One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  It wasn’t until they arrived in the mall’s main court that she realized just how well the elements she had envisioned months ago had come together. Three twenty-foot-high banners hung behind a stage; two were valentine-red expanses reading “CrownCraft ROCKs ROMANCE” and the third, in the middle, bore the image of her face looking up into Nick’s. The stage had baskets of red roses to be distributed to attendees later and a DJ from a sponsoring radio station was warming up the crowd with drawings and fun facts about Valentine’s snafus.

  The court was full and the railings of the walkways above were lined with onlookers. There were even handmade signs saying “We Nick” and “Stackman Rules” carried by young women pushing strollers.

  It was difficult getting through the crowd to the stage, even escorted by mall security officers. Nick paused to survey the banners and staging, then bent toward Sam, seeming a little stunned.

  “The place is packed,” he said, shaking his head. “Is somebody giving away a car or something?”

  “This is for you, Nick.” She had to half shout in order to be heard. “They’re your fans. Just like me.” She met his eyes for a moment that seemed like an eternity. “They love you.”

  A dazed grin burst over his face and he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her hard against his side before pulling her through the crowd with him. When they reached the stage, he pointed to the front corner then bolted up the steps. She paused to flash her CrownCraft credentials and ask an event staffer if the guitar and amp she had ordered were ready. The staffer checked in with someone on his radio and then pointed to a couple of sizable amps and an electrified acoustic guitar propped against a stool at the rear of the stage.

  The audience responded noisily to the DJ’s introduction. She headed for the front corner where Nick could see her, and was riveted by the sight of him opening his arms to greet the crowd. Tall, tautly muscled and dressed in black, he cut an unforgettable figure. When he spoke—his voice deep, earnest and sexy beyond belief—the women in the crowd giggled and groaned.

  As the radio interview began, the attendees quieted, trying to hear. Nick was asked the usual questions: his favorite songs, inspirations for his albums, where he lived and if there was a special lady in his life.

  There Nick paused and gestured to the banner behind him, giving a wicked laugh. “What do you think?”

  “Well, who is she, this mystery woman?” the DJ asked, getting the crowd to applaud agreement.

  “We’re not ready to go public yet,” Nick said. “But maybe soon.”

  There was audible disappointment, but then somebody from the back called out a question that the DJ picked up and repeated.

  “Where’ve you been, Nick?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he responded.

  “Living large and learnin’ lessons, man. Learning lessons.”

  He smiled at how easy it was to admit. And just like that, something clicked and he knew—he was back in the groove.

  The interview went on for a bit longer, then the DJ asked Nick for a favor—that he sing into one of CrownCraft’s new recordable cards so he could give it to his own girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. Nick obliged, giving his signature line, “Yeah, bay-beee,” all he had. The crowd loved it when it was played back. In fact, it was so successful that he did a couple more as giveaways for audience members, autographing them.

  When the bomb came, Nick was having so much fun, he barely realized he’d been blindsided at first.

  “So what are you going to sing for us, Nick?”

  “Sing?” Nick chuckled at first, looking around. “This is an appearance, not a concert.” That drew good-natured disappointment, but disappointment all the same.

  “But that’s what everybody came for. A song or two.” The DJ turned to the crowd. “Right, people?”

  Nick glanced at the faces of the crowd as they whistled and yelled.

  “Without sound system or backup? I don’t even have a guitar.”

  “Au contraire, Stackman,” the DJ crowed, waving to the guitar and amps being brought forward by mall staffers. “We happen to have your favorite model right here.”

  Spotlights came out of nowhere and after a moment’s consultation with the DJ, Nick shot a look at Sam, who nodded and smiled. After a few moments of preparation, he launched a rousing rendition of “Baby Tonight” that got the crowd going. The combination of the recorded version and his live voice made for a potent performance.

  The DJ reappeared when it was over and asked, “How about some of this new stuff we’ve been hearing about?” He invited the crowd into the discussion. “What about it? Want to hear some new Nick Stack?”

  Nick hadn’t experienced stage fright since he was in third grade, but the past few years he’d spent his time writing and practicing, telling himself the music wasn’t ready. He hadn’t tested his new sound in anything bigger than a club. He felt himself tensing, and somehow thought of Sam.

  “Okay, but I don’t just sing this song—I have to sing it to somebody. Somebody special.” His gaze focused like a heat-seeking missile on the corner of the stage where Sam stood. “And there she is.”

  He pulled her up the steps and seated her on the stool on the stage. She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, because she reached for his hand.

  “You can do this, Nick.” Her voice sank to that intimate, ear-tingling rasp that fired his blood. “Just do what you do. Play that song you played for me. Have fun and they’ll respond the way I do.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, drawing oooohs from the crowd.

  “Yeah,” he said, setting up a sensual rumble in the mike. “She looks familiar, doesn’t she?” And he glanced up at the backdrop and gave a low-down sexy laugh that evoked woohoos as the audience recognized her.

  He began rapping a familiar beat with his hand on the body of his electrified acoustic guitar and graduated to that odd combination of tapping strings and drumming that produced such an amazingly full sound. It was “Baby Tonight”—his jazz version—and it showcased his voice so well that even Sam’s jaw dropped.

  The rising murmur from the crowd changed to astonished applause. Soon the crowd was singing along and gyrating to the music, the atmosphere becoming part concert, part “rolling party.”

  They liked it. His whole being relaxed. And when it came time for another song, he knew exactly which one he wanted to play.

  THE MELODY SOUNDED familiar, but it took a minute for Sam to recognize the song he’d played for her at the hotel. She had to force herself to breathe as he spooled out a smooth set of lyrics.

  “Eye meeting eye is how it begins…dancing, then holding, dreams start unfolding…touch to touch, and skin to skin…when do you start to let somebody in? When you feel a heart beat…next to yours…When you feel body heat…next to yours….”

  She stiffened, gripping the edges of her seat, as she realized he was indeed singing it to her. Her skin broke out in goosebumps the way it had that day in the studio. It was part rock, part jazz and all Nick.

  “Body to body, you can’t pretend…kissing, sighing, a sweet kind of ‘dying’…we’re daylight and night, we’re prose and we’re rhyme…the yin and the yang—between, beyond time. Come on and let me feel your heart beat…next to mine…come and share your body heat…baby…next to mine…”

  By the time he got to the second break, her pulse was revved, her knees trembled from the strain of keeping them together and she felt herself sliding toward another sensual meltdown.

  It wasn’t just the music anymore. She looked up into his glowing face and silver eyes, and knew it was the man himself. For her, the music and the man were inseparable, and she wanted both with every fiber of her romantically susceptible being.

  The song ended, and the crowd erupted in response. She rushed to throw her arms around him. He was sweaty and breathing hard, but he picked her up and gave her a lusty kiss in front of everybody.

  The volleys of camera flashes and the glare of TV spotlights aime
d at them seemed to go on forever. Nick insisted she stay nearby while he posed with fans and signed a hundred autographs. When they were finally able to call a halt and exit the stage, she was practically flash-blind. As Nick steered her down the steps, a video camera and reporter for Entertainment Beat appeared out of nowhere.

  “Who’s the girlfriend, Nick? How long have you been together?”

  He slid his arms around her and pulled her back against him, giving them a sly, satisfied laugh for the camera.

  “Not for publication, guys,” he said genially. “And don’t bother asking the event staff. They don’t have a clue.”

  But they did have a clue, she wanted to protest. They knew exactly who she was—she had waved her CrownCraft ID at them earlier. By tomorrow she and Nick would be linked together in—television fanzines? The blogosphere? Internet gossip? Instead of being just an anonymous face on a poster, she’d be identified as his amour du jour.

  She looked up at Nick as the reporter left and found him wearing a too-innocent smile. That kiss, this pose—he wanted them to get the right idea. As Nick took her hand and pulled her along, toward the Galleria’s VIP room, she found herself marveling at the audacity of the man and at her own pleasure in it.

  When they got into the car, she found herself quizzing him on what he liked and what he didn’t about the venue and the way things were done. All the way back to the hotel, they talked about the possible impact of the publicity and the surprising turnout. Most important, he felt he’d truly reached the crowd. They had genuinely liked his new sound and wanted more.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice the fact that they had a stand-in for my guitar ready and had the sound system wired to go.”

  “I believe in being prepared.” She smiled primly.

  “Pushy broad, aren’t you?” He grinned.

  “I’m good at creating opportunities.” She sniffed.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, looking as if he were rocked to the bottom of his soul by that knowledge.

  “Oh, you could if you found some other marketing genius who believes devoutly in your talent and possibilities,” she said in mock seriousness. “But we’re not a dime a dozen. You better hang on to me.”

  “Excellent advice.” He laughed. Then he slipped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap, running his hands over her and tugging her close for a kiss. The hum of expectation in her blood slowly became a roar.

  They were going to have sex again, Sam thought, and her whole body reacted to the possibility. Her skin was suddenly aching for the hands-on sort of attention he excelled in providing. Images of fluffy duvets and piles of pillows…soft sheets…his hard body…the fireplace…unrolled like deep, sensual carpet in her mind. By the time they reached the hotel, she was squirming on the seat and getting rug burn from anticipation.

  They kissed feverishly in the elevator, then again in the hall, but when they reached his suite, she was struck sober by the impact of what was happening between them. He sensed it and kissed her fingers one by one, slowing the pace.

  “You realize,” she said tartly, “I’ve seen you twice in my life and both times have involved sex.”

  “Bodes well,” he said, “don’t you think?”

  When she reddened and looked a little conflicted he laughed.

  “Afraid I’ll think you’re easy?” He pulled her into his arms. “Actually, it’s not me you have to worry about in that regard. Someday, when our kids ask, you’ll have to be the one to tell them we had sex two out of the first three nights we knew each other. And if I hadn’t shown some restraint last night, it would have been three out of three.”

  “What?” She was astounded, then perversely thrilled. “Kids? Who said anything about kids?”

  “I thought you were the one who liked to be prepared.”

  “Well, yes, but there’s ‘prepared’ and there’s ‘cart before the horse.’”

  “Then I guess this is the time to ask that question again.” He searched her face. “Are you still confused?”

  Her face, her eyes, her body all softened.

  “Not in the least.”

  “You’re the best, Samantha.” He gave her his hottest, most breathtaking smolder. “In fact, you’re the best I’ve ever had. You rock my world. You make me see freakin’ stars and rainbows.”

  She laughed and a heartbeat later she was losing her breath, her thoughts, the rest of her heart to the man who’d taken out an option on it years before…with a song that rhymed “baby” with “lay me.”

  Damn. She threw both arms around his neck as he went for the zipper of her skirt. Maybe she was easy.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Sam awoke nestled in the frothy white linens of Nick’s VIP-size bed…to find it was past ten o’clock and Nick was already up. She headed for the shower and luxuriated in it for a decadent amount of time. When she got out, she was startled by Nick standing outside with a cup of coffee for her.

  “Hurry up, babe. Our eggs are getting cold.”

  “How do you know I even like eggs?” she said, wearing a hotel robe and drying her hair with a towel as she padded out into the parlor.

  Nick stood beside a table set with linen and a vase of beautiful red roses. Her eyes widened as she edged forward with halting steps to find a card with her name on it propped up beside one plate.

  “For me?” She felt a tug of emotion in her chest as he nodded. She picked it up.

  When she opened it, it was a valentine. A recordable valentine…one from her line. For the first time in her life she felt some of the joy and pleasure her work brought to others. With pride she opened it and heard Nick’s voice sing clearly, “I want you to be my valentine—today and always. But we both have to be at a Valentine’s Day concert in Chicago. So will you go out with me on February fifteenth?”

  She looked up with tears in her eyes, then threw her arms around his neck and in her fullest, clearest Lauren Bacall voice, sang out huskily, “Yeah, baybee!”

  THE TAKEDOWN

  Joanne Rock

  1

  “NO ONE SAID ANYTHING about a threesome.”

  The scantily clad female model glared at her two studly coworkers for the afternoon. The male models had just walked onto the set in photographer Tori Halsey’s home studio, their hips swathed in leather loincloths that must serve as some art director’s idea of caveman regalia. Apparently the loincloths weren’t working for the suede bikini-wearing leading lady though. With a pout, she turned to Tori and tossed her fiery red curls.

  “I am out of here!”

  Thinking fast, Tori set aside her camera. She needed this one last shot before she could pack up for the day and forget about sex-drenched Valentine’s Day photos for at least a few months. As a freelance cameraperson for CrownCraft, the greeting card company, Tori knew Valentine’s Day notes were their industry’s biggest sellers next to Christmas cards, so Cupid’s holiday took up a large part of her work calendar.

  Enter the caveman three-way.

  Or exit, as it were. The redheaded model dodged lights and set props as she stormed toward her dressing room, leaving the two bare-chested studs behind.

  “Angie, this shot will take us twenty minutes,” Tori called after her, wishing her job didn’t amount to sweet-talking temperamental talent so often. The Christmas shots were easier. She usually slated a skiing trip up north and snapped a few shots of snow-covered pine trees or cardinals alighting on window sills. Simple, easy stuff that didn’t require social skills and afforded her time to pursue the more artistic work she enjoyed. But the romance-y Valentine’s Day pieces still paid the bills that gave her independence from her close-knit farm family in New York State. “And I’ll let you bill it as an hour, okay?”

  “That’s not the point!” Angie insisted, stomping her high heel for emphasis.

  And how charming that the modern sexualized ideal of cave life involved suede bikinis and high heels.

  “You’re uncomfortable with the ménage à trois idea?
” Tori peered back at the set where the two muscle-bound men had decided to do push-ups to pass the time. An old modeling trick that made the guys’ veins stand out, the push-ups would serve the photos well. Assuming she ever got Angie back in the frame along with them.

  “My grandmother shops in CrownCraft,” she said under her breath, her blue eyes betraying the real reason for her objection. There was genuine fear there.

  Tori smiled. She could totally appreciate the way a family could judge you. Pigeonhole you as the “crazy artist.” Decide that you weren’t fit to take care of yourself with such a bohemian lifestyle. Heaven knew, Tori’s two older siblings had sided with their parents a decade ago to decide Tori wasn’t responsible enough to manage her own life. They’d added up her general impulsiveness, a passionate nature and one really bad decision and somehow came up with total incompetence on her part…. But she digressed.

  Wasn’t that why she’d moved to the opposite end of the country, so she didn’t have to dwell on other peoples’ opinions?

  “Tell you what. We’re shooting in black and white anyhow, so no one will recognize that distinctive hair of yours. And we can make this shot all about the guys’ shoulders and your bod, so we’ll just turn your head to the side, okay? Grandma will never know that it’ll be you tucked between two hot guys.”

  Angie bit her lip and peered back over to the stud muffins, who’d swapped to one-armed push-ups by now.

  “You’re sure?” She didn’t even try to rip her gaze away from the testosterone display.

  “Absolutely.” Tori didn’t blame the girl for her hesitation, but if she were in Angie’s shoes, Tori would have objected to the suede bikini with pumps rather more vigorously than being sandwiched between two guys. “I’ll show you a test shot on the computer.”