by Lyric James
She’d been so desperate to get out of her parents’ house, so full of humiliation every time a “thank you but no thank you” rejection letter came in the mail, that bitterness had grown inside her.
Yes, she’d sat down once and written a manuscript but when it came down to it, she never had the courage to send it off. She tucked it in her drawer and forgot about it. What had she become? She’d been so busy exposing other people’s lives, she’d never taken the time to examine her own.
Even though she’d gone about it horribly, she’d met this wonderful man whom she’d grown to care about and admire. Maybe a man she could have a future with. And now that she’d heard Jordan’s story, his secrets, did she really want to tell the world what it was? Did she want to destroy his life by telling the world about a mystical history guarded for a thousand years?
Layla ran out of the room and shot up the stairs.
“Jordan,” she yelled, running around the bottom floor of the house. It was so huge she doubted she’d been in all the rooms. The one she was truly familiar with was the bedroom where this entire venture had started. So she flew up the stairs to find him.
But once she got there, the most dazzling sight met her eyes again. Daylight was just beginning and the sky was a pale blue so perfect, so clear, it made the red and gold of the sun bursting over the horizon majestic.
Then there was Jordan, gloriously naked as he’d been a few hours ago the first time she’d seen him, standing with his arms spread wide as if he was preparing for flight. And it hit her.
“No. Jordan,” she yelled. “Wait.”
He turned to her, his expression peaceful and serene despite what had happened between them. She ran to him but it was too late. His transformation had begun.
It started in the center of his being to explode out and surround him in a blaze of shimmering crimson and gold, so beautiful it brought her to her knees. He lifted slowly into the air and hovered, his gaze on her holding her in place. Then he was gone.
Layla gripped the hem of her shirt and lowered her head to her lap. When she stood and gazed around, she took in the room knowing it would be the last time she’d see it. The beautiful ornate furniture handcrafted for him, the intricately woven afghan hanging over the end of the chair he liked to read in. And on the bed, her clothes neatly folded with a letter on top.
Be gone when I get back. Have fun writing your story.
Two hours later, Layla sat behind her desk at the Tattler, her story completed, the black cursor winking at her from the end of the last period of her sentence. Her fingers hovered over the delete button.
This wasn’t who she wanted to be anymore.
Her boss had given her the evil eye, walked past her desk several times already this morning, and he was now pacing the width of his office.
The black-and-white clock on the wall looked morosely back at her as time clicked away. It was 9:50.
She couldn’t do it…wouldn’t do it.
Even if she stood no chance in hell of having a life with Jordan, she’d decided her life would change. It wouldn’t be one of destruction but one of love and creativity. Already, the novel she’d written was in a package in her bag, ready to be sent to a publisher. She wouldn’t give up on her dreams any longer.
A huge weight pounded up and down on her shoulders. As she was about to hit and hold the backspace button on her keyboard, her telephone rang, saving her.
She allowed a huge gush of air to rush out of her lungs before she answered. “Layla Martin.”
A voice she didn’t recognize spoke. “Ms. Martin, this is Karla White, Mr. Gaines’ publicist. He wanted me to let you know he will be giving a press conference across the street in five minutes if you’d like to attend.”
Layla’s gaze shot to the window. Sure enough, a crowd of reporters and TV cameras were set up. So engrossed with her own moral dilemma, she hadn’t even looked outside. She stood and stared down at the screen. This time there was no hesitation. She hit escape and her story vanished. She grabbed the recorder from the corner of her desk and raced to the exit.
He was going to tell the world himself and she had to stop him.
As she moved through the door, her editor yelled behind her but she ignored him. Not bothering with the elevator, she flew down the steps two at a time, thankful that she’d worn flat-heeled shoes.
Across the street, she elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. She scanned around the raised dais but didn’t see him. Circumventing the small stage, she went to the building entrance but was held back by two of Jordan’s security personnel.
“Please, I need to speak to Jordan. Mr. Gaines.”
“Ma’am, you’ll have to go back and wait for the press conference like everyone else.”
“Please, you don’t understand. I can’t let him do this.”
Jordan, his publicist and two other people she didn’t know came out another door.
“Jordan,” she yelled. They all turned to her but the only important one was Jordan. “Don’t. Don’t do it.”
He murmured something to the people around him then nodded his head to the two guys holding her back. They let her go and she moved forward.
She wrung the bottom of her shirt. “You don’t have to do it. I’m not going to write the story. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Surprise flickered across his face but he didn’t say anything. Jordan took her arm and stepped a few feet away from his staff.
“You were right. I did give up on my dreams and I used that anger and resentment to do my job, to hurt other people. But I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m going to quit and do what I should have done a long time ago. Pursue my dreams and write.”
She wanted to pull him into her arms, beg him to forgive her and let him know that the eight hours she’d spent with him were the best she’d experienced in her life, but now was not the time. She’d probably never get a chance to tell him.
“I know…I know there’s no future for us…that last night was it, but I wanted to let you know. Don’t go up there and tell anyone what you are. You deserve your privacy. Everyone has secrets and you deserve to have yours too. I’m sorry that I ever jeopardized that.”
Never again would she use someone’s life against them. In fact, maybe the next story she sat down to write would be about a reporter who learned a man’s terrible secret, a wonderful man like Jordan, and instead of telling his story, she fell in love. Sort of like life imitating art, she guessed.
“I just wanted to let you know.”
Jordan gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.”
He nodded to the rest of his team and walked to the stage. She felt as if her chest were caving in. The agony reached inside her so deep she wanted to fall to the ground and weep. As Jordan stood to the side of the podium, his publicist began the press conference.
“Ladies and gentleman. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Mr. Jordan Gaines will make a brief statement. He will not answer any questions now. But at the end of his announcement, Mr. Gaines will select one reporter to accompany him upstairs to answer any questions.” She stopped and gazed at the crowd to make sure they understood. She motioned to Jordan. “Mr. Jordan Gaines.”
Layla stuck her fists in her jacket pockets. In one, she found the recorder she’d grabbed off her desk. Absently, she turned it on. In the other, the letter of resignation she planned to turn in as soon as she went back across the street to her office.
At least having the recorder would allow her to go back and replay what he said. She would keep it so she could hear his voice anytime she wanted. Pathetic but it was all she had left.
When she heard her name, she jerked her head up.
Jordan’s publicist was walking off the dais to the front of his building. “Ms. Martin, if you would follow me. I’ll escort you upstairs for your interview with Mr. Gaines.”
Her mind had been such a whirl of emotion she hadn’t heard one word of his speech. She didn’t even k
now what the press conference had been about. How was she going to ask him any questions about it? Numbly, she followed the woman inside the building and to an elevator that had to have gone up at least thirty stories.
They stepped out, into a waiting area with a row of comfortable black chairs on each side. The walls were painted a pale blue. A dark-oak coffee table in the center held a single vase with short-stemmed red roses. A woman she guessed was Jordan’s administrative assistant sat behind a huge cherry-wood desk.
“You can go right in,” she said.
Karla nodded then retreated down a hallway to the right.
On leaden feet, Layla stepped in Jordan’s office. Why in the world did he choose her for this? The woman who broke into his home and threatened the one thing he worked so hard to keep secret? Why would he give her the story?
He stood facing the window, staring out at the clear, blue sky.
He turned and she raked her eyes over him, memorizing every feature. Something simmered in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decode.
“I wanted to thank you again for not telling the world my secret.”
“I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do anymore. Especially after I got to know you and understood why it needed to stay a secret.”
“Is that the only reason you changed your mind?”
Everything inside her began moving in slow motion, the blood running through her veins, the beat of her heart. It felt as though she was experiencing every millisecond of every beat. Layla didn’t know what he was asking her, what he wanted to hear. She really didn’t know if she was brave enough to say any of it.
She wanted to tell him but every cell inside her feared rejection. “No, it’s not the only reason.”
Jordan moved around his desk to stand in front of her. As always, he was dressed impeccably in a black suit, crisp white shirt and crimson-and-gold tie, reminding her of the phoenix waiting to transform inside him.
“Why else?”
An odd sensation eased through her limbs. She’d spent too many years terrified of rejection, preferring to strike first instead of letting anyone else get close. Not anymore. Love was worth the risk. Even if he rebuffed her and told her there was no future for them, at least she’d know she tried. She might not be able to live without him but she could live with that.
She stared at her feet. “I love you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ve known me for less than a day and you expect me to believe you’ve fallen in love with me?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I don’t expect you to believe me at all. But I want you to know anyway.” From somewhere inside her a burst of courage pushed through. “Last night was the first time I let my guard down with anyone. I wasn’t trying to impress you or be someone that I wasn’t. I told you things I’ve never told anyone else. The minute you walked away from me in the bowling alley, it felt as if a part of me was leaving. I was going to tell you how I felt then but you changed and flew away.”
Jordan moved closer and she had to lift her head to look into his eyes. He traced a finger over her cheek. “When I got back, you were gone.”
Tears swam in her eyes. “You told me not to be there.”
“I know. I realized that I was running from life just like you were. I’d spent years guarding my privacy, blaming every reporter for what one person did. I’ve let that one thing dictate my existence for far too long. That’s why I gave the press conference today.”
Layla smiled. “I don’t even know what you said.”
A corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Wait a minute, you went through all that trouble to break into my house to get a story about me and you didn’t even listen to what I said at my very first press conference?”
Layla shook her head again and felt the pressure of the day slowly ease out of her chest. “Nope.”
“Are you ready to interview me, Ms. Martin?”
Despite the fact that she was going to quit her job and pursue her dream to write, Jordan was giving her the interview every reporter dreamed of. The funny thing was, now every paper in the country would want to interview her or offer her a job.
She took her recorder out of her pocket. “Oh, I forgot I left this on. Do you mind if I keep recording?”
“No, not at all.”
Jordan led her to a small conference table where they sat, and for the next hour she asked every question imaginable.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Well, I figured since you did beat me in strip bowling last night, I owed you.”
She laughed and stood. “That’s right. I beat you fair and square.”
When he moved forward and cupped her face, her throat tightened and tears once again prickled behind her eyes. This was the last time she’d be with him like this.
His thumb trailed over her bottom lip. The heat in his eyes made Layla’s heart beat wildly.
“Tell me again,” he said.
Instinctively, she knew what he wanted to hear. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I believe you and now that business is over…” Jordan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in.
Layla gasped. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s all right,” he said in a husky voice that rumbled deep from his gut.
“Yes, but. That means…” She dared not utter the words, lest she was imagining what was happening between them.
Her heart performed a series of happy, joyful flutters when he captured her mouth in his. It was a delicious, intoxicating kiss that robbed her of breath. His tongue probed inside and twined with hers in a dance so old she wanted to find the originator of the kiss and thank him from the bottom of her heart.
While Jordan made sweeping, swirling motions inside her mouth, his hand cupped one breast and slid a thumb over her nipple until it was a turgid bud. He bit lightly at her bottom lip, licked it then slid into her mouth again.
All Layla could do was helplessly open to him as his lips and tongue gave her an unadulterated lesson in lovemaking. She heard a keening noise and realized, dimly, that it was coming from her own throat. Her body shook and she clenched his arms.
Dizziness swarmed inside her head and the erotic sensation of his tongue rubbing against hers drove everything from her mind but need. All around her and through, she felt heat blazing, heat tempered by unexpected coolness.
When she peeked at Jordan between her lashes, she gasped. They were surrounded by a burst of crimson and gold flames. She reared back and gazed at him in wonder as it dissipated around them.
Jordan nibbled at her lip. “It means that I would like you to be my mate, my partner, my lover…forever. I love you, Layla.”
His softly spoken words made shivers run from the tips of her eyelashes all the way down her spine. Happiness tinged with warmth and desire ran through her. He wanted her. Forever.
Before she could respond, he leaned in to kiss her with a passion Layla felt down to her toes. He found her lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting ever curve and corner between her upper and bottom lip, taking his time to brand her as his. His mouth seared her with its potent heat.
A low sound came from deep in his throat, as if he were a caged beast on the verge of escape. Layla threaded her fingers into his soft hair and pulled him closer. Suddenly he was conquering her mouth, showing her exactly what it meant to be mated to a phoenix. As his strong arms encircled her, she finally felt safe, the fear of rejection no longer an entity in her soul.
When she pulled back to gaze at him, she said, “So that was a phoenix kiss. Now I understand why you can’t kiss every woman like that.”
“Only you, my love. Only you.”
The End
About the Author
Lyric James began writing romance after the stories in her head just wouldn’t shut up. And that’s really a problem when you’re standing up in front of a bunch of middle-school students. She graduated f
rom high school, went to college and quit because she had a car note to pay. She’s held such jobs as receptionist, administrative assistant, medical clerk and lifeguard. After she had her first child, Lyric decided she was an adult and ready to go back to college. Having received a Bachelor’s in Organizational Management and a Master’s in Library Media and Information Technology, she now spends her days surrounded by one of the things she loves most—books.
Lyric has been married to her own hero for over thirteen years and has two daughters, one son and a Doberman named Blue, because her husband loves the Duke Blue Devils. She has one brother, several rather adorable nieces and nephews, super parents and a wonderful grandmother who always reminds her that enduring love is possible, even after 50 years of marriage to Lyric’s grandfather.
Multi-published in several genres, including contemporary, romantic suspense and paranormal, Lyric is also an avid reader and “listener” of books, and her collection includes her favorite authors: Catherine Coulter, Nora Roberts (J.D. Robb), J.K. Rowling, Kate Collins, Janet Evanovich, Cinda Williams Chima, Charlaine Harris, Rick Riordin and Brenda Jackson.
Lyric welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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