Clint joined her carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming coffee, a few packets of artificial sweetener and a carton of Half and Half. He sat the tray on the ottoman.
"Nothing fancy, I'm afraid,” he said with a shrug. “What do you take in it?"
"Just cream, thanks."
He poured the cream and then offered her a stoneware mug. “This should warm you up."
"Thanks."
She met his gaze when she took the mug from his outstretched hands. Bless his heart. There was something honorable and old-fashioned about this hunk of a man. She loved the way he had rescued her. Cradling the mug with her hands, she smiled as she let the steam from the coffee stroke her face.
"What's so funny?” He settled back into the easy chair next to the fireplace.
"I was thinking about the look on that reporter's face when you pushed him into the snow."
"Served the sucker right.” Clint sipped his coffee. “I'm sorry you had to go through that."
She let out a sigh. “I'm used to it."
"But you shouldn't be. It's not right for people to act like that and disrespect people."
"It goes with being in Hollywood."
"Why do you stay there then?"
His question was blunt and at the same time personal. He probably didn't mean it that way, but it was. Why did she stay? Because she had no place else to go. It was a hell of a thing to realize that her whole life was a sham.
* * * *
Exasperation jarred him. Clint took another sip of coffee to hide his ire. Why didn't she leave Hollywood if she wasn't happy there? Why didn't she come home? Folks weren't so fancy in Legend, but they were real folks, honest and sincere. They stuck together and liked each other, for the most part.
But then again, Dawn had always been different. Aloof. Special. For a long time he had thought it didn't matter and admired that quality in her. However, seeing her so unhappy, he wished she would be satisfied with Legend's humble ways. Damn! He wished she would be satisfied with him.
Shame slammed him hard. He had told her he loved her. It was a stupid thing to have done, but it was how he felt.
Clint sat his coffee mug on the tray and rose. Looking down at her, he reminded himself of his earlier resolve. Loving Dawn Smith was his problem. Where had it gotten him? Years ago she inspired him with her ambition, and he had a thriving car business, in part because he wanted to be able to support Dawn if things ever worked out. But he was lonely. Time was passing him by. He had loved her so long it was hard to give up.
But he would. He hated marking time. Hated the obsession clawing at him. He didn't want to be mad at himself or Dawn.
Turning his back on her, he stared at the fire, the blue natural gas flame almost hidden under a fake log. That's what his love for Dawn was like. Fake. Not the kind of love he wanted.
He turned to face her. “I told you I loved you tonight."
She looked up, curiosity in her eyes and something more. Fear? He wasn't going to press her again and he wasn't going to stick around forever.
He shook his head and continued, “Real love must be give and take. It's useless to love somebody and never get anything in return. I'm done with it, Dawn. I can't continue loving a dream."
She didn't say anything, just gazed up at him like a wounded child. His heart sank. He didn't want to hurt her, but he was taking action for himself. And he meant it this time.
"I'm going to get some sleep,” he said. “I'll drive you home in the morning."
Full of rage and disappointment by her lack of reaction, but also filled with a sense of purpose, Clint left Dawn on the sofa. He climbed the steps to his bedroom loft, never looking back.
* * * *
Where had that come from? Dawn gaped at Clint in surprise, the first shards of anger splintering her heart. How dare he? He couldn't drive her home. That was Aunt Harriet's house, not hers. Was he going to drive her all the way back to Malibu?
But the sterile, silver and black decorated house she had shared with Randy wasn't home. Not like this bachelor pad of Clint's. Real life happened here, unlike the pretense of love and devotion she had put up with for years.
Dawn frantically clutched the orange and white blanket around her. Cold. Scared. Heart sick. She had been divorced from Randy for two years and their home remained the same. Still perfect and neat as if a photographer from House Beautiful would show up any minute for a photo shoot.
She never put her feet up on her sofa at home. At Jane's house, her family home on Oak Street, she had always been allowed to put her feet on the furniture.
Tears welled in her eyes and this time she didn't hold them back. They spilled down her cheeks, a torrent of misery finally set free.
For so long, her life had spun out of control. She couldn't stop Randy's fling with the teenager, or prevent Chris’ overdose. Her career was probably over. She was alone. How had the illusion of being in control and playacting sustained her? The dream was no longer enough. She wanted something solid and real. Something—or someone—like Clint.
If she went to him again, she would be admitting she couldn't make it on her own any longer. She would be admitting defeat. The loss of her dreams.
The truth was a harsh bedfellow.
Dawn scrubbed her cheeks dry with the palms of her hands. Tossing off the blanket, she uncurled her legs and climbed to her feet. Her gaze strayed up the steps and she bit her lip, the last of her indecision vanishing.
Tonight she didn't want to be alone. She wanted more than a dream.
Lead by the noise of a shower running, she opened a bathroom door and was met by a wall of steam and the sharp, woody fragrance of men's soap. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation, Clint's nude shadow against the frosted glass shower door caused her to pause.
What were the consequences of tonight? Somehow the only thing that mattered was that this was right. This time. This man. Making love. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense.
Hastily stripping off her clothes, she crossed the tiled floor. She opened the glass door and stepped into the shower stall.
Water hit Clint's face and sluiced over his body. He lifted his head suddenly and spun around, bumping into her. He stared at her, water striking the back of his head, droplets cascading down his face.
The steam made it hard for Dawn to breath. Or was it Clint? His very maleness tempted her. A sweet burn began between her thighs. They stood staring at each other, transfixed.
"What does this mean?” he said, his voice croaking.
"It means I want you."
Dawn glanced down at the proof of his desire. She smiled in victory and took the bath sponge from his hand. With soft strokes, she circled Clint's wet nipples and chest hair with the soapy sponge. He sucked in a quick, ragged breath.
Spurred on by his desire, her need flared. She burned with fever. Air had trouble finding her lungs. Clint crushed her to him and took her mouth roughly against his. He was slick and slippery, the whole length of him hard. Dawn responded like a woman—teasing him, touching him, urging him on.
"Damn!” he said against her lips. “Why do you do this to me?"
He hit the faucet with his hand to turn off the water and scooped her into his arms, carrying her into his bedroom. He dropped her to her feet and yanked the navy comforter from his bed, leaving a vast sea of crisp navy sheets on the massive king size bed. Bending over, he pulled open a bedside drawer.
"This time I'm prepared,” he said with a laugh.
Slipping on protection, Clint wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down with him on the bed. She settled on top of him, straddling his thighs, and rubbed her fiery spot against him. Back and forth. Back and forth.
He groaned.
With her hands by the side of his head and her arms locked for balance, Dawn lowered her mouth, capturing his lips like a woman possessed. His response equaled hers, surpassed it, and he conquered her tongue like a warrior knight.
She was wet inside, and hot with pass
ion. She wanted it—fast—almost as if to signify the reality of their lovemaking. Positioning herself, she directed him inside and pushed down, letting him fill her with a satisfying fullness.
"Ah, Dawn."
Clint's gaze caressed her, bathing her with love, and then his eyes grew pained with desire. Dawn gulped air, watching him, enjoying his torment. Slowly she moved up and down. Undulating with the power of her womanhood. He writhed beneath her. She broke out in sweat, her breath coming in quick gasps.
She selfishly managed his growing excitement. It felt good to be in control again. Clint thrust into her and she pressed harder on him, causing him to moan her name.
"I can't stop!” he cried out in panic, his eyes flying open.
"Me either,” she laughed in triumph.
"No!"
Dawn shut her eyes as Clint shuddered beneath her, and bearing down, rubbing harder, she brought her own passion to its culminating peak in a soft groan of exploding release.
Her arms were suddenly incapable of holding her. She collapsed along the length of him with him still inside.
"Oh, Dawn, I love you,” Clint murmured into the tangle of her hair. “Marry me. I don't care where we live. I'll go with you anywhere."
"Shush.” She kissed his ear. “We'll talk about it in the morning. Get some sleep."
By the time Clint's breathing had grown regular in sleep, Dawn's heart had stopped beating wildly. She turned her head to look at his relaxed face, the angular plane of his cheekbones, and the soft pout of his mouth.
Snuggling up near his neck, she whispered, “I love you too."
And she was filled with a deep fear.
* * * *
Hours ticked by on the blue digital clock, but Dawn couldn't sleep. She sat up in bed, threw off the sheet and quietly slipped away. In the bathroom she found a man's navy terry cloth robe. She put on the oversized robe, relishing its heavy softness and the familiar smell of Clint. Padding across the hall to where she had seen an office, she turned on the overhead light and sank into the desk chair. Wiggling the mouse, she brought Clint's computer to life.
It was Christmas morning and she was at the biggest crossroads of her life. No one had ever loved her like Clint. She knew that with the certainty of equal love. But if she married him, her life would never be the same. What did she really want? Fame in Hollywood or marriage to Clint in Legend?
What's more, there was no way she would drag this small town guy with her to the bright lights of Hollywood. It wasn't fair to subject him to the paparazzi. The reporter from Gossip Magazine was just the tip of the iceberg. More importantly, it wasn't fair to Clint because she couldn't have children. He was good with children. He would be a great father. She couldn't do that to him.
Fine time to develop a conscience.
Dawn clicked the shortcut to launch Internet Explorer. She often surfed the Internet when bored or troubled, checking blogs and online magazines like Gossip. Tonight a sense of contrariness made her Google Candice Price's name. The bitch was pregnant again. Not much of a surprise.
As she read the screaming headlines of Gossip's online site, Dawn sat forward and squinted at the monitor. Another scandal was raging and Candice was smack dab in the middle of it. She was pregnant again, with twins. Ironic. And the father was actor Ballard Romaine who was also the father of her first son.
"What?"
Dawn slapped her hand across her mouth. Old randy Randy was the father, wasn't he? What was she missing? Scrolling down she read about the dirty little triangle, Randy crying foul, denouncing his teenage bride as a whore and begging for Dawn to return.
Life sure had a way of taking funny turns. Why wasn't she laughing?
The phone beside the computer rang and Dawn snatched it up, afraid the sound would awaken Clint.
"Clint?"
"No, Graham, this is Dawn."
"Thank goodness! I was worried about you."
"How are Jane and the baby?” Nothing else mattered she realized. All this drama surrounding her ex and his wife were meaningless. Suddenly Hollywood seemed shallow and obscene.
"Jane's fine. She's sleeping now. The delivery was easy."
"And the baby?"
"A healthy eight pounds, three ounces and nineteen inches long."
Dawn heard the pride in Graham's voice. “Congratulations. That's a fine baby."
"He's perfect, Dawn. I can't wait for you to see him."
"I can't wait either.” She clung to the receiver, overpowered by a surge of love.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"We heard about the ruckus that reporter caused. Good for Clint for taking care of him and you."
"Yes, Clint takes care of me."
"He's a good man, Dawn. You can't do much better."
"I know,” she said softly.
Graham hung up and she replaced the receiver. Her heart ached from so much turmoil and indecision. She was tired of it. Tired of her life. Tired of being lonely. She wanted a future and she wanted to do this new life differently.
"Did I hear the phone ring?"
Dawn looked up to see a tousle haired, ex-football player standing at the door. He was naked except for a pair of white boxer shorts with “ho, ho, ho!” written across the front in red lettering.
In that split second, Dawn gave up her past. Slowly rising to her feet, her hands flat on the surface of the desk, she stared at him as a rush of understanding rocked her. She had spent her whole life pretending to be someone she was not and as a result, she had lost herself. But she no longer needed to make herself over into someone else, because Clint loved her just the way she was.
"Are you okay? Was that Graham? How's Jane?” Clint fired off questions in quick succession, finally coming awake.
"Yes, yes and fine.” Dawn came around the desk. “Caleb is fine too."
Another realization hit her. Her ex didn't father the teenager's babies.
Maybe it was Randy's fault they never had children. Not hers. Maybe she could give Clint the family he deserved.
A big grin spread across her face.
"What?” he sounded confused.
She walked toward him. “Do you remember what you asked me three hours ago?"
His eyes narrowed. He hesitated. “I think I said something about marriage."
"I accept!"
Dawn sprang into his arms and he reacted quickly, encircling her in a big, bear-like hug.
"What did you say?"
"I said I will marry you and I'm staying in Legend with you and Jane and Graham and Caleb. You're going to coach Caleb in football and our son too.” She couldn't stop talking. All the hopes and dreams she had never allowed herself to have came tumbling out. “Maybe we'll have a daughter. Maybe twins! One of each! I can open a local theater in the Old Meeting House and start a group of thespian players."
"Stop!” Clint laughed aloud. “You talk too much, you silly girl."
But she couldn't stop. The ideas were flowing and so was the love she had for this big, loyal man. “This house is perfect and has plenty of space. I won't even redecorate a bit of it."
"Hush!"
Clint crushed her mouth with his. Dawn sighed into it, feeling safe and secure.
"I can't believe this,” he muttered moments later. “But I can get used to the idea. I love you, Dawn Smith."
"And I love you too, Santa,” she whispered. “Merry Christmas."
The End
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About the Author
Jan Scarbrough lives in Louisville, Kentucky, along with two dogs and four cats. Dreams do come true! On January 2, 2000, she married Bill, her soul mate.
When she's not writing, Jan takes riding lessons every week on her favorite horse, the American Saddlebred. She also volunteers at The Luci Center, a therapeutic riding center.
Jan says, “The process of becoming a published author has been fun. My best friends are fellow writers. Who else will check a point plot for me or understand
GMC and POV?"
Jan Scarbrough is a member of Novelists, Inc., Romance Writers of America and the Kentucky Romance Writers, where she served as president, secretary, and newsletter editor. Jan is currently the web mistress of the KYRW chapter's award-winning web site.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Also available from Resplendence Publishing:
The Fine Art of Kissing by Catherine Chernow
What happens when the King of Truth, America's top, no-spin journalist and popular talk-show host meets the Love Doctor—everyone's favorite relationship guru and kissing expert?
Julie Wilson is America's favorite relationship guru. She writes a book about kissing, creating a media sensation. Brad O'Malley, popular talk-show host, wants to interview Julie. She refuses, knowing Brad O'Malley places his guests in the ‘hot seat.’ In retaliation, he steals a kiss from Julie at her book signing. The kiss ignites Julie's senses—and her popularity. She agrees to appear on ‘O'Malley's Corner’ and boldly announces that she's kissed a hundred men to research her book.
Brad's ratings soar, but Julie will soon regret her ‘hundred men’ lie when he offers her a regular spot on his show ... and a hefty salary. Julie accepts, knowing the generous offer will help the local women's shelter she volunteers at, but will she be able endure the arrogant Brad O'Malley ... and her growing attraction to him? Sealing the bargain with another mind-blowing kiss, sparks fly as Julie and Brad go head-to-head, and delve into ... the fine art of kissing.
e-book: $6.50, Print: $15.99
[Back to Table of Contents]
More than Words by Kelly Kirch
Kylie Dobson is a romance author with a problem. As a seat-of-the-pants writer, she depends on the strength of the characters to drive her plot. But when her hero, Milo, Lord Gafton refuses to chase after the prescribed heroine, everything goes wonky. Kylie is inexplicably sucked into her work of fiction, transported from a contemporary venue to a fictional Regency setting. What's worse is, nothing she does is affecting the plot and she can't get out.
Set into motion by her own creative process is a winter storm which seals the Regency party goers in on a country estate. If that wasn't bad enough, a murderer is on the loose and he's picking off one guest at a time. The more time she spends with Milo the more she comes to depend on him. She's convinced that his character sketch will kick in at any moment and he'll fall for her heroine. But will it happen before she loses her heart to him? And what happens when the plot draws to the end? Will the killer have his way and will Kylie solve the case only to be returned to her reality without the man she's fallen for?
Santa's Kiss [Book Three in the Ladies of Legend Christmas Anthology] Page 6
