Get There: (Originally Published in the Print Anthology a RED HOT VALENTINE'S DAY)

by Megan Hart

  Get There

  Megan Hart

  An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  Dedication

  To Superman, for being such a good sport. To JRA and JTP, for being such good inspiration—yes, it IS because you are so awesome. To the Bootsquad and my fellow Mavericks for the crit: I can’t ever do this without you all.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Get There

  An Excerpt from “Nothing Else Matters”

  About the Author

  Also by Megan Hart

  An Excerpt from Seduced by the Gladiator by Lauren Hawkeye

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Get There

  I could get there by bus. Watch the country go by in ribbons of brown and green as we pass by towns the names of which don’t matter, because they’re not yours. The clatter-clack will lull me to sleep and I’ll dream of you. The mountains will become your breasts, the hills the slope of your hips, and the valleys . . . the valleys will turn into that sweet valley between your thighs, and I’ll wake with an erection hard enough to bore tunnels. And then, when I get there, all I’ll have to do is lay you down and fill you up with all of me.

  Because you’ve already filled me with all of you.

  Edie Darowish folded the note card closed and pressed it to her smile for a second before putting it aside in the “keep” pile. That one was twice the size of the “toss” pile, but she couldn’t bear to throw away even one of Ty’s letters. It didn’t matter that in just a couple weeks they’d be together again, this time for good. Having Ty in person would be infinitely better than having only his words, but these letters were important, too.

  He always said his strength was with drawing and not prose. He sent her lots of sketches, sometimes cute and funny cartoons and other times breath-stealing sensual line drawings, so the rarity of his written communication was doubly precious. Not to mention sexy as all get-out. Ty might claim he was better with pictures than with words, but reading over what he’d written to her just a few months ago, Edie disagreed.

  The file box in front of her was still half full as she sifted through the memorabilia she’d collected over the past two years. She pulled out a handful of receipts from restaurants and hotels, places they’d gone on vacation. Each was a memory and a story all its own, but she tossed most of them in the trash. There really was only so much she could take with her all the way from California to Pennsylvania, and living with Ty would mean she didn’t have to keep every scrap any more.

  Edie worked until her joints ached from sitting cross-legged on the floor, but when she was done, she ended up with a bulging manila envelope of letters and drawings and a garbage bag stuffed with the rest. Not bad for a few hours’ work. She got up, stretching, and looked around at the stacks of file boxes she’d seal with tape and ship to the new house.

  She’d already sold her furniture except for the Art Deco Waterfall armoire, dresser, and vanity that had been hers since childhood and had already been shipped off along with most everything else. The rest hadn’t been worth much. She’d lived in this apartment for seven years and hadn’t ever bothered to do more than make it a place to sleep and eat and work. She had a truck from the local thrift store scheduled the day before her flight to come for all that was left and an appointment at the car dealership to sell her car, too. She’d buy a new one in Pennsylvania. Ty planned on driving a moving truck, his car towed behind, from Maine. They were going to get there on Valentine’s Day.

  Edie’s stretch turned into a little dance as she thought of it. They’d been officially a couple for two years but had never managed to spend a Valentine’s Day together. Christmas and New Year’s, yes, and once a memorable Fourth of July, but February was a bad time for both of them to get away. Not this year, though. This year she’d be with him, and no matter what they did, it was going to be romantic because they were together.

  She’d stripped her apartment down to bare walls and floors, but she hadn’t yet dismantled her office. She’d gotten rid of the desk and boxed up most of her paperwork and binders, but she wouldn’t be able to completely pack up her laptop and her current projects until she was ready to move. A glance at the clock told her it was time to talk to Ty.

  A scan of her instant messenger friends’ list showed her he hadn’t yet logged on, so she checked through her e-mail and visited the Runner message board just to keep herself updated. As usual, the new threads had accumulated during the day while old ones got bumped to the next page. Edie didn’t read all the messages, most of which were squeals about the show’s longtime star, Justin Ross, and this season’s new costar, Tristan Winsam. The boys got most of the attention at the board with only a handful of threads dedicated to the show’s other aspects, but one header caught her eye.

  Runner Wedding, did you hear?

  Her cursor hovered over the thread, but Edie hesitated before clicking. She liked checking in to keep up with what the fans were saying, but she ignored most of the board’s messages because reading about how stupid her plotlines were when they didn’t involve Justin taking off his shirt, or how much fans hated the episodes she’d written solo wasn’t exactly great inspiration. Finding the threads that praised her and her work on the show’s long-running mythology, or the fact she was the one to introduce the love story into the plot, were a thrill, but she’d been burned a few too many times to risk wading through the less-than-complimentary reviews just to find a nugget of squee.

  Curiosity won out, and she clicked.

  And laughed.

  And blushed.

  The facts weren’t exactly spot-on, but that was all right. She didn’t really want the Runner fan community knowing exactly where she and Ty were moving or when they were getting married. She might not be as popular as Ross and Winsam, but she’d learned her lesson about the lengths fans would go in order to get close to their idols. Some of them wouldn’t hesitate at trying to get close to one of the show’s writers in hopes of getting an introduction to the stars.

  The comments following the initial post were full of congratulations and speculation, but one thing stood out. All the posters knew that Edie, one of Runner’s senior writers, and Tynan Murphy, illustrator of the first three Runner graphic tie-in novels, had met on this very message board during a promotional discussion about the novels before they were released. Which of course led to the inevitable rumors that Ross and Winsam actually read and posted on the message board and had even asked one of the fans out on a date last year.

  When she got that far into the conversation, Edie, who knew for a fact neither of the boys bothered reading the boards, logged off. She’d never thought she and Ty would make gossip headlines, but it just proved again how rabid the show’s fan base was, that they’d grab up and tear apart any scrap of Runner-related information. Not that she really minded, in the long run. The show had been her bread and butter for four years, after all. And it had introduced her to Ty.

  See the latest? Ty’s message window popped up with a familiar doink sound. We’re big news on the board.

  I saw. I didn’t know we were getting married on set, or that Justin and Tristan were going to be your dual best men. When did you plan to tell me that?

  Ty’s smiley face emoticon could never replace the sound of his laugh, but seeing it, Edie smiled, too. Typing couldn’t replace the sound of his voice, either, but they’d agreed daily instant message sessions were better than expensive long-distance phone bills or staticky cell-phone calls. Maintaining a long-dis
tance relationship would have been impossible without the Internet, but then without the Net, they’d never even have met.

  Can’t wait to wake up with you in the same bed, she typed.

  Can’t wait to wake up with you in the same time zone.

  With Edie in California and Ty in Maine, their conversations were never long enough. The time differences had always played havoc even though they were often able to set their own schedules. Even when they were able to get together physically, adjusting to the time changes had been interesting.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard. No more falling asleep on me when I want to get frisky?

  No. I promise.

  Just a couple weeks.

  Seems like forever.

  And it did, though not compared to how long it had been during the six months between the night Ty had slipped the diamond-and-emerald engagement ring on her finger and the day she’d finally learned the network had decided this would be Runner’s final season, or the month following that before she’d found a new job. Writing for a popular spoof-news show based in New York wasn’t going to be anything like writing for a popular sci-fi program, but the location had sold her. Not quite midway between them, but close to her family in Pennsylvania. When a prominent Philadelphia newspaper had expressed interest in running Ty’s work on a semi-exclusive basis, the move had been a no-brainer. They’d bought a house in suburban Philly. It was going to happen, at last!

  Everything work out okay with the realtor?

  Edie could type almost as fast as she could talk. Yep. She got my stuff delivered and will have the keys waiting for us at the office. All utilities will be on, too.

  You mean we won’t have to make our own heat?

  Perv.

  You like me that way.

  I love you that way, Edie typed.

  They chatted a bit longer about their work, about the new house, and the wedding plans. All the sorts of conversation any engaged couple had, the only difference the distance still between them. Too soon it was time for them to log off.

  But Edie had one more question for him before she did.

  So, she typed, how are we going to get there?

  We could get there by train.

  And then he was off line.

  Edie tapped her finger thoughtfully on her computer mouse as she read over Ty’s last message. Train? She tried to think if she’d ever been on a train aside from the one at Disneyland.

  “You bugger,” she murmured.

  The blue glare of her computer bathed her desk. She stared so long her screensaver, a slideshow of pictures pulled from her photo library, kicked on. She watched Ty’s familiar grin fade into a stock shot she’d used while writing the time-travel episode. The couple in the picture were now somebody’s grandparents, but back then they’d been young and in love, their attraction palpable even through the layers of time and digitization. He wore a World War II–era navy uniform and she perched on his lap, one hand on her head to keep her hat in place.

  “Train, huh? All right, buddy. Here’s your train.” With a grin of her own, Edie bent over her keyboard and began to type.

  “All aboard!” The conductor walked up and down the platform, shouting the words over and over.

  Edie stood as the gust of wind buffeted her skirt around her legs and threatened to take her hat, that cunning little number with the half veil. She’d bought it because she knew Ty would like it. But now she was here, and where was Ty?

  “All aboard! Miss, the train is boarding. If you mean to be on it . . .” The conductor gave her a thorough looking-over, the sort a gal couldn’t miss.

  Edie looked up and down the platform once more. She saw a couple soldiers being kissed and wept over and a single sailor in white slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. But not the right sailor. Not Ty.

  “The train—”

  “Yes, yes, thank you,” she said, and climbed aboard with her ticket clutched in one gloved hand.

  She’d booked a sleeper car. The tiny compartment had a bed that folded up along the wall, two small seats facing each other with a minuscule table between them and a few hooks where she could hang her coat. The floor vibrated as the train pulled out of the station. Through the window, Edie watched the gray gravel turn to green grass as the train picked up speed.

  Tears threatened, and she lifted her chin, determined not to cry. Her mascara would run. But, oh, what did it matter if Ty wasn’t there to see it?

  And then, he was.

  The door bumped open and she turned as Ty stumbled in, hat in one hand and hair askew from the same wind that had tugged her skirt. Panting, he pushed the door shut behind him and took her in his arms. Then his mouth was on hers and her arms were around his neck.

  “Thought I wasn’t going to make it, huh, doll?” Ty drew back from her mouth just long enough to grin before diving back in.

  Edie pushed him away, just a bit. “That was awfully mean, Ty. I was worried!”

  “Aw, honey. You know I’d never miss this. Not our honeymoon.”

  He looked so handsome in his uniform there was no way she could be angry with him. Not when his mouth was on hers again and his hands had begun roving so deliciously on her back. Edie ran her fingers through his hair, which was much too short for her tastes, then clung to him with her face buried against the crisp white front of his shirt.

  “Hey, hey, doll, don’t cry.” Ty lifted her chin with a fingertip. “Aw hell, honey. You were really frightened, weren’t you?”

  “All I could think of was what if you missed the train? Then you’d go off to sea and I’d have to wait—”

  “I’m sorry.” Ty stopped her with another kiss. “I had to stop and pick up something special for my best girl. Don’t be sore, honey.”

  His fingers drifted up her sides until his thumbs rested just below her breasts, and suddenly all that mattered wasn’t where he’d been, but that he was here, now. Ty’s eyes flashed, and the mouth she so loved parted, giving her a glimpse of his tongue between those straight, white teeth.

  Suddenly, all Edie could think about was what Ty could do with that tongue.

  “Let’s see what we can do about this bed, what do you say?” Edie glanced over her shoulder at the latch keeping the bed held tight against the wall.

  Ty grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

  He studied the mechanism only a moment before figuring out how to undo the latch and lower the bunk. It creaked and wouldn’t quite go into place until he shoved it, and Edie eyed it dubiously. The wrinkled coverlet looked clean, at least.

  “It’s not very big,” she said.

  Ty, sitting, held out his arms. “We’ll have plenty of room.”

  She let him take her onto his lap. He kissed her, his mouth gentler now. His lips teased hers open, and when his tongue swept inside, Edie sighed. She wanted to capture every moment so she’d have something to hold onto in the long, lonely months ahead.

  “Touch me, Ty.”

  He did, his hands running over the soft fabric of her new skirt and blouse, purchased especially for this trip. His fingers cupped her knee, then moved higher over the smooth nylon stockings—a gift from him that had made her the envy of all her girlfriends, who had to suffer with old stockings or none at all. When his hand reached the band of her garter, he stopped to trace the line where flesh and fabric met.

  Edie shivered. Her thighs parted. “Put your hands on me, Ty. Please.”

  Ty groaned and slid his hand higher until his palm cupped her heat. He toyed with the lacy edge of her panties and then, oh yes, he slid a finger inside to touch her. He groaned into her mouth as his tongue stabbed her. His finger moved along her folds, slick with desire, and found the secret places that made her feel so good.

  “Baby, I want you naked.” Ty shifted her on his lap so she could feel his hot, hard length pressing her hip. “Get naked for me.”

  Edie stood. The train clack-clattered and she shifted with the motion. Her hips swayed as she unpinned her hat and t
ossed it to the chair and as she unbuttoned her blouse. She shrugged out of it and tossed that at Ty, who grabbed it with a laugh. His eyes shone, reflecting her. She’d never felt so beautiful.

  Her hand went to the button and zipper of her skirt, and she eased out of it until she stood in her brassiere and panties and garter belt, wearing the stockings he’d bought her and her nicest shoes. Ty’s tongue slid along his lips and again, Edie shivered. Her nipples peaked and she cocked a hip forward as she favored him with a saucy grin worthy of Lana Turner.

  “Well, sailor. Like what you see?”

  “I love what I see.”

  Edie let the train move her almost in a burlesque dance, a dirty little bump and grind. Her hips moved side to side. Ty’s grin encouraged her and she added a little shimmy-shake.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

  She had fallen in love with his smile, but she’d stayed in love with him because of his words.

  “Come here,” Ty said.

  She took the hand he offered. Ty pulled her closer until she stood between his legs. He pressed his face to the narrow stripe of her belly between her bra and panties. His breath, hot, gusted over her skin. She squirmed at the wet flicker of his tongue.

  Ty’s hands cupped her rear as he kissed each hip. He tipped his head to look up at her and she ran her fingers again through his hair. He smiled before ducking back to nuzzle her.

  With careful hands, Ty unclipped her garters and rolled her stockings down, one at a time, lifting her feet to take off her shoes, too. Then he unhooked the garter belt and laid it aside. When he put his hand between her legs, the thumb pressing her in the front and his fingers stroking the softness of her panties, Edie had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep herself from falling.

  “So pretty,” Ty murmured as he eased her panties over her hips and helped her step out of them, too.

  Next came her bra, tossed without fanfare, and Edie stood naked in front of her husband.