A light scent of berries was in the air.
Rather than a covered dish containing dinner, in the center of the table, between the two candlesticks, was a small, white teddy bear. His clasped paws were beribboned to help him hold on to a velvet box.
Just like in the commercial.
It was a joke.
Angry now, TJ. fisted her hands at her waist. She raised her voice. “All right, Theresa, this isn’t funny.” Her voice echoed back to her. It was all she heard.
Theresa had been exceptionally kind to her today, as if she understood what she was going through. But this sort of thing was her speed. It had Theresa written all over it. And she was carrying the joke too far.
“Enough.” T.J. looked around the empty room. Unease nudged a place for itself beside her anger. Why was Theresa doing this? It had to be Theresa. Who else would have gone to this trouble for a prank? “Come out, come out wherever you are. Game over. Go home.”
Still no one.
“All right, I’ll see this through,” she called out. “I’m reaching for the bear.” T.J. squeezed it, just the way the woman in the commercial had.
Instead of “I wuv you,” the bear said, quite audibly, “Flip my switch.”
Surprised, T.J. stared down at the small bear. “Is that anything like ring my chimes?” T.J. shook her head. “My God, I’m talking to a stuffed bear.”
But she turned it around and found the tiny switch. Flipping it, she heard a click and then the sound of a man’s voice.
Christopher’s voice.
She dropped the bear. It continued talking.
“Forgive me. I’ve been an idiot.”
TJ. scooped up the bear, then looked around, her heart slamming against her rib cage. “Christopher?”
Was he here? Had he come back to see her? Why—?
“Right here.”
She swung around. He was standing in the doorway behind her. He hadn’t been there a second ago. There was no time to think, only react. T.J. dropped the bear again and flung herself into his arms.
Oh, God, he thought he’d never be this happy again. For a moment, watching her, he’d been afraid that it was too late. But it wasn’t. She was in his arms and it wasn’t too late.
Lowering his mouth to hers, Christopher kissed her, kissed her like a man back from the dead. Because that’s what he was. Back from the dead. The living dead. Without her, he’d only been marking time. He just didn’t know it until she’d entered his life. And then left it again.
“Wait a minute.” Wedging her hands between them, T.J. pushed him back. She searched his face for an explanation. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m keeping our Valentine date.” And my sanity, he added silently.
“What date?” she asked incredulously. Had he forgotten what he’d said? “The last I saw of you, you were walking out of my life as fast as you could go. What happened?”
“I had time to think and came to my senses. I did nothing but think. Of you.” He coaxed T.J. back into his arms. He never wanted her to be out of reach again. “No matter how hard I tried not to, there you were, inside of every report I read, within every dream I had, sitting in on every meeting I tried to conduct.”
His mouth curved as his eyes tried to absorb her. He’d been so afraid that he had lost her.
“You might say I was haunted. My father always told me to face up to whatever I was running from.” It was the one good piece of advice the older man had given him. “So here I am.”
T.J.’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t want to let herself get carried away. She was afraid to. “So this is a showdown?”
“No, it’s a show up. I’ve showed up the way I was supposed to.”
He paused, debating telling her. But there were going to be no more secrets between them. That meant on both sides. Still, if he told her, she would know he went on doubting her story until it was confirmed by outside sources. He knew that might not go down well.
Christopher took his chances. “I called the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
He nodded, then recited the information he’d been given. “One Theresa Cochran had been admitted overnight the day I arrived in L.A.”
Finally, he had to believe her. She couldn’t have very well bribed hospital personnel to lie for her. “Why would I have lied about that?”
The answer was simple; at least it had been for him at the time. “Because you lied about who you were.”
Were they going to go over old ground after all? “I already told you, there was a reason for that.”
He didn’t want to argue about that. Or about anything, ever again.
“Yes, you did, and I guess, seeing it from your point of view, you might have expected me to be inflexible.” A smile spread over his face as he remembered making love with her. “Instead of the flexible man I turned out to be.”
She could read his mind. It wasn’t hard. “And agile. Don’t forget agile.”
It was going to be okay, he thought. He hadn’t blown it. “I might need a refresher course when it comes to that.”
She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do more. But they weren’t alone. Or were they? “Where are Megan and Cecilia?”
Meticulously, Christopher had taken care of everything. “Theresa’s. I asked if they could stay there for a while.” He smiled into her eyes. “Perhaps the night.”
“Theresa’s?” TJ. echoed. “Does she know about this?”
“She knows.”
He knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off this apology alone. He’d needed an inside accomplice. Theresa had seemed the likely choice. Once contacted, Theresa had been more than eager to help. She’d been the one to suggest Megan and Cecilia remain at her house overnight.
“And she didn’t say anything to me?” Theresa could never keep a secret.
“I asked her not to.” The woman had promised, probably afraid that he would pull the contract if she didn’t keep her word. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was having the woman he loved here in his arms like this. “Did you receive my flowers?”
TJ. laughed. They could hardly be called flowers now. “All down the driveway, all over the house.”
It took him a second to understand. “No, not the petals. I mean the flowers I sent to the office. I timed the delivery for just when you were leaving. Three dozen long-stemmed roses.”
She thought of the huge bouquet that had gotten off the elevator and she groaned. Her first flowers for Valentine’s Day and she had given them away. “I sent them to Theresa.”
Maybe he wasn’t home free after all. “You didn’t want them?”
“No, I mean, I didn’t know they were for me. I thought they were for Theresa. Flowers and things have been arriving for her all day.” T.J. shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry.” More than Christopher could possibly guess, she thought “I figured it was just another one of her admirers.”
She looked so upset, he kissed away the furrow between her brows. “It wasn’t. It was one of your admirers.”
“Admirer,” she corrected. “No plural.” She raised her eyes to his. “And do you? Admire?” she added.
He grinned, his eyes touching her. Loving her. “I intend to. Closely,” he whispered. For the rest of my life. Christopher held her against him, looking down into her face. A face he’d missed so much. “So, what are you doing Valentine’s Day?”
She laughed. That was an odd question. “I’m spending it here with you now.”
She’d misunderstood. Not that he could blame her. “No, I meant Valentine’s Day 2010.”
TJ. blinked. He wasn’t making any sense. “What?”
Releasing her, he crossed to where she had dropped the bear and picked it up. He handed the stuffed animal to her. “You’re not finished with the bear.”
T.J. cupped her hand around the gift. “He has more to say?”
“He has more to give.” Christopher indicated the box in the bear’s paws. If it hadn’t been wrapped up so t
ightly, it would have fallen when she’d dropped the bear. He saw her hands were trembling as she untied the red ribbon.
“How did you get him to sound like you?” She fumbled with the knot.
Christopher was tempted to help her with the ribbon. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I had the designers rig a tiny microrecorder in his stomach. I thought ‘I wuv you’ just wouldn’t do the trick this time.”
It would have, she thought. T.J. finally managed to get the ribbon off. She placed the bear on the table. If fell on its back. Taking a deep breath, she opened the box. Her eyes stung. Oh, God, she couldn’t cry now.
“It’s a ring,” she whispered in disbelief.
“I know.” The next few seconds would tell him if he’d been a fool or not. “I picked it out.”
She raised her eyes to his. She couldn’t believe—refused to believe—“For me?”
He raised one shoulder and let it drop carelessly. “It’s too large for the bear.”
T.J. stared at it again. “But it’s an engagement ring.”
She wasn’t taking it out of the box. Why wasn’t she taking it out of the box? Was she going to turn him down after all?
“People usually give them when they get engaged.” Christopher took a deep breath. It was time to go all the way. “That is, if you want to be engaged to a jerk.”
“No, I don’t.” T.J. paused, looking up at him. She saw the look of bewildered disappointment in his eyes. He didn’t understand, she realized. “I want to be engaged to you.”
Relief flooded him. Taking the ring out of the box, he slipped it on her finger. Christopher gathered her into his arms again. It was going to be all right. “You know, I should have gone with my first instincts.”
She couldn’t help it. T.J. extended her hand and watched the candlelight dance on the diamond, making it catch fire. “Which were?”
He laughed when he saw what she was doing. She made him think of a little girl with a precious new trinket. He couldn’t wait to shower her with more “trinkets.”
“That you were the woman I’d been looking for. Smart, funny, warm. Not to mention a terrific kisser.” He thought for a second, growing serious. “I suppose it was easier not to believe it. It’s a scary thing.”
“What is?”
His eyes touched hers. “Happiness.”
T.J. laced her arms around his neck. “Want to be scared together?”
“I’d love it.” He brushed her lips with a kiss, whetting his appetite. “And you.”
“Nice to know,” she murmured. Tempting him, she leaned her body into his. “Because I’d hate to think it was a one-way street.”
He wanted to hear it. Needed to hear it. “Then you do love me?”
“Of course I love you.” Her eyes were teasing him. “Do you think I go around accepting talking bears from just anyone?”
“No, I guess maybe you don’t.” He couldn’t remember when he’d been this happy. “Never” came to mind. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Just as he lowered his mouth to hers, she asked, “Say it.”
Puzzled, he drew his head back. “Say what?”
“My name.” He hadn’t really called her by her name, except for that one time. She wanted to hear the sound of it on his lips without anger. “Say my name.”
“T.J.” She didn’t look like a T.J. T.J.’s were cool, efficient. They weren’t warm, giving women. They didn’t flow through their lovers’ hands like heated mercury. “You know, I like the sound of ‘darling’ better.” The smile faded from his face, to be replaced with a look of love. Everlasting love. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling,” he whispered against her mouth.
It was hard to imagine a heart singing, but hers did. This had turned out to be one hell of a day after all. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
And it was. If asked, the stuffed animal on the table could bear witness to that. The record button had accidentally been turned on when it fell.
Silhouette’s newest series
YOURS TRULY
Love when you least expect it.
Where the written word plays a vital role in uniting couples—you’re guaranteed a fun and exciting read every time!
Look for Marie Ferrarella’s upcoming Yours Truly, Traci on the Spot, in March 1997.
Here’s a special sneak preview....
1
Morgan Brigham slowly set down his coffee cup on the kitchen table and stared at the comic strip in the center of his paper. It was nestled in among approximately twenty others that were spread out across two pages. But this was the only one he made a point of reading faithfully each morning at breakfast.
This was the only one that mirrored her life.
He read each panel twice, as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes. But he could. It was there, in black and white.
Morgan folded the paper slowly, thoughtfully, his mind not on his task. So Traci was getting engaged.
The realization gnawed at the lining of his stomach. He hadn’t a clue as to why.
He had even less of a clue why he did what he did next.
Abandoning his coffee, now cool, and the newspaper, and ignoring the fact that this was going to make him late for the office, Morgan went to get a sheet of stationery from the den.
He didn’t have much time.
Traci Richardson stared at the last frame she had just drawn. Debating, she glanced at the creature sprawled out on the kitchen floor.
“What do you think, Jeremiah? Too blunt?”
The dog, part bloodhound, part mutt, idly looked up from his rawhide bone at the sound of his name. Jeremiah gave her a look she felt free to interpret as ambivalent.
“Fine help you are. What if Daniel actually reads this and puts two and two together?”
Not that there was all that much chance that the man who had proposed to her, the very prosperous and busy Dr. Daniel Thane, would actually see the comic strip she drew for a living. Not unless the strip was taped to a bicuspid he was examining. Lately Daniel had gotten so busy he’d stopped reading anything but the morning headlines of the Times.
Still, you never knew. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” Traci continued, using Jeremiah as a sounding board. “It’s just that Traci is overwhelmed by Donald’s proposal and, see, she thinks the ring is going to swallow her up.” To prove her point, Traci held up the drawing for the dog to view.
This time, he didn’t even bother to lift his head.
Traci stared moodily at the small velvet box on the kitchen counter. It had sat there since Daniel had asked her to marry him last Sunday. Even if Daniel never read her comic strip, he was going to suspect something eventually. The very fact that she hadn’t grabbed the ring from his hand and slid it onto her finger should have told him that she had doubts about their union.
Traci sighed. Daniel was a catch by any definition. So what was her problem? She kept waiting to be struck by that sunny ray of happiness. Daniel said he wanted to take care of her, to fulfill her every wish. And he was even willing to let her think about it before she gave him her answer.
Guilt nibbled at her. She should be dancing up and down, not wavering like a weather vane in a gale.
Pronouncing the strip completed, she scribbled her signature in the corner of the last frame and then sighed. Another week’s work put to bed. She glanced at the pile of mail on the counter. She’d been bringing it in steadily from the mailbox since Monday, but the stack had gotten no farther than her kitchen. Sorting letters seemed the least heinous of all the annoying chores that faced her.
Traci paused as she noted a long envelope. Morgan Brigham. Why would Morgan be writing to her?
Curious, she tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the short note inside.
Dear Traci,
I’m putting the summerhouse up for sale. Thought you might want to come up and see it one more time before it goes up on the block. Or make a bid for it yourself. If memory serves, you once said you wanted to buy it. Either way,
let me know. My number’s on the card.
Take care,
Morgan
P.S. Got a kick out of Traci on the Spot this week.
Traci folded the letter. He read her strip. She hadn’t known that. A feeling of pride silently coaxed a smile to her lips. After a beat, though, the rest of his note seeped into her consciousness. He was selling the house.
The summerhouse. A faded white building with brick trim. Suddenly, memories flooded her mind. Long, lazy afternoons that felt as if they would never end.
Morgan.
She looked at the far wall in the family room. There was a large framed photograph of her and Morgan standing before the summerhouse. Traci and Morgan. Morgan and Traci. Back then, it seemed their lives had been permanently intertwined. A bittersweet feeling of loss passed over her.
Traci quickly pulled the telephone over to her on the counter and tapped out the number on the keypad.
Look for TRACI ON THE SPOT
by Marie Ferrarella, coming to,
Silhouette YOURS TRULY
in March 1997.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7423-5
MY PHONY VALENTINE
Copyright © 1997 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any indlvidual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
My Phony Valentine Page 14