blew it out. All right, I let my heart rule my head, and you know what, I feel like shouting it to the world. Maybe being with Eric isn’t the smartest decision, and yeah, I’m scared, but for once, I let my heart decide. “Well, I guess we’ll know what they call it when we read tomorrow’s headlines.”

  Travis stepped between them and tugged on Eric’s sleeve. “Come on. They blew the whistle. Let’s go.”

  Eric ruffled Travis’s shaggy mop of hair. “Okay, buddy.” He looked at Courtney before he turned. “I’ll call you.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Courtney and Eric were front page above the fold in the Washington Tattler. Given that the photographer must have barely made the deadline, there was no story. Just a caption that read, “Is There Romance in the Air for Senator Morrison?” Courtney moaned when Helen poked her shoulder and slapped the paper on the kitchen counter.

  “Nice work. Looks like you’re getting ready to suck his face off.” Helen chuckled.

  Courtney hunched over the counter and clunked her head on the butcher block top. Ouch. “My boss is going to kill me.”

  “That’s your first thought? Gee, if it were me I’d be thinking about how to parlay this story into a million-dollar book deal.” Helen patted Courtney’s back. “Look at the bright side, Champion will probably take you off the account. Then you won’t have to worry about public exposure. You can just date Mr. Wonderful in the open.”

  Courtney straightened. She rubbed her brow. “I don’t want to give up this account.”

  “In that case … ”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Goodbye, Eric Morrison.” Courtney opened the refrigerator door and stared at the orange juice. She shut the door when her cell phone rang. Her first thought was that the caller was a reporter, but then she saw the i.d. It was Eric. Panic stricken, she dropped the phone, which bounced off the linoleum … in two pieces.

  Still ringing, Helen retrieved it, snapped the cover back on, and answered. “Capitol Hill Escort Service; we aim to please.”

  Courtney could hear Eric laughing in the background. Great.

  “She’s here. Just a minute.” Helen handed the phone to Courtney.

  Courtney took a deep breath before answering. “Do you think they’ve tapped our phones?”

  “Not unless you’re a security risk.”

  “I m
ay be.”

  “And I thought you couldn’t get more interesting.” Eric laughed, again.

  “I can’t believe you think this is funny.” Courtney huffed.

  “It’s just a blip, Court.”

  She loved that he called her Court.

  “Tell you what,” he said, “we both need a break from this town. I have to go to Winston-Salem next weekend to check on my parents’ house while they’re in Europe. Why don’t you escape with me?”

  Helen, who’d had her ear pressed to Courtney’s, nodded emphatically and mouthed, yes!

  This getaway could be her last hurrah with Eric. She’d tell him they couldn’t continue this ridiculous … whatever … and that they’d need to call it quits. But in the meantime, she’d have a lovely weekend with him, sort of for old time’s sake, like there’d ever been any old times.

  “Okay,” Courtney said.

  “Great. I’ll have Lorena book us out on Friday afternoon, returning Sunday. Will that work?”

  “Is she discreet?” Courtney chewed on her lip.

  “She’s more than discreet. She’s worked for my family since before I was born. She knows all our secrets.”

  • • •

  Lorena Eddington looked at her boss over the top of her glasses. “You think it’s wise being seen with this woman, especially after this morning’s story in that rag newspaper?” She picked up files from her inbox.

  Eric nodded. “Nothing she can say will change my vote, so the only way being seen with her could negatively affect either of our careers is if I caved.”

  “Then it would look like she’d traded favors.”

  “Which neither of us would ever do.”

  “She’s a smart woman. Doesn’t she know you’re dug in?”

  “I don’t think so. She still thinks she can convince me, which is why being seen with me is such a threat.”

  “When do you plan to clue her in?”

  “Good question.” Eric paced in front of Lorena’s desk. “I would have already told her I wouldn’t budge, but I don’t want her to write me off.”

  “Because you want to continue to see her?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You must really like her.” Lorena pushed her glasses up her nose. “But is that fair? Aren’t you leading her on?”

  Eric slumped into the leather settee where visitors usually waited for appointments. “I want her to like me for who I am—apart from the tobacco issue.”

  “You’re hoping if she gets to know the real you, she’ll overlook the smoke coming out of your ears?” Lorena smiled then sat up a bit taller. “I’ve got it. Show her all the great things tobacco money has done for Winston-Salem, like the university, the airport, and the hospital.”

  “She’s not easily swayed, Lorena.” Eric scrubbed a hand over his eyes and pushed himself off the settee.

  “And I thought no one could resist your charm.” Lorena winked at him.

  “Tell her that.” Eric checked his watch. His two-thirty meeting had cancelled, which afforded him this rare leisure time, but he had to brush up on his three o’clock, due anytime now. As he walked into his office and closed the door, he wished his problems with Courtney were as simple as a difference in tobacco policy.

  They’d be alone in his parents’ big house this weekend, sleeping under the same roof. Though with sixty-four rooms and guest rooms in a separate wing, it could be more like being in adjoining counties—unless she was in his room.

  Maybe they’d get to the crux of what they both needed. Eric gazed at the photos on his wall, stopping at the framed riding crop. When Courtney had seen it, they’d locked eyes. He thought about riding her lush bum, but he’d never use a crop . He could never hurt her.

  Chapter Eleven

  No direct flights from D.C. to Winston-Salem fit their schedule, so they had a brief stop in Charlotte to change planes. After consulting The Weather Channel, Courtney packed light. She took a couple of sweaters and a three-quarter length, all-weather coat for a possible light snow, though the temperatures were expected to hover in the low fifties for most of the weekend. Eric said it was a typical North Carolina winter, but he added that the weather in general was warmer than he’d remembered it growing up. No doubt global warming at work.

  When they arrived in Winston-Salem, Eric picked up the car he kept at the airport while Courtney waited at baggage claim. He strode back into the terminal to take their bags while people did double takes. The Roark/Morrison family members were obviously like royalty in this town.

  The short drive from the airport to the entrance of Roark Manor became five minutes longer as the evergreen-lined boulevard meandered through Roark property. “We’re almost there,” Eric said as they rounded a turn and a split-rail fence gave way to wrought iron gates. Eric stopped at the gate to punch in his code at the key pad.

  Courtney stared in awe as the expansive estate came into view. “It’s breathtaking,” she said. Her eyes scanned from side-to-side to take it all in—two stories and broad as a football field, but it didn’t overwhelm the landscape. Matching wings abutted the main house, creating a gentle “u” shape that hugged a circular driveway. The house seemed to grow out of the earth, like it had checked in with the majestic oaks and pines to get their acceptance before laying its foundation. A porch ran the full length of the first story, and Courtney imagined revelers decked out in finery and sipping mint juleps. But that would be in summertime. Today, they’d be clad in furs around a bonfire, drinking mulled wine. With a few icicles dangling from the covered porch, the house looked like a frosty, but approachable, queen.

  “My great-grandfather built it in 1912,” Eric said. “There’s a full working farm on the property and a village with shops and restaurants. Granddad Roark built the village to serve the farm laborers and house staff. He also built a school and church. It was a true sustainable community and in many ways, still is.”

  Eric stopped the car in the circular drive at the front door.

  “You said your parents are away. Will we be alone in the house?” Courtney hoped.

  “Just you and me … and the staff,” Eric said.

  “Staff? What is this, Downton Abbey?”

  At that moment, the front door opened, and a gentleman who looked to be in his late fifties, bounded to the car. “Mister Eric, it’s so good to see you!” The smile on his face was broad and genuine.

  Mister Eric? This is Downton Abbey.

  “Nice to be home, Randolph. May I introduce you to my friend, Courtney Larson? Courtney, this is Randolph Small. He manages the house.” Eric handed Courtney’s bag to Randolph.

  “I joined the Roarks thirty years ago,” Randolph said.

  “And he’s indispensable,” Eric said.

  Randolph beamed. Obviously, he and Eric were fond of each other.

  Courtney stepped into the massive reception hall and inhaled a deep breath of lemon furniture polish, warmed by a crackling fire. The entire room gleamed with rich wood, from the inlaid parquet floors to the exquisite pipe organ and the enormous claw feet on the matching sofas that framed the fireplace. Double staircases led from each side of the fireplace to a second floor balcony that encircled the room.

  “My parents were married in front of that fireplace,” Eric said, nodding to the marble mantel and expansive hearth. “And in the old days when my great-grandparents lived here, they used to roll up the rugs and host huge parties for the villagers.”

  Randolph started up the stairs. He stopped and turned at the landing. “We set up the Truman room for Miss Larson.”

  “The Truman room, as in President Harry?” Courtney asked.

  “Yes, he’s our claim to fame … the one president who slept in this house. He came to Winston-Salem for the dedication of the university.”

  “Which your family funded?”

  Eric nodded and then pointed to an arched doorway to the right of the reception hall. “That’s the library. Want to meet me there in a half-hour or so? Randolph will tak
e you to your room. You can unpack and get comfortable.”

  Courtney felt she had stepped back in time, particularly when the grandfather clock chimed. The melodious sound echoed through the reception hall.

  “Five o’clock,” she said, “must mean it’s time for sherry?”

  Eric smiled wryly. “I prefer a local microbrew.”

  Courtney headed up the stairs, where Randolph motioned for her to follow him. She stopped to look back at Eric. “Do I dress for dinner?”

  “I’m going to change into jeans and a sweater, so just get comfortable. We’re not entertaining a president tonight.” He turned to ascend the staircase on the opposite side of the fireplace.

  No, but doesn’t the vestal virgin count for something? As she watched him disappear into the opposite wing, she mused about their sleeping quarters being so far apart. She wished he’d just taken her bags to his room, but of course, he wasn’t a man to make assumptions. And besides, there was the issue of propriety. She was reminded of Katherine Howard, fifth wife of Henry VIII, who ran through the corridors of Hampton Court, searching for Henry to plead for mercy. Wait a minute, what did losing one’s head have to do with losing one’s virginity? Not much, she hoped.

  • • •

  Courtney unpacked in the Truman room, where ivory, dial telephones donned the bedside table and the elegant ladies’ desk. The whole house dripped old money, but there was nothing ostentatious about it. The Morrisons didn’t need to toot their horns. Everyone knew who they were. But it was more than that. This house exuded old world sophistication, and the way it was tucked into the land made Courtney feel embraced. This was a family home.

  She sighed. Why had Eric brought her here? Was this the venue of a final confrontation on tobacco, or in the words of Helen, would this be the scene of her cherry pop? Talk about a lasting memory.

  And where did you surrender your virginity, Courtney? What’s that? Speak up, girl.

  You were spending the weekend at the Morrison/Roark mansion in North Carolina?

  That would be the Morrisons and Roarks of tobacco fame?

  And aren’t you a lobbyist for the opposition?