Catch a Falling Star (Second Chances Book 3)

by Farmer, Merry

  His exhaustion afterwards was ten times more powerful that second time than the first. He relaxed on top of her with a sigh, too sated to even pull out. She must not have minded. She curled a leg around his hips and squeezed to hold him inside. He could get used to this.

  “Wow!” she panted, hands playing across his back. “Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely amazing in bed?”

  A sharp wince raced through him. Only when they want something, love. He forced himself to smile against her shoulder, rolling to his back but keeping her with him. That was it. He had to see her again, distant house in Maine or not.

  “They might have.” He stroked her disheveled hair and straining up for a light kiss. He sank back and pulled the used condom off, discarding it so that he could cradle her against him.

  She laughed and settled in his embrace. “Well it’s true. You’re superb. You’re amazing. You have all the passion and enthusiasm of a Regency buck.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he growled.

  She hummed, resting her head on the pillow beside him. It was far too hot to cuddle, but he didn’t want to let her go. She didn’t say anything else, didn’t get up to dress and leave, remembering some previously forgotten appointment or missed phone call. All she did was sigh and relax, as if understanding that what he really needed at that moment in time was a serious nap.

  And, if he was being honest with himself, someone to hold him until the angst of the Pollards’ call went away.

  His last thought before falling asleep was that he had to have Jo in his life, no matter what the cost.

  Manhattan in the rain in January was one of the most glorious things that Jo could think of after all. She heaved a happy sigh as she opened her umbrella under the awning in front of Ben’s building and stepped out into the morning sleet. The rich scent of coffee wafted through the doors of the coffee shop as she passed. Best. Coffee shop. Ever. But their coffee couldn’t hold a candle to the simple cup Ben had made her that morning. With cream and sugar of several kinds.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d spent all day and all night with a stranger. So that’s what a one-night stand felt like. Huh. Ben didn’t feel like a stranger passing in the night at all. They’d gotten along so well in every way—from the moment they’d met, through their passionate middle-of-the-night explorations, to a simple but delicious breakfast of coffee, bagels, and conversation. She’d never in her entire life had sex so many times in an eighteen hour span. She’d never had sex that good either. Romance novel sex indeed! She would be able to milk reams of stories out of her eighteen hours with Benjamin Paul, long after he became a treasured, faded memory.

  The bittersweet thought brought reality crushing back on her as she dashed across the street and continued along congested Manhattan roads toward Diane’s office. Who was she kidding? Ben was gorgeous, talented, and charming. He was famous, had won the most prestigious directing award Broadway had, for gosh sake. Chances are she would never lay eyes—or hands—on him again. Dreams were beautiful things, but waking up after them was the pits.

  Still, she considered as she skipped around a puddle and scurried past a pack of foreign tourists, she was glad she’d had that dream. She sucked in a breath and remembered how exquisite Ben’s arms had felt around her, how the vibration of his deep voice had buzzed through her body. The memory brought a wicked smile to her lips…and always would. Okay, maybe everyone was right. Maybe she should get out more often. But she would never find another man like Ben.

  Diane’s office was like any other New York building trying to look unique and stylish. The glass and chrome door swung open, and a blast of heat hit her. She folded her umbrella, and accepted the plastic bag offered by a member of the maintenance staff to store it in. The lobby was crowded, and as she joined the crush waiting for the elevator, she sorted through her bag to find her phone.

  She had a text message.

  From Ben.

  Her heart did somersaults in her chest, and she held her breath as she tapped to read it.

  “I had a really good time with you.” He’d sent it ten minutes ago.

  Her grin was so wide that she was sure the people waiting around her could read straight into her thoughts. Feeling like a thief for stealing one more moment with her fantasy lover, she typed a return message. “I had a fantastic time too.”

  The elevator doors slid open. A handful of people paraded out. Jo followed the herd in. She pressed 15. Others pressed 4, 8, and 11. For once, she didn’t mind. The car swooshed upwards and her phone buzzed.

  “I can still taste your skin.”

  She giggled, certain she’d turned bright pink. Maybe this wasn’t going to end with a thud and a string of wistful memories after all. She bit her lip and typed, “I can hear your voice as I read that.”

  The elevator made its first stop. One person got out. Jo’s stomach lurched as they started up again. Two people got out at the next stop. Her phone vibrated and her pulse shot up.

  “I hope it’s a good sound.”

  Her smile widened. “It’s a delicious sound, like coffee and chocolate.” The lady standing next to her smiled at Jo’s ear-to-ear grin.

  The elevator continued. One more stop, and one more person got off. Then she continued to swoosh up until the elevator stopped at her floor. She stepped out into the hallway. Her phone buzzed.

  “I’ve never been compared to coffee and chocolate before. I usually get compared to broken glass and nails.”

  She laughed out loud, then glanced around to see if anyone heard her. Safe for the time being, she strode down the hall, pausing in front of the door to Diane’s agency to type.

  “I find that incredibly hard to believe. You’re far more delectable than glass and nails.”

  This was happening. This was really happening. Here she thought the cord had been cut with Ben’s last, sultry kiss and that was the end. Could it be the beginning?

  No. Don’t be ridiculous. He’ll get bored. You’ve got work to do, a house to save, a book to write. Time to wake up.

  She pushed the office door open, keeping her cell phone clutched in her hand and hope clasped to her heart.

  “Miss Burkhart, I’m, um, so sorry about yesterday.” Diane’s assistant jumped up from the front desk to greet her. She was about twelve years old with eager, terrified eyes. “I’m Hannah, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met in person.”

  “It’s okay, Hannah.” Jo shifted her phone to her left hand and reached out to shake Hannah’s with her right. Her phone buzzed. She completely forgot Hannah existed as she checked it.

  “Have you eaten glass and nails before?”

  She giggled. Hannah sent her a curious glance.

  “Sorry, one second,” she spoke aloud then typed, “No, but I have eaten you.”

  When she looked up—all blushes and smiles and flat-out shock—Hannah let out a breath of relief.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she apologized again. “Mrs. Glick said—” She pressed her mouth shut, unable to look Jo in the eye. “I’m still trying to get the hang of the scheduling software. I didn’t realize what day I was on. Mrs. Glick was so nice to hire me.” Her excuse was rehearsed.

  “Diane is great, isn’t she?” Jo forgave her agent and Hannah for the brush-off. At that moment everyone on the planet was great, as far as she was concerned. Her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt. She checked her message.

  “Naughty!”

  It buzzed again.

  “And beautiful.”

  Then again.

  “You taste like honey and dew, especially as you come.”

  “Mrs. Glick told me to show you right in,” Hannah went on, no idea that Jo’s entire world was humming with excitement or that her flush had nothing to do with coming in from the cold. She led Jo down a short side hall to an office. Diane’s door was open.

  “Jo.” Diane got up and crossed around her desk to greet her. “Sorry about yesterday. Thanks, Hannah. I hope you don’t mind.”
Diane nodded to Hannah, who skittered out of the room.

  “No, not at all. Do you mind if I ….” She waved her phone.

  “Sure. Finish up and have a seat.” Diane gestured to the chair across the desk from her own as she closed the office door.

  Jo typed, “I’m going into a meeting with my agent. But like I said last night, don’t stop!” She grinned from ear to ear and slipped her phone into her bag as she sat. She set the bag on the floor, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

  “What is that all about?” Diane fixed her with a knowing grin, crossing to sit at her desk.

  Jo had no idea where to start. “I met someone yesterday.”

  “Did you now?”

  Her phone buzzed through the bag. The sound was as effective as Pavlov’s bell for making her…okay, salivate wasn’t exactly the right description for what her body was doing, but it was close.

  “Yes.” She attempted to focus on Diane. “At the coffee shop.”

  “What’s he like?” Diane ate it up as though Jo were pitching a new novel.

  “He’s amazing.” It would have been easier to pitch a novel. For once in her life Jo was at a loss for words. Things were too fresh for her to blurt it all out, too special. “He does theater.”

  “Uh-oh. He’s not an actor, is he?”

  “He’s a director.” Jo flickered an eyebrow.

  “Yum,” Diane cooed. Her gossipy grin faltered. “I really want to hear about him—like, really. But first we need to talk business.”

  The fluttery feeling in Jo’s stomach swirled off in the wrong direction. “I’m not liking the way you said that.”

  “Oh it’s nothing to worry about really.” She added a dismissive wave, but her expression remained suspect. “I got an offer for the optioned book from Frost Square Books. It’s not what we were hoping for.”

  Jo’s heart sank. “Oh? What kind of not what we were hoping for?”

  Diane sighed. “They’re offering an advance of ten thousand.”

  “What?” Forget sinking, her heart plummeted off a cliff into the ocean. “I thought they were going to go with six figures, at least.”

  “They were, but now they’re saying that your last book didn’t sell well enough to warrant six figures.”

  “It did all right,” Jo argued. “It’s still doing all right.”

  “Frost Square doesn’t want all right. They have enough midlist authors. They want a bestseller.”

  “I want a bestseller too. This book is good. I know it can be a bestseller if they’ll put some marketing into it.” She gulped for breath.

  “They say they haven’t made the profit they were hoping for, which means they don’t have the marketing dollars to give you.” Diane shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know it sucks. That’s why I think it’s time for us to consider—” Her phone rang. “Hang on.” She picked up the phone. “Diane Glick.”

  Pulsing with bottled anger, Jo fished her phone out of her bag while Diane dealt with business. The thrill of getting a text from Ben was dampened by ranking second to whoever was on Diane’s call.

  “Enjoy your meeting. Try not to think of me taking you from behind while you’re agent is talking.”

  Instead of turning her on, Ben’s text made her throat close up with longing. Talk about things she’d rather be doing right then.

  Another text came through as she lowered her phone to store it.

  “I’ve downloaded one of your books.”

  A weak smile spread across Jo’s lips. She typed, “Which book?” then sighed and added, “Meeting is bad.”

  Diane continued her call. She mouthed the word ‘sorry,’ then mimed talking with one hand and rolled her eyes. Jo’s phone buzzed.

  “Sorry to hear that. I’m now reading My Lady’s Dark Fantasy.”

  Jo’s lips twitched into a wry grin. He would pick the one novel she’d written with a brooding and ambiguous anti-hero.

  Jo quickly typed. “I think you’ll like that one.”

  “Thanks, Maury. Bye.” Diane put her phone down. “Sorry.” Jo slipped her phone back into her bag. Diane grinned. “Was that your new Mr. Right?”

  “He’s just downloaded one of my novels,” she replied with an arch of her eyebrow.

  “Well that’s one book closer to having a bestseller.”

  Rather than be bolstered by Diane’s comment, Jo slumped in her chair. “Frost Square can’t change the amount of my advance for a book like that, can they?”

  “Actually, they can.” Diane winced. “The book isn’t under contract, it’s only optioned. That means they have the right to negotiate whatever terms they want for it.”

  “But I can’t afford ten thousand. I know that sounds ridiculous, and I know there will be royalties at some point—well, I can hope, at least—but the estate needs money now.” Her phone buzzed as she finished. That, combined with the situation in front of her, left her breathless.

  Diane shifted forward. “How bad is the situation with the house? I mean, it’s not about to be foreclosed or anything, is it?”

  “No.” Jo fretted. “But I’m only a year or so away from facing that. Nick contributes what he can, but his work is spotty at best. The house needs some serious repairs, and after those two trees fell last month….” She sighed. “I was really counting on that advance.”

  “What about the rest of your family? Can any of them help out? Even temporarily?”

  Jo chewed her lip. “We’ve got some cousins, but they’ve all got normal jobs. None of us is wealthy anymore. We might be able to buy one year, but that’s it. I’m the only one with the tools to make more than middle class wages and to carry the family legacy on.”

  Diane’s sympathetic grimace floated into a stark look of determination. “Okay, this is what I think we should do.” Jo’s eyebrows shot up hopefully. “I think we need to try something else entirely. Historicals aren’t selling. Contemporary S.E.A.L.s are.”

  “No. I can’t write military heroes. I know nothing about the military.”

  Diane nodded and spread her hands. “Fair enough. How about cowboys? Or billionaires. You could do those.”

  Jo winced. Arguably, she’d just done one of those, regardless of what Ben said about renting his lavish apartment.

  “I guess I can give it a try.”

  “Good. Scrap the historicals and write something fresh, snappy.”

  “But I love writing historicals.”

  Diane waved the statement away as if it were a fly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you to ditch them for ages. Contemporaries are where it’s at. I have faith in you. You’re a damn good writer, Jo. You have an audience, and if Frost Square can’t appreciate that then screw them, we’ll self-publish.”

  “Self-publish?” Jo felt a zip of hope twined with dread.

  “Yes. Everybody knows that traditionally published authors who switch over to self-publishing make more money than anyone else.”

  “They also take on more risk,” Jo reminded her.

  “Risk is the stuff of life.”

  Jo chewed her lip, unconvinced. She knew a dozen authors who’d taken their careers into their own hands, but she wasn’t sure she had it in her to be one of them. Not when her family’s home was in danger of going to the bank. The pressure she felt thinking about making that big of a change in her life made her hands and feet numb.

  This from the woman who accepted a stranger’s offer of mega-sex. Way to be a bundle of contradictions.

  But there was something different about Ben’s offer and Diane’s dictate.

  “I can see you’re concerned,” Diane spoke into her worries. “But trust me. If you don’t change, then you will fail. Do you want to get nothing but ten thousand dollar advances for the rest of your life, or do you want to take the bull by the horns and shoot for the moon?”

  Well, with an argument like that…. Jo straightened, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension that had come to her neck. She had a responsibility to uphold, a legacy to live up to.
“I guess I have no choice but to give it a try.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Diane’s words were like a silk rope being pulled tight around her throat. Great, now she was getting BDSM imagery.

  Oblivious to Jo’s mood, Diane stood with a dentist-white smile. “Let’s go get brunch and you can tell me all about this man you picked up yesterday.”

  Jo laughed as she stood. “I would use that to write a story, only I have no idea how it ends.”

  “Interesting!”

  As Diane walked around her desk and fetched a raincoat from her closet, Jo checked her phone.

  “If your writing is anything like your love-making, I’m sure it will be the best book I’ve ever read.”

  The rush of emotion that hit her as she read Ben’s words came dangerously close to bringing tears to her eyes. She was sure he was being flippant. They’d spent all night bantering, tongues engaged in verbal one-upmanship along with kisses. His comment couldn’t be taken at face value. It didn’t matter. He believed in her. Somebody believed in her. Even if he was all but a figment of her imagination.

  “You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that right now,” she texted back in a fit of pathos.

  “Ready?” Diane led her out of the office.

  “Let’s go.” She gave her phone one last longing look before slipping it into her bag and hoisting her bag over her shoulder.

  Chapter Four

  “So. This man,” Diane prompted as they headed down the hall.

  “It all started because I wanted a place to work for the afternoon.” Jo went on to tell the story.

  Her phone buzzed before they made it to the elevator, before she could get past the part where the young barista revealed that she’d sat at Ben’s personal table. Her thoughts scattered.

  “Boy, you must like him,” Diane called her out when she fumbled her last sentence. They stepped into the elevator and headed down.

  “I do,” Jo confessed. “What’s not to like? He’s gorgeous and smart.” And really, really good in bed.