Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances)

by Stephanie Bond

"Then it's possible she meant to give you the space all along and simply hadn't mentioned it."

  "That's what I thought... at first."

  "And then?"

  He stood and turned his back to her, offering a nice view of his physique. His shoulders filled the dress shirt impressively, then gave way to a narrow waist and trim hips enclosed in dark slacks. She'd never seen him wear anything other than jeans, and the transformation was astonishing. With a few inches off his longish hair, he could blend in easily inside any corporate boardroom—although his exceptional shoulders might betray the fact that he didn't sit behind a desk all day.

  Ladden cleared his throat. "After I dropped you off last night, I sort of wished aloud that you could see how crazy I am about you."

  Her skin tingled with desire at his admission. "You said this when you were driving home?"

  "Yeah."

  Her mouth fell open slightly. "And the billboards..."

  He nodded slowly.

  She laughed nervously and rose to her feet. "But there's nothing magic about arranging for billboard space—I mean, if this crazy old man did it, he must have overheard you say something about"—a flush warmed her neck—"me."

  "I thought perhaps he had crawled in the back of the truck without me realizing it and overheard me, but it seems like a stretch."

  "Oh, and the alternative isn't a stretch?"

  "Yes… but there's more."

  "More?"

  He pulled his hand over his mouth. "Last night before you dropped in at Tabby's, the bartender gave me a note from someone who fit this fellow Gene's description."

  "That was the note your uncle was teasing you about?"

  He smirked. "Right."

  "What did it say?"

  "It said, A wise first wish, Master.' "

  She shrugged. "There's nothing magic about a handwritten note."

  He massaged the bridge of his nose. "How about a customized newspaper headline?"

  "What?"

  "This morning when I opened my paper, the entire front page read, 'A wise second wish, Master.' "

  A laugh of disbelief bubbled out of her throat. "Ladden, that's impossible. Did you keep the newspaper?"

  He dropped his gaze. "The wind scattered the paper and I couldn't find the front page."

  "What about the note?"

  "I found it this morning. You scribbled your tag number on the back."

  "I remember."

  He lifted his gaze. "But the other side was completely blank."

  Jasmine shook her head slowly. "This is starting to spook me. Ladden, if I didn't know better—"

  "You'd think I was insane," he finished for her. He lifted his hands. "Hell, maybe I am."

  Searching his face, she asked, "Did you call the sign company? Someone had to cover all that expense."

  Nodding, he said, "They received a stationery envelope with my store's letterhead full of new one-hundred-dollar bills."

  She swallowed hard. "Maybe he stole an envelope."

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe he's rich and eccentric."

  Ladden gave her a wry smile. "He said he printed his own money and showed me a stack of bills that looked too new to be real, so I doubt that he's rich, and I wonder how much trouble I'll be in if he paid for the billboards with counterfeit money."

  "You have to go to the police."

  He laughed and looked heavenward. "It'll be hard for me to run my business wearing a strait-jacket."

  "But you have his name."

  "Not really. He calls himself Genie, I call him Gene."

  "Do you know where he lives?"

  "He seems to simply show up—complete with turban."

  Jasmine felt as if her body's functions had come to a screeching halt. Her heart stopped, her throat tightened, and the muscles in her legs gave way. She sank to the bench. "A turban? A b-black turban?"

  Ladden didn't even have to answer—the expression on his face told her. He joined her on the bench, looking somewhat boneless himself. "Don't tell me you know him."

  Vague recollections flooded her mind and she rubbed her temples. "Not really, but the night my car was towed, a street vendor wearing a black turban directed me to your family's tavern to use the phone."

  "It could be a different man."

  "But the next morning when a cab arrived, I thought the man looked familiar."

  Ladden dropped his head in his hands. "I'd forgotten that Gene told me he was with you when you saw the billboards."

  "He's here."

  His head snapped up. "Gene's here?"

  "Now I'm sure it's the same man, but when I first saw him I assumed he was in costume."

  "Did he talk to you?"

  "Yes..." She felt the blood drain from her face. "I asked him for directions to the ladies' room and he sent me here." She staggered to her feet, backing away until the wall of metal lockers stopped her.

  Ladden's face was anguished. "Jasmine, I know this looks bad, but I swear to you I didn't have anything to do with this."

  And while her head screamed danger, something inside her knew by his pained expression that he was telling the truth—that he, too, was a victim of this lunatic matchmaker. She relaxed slightly and nodded, gulping for air. "Okay. I believe you. Do you think he locked us in?"

  He sighed, glancing back toward the door. "It's possible, but..."

  "But what?"

  "How did he know I'd be coming here?"

  "Did you tell anyone? Could he have eavesdropped?"

  "I told Betsy on the patio, but I walked down here within a few seconds of telling her."

  Betsy? The red-haired woman in the sexy outfit? Considering the floral tie he wore, it seemed likely that the female caterer was the friend he'd mentioned he was helping. Why did the thought of Ladden having a girlfriend rankle her?

  "The timing doesn't seem right," he said. "Unless he gave you directions immediately after he overheard me."

  Feeling sheepish, she shook her head. "I stopped to stargaze for a few minutes along the way. You would've arrived first." She smacked the locker behind her and the metallic clatter reverberated in the room. "There has to be a reasonable explanation."

  "There's more," he said.

  Jasmine laughed hysterically. "More?"

  He nodded, shifting from foot to foot, his face reddening.

  "What?"

  "The rug you want."

  "What about it?"

  "It, um... moves."

  Now she'd heard everything. "It moves?"

  Ladden's face flamed next to his white shirt. He loosened his tie and looked away. "Yeah."

  "You mean it lies on the floor and vibrates?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Then what, exactly?"

  "I hung it on the wall, it fell down."

  Her shoulders sagged. "Is that all?"

  "Then I put it on some trunks and it moved to a table, then to a doorway. I rolled it up and set it in a corner, and it moved to the showroom."

  Incredulous, she asked, "You actually saw this rug levitate and move around?"

  "No—I turned my back and the next thing I knew, the rug was somewhere other than where I left it."

  "Okay, now you're scaring me," she said, holding up a hand and attempting a laugh.

  "Gene said it was a magic carpet."

  "We're back to Gene again?"

  Pressing the heels of his hands into his temples, he said, "It sounds insane—I'm just telling you what I know."

  She ticked off the situation on her fingers. "So far we have an old copper lamp, a mysterious earthquake, a man who claims to be a genie who is shadowing both of us, two so-called wishes that have been 'granted,' a disappearing note, a missing newspaper headline, and a flying carpet."

  Ladden said nothing.

  She angled her head at him, her heart expanding. "Is this what you were leading up to this morning when you asked me if I believed in magic?"

  He looked away and didn't answer for so long, she stepped toward him.


  "Ladden?"

  "I wanted to tell someone," he ground out. "Forget it, Jasmine, if I had the money, I'd commit myself."

  Even as she tried to think of comforting words, Jasmine experienced a disturbing realization: She couldn't bear to see Ladden so unhappy. "Hey," she said, reaching around to touch his arm, "everyone feels crazy at one time or another." Muscle moved beneath her fingers and the soft cotton of his shirt as he turned toward her.

  "I'm sorry you were dragged into this," he said quietly, his brown eyes serious. A shadow of whiskers darkened his jaw at this late hour, and he looked unbelievably handsome with his black hair curling around the stark white collar of his shirt. She couldn't pull her gaze from his.

  "Looks like we'll be here for a while," she murmured, all too aware they were only an arm's length apart. A slow, sensual song was wafting from the intercom, echoing off the hard, flat surfaces in the small room.

  "How's your blister?" he asked with a soft smile.

  Jasmine blinked and dragged her gaze down to inspect her foot, wriggling it. "Fine, without shoes."

  "Fine enough to dance?"

  Surprised, she looked up, her breath catching in her throat.

  "I’m a little rusty," he said quickly, "but I'll do my best not to tread on your toes."

  She searched his eyes and saw warm affection shining in their depths. She told herself she shouldn't—she couldn't—accept a dance from a man she knew had a crush on her, a crush that had somehow led to several strange events, which together now posed a threat to Trey's reelection. Yet even as she mentally reviewed the list of reasons to say no, she stepped closer and shyly lifted her left arm to his shoulder, then waited for him to clasp her right hand.

  He smiled, then angled his body toward hers, gently taking her hand and sweeping her into a slow, sweet waltz. Yet even with the chaste distance between their bodies, Jasmine's skin burned where his hand curved around her waist and where his palm met hers. With perfect timing and a light touch, he led her around the close room in small circles.

  "Where did you learn to dance?"

  "In Aunt Silvie's kitchen," he said. "But I warn you—I can't talk and count at the same time."

  She laughed and leaned into him involuntarily. Without missing a beat, he took up the slack and reduced the distance between them.

  "You look very nice," she said, and meant it.

  "You," he said quietly, "are breathtaking. Unfortunately, I can't stare and count at the same time either."

  Relaxing further into him, she told herself she shouldn't be having such a good time, but she didn't want it to end. Without warning, the waiter's words, which she hadn't given much thought to at the time, came back to her. Beyond those trees, you will find what you are looking for.

  Jasmine looked into Ladden's eyes, which were too honest to hide his desire for her. Her breasts grew taut and her thighs warmed in response. Had she? Had she found what she was looking for? Or was theirs simply a strong physical attraction, elevated by their odd circumstances and sudden proximity. The song faded to an end. Their bodies stilled, but they did not release one another.

  Slowly, oh so slowly, Ladden lowered his head, his gaze riveted on her mouth. She had plenty of time to stop him with a movement or a protest, but Jasmine simply listened to her heart pound and wet her lips in preparation for his kiss.

  With his mouth a whisper away from hers, he stopped, as if giving her a last chance to resist him, but she could not. Instead, she flicked out the tip of her tongue to invite him inside. With a groan, he captured her mouth fully and crushed her against his chest as if he were afraid she would escape. She opened her mouth to his tongue and moaned as he explored inside. He tasted of salt and mint, a tantalizing combination. His hands kneaded her back slowly and she sensed a restraint in his caresses that made her tremble.

  Feeling tiny and pliable in the circle of his arms, Jasmine timidly snaked her hands around his neck. Her fingers skimmed over the knotty muscles beneath his shirt. He raised his head and lilted her off the floor as he dipped his head lower to rain kisses along the length of her neck. His hands strumming her back ignited so many fires, Jasmine thought she would surely be consumed.

  Ladden rasped her name against her neck and licked at the sensitive skin of her exposed collarbone. She rolled her shoulders and leaned her head back, arching in his arms, fully supported by him. Her skirt had shimmied up to expose her thighs. When his hand skimmed over her buttocks, she groaned.

  But he stiffened. Immediately, she sensed his withdrawal. He lifted his head, his chest heaving, and lowered her to the floor as if she were a priceless, breakable object. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his eyes large and apologetic, "This isn't how it should be, how I want it to be."

  Lowering her arms, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress, still reeling from the blow his body had delivered to her senses. "You're right, of course," she said shakily. "I don't know what came over me."

  He smiled wryly, not attempting to hide the hard ridge of his erection. "I would have if we hadn't stopped when we did."

  Grateful for his humor in such an awkward moment, she returned his smile.

  "Thank you for the dance," he said, inclining his head.

  Struggling to control her breathing, Jasmine checked her hair in the mirror and offered Ladden a tissue for the lipstick stains around his mouth, although she couldn't offer much help for the red smear on his collar. Like two high school kids making repairs before going home, they righted their clothing and hair. She drew on her lipstick with a shaky hand, trying to squash the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

  "Jasmine," he said quietly, squinting as he re-tied the horrid floral tie. "Will you go out with me?"

  She caught his gaze in the mirror. "Out?"

  "You know, maybe dinner and a movie?"

  Inhaling deeply, she applied another layer of color to her lips, hoping to erase the lingering sensation of his mouth on hers. "Ladden, I think we have a more imminent problem."

  "Which is?"

  She put down her lipstick and stared at him in the mirror. "How are we going to get out of here?"

  Shrugging his big shoulders, he said, "I have no idea."

  Unable to resist, she ventured, "You could use your third wish."

  "My what?"

  "Your third wish," she teased. "Don't you have one left?"

  A mischievous light flared in his eyes, causing her pulse to kick up again. Moving behind her with animal grace, he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I would be ready for a straitjacket if I used my last wish to get away from you."

  A loud knock on the door sent her heart to her throat. Ladden jumped as well, then waved her farther into the rest room as he approached the door.

  "Ladden, are you in there?" Betsy's voice rang out.

  She saw his shoulders drop in relief. "Betsy," he called, "the door locked behind me—I can't get out."

  The woman's laughter reached Jasmine's ears, a bit brassy, but a welcome sound. "Are you alone in there?" she asked, her voice lilting. "Maybe I should come in."

  Ladden glanced back to Jasmine and gestured frantically for her to hide. She weighed her choices, then jumped in a shower stall and pulled the curtain closed.

  "Come on, Betsy, let me out," he yelled.

  Jasmine heard rattling and thumping, then Ladden proclaimed in a loud voice, "Whew! It sure is nice to be out of this place. I think I'll prop open the door with a rock so no one else will get locked in."

  "Why are you yelling?" the woman asked. "And what did you spill on your shirt?"

  Their voices faded and Jasmine counted to one hundred, then scrambled out of her hiding place. She slapped an adhesive bandage over the blister, shoved her feet in her shoes, then peeked outside. Thankfully, the coast seemed clear. Heaving a sigh of relief, she made her escape and retraced her steps alongside the pool, which was still deserted.

  Her mind spun, replaying the fantastic tales Ladden had told her and their lapse, which had ver
y nearly led to disaster. Right now she was sure of one thing—she could not allow herself to get emotionally attached to Ladden. She hadn't clawed her way out of Glenhayden and up the social ladder of Sacramento to marry an antiques dealer with a too-vivid imagination.

  No, she decided, quickening her step, Ladden Sanderson didn't figure into her lifelong dreams. She had gone as far as the deep end of the pool when a powerful gust of wind swirled around her, ruffling the giant leaves of the tropical plants in the landscaping. Jasmine gathered the hem of her dress in one hand, and tried to hold her hair in place with the other. She stumbled sideways, then steadied herself mere inches from the edge. Her heart pumped adrenaline through her trembling body... she couldn't swim. Then a gust carrying the force of human hands knocked her off balance. Scrambling desperately for a foothold, Jasmine clawed the air in terror and screamed just before she plunged beneath the surface.

  Chapter Eleven

  LADDEN POSITIONED HIMSELF in a spot on the patio where he could watch for Jasmine's return as unobtrusively as possible. Betsy, having teased him mercilessly on the way back, was now perched next to the melting ice sculpture whose demise was undoubtedly being hastened by the scorching glances of the two men hanging on her every word.

  He had a beer halfway to his mouth when a scream from the direction of the pool pierced the air. His brain processed the sound in a split second... Jasmine! With his heart in his throat, Ladden pushed through the crowd and hurdled over low tables. He pounded down the path leading to the pool, frantic, turning in all directions.

  "Jasmine, where are you?" Then he saw a movement in the deep end of the shadowy pool. A flash of red confirmed his worst fear. He went from motionless to a dead run in the span of a heartbeat, tearing off his jacket just before he dove off the edge and sliced the surface. Jasmine's eyes were closed and she floated virtually motionless, her dark hair like tentacles around her pale face.

  Moving without rational thought, Ladden grabbed her waist and dragged her to the surface with two massive kicks. He threw back his head and gulped air, yelling for help as he hauled her limp body to the side. A gasping crowd had gathered and several people helped him lift her from the water. He heaved himself up over the edge of the pool and despite the fear that threatened to paralyze him, immediately began to administer CPR, talking to her between chest compressions and transferring the breath from his lungs into hers.