The fluttering sensation in her stomach changed to a warm heaviness. She felt strange and hot. Bailey was afraid that if this didn’t end soon, she’d completely lose control.
“No more,” she pleaded, breaking off the kiss. She buried her face in his shoulder and dragged in several deep breaths in an effort to stop her trembling.
It wasn’t fair that Parker could make her feel this way. For Janice and Michael’s sake, it was the best thing that could have happened, but for her own sake, it was the worst. She didn’t want to feel any of this. The protective numbness around her heart was crumbling just when it was so important to keep it securely in place.
The hot touch of his lips against her temple caused her to jump away from him. “Well,” she said, rubbing her palms briskly together once she found her voice. “That was certainly a step in the right direction.”
“I beg your pardon?” Parker was staring at her as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard her accurately.
“The kiss. It had pizzazz and a certain amount of charm, but I was looking for a little more…something. The kiss between Michael and Janice has got to have spark.”
“Our kiss had spark.” Parker’s voice was deep, brooding.
“Charm,” she corrected, then added brightly, “I will say one thing, though. You’re good at this. Lots of practice, right?” Playfully she poked his ribs with her elbow. “Well, I’ve got to be going. Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice. I’ll be seeing you around.” Amazingly the smile on her lips didn’t crack. Even more amazing was the fact that she managed to walk away from him on legs that felt like overcooked pasta.
She was about five blocks from the BART station, walking as fast as she could, mumbling to herself all the way. She behaved like an idiot every time she even came near Parker Davidson!
She continued mumbling, chastising herself, when he pulled up at the curb beside her in a white sports car. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew expensive when she saw it. The same way she knew his suit hadn’t come from a department store.
“Get in,” he said gruffly, slowing to a stop and leaning over to open the passenger door.
“Get in?” she repeated. “I was going to take BART.”
“Not at this time of night you’re not.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded.
“Don’t press your luck, Bailey. Just get in.”
She debated whether she should or not, but from the stubborn set of his jaw, she could see it would do no good to argue. She’d never seen a more obstinate-looking jaw in her life. As she recalled, it was one of the first things she’d noticed about Parker.
“What’s your address?” he asked after she’d slipped inside.
Bailey gave it to him as she fiddled with the seat belt, then sat silently while he sped down the street, weaving his way in and out of traffic. He braked sharply at a red light and she glanced in his direction.
“Why are you so angry?” she demanded. “You look as if you’re ready to bite my head off.”
“I don’t like it when a woman lies to me.”
“When did I lie?” she asked indignantly.
“You lied a few minutes ago when you said our kiss was…lacking.” He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “We generated more electricity with that one kiss than the Hoover Dam does in a month. You want to kid yourself, then fine, but I’m not playing your game.”
“I’m not playing any game,” she informed him primly. “Nor do I appreciate having you come at me like King Kong because my assessment of a personal exchange between us doesn’t meet yours.”
“A personal exchange?” he scoffed. “It was a kiss, sweetheart.”
“I only agreed to it for research purposes.”
“If that’s what you want to believe, fine, but we both know better.”
“Whatever,” she muttered. Parker could think what he wanted. She’d let him drive her home because he seemed to be insisting on it. But as far as having anything further to do with him—out of the question. He was obviously placing far more significance on their kiss than she’d ever intended.
Okay, so she had felt something. But to hear him tell it, that kiss rivaled the great screen kisses of all time.
Parker drove up in front of her apartment building and turned off the engine. “All right,” he said coolly. “Let’s go over this one last time. Do you still claim our kiss was merely a ‘personal exchange’? Just research?”
“Yes,” she stated emphatically, unwilling to budge an inch.
“Then prove it.”
Bailey sighed. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”
“Kiss me again.”
Bailey could feel the color drain out of her face. “I’m not about to sit outside my apartment kissing you with half the building looking on.”
“Fine, then invite me in.”
“Uh…it’s late.”
“Since when is nine o’clock late?” he taunted.
Bailey was running out of excuses. “There’s nothing that says a woman is obligated to invite a man into her home, is there?” she asked in formal tones. Her spine was Sunday-school straight and her eyes were focused on the street ahead of her.
Parker’s laugh took her by surprise. She twisted around to stare at him and found him smiling roguishly. “You little coward,” he murmured, pulling her toward him for a quick peck on the cheek. “Go on. Run home before I change my mind.”
Six
“I like it,” Jo Ann said. “The way you changed that first kissing scene under the mistletoe is a stroke of genius.” She smiled happily. “This is exactly the kind of rewriting you’ll need to turn that rejection into a sale. You’ve taken Michael and made him proud and passionate, but very real and spontaneous. He’s caught off guard by his attraction to Janice and is reacting purely by instinct.” Jo Ann tapped her fingers on the top page of the revised first chapter. “This is your most powerful writing yet.”
Bailey was so pleased she could barely restrain herself from leaping up and dancing a jig down the center of the congested subway-car aisle. Through sheer determination, she managed to confine her response to a smile.
“It’s interesting how coming at this scene from a slightly different angle puts everything in a new light, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Jo Ann concurred. “If the rest of the book reads as well as this chapter, I honestly think you might have a chance.”
It was too much to hope for. Bailey had spent the entire weekend in front of her computer. She must have rewritten the mistletoe scene no less than ten times, strengthening emotions, exploring the heady response Michael and Janice had toward each other. She’d worked hard to capture the incredulity they’d experienced, the shock of their unexpected fascination. Naturally, neither one could allow the other to know what they were feeling yet—otherwise Bailey wouldn’t have any plot.
Michael had been dark and brooding afterward. Janice had done emotional cartwheels in an effort to diminish the incident. But neither of them could forget it.
If the unable-to-forget part seemed particularly realistic, there was a reason. Bailey’s reaction to Parker had been scandalously similar to Janice’s feelings about Michael’s kiss. The incredulity was there. The wonder. The shock. And it never should have happened.
Unfortunately Bailey had suspected that even before she’d agreed to the “research.” Who did she think she was fooling? Certainly not herself. She’d wanted Parker to kiss her long before he’d offered her the excuse.
Halfway through their dinner, Bailey had experienced all the symptoms. She knew them well. The palpitating heart, the sweating palms, the sudden loss of appetite. She’d tried to ignore them, but as the meal had progressed she’d thought of little else.
Parker had gone suspiciously quiet, too. Then, later, he’d kissed her and everything became much, much worse. She’d felt warm and dizzy. A tingling sensation had slowly spread through her body. It seemed as though every cell in her body was a
ware of him. The sensations had been so overwhelming, she’d had to pretend nothing had happened. The truth was simply too risky.
“What made you decide to rework the scene that way?” Jo Ann asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Bailey stared at her friend and blinked rapidly.
“Bailey?” Jo Ann asked. “You look as if your mind’s soaring through outer space.”
“Uh…I was just thinking.”
“A dangerous habit for a writer. We can’t seem to get our characters out of our minds, can we? They insist on following us everywhere.”
Characters, nothing! It was Parker Davidson she couldn’t stop thinking about. As for the following part…Had her thoughts conjured him up? There he was, large as life, casually strolling toward them as though he’d sought her out. He hadn’t, she told herself sternly. Nonetheless she searched for him every morning. She couldn’t seem to help it. She’d never been so frighteningly aware of a man before, so eager—yet so reluctant to see him. Often she found herself scanning the faces around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Now here he was. Bailey quickly looked out the window into the tunnel’s darkness, staring at the reflections in the glass.
“Good morning, ladies,” Parker said jovially, standing directly in front of them, his feet braced slightly apart. The morning paper was tucked under his arm, and he looked very much as he had the first time she’d noticed him. Forceful. Appealing. Handsome.
“Morning,” Bailey mumbled. She immediately turned back to the window.
“Hello again,” Jo Ann replied warmly, smiling up at him.
For one wild second Bailey experienced a flash of resentment. Parker was her hero, not Jo Ann’s! Her friend was greeting him like a long-lost brother or something. But what bothered Bailey even more was how delighted she felt. These were the very reactions she’d been combating all weekend.
“So,” Parker said smoothly, directing his words to Bailey, “have you followed any strange men around town lately?”
She glared at him, annoyed at the way his words drew the attention of those sitting nearby. “Of course not,” she snapped.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She’d just bet! She happened to glance at the man standing next to Parker. He was a distinguished-looking older gentleman who was peeking at her curiously over the morning paper.
“Did you rewrite the kissing scene?” Parker asked next.
The businessman gave up any pretense of reading, folded his paper and studied Bailey openly.
“She did a fabulous job of it,” Jo Ann said with a mentor’s pride.
“I was sure she would,” Parker remarked. A hint of a smile raised the corners of his mouth and made his eyes sparkle. Bailey wanted to demand that he cease and desist that very instant. “I suspect it had a ring of sincerity to it,” Parker added, his eyes meeting Bailey’s. “A depth, perhaps, that was missing in the first account.”
“It did,” Jo Ann confirmed, looking mildly surprised. “The whole scene is beautifully written. Every emotion, every sensation, is right there, so vividly described it’s difficult to believe the same writer is responsible for both versions.”
Parker’s expression reminded Bailey of Max when he’d discovered ground turkey in his dish instead of soggy cat food. His full sensuous mouth curved with satisfaction.
“I only hope Bailey can do as well with the dancing scene,” Jo Ann said.
“The dancing scene?” Parker asked intently.
“That’s several chapters later,” Bailey explained, jerking the manuscript out of Jo Ann’s lap. She shoved it inside a folder and slipped it into her spacious shoulder bag.
“It’s romantic the way it’s written, but there’s something lacking,” said Jo Ann. “Unfortunately I haven’t been able to put my finger on what’s wrong.”
“The problem is and always has been Michael,” Bailey inserted, not wanting the conversation to continue in this vein. She hoped her hero would forgive her for blaming her shortcomings as a writer on him.
“You can’t fault Michael for the dancing scene,” Jo Ann disagreed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but as I recall, Michael and Janice were manipulated—by Janice’s father—into attending a Pops concert. The only reason they went was that they couldn’t think of a plausible excuse.”
“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “A sixties rock group was performing.”
“Right. Then, as the evening went on, several couples from the audience started to dance. The young man sitting next to Janice asked her—”
“The problem is with Michael,” Bailey insisted again. She glanced hopefully at the older gentleman, but he just shrugged, eyes twinkling.
“What did Michael do that was so wrong?” Jo Ann asked with a puzzled frown.
“He…he should never have let Janice dance with another man,” Bailey said in a desperate voice.
“Michael could’t have done anything else,” Jo Ann argued, “otherwise he would’ve looked like a jealous fool.” She turned to Parker for confirmation.
“I may be new to this hero business, but I can’t help agreeing.”
Bailey was irritated with both of them. This was her story and she’d write it as she saw fit. However, she refrained from saying so—just in case they were right. She needed time to mull over their opinions.
The train screeched to a halt and people surged toward the door. Bailey noted, gratefully, that this was Parker’s stop.
“I’ll give you a call later,” he said, looking directly into Bailey’s eyes. He didn’t wait for a response.
He knew she didn’t want to hear from him. She was frightened. Defensive. Guarded. With good reason. Only he didn’t fully understand what that reason was. But a man like Parker wouldn’t let her attitude go unchallenged.
“He’s going to call you.” Jo Ann sighed enviously. “Isn’t that thrilling? Doesn’t that excite you?”
Bailey shook her head, contradicting everything she was feeling inside. “Excite me? Not really.”
Jo Ann frowned at her suspiciously. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Bailey answered with calm determination. She’d strolled down the path of romantic delusion twice before, but this time her eyes were wide open. Romance was wonderful, exciting, inspiring—and it was best limited to the pages of a well-crafted novel. Men, at least the men in her experience, inevitably proved to be terrible disappointments. Painful disappointments.
“Don’t you like Parker?” Jo Ann demanded. “I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s hero material. You recognized it immediately, even before I did. Remember?”
Bailey wasn’t likely to forget. “Yes, but that was in the name of research.”
“Research?” Jo Ann cocked her eyebrows in flagrant disbelief. “Be honest, Bailey. You saw a whole lot more than Michael in Parker Davidson. You’re not the type of woman who dashes off subways to follow a man. Some deep inner part of your being was reaching out to him.”
Bailey forced a short laugh. “I hate to say it, Jo Ann, but I think you’ve been reading too many romances lately.”
Jo Ann shrugged in a lie-to-yourself-if-you-insist manner. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
Nevertheless, her friend had given Bailey something to ponder.
The writing didn’t go well that evening. Bailey, dressed in warm gray sweats, sans makeup and shoes, sat in front of her computer, staring blankly at the screen. “Inspiration is on vacation,” she muttered, and that bit of doggerel seemed the best she could manage at the moment. Her usual warmth and humor escaped her. Every word she wrote sounded flat. She was tempted to erase the entire chapter.
Max, who had appointed himself the guardian of her printer, was curled up fast asleep on top of it. Bailey had long ago given up trying to keep him off. She’d quickly surrendered and taken to folding a towel over the printer to protect its internal workings from cat hair. Whenever she needed to print out a chapter, she nudged him awake; Max was always put out by the inconvenience and let her k
now it.
“Something’s wrong,” she announced to her feline companion. “The words just aren’t flowing.”
Max didn’t reveal the slightest concern. He stretched out one yellow striped leg and examined it carefully, then settled down for another lengthy nap. He was fed and content and that was all that mattered.
Crossing her ankles, Bailey leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head. Chapter two of Forever Yours was just as vibrant and fast-paced as chapter one. But chapter three…She groaned and re-read Paula Albright’s letter for the umpteenth time, wanting desperately to capture the feelings and emotions the editor had suggested.
The phone rang in the kitchen, startling her. Bailey sighed irritably, then got up and rushed into the other room.
“Hello,” she said curtly, realizing two important things at the same time. The first was how unfriendly and unwelcoming she sounded, and the second…the second was that she’d been unconsciously anticipating this call the entire evening.
“Hello,” Parker returned in an affable tone. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by her disagreeable mood. “I take it you’re working, but from the sound of your voice I’d guess the rewrite isn’t going well.”
“It’s coming along nicely.” Bailey didn’t know why she felt the need to lie. She was immediately consumed by guilt, then tried to disguise that by being even less friendly. “In fact, you interrupted a critical scene. I have so little time to write as it is, and my evenings are important to me.”
There was an awkward silence. “Then I won’t keep you,” Parker said with cool politeness.
“It’s just that it would be better if you didn’t phone me.” Her explaining didn’t seem to improve the situation.
“I see,” he said slowly.
And Bailey could tell that he did understand. She’d half expected him to argue, or at least attempt to cajole her into a more responsive mood. He didn’t.
“Why don’t you call me when you have a free moment,” was all he said.
“I will,” she answered, terribly disappointed and not sure why. It was better this way, with no further contact between them, she reminded herself firmly. “Goodbye, Parker.”
Be My Valentine Page 14
