Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  Applause interrupted her. As she waited for it to finish, she scanned the room, looking for … she wasn’t sure what. Someone familiar maybe? She told herself no one she knew was likely to be there. Certainly, the face she would love to see was not going to be there. He hadn’t contacted her in weeks. Not that she’d expected him to. She was the one who should have made contact to at least thank him for what he did to help her with the tenure committee. She had blamed her lack of manners on being too embarrassed, too humiliated by the scene in the Park Blocks that day. In truth, she was ashamed at the way she’d lied to him about who she was the whole while they were together and not sure how to even begin to apologize for that. Given how she’d treated him while they were together and the way in which they parted, why would she even imagine he’d show up to hear her read?

  “Anyway, as you may know, I’ve been writing under a pen name for some time now. Only recently have I come out into the light, so to speak. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever read my work in public. So I’d appreciate it if you’d be gentle with me tonight.”

  More laughter and a smattering of applause.

  “If you’ve read any of my other books, you might have recognized some familiar plotlines. I confess I’m one of those writers who steals stories from other authors.”

  “Like Shakespeare,” someone in the audience called out.

  “Wow. Even the introduction didn’t go so far as to compare me to Shakespeare. Thank you. However, I assure you in four hundred years, no one will be reading my work, but if the human race survives, they’ll still be reading his.”

  She took another sip of water. “Part of the reason is the universality of his stories. They speak to us in every generation. And they provide the inspiration for other writers. He has provided me with several ideas for my books including the work in progress I’ll be reading from tonight. I’ve also used Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Oscar Wilde as inspiration. Teaching English lit is a real advantage when it comes to trying to find plot devices, it turns out.

  “So, enough talking about the work. How about I read from what I’m working on? This book, as I said, is loosely based on a Shakespeare play. I decided Romeo and Juliet needed a chance at a happily-ever-after so I’m rewriting them as ‘Ross and Jules,’ the son and daughter of two restaurateurs who hate each other. The fathers have spent their entire careers competing with each other, sabotaging one another’s operations, and trying to pass along the enmity to their children. But the hero and heroine meet at a fundraising event, a masquerade, and begin to date. She discovers who he is, and because she’s afraid he won’t love her if he knows who she really is, she hides her true identity from him while at the same time hiding his identity from her family.” She bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from adding how experienced she was at that particular skill.

  “Here’s how I pictured their first meeting.”

  And she began to read the scene where Ross and Jules are introduced.

  • • •

  It was clear now he was not over this woman. Might never be over her. Listening to her talk, watching her graceful gestures, Brad was once more reminded how she captivated him. She was everything he could ever want in a woman, and he had lost her because of one foolish outburst.

  The plot of her book as she described it tonight was closer to the one she’d told him about in Denver than it was to what he’d heard her read while they were at the beach. He’d never made the connection before, but had she told him the story at dinner that night as some sort of warning about what she was doing? Should he have picked up on it and asked questions? No. Of course not. Why would he? He’d had no reason to think she was hiding her true identity from him. Although, he had thought she was keeping something from him. Had he been so dense as to not understand what she was trying to say?

  Claudia had gotten to the end of her reading and was answering questions. He was making his way through the standing room crowd in the back, having decided to slip out the door before he gave in to the impulse to grab her and kiss her in front of all her newly acquired fans, when a woman asked, “How does Jules tell Ross the truth about who she is so they can have their happily-ever-after?”

  This answer he wanted to hear.

  Chapter 20

  It was the question Claudia had most hoped to avoid. But she had to answer it. “The only thing that will work, I think, is for him to discover it himself in some way and confront her. It’ll be the equivalent of the scene at the tomb in Shakespeare’s play. But this time, they’ll have another chance at love.”

  “Because our romances need happy endings,” the questioner said.

  “They certainly do,” Claudia said. “Because the romances we have in real life don’t always have them.” As she said it, she scanned the crowd hoping to see nodding heads from the women attending. Maybe even from the sprinkling of men there.

  Instead, what she saw, at the back of the room, was a face she still saw in her dreams. Brad was there.

  But as soon as he realized she’d seen him, he started for the door. She had to see him. She couldn’t let him go without saying something, several somethings, to him.

  “Thank you so much for coming, everyone. I’m going to take a quick break, and then I’ll be at the table signing books. Please have a cup of coffee or a cookie, and I’ll be right back.”

  Without waiting to explain to the surprised hosts for the evening, she pushed her way through the crowd and ran out the door. When she got to the sidewalk, she looked up and down the street, afraid he had already driven away. Then she saw him in the next block, walking rapidly away from the church.

  She tried running after him, but the stilettos she was wearing at Mary Lynn’s suggestion wouldn’t let her. She was beginning to get used to them, but running was still out of the question. And it was too damn cold to take them off and run barefoot. So she did the only thing she could. She yelled. Loudly. “Brad! Wait up, will you?”

  He stopped and turned around. When she got closer to him, she could see he was wearing the Aran sweater she remembered from San Francisco and his leather jacket with the collar turned up against the chilly drizzle; his hands were jammed in the jacket pockets. “What can I do for you, Claudia?” He was using his teacher’s voice, not the warm, sexy one she heard in her dreams.

  “I … uh … I was surprised to see you. Thank you for being here.”

  “I come here often. Taborspace is only a couple blocks from my house, and I like to support fellow Portland writers.” He seemed to emphasize the word Portland.

  “It was my first public reading so it was nice to see a familiar face in the audience.”

  “I wanted to hear how your work in progress was doing. You read some of it to me at the beach, remember?”

  Remember? How could she forget? She remembered every detail of every day they’d spent together. Not to mention every night. Especially every night.

  “Well, I was happy to see you. I … uh … I have been meaning to call you for a while. Or e-mail you. Text. Something. I mean … I should have been in touch to thank you for what you did.” She felt awkward and stupid, stumbling with words as though English was her second language.

  “What did I do to deserve your thanks?” His tone had changed a little. He sounded … well, she wasn’t sure what he sounded like, but he wasn’t quite as detached and remote as he had first been. And he was baiting her, she was sure. He knew very well what he’d done.

  “You went out on a limb to speak to Ann McNulty, of course, and asked her to read my books.”

  “Oh, that.” His mouth twitched as if he were trying to suppress a smile.

  “Yes, that. It made all the difference in the world.”

  “It was the least I could do since I was the one who screwed things up for you. It was my way of apologizing for what I did when I confronted you after your lecture. I heard from Mary Lynn the committee voted to give you tenure. Congratulations.”

  She hoped he would want to s
hake hands with her, hug her, something. She wanted to feel his touch more than she had ever wanted anything. But he kept his hands in his pockets. “Because of you, I not only got tenure but am heading up a committee to look into the possibility of adding a commercial fiction minor to our department.”

  “That’s great. Congratulations again.”

  “We might be looking for guest lecturers on the subject. Would you be interested? There probably wouldn’t be any money in it and the classes would be small at first, I’m sure, but it might give you a chance to reach a few new readers.”

  The smile finally broke through. “You need to work on your sales pitch a bit. But, yes, I guess I’d consider it. Why don’t you tell Mary Lynn when the program gets going, and she can let me know?”

  “Mary Lynn. Sure. I’ll contact Mary Lynn.”

  An awkward silence seemed to drag on for hours, although Claudia was sure it was really only a few moments. Brad broke the silence. “I shouldn’t keep you out here in the cold any longer.”

  “I’m okay. I wanted to thank you.”

  “And you have.” He turned to walk away.

  “Brad, wait. There’s something else I have to say to you. I need to say I’m sorry.”

  His back still to her, he said, “Sorry for what?”

  “Do you really have to ask? For lying to you. For not being honest about who I was. For all those things I said that weren’t true.”

  “‘All those things’? Meaning …?”

  “My name. Where I worked. The house in Seattle.”

  He finally turned and faced her. “Is that all you lied about?”

  “Isn’t it enough?”

  “In one way, I suppose it is, but humor me. You owe me that, at least, don’t you?”

  She was sure he was playing on her guilt, but even if he was, she had to admit he was right. She did owe him. If he wanted a detailed list of every untruth she’d told him, she’d give it to him. “The only other lies were my Seattle phone number and the Claire e-mail address. They were real enough but still part of a lie. And you know—well, I guess you always knew—the way I dressed and how I looked as April Mayes wasn’t real either.”

  “That wasn’t particularly hard to figure out.”

  “The one thing I never lied about was how much I loved being with you. I know I messed it up beyond all recovery with my fake identity. But I didn’t lie about my feelings or how much our relationship meant to me.”

  He let out a sigh, and his shoulders seemed to relax. “Thank you. I needed to know.”

  “And I tried to tell you the truth. Or at least, made a little foray into trying to. Sort of.”

  “Was it at dinner in Denver? When you were talking about your book?”

  “Yes. I thought maybe you’d figure it out, and I wouldn’t have to … oh, I don’t know what I thought. I was scared you’d be angry. And you were, when you did find out. Like I was afraid you’d be.”

  Another silence, this time broken by Claudia. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say to you. So, I guess I should go.” She had to get out of there before she broke down and blubbered. This man had set her on the edge of tears more times than the sum total of everyone else she’d ever met in her life. He apparently still had the power to get her there.

  She hadn’t gone more than half a block back toward the church when he called to her.

  “Claudia? How sorry are you, exactly?”

  She whirled around. “What do you mean?”

  He started walking toward her. “I thought the question was pretty clear. But I can rephrase it. On a scale of one to ten, how sorry are you?”

  “Twenty. Thirty, maybe. As sorry as I can be on any scale.”

  “Sorry enough to make you willing to try to pick up where we left off, before all the crazy stuff got in the way?”

  His question stunned her. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks. Had only her memories and some hot dreams to keep her company ever since the incident in the Park Blocks. His anger then had convinced her he would never, ever be able to get past what she’d done so they could be together. His lack of contact since then seemed to support her belief.

  But here he was asking if she could pick up where they left off. He opened his mouth, as if he had more to say, but stopped, his eyes searching her face for something, some sign, maybe, of what she thought.

  Could she give him what he was asking? She wasn’t sure. How could a relationship based on lies ever succeed? Was it really possible to go on as if it hadn’t happened?

  “How could we? Why would you do that?”

  “Why? Surely you know the answer.” His voice now was soft, sweet as honey in her ears.

  She was still afraid, still not sure. She shook her head and saw the expression on his face turn from hope to bleak acceptance. “No, I don’t think I do. But in any case, picking up where we left off isn’t a good idea. I mean, how do you go on when the whole beginning was a lie?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Say something, Brad. Anything. Please.”

  “Not sure what there is to say. You’re pretty clear we can’t try to pick up the pieces, so what’s left?” He looked as if he were about to leave.

  An idea began to take shape in her head. “Wait. I don’t think we can reconstruct something true out of bits of real life and large chunks of fake identities. But maybe, instead of trying to glue it all back together, we could rewind.”

  “I don’t understand.” A smile was flickering around the corners of his mouth as he took a step toward her.

  “If we go back to the start, begin again, maybe …”

  “How would we do that?” The whole smile was there again, the one she loved because it made her heart beat faster and her knees melt.

  “Well, we could begin with what I should have done the first time I saw you.”

  “Which is?”

  “I walk up to you and say, ‘Hi, my name is Claudia Manchester. I’m an English literature professor who’s dressed this way because I also write romance novels, and I’m on my way to a conference. If you’re waiting for the plane to San Francisco, too, we have ninety minutes before we board. Can I buy you a drink?’”

  Brad now sported a huge grin. The shoulders she loved were relaxed and coming closer as he took the remaining steps needed to be so close to her she was sure none of the drizzle was getting between them. “I think I’d have said, ‘My name is Brad Davis. Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for a drink.’ Then I’d take a chance and show you what I was in the mood for.” He lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a kiss. When he broke from it, he said, “Is that what you mean by rewinding?”

  “That’s moving a bit faster than we would probably have moved in the middle of the airport, but I’m okay with it.”

  “Let me take another chance, then. I love you. I don’t give a damn what your name is, where you live, how you dress, or what you write. I love you, and I want you back in my life. I’ll rewind, pick up pieces, glue things together—whatever you want, to make it happen.”

  She collected her thoughts for a few seconds before responding, long enough for a worried look to appear on his face. “But you were going to leave the reading without saying anything to me.”

  He touched her cheek, his expression now tender and sweet. “I didn’t want to make a public scene and embarrass you again.”

  “And you haven’t tried to get in touch with me for ages.”

  “I can say the same for you.”

  “Well, if …”

  “No more ifs, ands, or buts, Professor. Just tell me if there’s a chance.”

  “There’s more than a chance. I love you, too.”

  He kissed her again. “That’s a relief. Now let’s go finish your book signing. Then I’ll take you to my house. I want to make love to you and call you by your real name, assuming I can remember what it is when we’re in bed together.”

  Claudia’s laugh might have been heard a block away.

  “It wasn’t that funny,
was it?” Brad asked.

  “I just realized. You may be the only man on the planet who has gotten away with calling the woman he’s making love with by another woman’s name.” She tucked her arm through his. “But please notice that’s in the past tense. From now on, it better be the right one.”

  Sadie’s Story

  Jenny Jacobs

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Jenny Jacobs

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5991-0

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5991-4

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5992-9

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5992-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  For Jessica, who taught me how to have the very best adventures.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One