Her Real-Life Hero

by Vicki Ballante

  Joanie wanted to admire him a bit first. Take in all the details Kaley had already noticed about him. Not only did he have the perfect build—ripped muscles and a great height for her, not too tall, yet not shorter than her—something more about him drew her. His skin had a warm glow along with a good sprinkling of male hair. His stubble had turned into a short, blond beard, adding to his rugged, yet gentle, appeal.

  Theo’s image became so real, so enticing, she imagined running her hands along the planes of his chest, down the hard dip at the base of his abdomen, and brushing over that forbidden skin. A shiver ran through her, her pussy throbbing in her panties.

  She dropped the quill, shocked at the direction of her thoughts and the strong response of her body. Heck!

  “You still haven’t answered me, you oaf. What is ‘deeper point of view’?” she demanded.

  Her eyes still closed, the image of the beach clear in her mind, Joanie frowned. A few feet away, an abnormally short man wearing an odd little outfit crouched behind a palm tree. He looked altogether out of place. Is that a blue tarantula on his shoulder?

  Jerking upright in her chair, she opened her eyes, a cold shiver passing over her. Where had that bizarre thought come from? She hadn’t planned anyone else to be on the island. She wrote romances, not thrillers.

  She shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous notion. Taking out her papers, she dipped the quill into the inkwell to begin her description of Theo’s body.

  A warm breeze blew her hair. Her shoulders seemed cloaked with a presence. Sucking in a breath, she whirled around, afraid her foreboding proved true.

  Oh, heck. I didn’t lock the door when I brought in the bureau. She ran to the kitchen and bolted the door. She sighed. Why am I letting some crazy gypsy woman spook me?

  Returning to the antique desk, she grabbed her quill and swirled words onto the paper. Writing longhand might take longer than typing on a computer, but it was way more fun. It gave her time to ponder each sentence she wrote.

  “Okay, Theo. Tell that small man by the palm tree to go away. He doesn’t belong in the story.”

  “Nicodemus tells the story, Joanie,” Theo replied.

  She laughed. Her character had spoken to her in her mind. She had read somewhere on a blog that talking to your characters helped you to get deep point of view. Why not go along with it? It would bring her into their world.

  “Will Nicodemus help me write deeper point of view?”

  “Why do you want deeper point of view?” Rising to his feet, Theo stretched, the muscles in his back pressing against his skin and sending warm swirls through her. He’d developed a sunburn or rather that ruddy appearance of people who spent many hours in the sun. Bronzed was the word. She wrote it down.

  “Aren’t you hot?” Feeling flushed, she fanned herself with a paper.

  “There’s a fresh breeze blowing from the sea.”

  His voice sounded dreamy—rich timbre with lots of intonation, both gentle and manly at the same time. The type of sound that pierced right into her core, stirring longings for the vibrations to drip down her neck and straight into her body.

  “The island is a paradise. That’s why you have to convince Kaley to stay there with you forever.”

  “Kaley is cold. She withdraws every time I come near her.”

  “How does that make you feel?” She’d pierced right into the soul of her character—that must be deep point of view.

  “I don’t talk about those things.”

  She laughed. Typical Theo. Warm and affectionate physically, his mind and emotions, a closed book. Maybe she needed to make him more approachable. That must be the reason Kaley acted cold toward him. “How can I make you more open?”

  “What do you want with me, Joanie? Why did you summon my help from the deep?”

  She stood suddenly. This seemed way too creepy. “From what deep?”

  “You called for help. What do you need?”

  She still hadn’t told a soul she wrote books. Not even Leonora, her best friend at work, knew. The gut-wrenching disappointment of so many rejections burned to come out. Why not her imaginary character? “I need to get all the necessary skills to write a good book. It’s everything to me.”

  A mocking smile played over his mouth. Had she made Theo so cynical? She blinked as the half of the room by the window seemed to transform into the beach. Theo stood before her in all his glory, the loincloth drawing her gaze. The scent of sea, sand, and sweaty male entered her nostrils. Freaky! Maybe all creative people went through times like this when their imagination seemed so real.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I created you. You wouldn’t exist without me.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  She shook her head, unsure what he meant. “Then I think I’ll take the cynicism away from you. Kaley doesn’t need mean. I’m the author. I can change you however I want. Problem is, I don’t think I’m very good at it. I love writing, but it’s no use if I can’t do it right.” Groaning, she ran her fingers through her hair.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Theo’s voice rang in her mind. “I’ll give you all the writing tips you need if you promise me something in return.”

  “What do you want? To get off the island? I want you to stay there until Kaley falls in love with you.”

  “Promise me you’ll let me be your companion—to eat at your table, sit in your chair, and sleep on your bed.”

  Staring at Theo, she could almost feel him staring back at her with his green eyes steeped in lust. “Those feelings should be directed at Kaley. Don’t think making her jealous will help. Kaley’s wounded. Her fiancé had an affair. She won’t go for you if you want another woman.”

  “Then I won’t give you the tips you’re searching for.” He turned away, revealing sculpted buttocks, barely clad. She swallowed.

  The miniature man had disappeared, and Theo still stood on the beach, his toes in the water, as real as life to her. She’d always been one to delve deep into a story. When she read a book, she became one of the characters. She entered their world and experienced everything. Her sisters teased her when she became so involved in movies she’d shout at the actors.

  “Next thing, you’ll be praying for the characters like Grandma Tara used to do when she watched her soapies,” Sally had said once.

  “Never. Once it’s over, I’m on to the next one. That’s why I never watch soapies.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Theo asked.

  “I’m not going to make that promise. I don’t need your help.”

  She willed him to love Kaley. Turning away, he walked toward a clump of trees, where Kaley searched for roots. The snake would soon rise at her. Theo would save her life. They’d reached the most important part of the book, but she had no idea of Theo’s true feelings for Kaley. Yes, he wanted her, but why would he risk his life for her?

  “Theo, wait. I don’t understand you. I need to know your thoughts. How do I show the readers what you think and feel?”

  He kept his back to her, picking shells from the sand.

  Fisting her hands in frustration, she blurted out, “Fine, I promise. You can be my companion forever—eat at my table and sleep in my bed. Just tell me how to do this. Give me those precious tips.”

  What harm could her flippant words do? It wasn’t like her imaginary character could ever reach her.

  “The tips are on their way.” He pointed at her, certainty blazing from his sparkly green eyes. “Into your head.”

  Chapter Two

  According to her clock radio, Joanie lay on her bed close to midnight, the light out and her mind spinning with thoughts of her book. Talking to her character had helped. She understood deeper point of view and had been able to make Theo and Kaley come alive. The snake scene had flown by so fast that when she glanced at the clock, which read eleven, her word count for the day stood at…oh, right, she couldn’t work that out if written on paper. Not a hassle. She’d filled five sheet
s with her curvy writing and thrown away tons of blotting paper.

  Tomorrow, she would find a way to put her computer on the bureau because writing by hand took too much of her precious time. She only had the evenings to create. Plus, she would have liked to know how many words she’d written for the day.

  Not that word count was everything. Quality mattered more—she had a feeling that had upped a significant amount.

  The moment she started to drift into sleep, the doorbell chimed. She jerked upright, her pulse pounding in her ears.

  Anyone visiting at such a late hour must have an emergency.

  She slipped her dressing gown on and rushed to the front door. Peering through the peephole confirmed someone there. Oh dear, she’d forgotten to switch on the outside light and could only make out a shape.

  “Who’s there?” she shouted through the door, too lazy to find the switch a few steps away and anxious to know who it was.

  “Theo. Let me in.”

  Theo? The only Theo she knew was her hero. Maybe I heard wrong. “What did you say?”

  “It’s Theo. You promised.”

  How…? She gripped her head. Maybe she’d entered dreamland already…but his voice sounded so real. She pinched her palm. “Ouch.”

  “You okay?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Let me in. It’s cool out here.”

  “Used to the blazing sun on the desert island?” Whoa! She’d talked to her character again, but, this time, he had come into her world. What the diddly-do is going on?

  He rang the doorbell again, and she backed away a few steps.

  “How can I trust you?”

  “You know me well by now, don’t you?”

  Her hero, Theo, tended to be closed emotionally but deep inside, genuine as gold. He would lay down his life for the woman he loved, and, like a perfect gentleman, didn’t demand his own way. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. The persistent man outside her door acted very different from her creation.

  “Why should I let you in?”

  “Because a promise is a promise.”

  Tingles ran along her spine. Those had been her mother’s words to her, growing up. A promise is a promise, Joanie. No matter what, you must always keep to your word even if it hurts. If you don’t, your life will become a mess, and you will start to lose control of everything.

  Her parent’s advice had been her motto for the last ten years, and she’d kept to it. She’d always kept her word to her younger sisters, aunt, and friends.

  “What are you talking about?” She sort of remembered bargaining with Theo to help her with her writing. What had she sworn to do for him? Surely, he hadn’t taken to heart whatever she’d said. She stared at the door. Um…Theo isn’t real. So, who am I talking to?

  “Open up, please. Then I can explain.”

  “Wait a minute.” She ran to her bedroom to fetch her cell phone.

  “What’s wrong?” Leonora’s voice sounded sleepy yet a little panicked.

  “I’m letting a man into my house. His name is Theo Bartok. I do trust him. But I thought I’d tell you in case something happens, so at least you can let the police know.”

  “Who is he? Do you know him?”

  “Very well.” She rubbed her forehead. “Too well in fact.”

  “You never told me about him.” She sounded wide awake.

  “It’s not what you think. He wants to talk to me about something.”

  “At two thirty in the morning?”

  “Never mind, Leonora. I’ll survive. I thought I should inform you.”

  “Now, how the heck can I sleep?” she moaned. “Let me know when he leaves.”

  “Thanks. It shouldn’t be long.”

  After ending the call, she went to open the door, still hoping the intrusion must be a mixed-up dream from too much writing.

  Theo strode in straight away, heading for her living room as though he knew the place. He lay down, propping his head onto the arm of the sofa, thick muscles tightening the sleeves of his shirt. “Phew, I’m exhausted.”

  “Make yourself at home.” Sarcasm streamed from her mouth. “While you’re at it, can I get you coffee, a muffin, and a blanket?”

  “Coffee and the muffin sound great. The blanket isn’t necessary yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. Should she leave him alone to roam her house while she made the coffee?

  He appeared just as she’d imagined—tall, sculpted muscles, dark-blond hair in straight bangs, and bronzed skin. A whiff of island and animal skin wafted to her. He couldn’t smell of that, could he? An image of the Tarzan skin he’d worn in her imagination flashed at her, as well as the memory of her brief, teasing touch. Did that happen for real?

  At least he wasn’t still wearing a pouch around his hips, else she would be tempted to let him stay. Her breath came in choppy pants. A foreign sensation surged through her. No guy was so yummy—not even Richard, the resident heartthrob at work. She was all ready for sex—and he made her furious. The two didn’t mix. They shouldn’t.

  “Go. I won’t get up to mischief while you’re gone.”

  The tease in his eyes didn’t match his promise, but she obeyed, hoping, if she acquiesced, he would leave earlier. Yawning yet pumped with nervous energy, she boiled the kettle and took out an apple-cinnamon muffin to butter. The coffee aroma prickled her senses and woke her a bit more. She poured the milk in and savored the smell. How odd she craved coffee in the middle of the night. Maybe the shock of seeing Theo outside her door had built a hunger in her? It had definitely stirred something.

  By the time she returned with two muffins and coffees, Theo had made himself at home. He’d taken one of her mystery romances off the bookshelf and read it, his dirty feet propped on the nice, cream sofa she’d sent to the upholstery cleaners last week, spending a fortune on steam cleaning. She should have gone for the Scotchgard, too. His reading made something bristle inside of her. She didn’t want him seeing into her imaginary world—the world of escape in her favorite books.

  “What’s going on?” No point beating around the bush with him. She sat opposite him, unable to relax in the chair.

  “When you asked for help with your writing, you promised me you would let me share your life—your food, your drink, your home, and your bed.”

  Close up, he appeared enchanting. My, she could create an awesome hero. The slight tilt of his mouth when he spoke, the sound of his voice, all swirled in her stomach. Along with mounting irritation.

  “I love that my imagination has brought you to life.” She had to play along with the visage. He couldn’t be real. “But really, did you think I meant business when I made that promise? What proof do you have you helped me with my writing?”

  “I did. Didn’t everything flow?”

  “I haven’t even finished the book.”

  “Admit it. Your work is brilliant.” Even when he spoke, his voice was like warm liquid pouring down her body. His lips, held in a lazy smile, were lush, not dry and cracked as she would imagine. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from them.

  Heat pumped into her cheeks and down her neck. “I-I don’t know. How do you ever know?”

  “I promise you, your book will bring you the publishing contract you need.”

  She gave a cynical laugh. “So, in exchange, you must share my bed?” Heat prickled her again, but she remained firm in a penetrating stare at him. “Like my lover?”

  “I’m your husband.”

  “Hell no, you’re not. You’re delusional. I never made you like this, Theo. I made you a good man.”

  “You never made me.”

  Tiny shivers of fear rippled through her, making the coffee flavor bitter on her tongue. She placed her cup down as calmly as she could without showing her fear. Could the man be a stalker? He’d somehow found out about her writing and thought he could wriggle a way into her home, live off her, or maybe even rape her? But then, it didn’t make sense because she’d only written about him earlier that day. So, who was
he? Her hand closed around the phone in her dressing-gown pocket. By pressing the “one” on speed-dial, she could reach Leonora in a flash.

  “Kaley wasn’t the right one for me. You are.”

  Play along with him, the sleazy good-for-nothing. “Who are you?”

  “I bought a chest of drawers from the antique shop on…where was it? Essenwood Road. The place called Yesterday’s Magic.”

  Was the shop really called that? The coincidences got creepier by the minute.

  “They told me the Victorian walnut chest of drawers holds magic. It would make goodness come to me.” He winked at her.

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, a strange, squeaky sound spurted out, echoing through the room.

  He smiled, ignoring her distress. “I want to get married. Been wanting to for years. I’ve never found the right woman.”

  What’s he implying? He wants me? The creep! “You couldn’t have found me. We’ve never met. You’re a character in one of my books.”

  “That’s what you think. Instead, my magic brought me into your book.”

  “Your magic?”

  “The magic from my chest of drawers. I wished for the perfect woman then I entered into your story in my mind. The magic brought me right to your home.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? This is all a practical joke. Leonora set me up, didn’t she?”

  “Who’s Leonora?” His confused expression seemed genuine.

  “What do you want with me? How did you find me?”

  “Well, as my wish has come true, you are my wife.”

  “I am no such thing.” She stood, tightness pinching every limb to ramrod straightness.

  “Look on your ring finger.”

  She lifted her hand. “Oh, my….”

  Chapter Three

  The ring on the third finger of Joanie’s left hand glinted. How could she not have noticed before?

  “When did you put that there? How did you…?” White gold. Ugh, I hate white gold. With a sapphire in the center—or some deep-blue, sparkly thing—and some diamond petals surrounding it. Were they real diamonds and genuine gold?