Life Shocks Romances Collection 3: Inflamed, Jilted, Kindled, Lured

by Jade Kerrion

  She touched her fingers to her lips and pressed a kiss to Michael’s headstone before turning away. Marisa was driving back to Michael’s parents’ house to pick up Eva when her cell phone rang and a vaguely familiar voice introduced herself. “This is Sheridan. You came down to see me in New York a few days ago to talk about Nicholas.”

  “Yes, Sheridan. What’s up?”

  “Nicholas is back in New York.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “He’s changed.”

  Marisa frowned. “How so?”

  “He’s making a deliberate attempt to move on. He asked me out.”

  “Like out in public?”

  “Yes, to dinner at my favorite restaurant on Christmas Eve.” Sheridan paused for a beat. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Chapter 12

  The sun was setting over New York City on Christmas Eve when two men walked out of the American Ballet Theatre and stopped outside the glass doors to zip their leather jackets up. “Good work today, Dragov,” Ivan Vasily, the artistic director of the American Ballet Theatre, said to Nicky. “You take a good rest tomorrow. No dancing. Just stretching.”

  Nicky smiled faintly. “It’s been a long week.”

  Ivan nodded. “I held my breath the first time you did the grand jeté.”

  “I didn’t even dare attempt the grand jeté until today, after five days of classes.” Five brutal days, Nicky thought. All his muscles had ached so badly after that first day of class that he had popped painkillers to get through the second day, and the most of the third.

  By the fourth day, he was down to just two painkillers.

  On the fifth day, he weaned himself off.

  “It is good,” Ivan said. “I can wait five days for my premier danseur to execute a jeté. I cannot wait a whole season. Rehearsals for Swan Lake will begin in the new year. You will be Siegfried.”

  Nicky expelled his breath shakily.

  Ivan chuckled. “You thought I would not give you the lead role?”

  “I was worried about it.”

  “It is not just the ballet that draws people in. It is the magical pairing of you and Alicia Silvering,” he said, referring to the ABT’s prima ballerina. “She has been giving poor Jackson a hard time, probably because he is not you. I think he will be glad to step aside, take the understudy role, and let you handle our prima donna instead.”

  Nicky laughed. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Good.” Ivan slapped Nicky lightly on his back. “I will see you in class on the 26th.”

  Ivan turned toward uptown, and Nicky continued toward Washington Square Park; his destination was the restaurant Estela on East Houston Street. The walk was longer than he might have otherwise attempted, but he had time and he enjoyed the streets of New York City, particularly on Christmas Eve as it bustled with the activity of last-minute shoppers. Lights spilled from store windows, and Christmas music competed to be heard over road traffic and sidewalk conversations.

  Nicky walked briskly, cocooned in his thoughts, weaving past pedestrians with the expertise of a native New Yorker. Sheridan had insisted on meeting him at Estela, even though he had offered to pick her up from her townhouse. She probably needed time and a few more degrees of separation before deciding if she wanted a change in her status from escort to girlfriend.

  Was he ready for a change in his status?

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. I’m not ready for this, but I never will be if I just wait until I feel better.

  It was like dancing. He had to go to class even when he was feeling broken, stretch out his muscles and push himself even though it hurt like hell, and slowly wean himself off his diet of painkillers.

  It’ll hurt for a bit, and then it’ll get better. I just have to hang in there and not think of her.

  Marisa.

  He chuckled. Irony rang through that soft sound. I need to get over her, so what do I do? I have my first date with someone who looks like her.

  It wasn’t going to work out, not with Sheridan; Nicky knew it with absolute certainty. His feelings for Sheridan were as clear as mud and completely tangled with his love for Marisa, which if they hadn’t vanished in the decades he had been in love with her, were not going to disappear overnight.

  Why not start over with Marisa?

  Nicky pressed his fingers against his temple. If only it were as easy swatting away the voice in his head that buzzed like an annoying fly always keeping Marisa forefront in his thoughts.

  Because she’s Michael’s, he retorted

  Michael’s dead, the little voice said. And it wasn’t your fault.

  Because she doesn’t approve of the choices I made.

  This isn’t about Sheridan. You are going to have to end things with Sheridan anyway if you begin dating someone else. No legitimate girlfriend is going to tolerate your having an escort playmate on the side.

  There’s too much in the past that needs to stay buried. Marisa was happy with Michael. I can’t destroy that happiness with the truth.

  Who says you need the truth? Let Michael give her the damn dog. Just pick it up from here. Go forward. Don’t look back.

  I don’t want to be Michael’s replacement—the guy she turns to because her husband is dead. I am more than that—I should have been more than that. I can’t settle for second place.

  Even if you’ll be happier in second place than you’ve been anywhere in the past eight years? What’s stopping you, Nicky? Your damned pride?

  He paused suddenly, causing other pedestrians to swear under their breaths as they swerved around him. Yes, my damned pride.

  Nicky reached for his smartphone and tapped in Marisa’s cell phone number from memory. Her phone rang for several moments before she picked it up. “Nicky?” she sounded surprised.

  “Hi. I…wanted to wish you and Eva a Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you. And Merry Christmas to you too. What are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m on my way to have dinner with a friend.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll be having dinner soon, too.”

  Do it, Nicky. Don’t be a damned coward. “I’m sorry I didn’t attend your party. I wish I did. I wish I could be in Westchester spending Christmas with you and Eva.”

  “You do? Really? You’re welcome anytime, of course.” She paused. “Nicky, is there anything you need to tell me about Daisy?”

  She doesn’t need the truth. Don’t wreck her happiness. “No.”

  “Nicky…” She sounded exasperated.

  “She was a gift from the man who loves you.”

  Marisa was silent for a moment. “I know,” she murmured finally. “Are you really coming for Christmas?”

  His heartbeat raced. “I’ll leave for Westchester first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll be there in time for brunch.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you then. Wait, Nicky. Who are you having dinner with?”

  He released his breath in a soft sigh. “Sheridan.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s over, between Sheridan and me. I’d hoped that my relationship with her could be something more and that’s why I asked her out for dinner, but I’m on my way there now and I know it can’t—not while I’m still in love with you.”

  Marisa inhaled sharply. “Nicky?”

  He swore under his breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring this on you.”

  “Spring what? Letting slip that you love me after a decade of silence?”

  She knows? He drew a deep breath. “I’ve been an ass. I thought I was ready for a relationship, and I led Sheridan on. Now I’m going to meet her and apologize to her.”

  “I think she’ll understand.”

  “Will she?” Nicky stopped outside the restaurant and glanced at his watch. Right on time.

  “She probably understands you better than you understand yourself.”

  “I’m at the restaurant. I have to go now, but…Risa, I need to know.” The plea whispered from him, st
raight from his heart. “Do you love me?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you in person.”

  “Just a yes or no. Please, I have to know.” Before I make a fool of myself—letting go what little I have for…nothing.

  “You’ll have to wait for it.” She disconnected the call without saying goodbye.

  No. It had to be a “no.” The sharp stab of truth pierced him as he slid the phone into his pocket. His chest ached with every breath. Why else would she drag it out? He had already done the dumbass thing and blurted out that he loved her over the phone.

  She doesn’t love me.

  It’s like the Christmas party a week ago. She’s invited me over for Christmas morning because she knows I’d be alone otherwise. It’s an obligation based on old friendships; she’s doing it to be kind.

  Anguish clawed through him. Shafts of pain pulsed in his head. He was tired. Tired of himself. Tired of being alone. Tired of life. Tired of not making any progress even when he tried.

  But he hadn’t tried. Not really. Not yet.

  The past eight years didn’t count.

  Nicky ground his teeth. It was time to finally make a stand for what he wanted.

  I don’t need Marisa’s kindness, but I’ll take it until I can win her love, even if I have to settle for second place. It’ll be enough for me because I’d rather have whatever life we can build together than this supposedly amazing life in the spotlight without her.

  I know it now; life is not amazing unless Marisa is in it.

  His chest hurt with every breath. And now I have to cut Sheridan loose. Over a romantic dinner on Christmas Eve. Damn, I really am an ass. Dinner would be absolute crap, and it was his fault for not knowing his own heart. Sheridan doesn’t deserve this. He tried to phrase the wrong words the right way, but his mind delivered only awkward silence. He stepped into the restaurant and managed a faint smile. “Table for two. Nicholas Dragov.”

  The hostess checked her computer. “Your guest is already here and waiting at the table for you. This way, please.” She picked up a menu and wine list, and led the way to a cozy booth for two. Sheridan was already there, seated with her back to him.

  Nicky braced himself as he approached the table. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

  Sheridan rose gracefully and turned to face him.

  His jaw dropped. “Risa?”

  The hostess’s perplexed gaze flicked between them, but Marisa smiled. “It’s okay. There’s no issue here. He’s got the right table.”

  The hostess departed, leaving Nicky staring at Marisa. “Where…what are you doing here?”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “I love you.”

  “What?”

  “I love you. I said I would say it in person, and here I am now.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, stepping up on tiptoes to breathe a kiss upon his lips. “I’ve loved you for a long time—even before I loved Michael—and I still love you.”

  He slid his arm around her back. Her fragrance of vanilla and orange filled his lungs. He closed his eyes and focused on swallowing through the deep ache in his chest. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

  “Yes.” She stroked his hair. “I came to be with you at Christmas. Eva’s with my parents.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Sheridan called me six days ago, the day you arrived back in New York, and invited me to dinner with you.”

  “She did that?”

  Marisa leaned back to smile at him. “I told you, she understood you better than you understood yourself, although you got there on your own.”

  “Not quickly,” Nicky said, lowering his head to touch his forehead to hers.

  Marisa laughed. “I wasn’t counting on quickly. Not when it took you eight years to say I love you.”

  “And then I blurted it out over the phone.” He winced.

  “Better that way than never at all.” Their eyes met. “You left out so much. You told me nothing.”

  “There’s…nothing to tell.”

  “Not anymore, because everyone has already told on you.” She slid into the booth and tugged him gently to sit beside her.

  Nicky didn’t know what to say, or if there was anything else to be said. In that moment, it was enough to be with Marisa. He leaned against her and closed his eyes. His mind whirled with questions, but he could not get them out. Exhaustion fogged his thoughts. Dimly, he realized part of it was shock. The rest of it was deep fatigue, subtly lightened by relief of knowing that the battle was over. He no longer had to fight.

  “You’re worn out, emotionally,” Marisa said softly. The fingers of her left hand entwined with his, as she stroked his cheek with her other hand. “You’ve given and given, without anyone supporting you for so long. But I’m here now, with Eva. Your parents. My parents. Michael’s parents. And Daisy. We’re family. And we’ve got you.” She turned his face toward her, and their lips met in a deepening kiss. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  Epilogue

  Spring ushered warmth and the fragrance of flowers into the lengthening days. Unfortunately, it also heralded an occasional shower. Marisa nibbled on her lower lip as she peeked through the window blinds up at the sky. “You don’t think it’s going to rain, do you?”

  Gloria, Michael’s mother, clucked. “Of course not. Come here, let me look at you.”

  Marisa turned, and Gloria, her lips pressed together and with tears glistening in her eyes, smoothed a tiny crinkle in Marisa’s ivory wedding gown. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” She smiled gently. “You still know I’m going to call you Mom, right?”

  Gloria sniffled and dabbed at a tear. “Yes, I know.” Her smile wobbled with a precarious blend of happiness and wistfulness. “Michael would have been happy for you and Nicky.”

  “Yes, I know.” Marisa peeked out of through the window blinds at the crowd gathering in her backyard. They included old friends who had gone to school with Michael, Nicky, and her, as well as more recent friends, like Dr. Shannon Larson who had handled Nicky’s two recent misadventures through the emergency room.

  At a corner of the garden, at the end of a flower-strewn path, Nicky waited with Daisy, the black Labrador, seated patiently by his side. Lacey, the chocolate Labrador Eva had adopted three months earlier was an adolescent dog incapable of sitting still. She gamboled across the yard, sniffing shoes, skirts, butts, and any thing within reach of her quivering nose.

  In a roundabout way, Lacey had finally come home, Marisa thought with a smile. And Nicky had, too.

  Eva, accompanied by Marisa’s mother, burst into Marisa’s bedroom, the smile on her face as dazzling than the silver kid’s tutu she had insisted on wearing after seeing old videos of Nicky dancing with Marisa. She grabbed her mother’s fingers and dragged her to the door. “Nicky!”

  “Yes.” Marisa smiled, her heart swelling with love for her daughter and the man who waited at the end of the aisle for the both of them. “Let’s go to Nicky. He’s been waiting for us for a long time.”

  THE END

  Lured

  Lured

  When an accident cuts short Dr. Shannon Larson’s bicycle tour through Italy, she’s rescued by a brusque, career-driven American lawyer—the same kind of man who once broke her heart. A week in Brandon Smith’s company, however, convinces her that the similarities are superficial. Her Italian fling with Brandon becomes the highlight of her life, but can the glow of romance survive the harsh light of reality when they return to America and find themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom?

  Chapter 1

  Sidewalks.

  She would have given almost anything for a sidewalk.

  Dr. Shannon Larson gently squeezed the brakes on her bicycle and came to a rolling stop, before steering her bike off the muddy road and onto the narrow grass shoulder. A slash of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the winding country road in flashes of pale white light.

  I
f this were America, this road would be a six-lane highway with steel-frame dividers, a two-lane service road, and a sidewalk.

  Of course, the flipside was that the scenery in America would consist of cookie-cutter suburban homes, big box stores, and chain restaurants, as opposed to—

  Shannon swept her wet hair away from her face and looked around.

  As opposed to miles of rolling hills—no, steep hills—in Tuscany.

  Somewhere out there was her intended destination, a farmhouse B&B where she had a reservation for the evening. With any luck it would be within several miles, preferably before her thigh muscles turned to jelly.

  Her sigh was partly amused, partly exasperated as she looked at the sky. The wispy gray clouds had not seemed threatening when she left Pienza earlier that afternoon, but they had soon thickened into dark clouds that pelted rain. An hour into her journey, it was still pouring and the slick roads had turned slushy. Her denim jeans were mud-splattered, but at least her sweater beneath her hooded raincoat was dry.

  Dry-ish, she amended. Her jacket kept out the wet, but the cold seeped through. She shuddered and told herself it was a physiological reaction to the weather instead of a psychological reaction to being out in the middle of nowhere, on a bicycle, on a rain-drenched evening, with night falling fast, and no B&B in sight.

  Well, the B&B wasn’t going to magically show up if she didn’t get moving. She steered her bicycle back onto the road—path, really. “Road” was too glorious a name for the narrow dirt- and stone-paved trail that meandered through the Tuscan countryside.

  Note to self: The next time I decide to bike through Italy, sign up with a tour group…the ones that escort bikers with air-conditioned vans loaded with water bottles and energy bars.

  Shannon pushed off and continued down the dark road. The reflectors on her bike were dull—there was nothing to reflect except for a pitiful sliver of moonlight. Streetlights—she would have given anything for streetlights, too.