He's So Shy

by Linda Cajio

  “No. Richard, I can’t marry you—”

  “It’s too late,” he said. “I already booked a hall.”

  “You what?”

  “I booked a hall. In Penns Grove, this morning, for next Saturday. And the invitations are going out …” He looked at his watch. “Probably they’ve gone out by now. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get all that arranged, so I hope you don’t mind that it’s only immediate family and friends. About a hundred people. By the way, your parents said to say hello.”

  “My parents! You saw my parents?”

  “Sure.” He raised his eyebrows. “Pen, you can’t exclude your parents from the wedding. What are you thinking of? By the way, my parents are looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Wait a minute!” she exclaimed, holding her head, half because of the confusion inside and half to keep the damn thing on her shoulders. “Just wait a minute! You arranged a wedding—”

  “I may be a man, but I’m not incapable of it,” he interrupted.

  “Our wedding?”

  “It wasn’t Harry and Sally’s. If I waited for you to do it, hell would freeze over first. We’re going to have to get our blood tests done and get the certificate right away, otherwise we’ll have to do it again in a civil service.” He slashed the air with his hand. “Dammit, Pen! I can’t stand this! You’re going to have to be miserable and unhappy with me, because I can’t live without you. I don’t know how else to show you where I want to be … I need to be … except to do it. And if you won’t marry me, I’ll haunt you. I’ll be in your face every chance I get. I’ll be right here for the rest of my life, because this is where I want to live. You won’t ever get away from me again, so surrender now and put yourself out of your misery. I’m not the Cretin anymore, Pen. This time I’m the bully. For both our sakes.”

  “Richard …” She started to cry.

  He muttered a curse, then pulled her into his arms against the solid wall of his chest. She buried her face in the cotton material and wept.

  “Please, Pen,” he said in a low voice, a voice that was breaking with his own emotions. “I can’t stand us not even trying. We have to try. I don’t want the Hollywood fishbowl existence, either. This is where I want to have my family. This is where my values are. I need this to renew myself and my craft. I’ll travel some, but I’d do that anyway because most films are shot on location now. Maybe sometimes you can come with me, sometimes not. We’ll work through those times. Together. I talked to Cindy Costner about love scenes. She’s like you, Pen, not another actor. She says she’ll be happy to talk with you about how to handle them. I know it won’t be easy, but that’s what makes you all the more important to me. I love you. I have to marry you. I want vows to me you can’t ever break, and I want vows to you I can’t ever break. It’ll kill me if I don’t.”

  “I think I’m dreaming again,” she finally murmured, lifting her head.

  He kissed her, an earth-shattering kiss of longings and yearnings and promises. When he let her mouth go, he grinned. “No dream. Solid reality, babe.”

  “Oh, Lord, you have been in Hollywood.” She sobered. “I love you, Richard. I’m scared, but I can’t be without you anymore. It’s a shadow life, worthless.”

  “Do you really like this place?” he asked. “If you don’t, we can buy another piece of land—”

  “No.” She snuggled closer, content. “Did you really see my parents and arrange our wedding?”

  “A week from Saturday.” He chuckled.

  “I’m going to have to speak to you about this chauvinistic streak of yours. Eventually.”

  “Eventually.” His fingers started unbuttoning her shirt.

  “I thought we had a license to get,” she reminded him a little breathlessly as his warm knuckles slid along her bared skin.

  “Tomorrow’s good enough. Besides, we have to have our priorities straight. I haven’t seen the whole view yet.”

  “Did you really talk to the Cindy Costner?” she asked, wanting only to get rid of the last plaguing questions before getting down to important matters.

  “One and the same.” He pulled the shirt from her shoulders. As he hooked his thumbs under her bra straps and simply pulled them down over her arms, dispensing with the undergarment, he added, “Nice lady. She reminded me of you.”

  Pen reached up and flipped his cap off. The familiar ponytail tumbled out. She wrapped her fingers in the heavy strands and brought his mouth down to hers for a devastating kiss. Feminine power and emotional security were flowing through her in great cresting waves. At last she broke the kiss and asked, “Now, who were you talking about?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted.

  “Your heart is mine, your mouth is mine, your soul is mine, your body is mine, and what’s under your loincloth is definitely mine. And don’t you forget it.”

  “I love you too,” he said, and pulled her down under the trees of their future home.

  EPILOGUE

  The Academy Awards were always a glittering affair.

  Richard grimaced as he walked the gauntlet of reporters, blaring lights, and the all-seeing eyes of the television cameras. Fans screamed from the grandstand, trying to get his attention. He waved cheerfully to them, grateful that they had kept American Saga number one at the box office for three months, earning it over $100 million, earning it nine Oscar nominations.

  “You’re remarkably relaxed for a nominee,” Pen muttered, her fingers digging into the crook of his arm. “I’m a nervous wreck for you.”

  He chuckled and adjusted his glasses. He remembered when she had rescued his glasses so long ago. Who would have guessed then that they would be together, let alone where they were now? His nomination should have made him feel vindicated for all those school tormentors, but, in truth, it didn’t even matter anymore and hadn’t for a long time. He renewed himself in his mountaintop home, knowing himself for a person of true worth. He had a rich life, which he felt he deserved because he worked at it. Everything else was gravy, and an Oscar nomination was fantastic gravy.

  “Hell, honey, I’m just honored to have been nominated. Nicholson surpassed Spencer Tracy and Bette Davis for the most nominations ever. They didn’t give it to him for Hoffa or A Few Good Men, so he’ll get it this time. And he deserves it. It was a brilliant performance.” He squeezed her hand. “Now you know how I felt when you got the New Jersey Teacher of the Year award.”

  She laughed. “For my classes on filming your movie.”

  “You look beautiful.” And she did. Her strapless gown of dark blue chiffon had been lent by Chanel. Little stars streamed across the material, as if flung by an unseen hand in a lovely arc of shimmering silver. Her hair was pulled back in a heavy chignon at her nape. She would have held her own with the glamorous stars of Hollywood’s early years. But the real beauty was inside her, their baby still small and secret. Pregnancy made her stunning.

  She grinned at him. “So do you. But I still miss the hair.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have to let it grow again. After this part.”

  He was testing his acting in an entirely different direction with a screwball comedy. Despite the truth of Burke’s deathbed words that acting was easy and comedy hard, he was having fun too. All because of Pen. Because of the emotional foundation she provided with her love.

  It wasn’t easy for them. She traveled with him when school was out, and he used the red-eye to get home as many weekends as he could while school was in.

  The “Entertainment Tonight” staging-area people waved him over for an interview. They were joined by Libby, who was ebullient. She had a right to be, with a director’s nomination under her belt. She’d already won the Golden Globe.

  She hugged Pen, then him. “You look happy, and you can thank me for it.”

  “What is she talking about?” Pen asked.

  Richard shrugged. “She’s your cousin.”

  “Direction, kiddies. Subtle direction to get you two back together. You’re
up, Richard.”

  That was last night, he thought with a private grin to his wife, but went for his interview like a dutiful son.

  After that they were whisked inside to their seats in the pavilion. The show was its usual combination of overdone glitz, boorish political statements, tedious scripting, and expected winners. Libby was sitting next to them, muttering about the Academy being better off getting Attila the Hun to direct.

  “I’ll volunteer you for next year,” Pen muttered, effectively shutting her cousin up. Richard raised her hand and kissed it. She was doing well for the fishbowl.

  Even as the announcements got closer to the final four, Saga hadn’t pulled anything yet. Pen cursed at each pass-over for the movie. Libby was practically incoherent. Richard checked his nerves and found them completely calm. It was nice to know he hadn’t a chance.

  Mary Jane got the award for Best Actress.

  He was on his feet, clapping furiously for his costar, as were Pen and Libby, who was also whistling between her fingers. To his surprise, when Mary Jane gave her acceptance speech, one of the people she thanked was Pen.

  “What did you say to Mary Jane?” he asked.

  “I told you: that she was a great actress.” Pen grinned.

  Everyone settled again, enduring yet another film clip on the show’s theme. But anticipation was mounting for the next award.

  “Please, please, please, please,” Pen chanted like a mantra.

  “Relax, love,” Richard told her, amused and grateful. “It’s a wonderful thought, but I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. Besides, I have you. And the baby.”

  Pen smiled at him, the love shining out of her eyes. “You have more than a snowball’s chance in hell. You were brilliant.”

  “Better than Nicholson,” Libby murmured to him across Pen. “You had better direction.”

  Pen looked heavenward for help. “She’s insufferable.”

  Finally they got to the Best Actor. Al Pacino and Emma Thompson strode onstage to present the award. As the nominees were read and a clip of their individual performances shown, Richard felt a twinge of hope, followed immediately by the knowledge of loss. It was his first nomination. There would be more. He hoped. But it was nice to have the pressure off.

  He felt the lights focus on him as his name was announced as a nominee. He smiled and tried not to think of a billion people watching. Pen’s fingers entwined with his and squeezed in reassurance.

  His heart sank as they showed a clip of the big love scene with Mary Jane. To his relief, Pen sighed when it was over and said, “That was the greatest acting I ever saw. It still is.”

  Richard leaned over and kissed her. “I love you.”

  “And the winner is …”

  The envelope rattled as it was torn open. Richard relaxed back in his chair, content with his life. Nothing could top it.

  “Richard Creighton. American Saga.”

  Pen flung herself at him, her arms literally cutting off his air as she spread kisses all over his cheek and ear. She was screaming his name at the same time. Libby’s voice was whooping in the distance. It occurred to him that he actually had won as a ripple of amusement went through the audience at his wife’s antics. He had won!

  “Get up! Get up!” Pen suddenly shouted, urging him out of his seat and down the aisle to the stage.

  They put the statue in his hands, and he stared at it for a long moment, positive it had been a big mistake. Then he turned to the microphone, knowing he had a lot of people to thank and only a few seconds in which to do it. He saved the best for last.

  “… I can never thank the most important person in my life enough. My wife, Pen Marsh-Creighton. Even though she just tried to kiss me to death …” People chuckled. Richard grinned at he stared up through the sea of faces to unerringly find his wife’s. “… No one could ever receive the kind of wonderful support, encouragement and love she’s given to me. I share this with her. Thank you.” As the director sliced his finger across his throat, signaling his time was up, Richard added, “Okay, Libby, let’s hope this is a real family night!”

  As Libby and American Saga made the Oscar sweep, Richard admitted he had shown a billion people what a totally and disgustingly and happily married man he was.

  But Pen already knew that.

  THE EDITOR’S CORNER

  Welcome to Loveswept!

  We’re celebrating May Day with two exciting e-originals! Spring and romance come to Star Harbor for one sexy sheriff and the town’s beautiful doctor in Elisabeth Barrett’s scorching third Star Harbor book LONG SIMMERING SPRING. We also have Toni Aleo’s exhilarating debut TAKING SHOTS – the first in a red-hot new series featuring the hockey hunks of the Nashville Assassins. These books will definitely turn up the heat.

  We’re also pleased to offer LADY AND THE UNICORN, a scintillating story from bestselling author Iris Johansen; RUN WILD WITH ME and SCARLET BUTTERFLY, two scorching stories of love and passion from beloved author Sandra Chastain, and HOT AND BOTHERED and DANCING IN THE DARK, celebrated author Linda Cajio’s seductive and tantalizing novels.

  We also have a special treat from bestselling author Virna DePaul – the three novellas of her contemporary Red-Hot Cops series are available together in this eBook anthology: ARRESTED BY LOVE.

  If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: In June, we’re excited about Ruthie Knox’s utterly fantastic FLIRTING WITH DISASTER, Toni Aleo’s blazing TRYING TO SCORE, Linda Cajio’s superb DOUBLE DEALING, Iris Johansen’s magnificent FOREVER DREAM and three more red-hot books from Sandra Chastain SINNER AND SAINT, SHOWDOWN AT LIZARD ROCK, and SCARLET LADY. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. July brings Samantha Kane’s sensual new e-original, TEMPTING A DEVIL, Toni Aleo’s third captivating book featuring hockey hunks, EMPTY NET, Ruth Owen’s dazzling AND BABIES MAKE FOUR, Jean Stone’s enthralling SINS OF INNOCENCE, Katie Rose’s utterly irresistible A HINT OF MISCHIEF, Iris Johansen’s seductive TIL THE END OF TIME, and Sandra Chastain’s enticing stories, DANNY’S GIRL and SILVER BRACELETS. I promise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come….

  Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …

  Read on for an excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s

  Along Came Trouble

  Chapter One

  “Get out of my yard!” Ellen shouted.

  The weasel-faced photographer ignored her, too busy snapping photos of the house next door to pay her any mind.

  No surprise there. This was the fifth time in as many days that a man with a camera had violated her property lines. By now, she knew the drill.

  They trespassed. She yelled. They pretended she didn’t exist. She called the police.

  Ellen was thoroughly sick of it. She couldn’t carry on this way, watching from the safety of the side porch and clutching her glass of iced tea like an outraged southern belle.

  It was all very well for Jamie to tell her to stay put and let the professionals deal with it. Her pop-star brother was safe at home in California, nursing his wounds. And anyway, this kind of attention was the lot he’d chosen in life. He’d decided to be a celebrity, and then he’d made the choice to get involved with Ellen’s neighbor, Carly. The consequences ought to be his to deal with.

  Ellen hadn’t invited the paparazzi to descend. She’d made different choices, and they’d led her to college, law school, marriage, divorce, motherhood. They’d led her to this quiet cul-de-sac in Camelot, Ohio, surrounded by woods.

  Her choices had also made her the kind of woman who couldn’t easily stand by as some skeevy guy crushed her plants and invaded Carly’s privacy for the umpteenth time since last Friday.

  Enough, she thought. Enough.

  But until Weasel Face crushed the life out of her favorite hosta—her mascot hosta—with his giant brown boot, she didn’t actually
intend to act on the thought.

  Raised in Chicago, Ellen had grown up ignorant of perennials. When she first moved to Camelot, a new wife in a strange land, she did her best to adapt to the local ways of lawn-mowing and shade-garden cultivation, but during the three years her marriage lasted, she’d killed every plant she put in the ground.

  It was only after her divorce that things started to grow. In the winter after she kicked Richard out for being a philandering dickhead, their son had sprouted from a pea-sized nothing to a solid presence inside her womb, breathing and alive. That spring, the first furled shoots of the hosta poked through the mulch, proving that Ellen was not incompetent, as Richard had so often implied. She and the baby were, in fact, perfectly capable of surviving, even thriving, without anyone’s help.

  Two more springs had come and gone, and the hosta kept returning, bigger every year. It became her horticultural buddy. Triumph in plant form.

  So Ellen took it personally when Weasel Face stepped on it. Possibly a bit too personally. Swept up in a delicious tide of righteousness, she crossed the lawn and upended her glass of iced tea over the back of his head.

  It felt good. It felt great, actually—the coiled-spring snap of temper, the clean confidence that came with striking a blow for justice. For the few seconds it lasted, she basked in it. It was such an improvement over standing around.

  One more confirmation that powerlessness was for suckers.

  But then it was over, and she wondered why she’d wasted the tea, because Weasel Face didn’t so much as flinch. Seemingly unbothered by the dunking, the ice cubes, or the sludgy sugar on the back of his neck, he aimed his camera at Carly’s house and held down the shutter release, capturing photo after photo as an SUV rolled to a stop in the neighboring driveway.

  “Get out of my yard,” Ellen insisted, shoving the man’s shoulder for emphasis. His only response was to reach up, adjust his lens, and carry on.

  Now what? Assault-by-beverage was unfamiliar territory for her. Usually, she stuck with verbal attack. Always, the people she engaged in battle acknowledged her presence on the field. How infuriating to be ignored by the enemy.