by Lori Foster
With his arms braced on either side of her head, he positioned himself between her legs and slowly slid his body into hers. She was exquisite. Perfect, as she arched against him, then met him thrust for thrust as he moved against her. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his backside as he pumped his hips, pushing them both to the limit, to that place where time stopped and only sensation existed.
She came again, and dug her nails into his back. He followed her over the edge, his own release so powerful he lost himself in pure sublime pleasure. Eventually, he slowly came back to earth. Moving to his side, he took her with him, tucking her body close to his. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help wondering how in hell he was ever going to leave her.
eight
One month later and Maya was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Worse, try as she might, she couldn’t anticipate how she was going to react when it finally did. She wanted to be cool about the whole thing, pretend to be nonchalant about his picking up stakes and returning to New York, but she wasn’t about to make anyone a promise on that score, especially herself. For all intents and purposes, and as far as she was concerned, they were a couple in every sense of the word.
Although he hadn’t specifically said so, she suspected the play Burnett had been working on all summer was finished. She knew because he’d essentially moved into the main house with her. He’d stopped escaping to the small one-bedroom apartment over the garage to write a little over a week ago. That he could be leaving for New York at any moment had her feeling edgy. Who knew how long he’d be gone. A week? A couple of months? Forever? There’d been a few phone calls she’d caught snippets of the past few days and she had a feeling their time together would be ending. Soon.
Tossing her pencil on the design table, she leaned back to study the design for a pale turquoise cotton chemise, one of a half-dozen new sleepwear items she’d been toying with for the past couple of hours. Pleased with what she had so far, she lifted her arms over her head and attempted to stretch the kinks from her shoulders. From what Burnett had told her, once he had a play in production, the work was nearly nonstop until opening night. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t exactly asked her to accompany him once he answered the siren’s call of the bright lights of Broadway.
Despite her disappointment, she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of Burnett’s deep sense of achievement, something he’d told her he hadn’t experienced in ages. Sober and stronger than ever, the Prince of Broadway was back. She hadn’t read the play, but based on what he’d told her about Shattered Illusions, the story centered around one woman’s discussion with the Devil on the eve of what could end up being her suicide. Since he hadn’t been back to the apartment lately, she was dying of curiosity to know how the play ended. Did the heroine take her own life or not?
Burnett wasn’t the only one who was “back.” So was Poe. Or at least Maya Pomeroy and POE-tential.
Earlier this morning while Burnett was still asleep, she’d toyed with a few design ideas after receiving a phone call from one of the buyers at Macy’s for their women’s sportswear department. They wanted a two-season exclusive of POE-tential workout-wear products. Whether or not they’d carry the lingerie line as well remained to be seen, but she’d be delivering some samples herself next week. There were no guarantees, but she couldn’t help feeling confident that her clothing line would be a success. She made clothes that fit a real woman’s body, curves and all, not the emaciated stick figures the high-fashion world embraced. Her sizes ran from 4 to 24, with adjustments made to enhance the figure for women of all sizes, from plus to petite.
She heard the water running and realized Burnett must be getting into the shower. She thought about joining him, to share her good news, but she hesitated. If only she felt the same confidence in her relationship with him, which despite a hesitant start, had been on the fast track ever since. On paper, they made sense. They were both creative, he with words, she with a sewing needle. They laughed at the same jokes, enjoyed much of the same music, and read the same books. They even shared the same political affiliation. What more could a girl ask for? In reality, not so much. The main problem she could see with their relationship was geography—and now that didn’t seem to be much of an issue since she’d be spending time in the city with the Macy’s people, even if it might only be temporarily.
In truth, she wasn’t looking all that forward to returning to New York. She had no choice if she wanted to see her clothing line off the ground, although she was determined to keep her base of operations in New Orleans. This was her home and the least she could do was bring a few jobs to her hometown.
By the time she reached the bathroom, Burnett was stepping from the shower and reaching for a towel. He looked up and smiled when he saw her, giving her a tiny thrill of pleasure. God, she wished the answers were easier about this thing between them. But then, when had life ever been all that easy?
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said, resting her shoulder against the doorjamb. She hated the hesitation in her voice, that she was nervous about broaching the subject of going to the city with him, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Better to just get it out and deal with whatever came next.
“About?” he prompted as he dried off, then secured the towel around his waist. The terry cloth rode low on his hips and she considered giving the knot a flick. Procrastination worked for her, especially when she was scared witless.
She pulled in a deep breath. “New York,” she blurted.
That caught his attention because he looked up and frowned. “Great city,” he said, a note of caution in his voice.
Her insides twisted. “Agreed,” she said. A month ago she would have disagreed vehemently. Obviously he caught on as well because his frown deepened.
“Really?” he asked. He pulled a can of shaving cream from the medicine cabinet along with his razor, then squirted shaving cream in his hand. “What’s changed?”
She hated that the caution in his voice was now mirrored in his sinful blue eyes. Hated that with every small sign, another piece of her heart broke. “An offer.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “To model?”
Her pride took a ding on that one, but she shrugged it off. Folding her arms in front of her, she laughed but the sound lacked humor, even to her own ears. “Yeah, well,” she said, “that would be a surprise, wouldn’t it? No, it’s about my designs. It’s about POE-tential.”
Slowly, he applied shaving cream to his jaw, his gaze sliding to hers through the reflection in the mirror as she explained the situation. Damn him for looking nervous all of a sudden. Damn him for sounding cautious. Damn him for making her fall for him when she knew all along that he would break her heart.
Damn her for being stupid enough to fall in love with him.
“Apparently a buyer from Macy’s was in New Orleans visiting relatives recently and the woman’s niece was raving about my workout wear,” she added in a rush, jamming all the words together as if speaking them in a hurry would make the rejection she sensed coming that much less painful. “The buyer was impressed with what she saw at the boutique in the Quarter and once the contracts are signed, I have a two-season exclusive with Macy’s to carry my workout wear. Quite possibly, my lingerie line as well. I have a meeting scheduled there for next week.”
He finished shaving and smiled at her, but the curve of his mouth was strained at best. “That’s great news, Maya,” he said in the least enthusiastic tone she’d ever heard. “Congratulations.”
Anger immediately simmered in her veins, reaching a boiling point before she could stop it. “Congratulations,” she mimicked in a droll monotone. She made a sound of disgust, then pushed off the doorjamb. “Congratulations?” she railed, a full octave higher.
Using a hand towel, he wiped away the remnants of shaving cream. Still dressed in only a towel, with all that über-delicious male flesh exposed just to torment her, he turned to face her and regarded her thoughtfully. A full minute must have pa
ssed before he calmly asked, “What exactly did you want me say?”
“It’s not what you said, Burnett. It’s how you said it.” Like he knew what was coming and was dreading the moment when she threw herself at him and begged him to take her to New York with him.
Like hell.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. Like she’d lost her ever lovin’ mind. Like he was waiting for her to stop being nuts before he said a word.
She planted her hands on her hips and glared back. She was not crazy. Okay, so maybe she was acting a little crazy. But in her current state of mind, she figured she might as well blame him for it. He made her crazy. With need. With wanting something she couldn’t have—forever.
“Maybe we need to calm down a minute,” he said in a placating tone that set her teeth on edge.
“Maybe we need to kiss my ass,” she said, then turned and stormed out of the bathroom as fast as she could limp away. What the hell had she been thinking? She should’ve known he’d reject her. Again. Hadn’t she been waiting for that to happen all along?
She didn’t make it to the edge of the bed before he’d grabbed hold of her arm to stop her from escaping. “Maya. Wait.”
“Don’t,” she said, tugging free of his grasp. A lump the size of Lake Pontchartrain lodged in her throat when she turned to face him. The wariness in his eyes broke her already battered heart. She’d known this moment would eventually come, she just hadn’t expected it to hurt so damned much.
“I get it, Burnett. I really do. No one ever said this was forever.” She’d known all that. He wouldn’t be staying in New Orleans, and there was no such thing as her own happily-ever-after. That was her life. Except somewhere along the way she’d naively believed their relationship could continue if she went to New York, even if it only was temporarily.
Apparently she’d misjudged the situation.
He reached for her but she sidestepped him. If he touched her again, she’d shatter into a million tiny pieces. Once again, she needed to be strong to weather the hurt. Once again, she was reminded that she was nothing but damaged goods. And everyone knew damaged goods just weren’t good enough.
“No one ever said it wasn’t.”
He’d spoken so softly, she wasn’t sure she’d actually heard him correctly, nearly convincing herself wishful thinking had gotten the best of her hearing capabilities. Still, what if she had heard him right? Her pride had already been trampled. What did she have left to lose?
“Say that again?” she asked, hating the hopefulness she’d tried hard to ignore.
He took a step toward her, narrowing the distance between them. “No one ever said it wasn’t,” he repeated, his voice stronger this time.
Despite her fear of being slapped down, she asked, “What are you saying?”
He settled his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. She took in everything, the color of his eyes, the scent of his skin, fresh and clean and all male. The weight of his hands and the tingling sensation that rippled over her skin when he swept them down to grasp her fingers. “I’m saying that I love you, Maya. I don’t want to be without you. I don’t care where we live. Here. New York. It doesn’t matter. I want to be wherever you are. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want your face to be the last thing I see at night before I close my eyes.”
Tears blurred her vision and burned her throat so that she couldn’t speak. So she nodded. Enthusiastically. And then she wrapped her arms around him and hung on for dear life to this man who loved her. Who didn’t care that her body was scarred and twisted. Who didn’t care where they lived just so long as they could be together. Who saw beyond the damaged exterior to the woman inside wanting to love and to be loved.
Once she’d soaked his bare chest with her tears, she leaned back and looked into those bluer than sin eyes and knew without a doubt that she’d follow him anywhere. “I love you, too,” she finally said. “So much.”
With the tip of his finger, he tipped her head back to look into her eyes, his own brimming with the emotion in his heart. “We’ll flgure it all out,” he said.
“We will,” she confirmed, then lifted her mouth to his for a soul-reaching kiss that rocked both of their worlds.
epilogue
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER . . .
Burnett hefted the carton onto the kitchen table, then sliced it open to reveal author copies of the hardcover release of Shattered Illusions. The book would release in another month, one week before the play’s opening night. An opening night Maya had been upset about missing since she was already in her seventh month of pregnancy with their twin daughters. But she’d be two weeks from her due date, and the chance of her going into premature labor was already risky.
“Now maybe I can find out the ending,” she said, peering around him and plucking a copy out of the box for herself.
He smiled as she lowered herself into the chair he’d pulled out for her. “I didn’t think you’d want me to ruin it for you.”
“Hmmmm,” she murmured, carefully opening the book. “She probably dies at the end, and you didn’t want me to nag you about changing the ending.”
“You’ll just have to read it to find out.”
“Or see the play on opening night,” she said hopefully.
“Maya—”
“I know. I know,” she said, shifting in the chair. “Don’t get my hopes up.”
“For all I know, they could’ve changed the ending,” he teased. “It’s been known to happen.” Especially since he wasn’t there to babysit his play every step of the way as he’d done in years past. Not that he hadn’t tried, but it hadn’t taken him more than a couple of weeks to realize his heart wasn’t in the production of his work but more in the actual producing of the work itself. A work that had taken on a whole new meaning when he’d been approached by a publisher asking if he’d be willing to write Shattered Illusions as a novel. He’d been intrigued by the idea, and with Maya’s encouragement he’d signed a three-book contract.
She’d been with him in New York, and while she hadn’t complained about the long hours alone, he knew she’d missed New Orleans. So they’d come home. He to write and she to a career that had taken off in ways she’d never expected. Not only were the POE-tential sportswear and lingerie lines both hugely successful, her new spring line of maternity wear was due to launch soon and had received stunning reviews during Fashion Week. Since she was no longer exclusively at Macy’s, other high-end department stores had picked up POE-tential and she had more work than she’d ever expected.
Upon coming back to New Orleans, they’d had a small wedding with family and a few friends and officially moved into the big, rambling house as a married couple. The stairs were still difficult for her to climb, especially as her pregnancy advanced, but she’d insisted on using the upper floors and had returned the rooms on the bottom level to their former use. For a wedding present, he’d had the garage apartment remodeled into a design studio for her. She’d updated the study for his home office, dusty first editions included. He’d told her one of the bedrooms on the second floor would have been fine, but she’d insisted. He had a feeling those bedrooms would be filling up with the next generation of Duprees over the next few years.
She turned the page to the title page. “I could just skip to the end.”
He laughed. “That’s cheating.”
“So is not telling your wife how the story ends.” She shifted again in the chair. “In fact, I think it’s illegal.”
He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her, then bent forward and kissed the side of her neck. “No, it’s not. But”—he nipped at the sensitive spot just below her ear—“I do know a few things that are illegal in some states.”
“Why, Mr. Dupree, I’m shocked,” she said, pouring on the southern belle routine. “You’re positively scandalous.”
He tipped her head back so he could kiss her. “It’s what you love best about me,” he said, then captured her lips
in a kiss that went from playful to hotter than sin in three seconds flat. When they came up for air, she held out her hand for him to help her from the chair. She was really starting to have a hard time getting around, and he almost hoped she did deliver early just so she could get some relief.
She stood, braced her hand on her lower back, then turned the next page of the book. The dedication page. She read it, then looked up at him with tears brimming in her big green eyes. The dedication read:
To M,
Forever.
dime store cowboy
KATE DOUGLAS
Ages ago, I wrote a romantic comedy titled Cowboy in My Pocket. For years, one of the secondary characters, Mark Connor, begged me for his own happy ending. My thanks to Lori Foster for inviting me to contribute to this anthology. It was such a relief—finally—to let Mark end up with the love of his life.
prologue
“Unlock that door, Betsy Mae. I aim to talk to you now. Open up, I said.”
Betsy Mae Twigg squinted against the painful glare of the overhead light. The foggy bathroom mirror hid the worst of the damage, but she knew her left eye—already swollen almost completely shut—would be black and blue by morning. Carefully, she wiggled her jaw back and forth.
Good. It worked. Hurt like hell but at least it wasn’t broken.
“Come outta there, I said. Now.”
She ran the cold water and soaked a washcloth under the flow. The pounding on the door made her head hurt even worse and she slanted a quick glare at the solid oak separating her from the best-looking rodeo clown this side of Durango.
Too bad he was an abusive jerk.
Wringing the cold washcloth until it no longer dripped, she carefully folded it and held it to her throbbing jaw.
Relief wasn’t instantaneous, but it definitely dulled the worst of the pain.
“Betsy Mae, you open that door now or I am gone for good this time. Gone and not comin’ back. You hear me?”