Mr. Valentine

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Her agitation required him to be the calming influence for a change. It was a nice change. He pushed aside his own fears and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy. We’ll work it out, whatever it is. Just tell me what happened.”

  She took an unsteady breath. “It was the picture. They loved that picture. Before they got it they were just going to announce the winner around Valentine’s Day in some magazine I’ve never heard of.”

  “Publisher’s Weekly. I know. It was in the contest rules.”

  “Well, now they want to do more. They want to make the announcement a big deal in New York on Valentine’s Day, and, Jack, they want Candy to be there!”

  “To be there?” Stunned, he released his grip on her shoulders. “You must have misunderstood. They don’t treat first-time authors like that.”

  “That’s exactly what Stephanie said! But they’ve revamped their plans, considering the picture, and the…bigger advance—”

  “Aha!” He stabbed a finger in her direction. “You helped us get into this mess!”

  “Jack, I had no idea this would happen.” Her green gaze pleaded with him. “You’ll have to tell them. You’ll just have to tell them the truth.”

  He went cold at the prospect. They’d bought Candy Valentine as a package, a package that now included a beautiful, promotable author. Now they were planning a big reception in New York for their latest find, who’d had the guts to demand more money for her book.

  He turned the matter over in his mind and could only come up with one solution. “I don’t think it would be wise to tell them now,” he said carefully.

  “You have no choice!”

  “Yes, I do.” He gazed down at her. “If you’ll help me.”

  She backed away as far as the little room would allow. “Oh, no, you don’t. I can’t do this, Jack. Negotiating on the phone is one thing. Sending in my picture was okay, too, but I’m not—”

  “Krysta, my career hangs in the balance.” He was playing shamelessly on her caretaking nature, and he knew it. Later he might feel guilty. Right now he was desperate. “I’ll coach you. You’ll be great. I know you’ll be great.”

  “If you think I can go to New York by myself and pretend that I’m the person who wrote that book, you’re crazier than I thought you were!”

  Necessity became the mother of invention. “You won’t be alone. I’ll go with you.”

  “They’re offering one first-class plane ticket, one suite at the Marriott Marquis. It would be inappropriate to ask to bring a guest on a business trip like this.”

  “They’ll never know I’m there.”

  “You’ll hide?” Her shocked expression gradually gave way to a giggle of laughter. “Jack, what are you suggesting? This is real life, not one of your books.”

  Her laughter brought a smile to his lips. This disaster was beginning to show its more appealing side. “You said it was a suite, right? Plenty of room for me, and nobody at Manchester has to know. I’ll be around to coach you before each meeting and debrief you when you come back.” And we’ll be together in that room all night. “It will work, Krysta.”

  “You’re crazy.” She shook her head, but a smile still played around her mouth.

  He could tell she was intrigued by the novelty of the plan, so he added another inducement. “Ever been to New York?”

  “Of course not. It’s a very expensive place to visit.”

  “Well, I spent time there during those years I knocked around the country. It’s an exciting city. And it sounds as if Manchester is ready to lay Manhattan at your feet.”

  “No, your feet,” she corrected him.

  “Our feet, then. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know, Jack.” She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands. “You’ll have to give me some time to think about this.”

  “How long?”

  She glanced up at him. “I told Stephanie I’d call her back tomorrow with an answer.”

  “And of course you know you can trust me to be a complete gentleman at all times.” Unless you beg me not to.

  “Oh, of course. That’s no problem.”

  He wished she hadn’t replied to that with such complete conviction. She obviously still thought of him as good old Jack. She had no idea what being a gentleman in this situation would cost him.

  KRYSTA SETTLED INTO the leather luxury of a first-class airline seat and sipped a mimosa the flight attendant had given her soon after takeoff. The champagne and orange juice combination heightened her sense of unreality. It was difficult to believe she was on her way to New York, traveling in a style she’d only seen portrayed in the movies.

  She’d told her father and brothers the same story as everyone else, that she’d won a free weekend at a health spa. They’d all been so happy for her she’d felt incredibly guilty about the lie, but she and Jack had agreed they couldn’t chance letting anyone, not even her beloved family, know the truth.

  Gazing out the window at the blanket of clouds below, she tried to appear nonchalant about the trip. Her every action would reflect on Jack’s reputation, and she was determined to represent him to the best of her ability. Thank heaven no one occupied the seat next to her. She wasn’t up to answering the kind of questions chance traveling companions often asked.

  “Ms. Valentine?”

  Krysta didn’t respond.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Valentine.” The flight attendant touched her arm.

  Krysta jumped before realizing that she hadn’t answered to the name on her airline ticket. She’d have to work on that. “Sorry—” she looked at the attendant’s name badge “—Holly. I guess I was daydreaming.”

  The flight attendant leaned forward, her expression solicitous. “I promise not to interrupt you again, but I need to get your order for lunch. We have beef tenderloin or a very nice tuna filet.”

  “The tenderloin would be fine.” She tried to sound patient and slightly bored, as if she were asked to make that sort of decision on a regular basis while cruising thirty thousand feet above the ground.

  “Good choice.” The flight attendant straightened and turned toward someone who was standing in the aisle beyond Krysta’s line of vision. “May I help you?” she asked in an imperious tone.

  Krysta leaned forward and saw that it was Jack standing there, a large envelope in his hand. The flight attendant looked ready to march him straight back to his seat in coach.

  “It’s okay, Holly.” Krysta said. “I need to speak to this gentleman a moment.”

  Holly looked Jack up and down. He wore a corduroy blazer that had seen better days and was a little tight across the shoulders, a red flannel shirt, jeans and weathered running shoes. His dark hair was caught back with a rubber band and his glasses were still held together with tape.

  Jack met her appraisal with a calm gaze. “I promise not to contaminate the area for long, Holly.”

  Holly flushed. “Oh, I didn’t—”

  “Hey, it’s okay. I realize it’s part of your job to keep those of us in steerage from penetrating the velvet curtain.” Jack’s devilish grin transformed him into quite a rakish character, in Krysta’s opinion.

  Holly’s attitude shifted. She smiled back. “Take as long as you like,” she murmured, and gave him a sidelong glance before returning to the galley.

  Jack plopped into the empty seat next to Krysta. “What’re you drinking?”

  “A mimosa. Orange juice and—”

  “I know what’s in a mimosa.” He stretched his long legs and worked his shoulders into the padded leather seat. “Not bad up here. Thanks for putting in the good word for me, or I’d have been tossed out on my ear.”

  Holly reappeared and gave Jack a brilliant smile. “Can I get you anything?”

  Krysta stared at the flight attendant. Jack had made a conquest. Somehow Krysta hadn’t pictured Jack as the conquering type, yet with one disarming smile he had Holly eating out of his hand. Or maybe it was the tight jacket that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders
that had caught her attention, or the light in his blue eyes. But she was definitely interested. Krysta glanced over at Jack, who seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on the flight attendant.

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” he said. “I’ll just deliver my package and be on my way.”

  Holly leaned closer to Jack. “No one’s sitting there,” she murmured. “As long as Ms. Valentine doesn’t mind, I don’t think it would hurt anything if you—”

  “Highly inadvisable, Holly,” Jack interrupted, his grin flashing again. “Disturbing the social order is a dangerous business. If people like me start infiltrating first class, next you’ll find us storming executive dining rooms, then invading private clubs.” He nudged his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “And before you know it—anarchy.”

  Holly laughed. “I hardly think so.”

  “Besides, I’m sure my seatmates miss me already.” Jack handed Krysta the fat envelope he’d been holding. “In all the rush I forgot to give you some reading material for the trip.”

  “Oh!” Krysta took the package, which probably contained his manuscript. She’d asked to read it on the plane and then had forgotten her request. As he eased his large frame out of the seat and into the aisle, she glanced up at him. “What seat-mates?”

  “I think they said they were traveling to a beauty pageant or something.”

  “And I suppose you’re in the middle seat?” His sudden transformation into Don Juan was quite irritating.

  Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. See you later…Ms. Valentine.”

  Krysta watched him stroll down the aisle and push aside the curtain dividing the first class cabin from coach. Then she became aware that Holly was also watching his departure.

  “You know who he reminds me of?” Holly said.

  “I really can’t imagine.”

  “Clark Kent. I can just picture him whipping off those glasses and turning into Superman.”

  Krysta resented the dreamy expression on Holly’s face, and the thought of Jack sandwiched between two beauty pageant entrants didn’t improve her mood. “I’d like another mimosa, please, Holly,” she said.

  “MS.VALENTINE?”

  Krysta left the page she was reading with great reluctance to look up at Holly. “What?”

  “We’ll be landing soon. I’ll need to have you stow your tray table and return your seat to the upright position, please.”

  “Landing? In New York?”

  “That’s correct. We should be on the ground in fourteen minutes.”

  Krysta glanced at her watch, unable to believe that hours had passed while she’d been totally engrossed in Jack’s book. She vaguely remembered cutting the tenderloin all up so she could feed herself with just her fork while she continued to read.

  In those hours she’d become the characters in Jack’s book, and through them she’d experienced anger, joy and sorrow. She still had two chapters to go, but already she’d been drawn into a love so deep it brought tears to her eyes. And in its wake she’d felt the characters’ sexual desire, felt it with a visceral response that had left her restless and aroused. Stephanie’s comments about Jack’s love scenes hadn’t prepared Krysta adequately for Jack’s expertise in that area. Expertise on paper, Krysta reminded herself. Just because Jack could write about making love in such sensuous detail didn’t mean that he’d be that kind of lover in real life.

  Not that it mattered what kind of lover he was. Jack might have managed to finish a book and sell it, but deep down he still lacked the sort of drive and ambition that she sought in a man. His willingness to take a low advance was proof of that. She suspected he’d never be particularly concerned about how much money he made on his writing so long as someone continued to publish him.

  Yet his ability with words intimidated her a little, truth be told. Talent like that didn’t come along every day, although Jack was the sort of man who might squander his impressive talent. She’d do her level best to make sure that didn’t happen in the next four days, at least, although it was a frightening responsibility now that she knew what Jack had to offer the world.

  Derek’s intellect had never frightened her, and he had never squandered a single opportunity in his upward journey, according to the tales he told. She admired that sort of drive, but she wondered if reading Jack’s book might help Derek learn to kiss better. Jack’s description of a long, lingering kiss had made her tingle as she read it. Her two personal experiences with kissing Jack hadn’t been like that at all. The first had been her idea, and it had been over before either of them had quite realized what had happened. The second kiss had been more like a bomb detonating than the slow, sweet seduction Jack had written about so well.

  Jack probably just had a good imagination, Krysta thought as she handed her glass and crumpled napkin to Holly and stowed her tray table in the arm of the seat. He’d only created a fantasy, after all, she mused while gathering the pages together and returning them to the envelope. Real life could never live up to the sort of pleasure Jack had depicted between a man and a woman. Only a fool would think differently, and she was no fool.

  She fastened the envelope’s clasp and held the package on her lap as the plane descended. When the plane hit an air pocket she gripped the envelope with both hands in a sudden possessive gesture. It was, she thought as the plane’s wheels skidded on the tarmac and the New York skyline appeared in miniature outside her window, a very good book.

  JACK’S HEIGHT ALLOWED him to hand down parcels stored in the overhead bins to the two women who had sat on either side of him during the flight. While in Seattle for a genealogy convention, they’d loaded up on souvenirs for their respective grandchildren. After several hours of anecdotes and accordion-folded snapshot holders, Jack could recite the exact ages, names, hobbies and cute little habits of Sadie’s six grandchildren and Bernice’s five. He’d heard about Sadie’s battle with gallstones and Bernice’s recent knee operation. And he knew more than he’d ever cared to about the problems of menopause.

  He’d been delighted with the nonstop conversation because it had kept his mind off the nerve-racking idea of Krysta sitting in first class reading his book. Sending it to New York hadn’t taken as much courage as walking it up the aisle to the front of the plane. If she hated the book she probably wouldn’t tell him, but he’d know, anyway. Her opinion meant more to him than he’d ever imagined it could when he’d proposed this crazy scheme, and he was really sweating her response.

  At least he wouldn’t have to face her immediately. First class would deplane ahead of coach, and all she’d brought was a rolling carry-on bag, so she’d be down the jetway and whisked off by a waiting limo driver before he made it into the terminal. He’d take a bus. Fortunately he knew his way around New York and could get to the Marriott Marquis using public transportation. To say he was on a budget this trip was a gross understatement.

  Knowing he was in no rush, he offered to help carry Bernice’s and Sadie’s packages, an offer they accepted after some protest. He blocked the aisle so they could climb out and then followed them, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a bulging shopping bag in each hand.

  “You should come to my hairdresser in Brooklyn while you’re here, Jack,” Bernice said over her shoulder as the two women preceded him down the jetway. “I’ll bet if you had a nice haircut, you’d be surprised how the girls would flock around.”

  “Thanks, Bernice. I’ll consider it.” Jack smiled to himself. Bernice seemed to have taken lessons from Krysta, except that Bernice’s goal was to marry him off, not send him up the corporate ladder.

  “I could get you a discount on a better pair of glasses,” Sadie added. “That has to be uncomfortable, with the tape and all.”

  “I’m used to it, but thanks.”

  Outside the jetway two middle-aged men stood waiting and Bernice and Sadie rushed toward them, arms outstretched. Jack followed with the bags and was introduced to the husbands, each of
whom clapped him on the back and invited him home for a good meal.

  In the flurry of goodwill Jack almost missed seeing Krysta wander right past the limo driver holding a sign with “Candy Valentine” written on it. He glimpsed her mistake in time to excuse himself from the two couples and sprint after her.

  “Candy!” he called.

  Paying no attention to the name, she continued down the terminal pulling her rolling carry-on. He muttered a curse as he dodged through the crowd after her. They’d agreed not to use her real name here in New York so the publisher wouldn’t be able to trace her in any way and discover discrepancies in her story.

  Finally he got near enough to grab her arm. With a cry of alarm she swung her purse at his head.

  He ducked. “Hey! It’s me!”

  “Jack!” Color drained from her face as she stood there trembling. “I thought you were a mugger.”

  “Sorry. Let’s move out of the center of traffic.” He propped his duffel bag on top of her suitcase and took command of the handle while he used his free hand to guide her away from the flow of people.

  She leaned against the wall and put a hand to her chest. “Whew. Adrenaline rush.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you missed the limo driver. He’s back at the gate.”

  “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “He was holding a sign that read Candy Valentine.”

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath and gave him a sheepish smile. “I really should have practiced more with that name. That’s twice I’ve spaced out about it.”

  “If you hurry, I’m sure you can catch him. It was a big plane, and I imagine people in the back rows are still getting off.”

  “But he probably saw me walk right past him. What will I say?”

  “Tell him the truth. It’s your new name and you still aren’t quite used to it.”

  “I’ll do that.” She straightened and peered down the length of the terminal. “Can you see him from here?”

  “Yeah. He’s wearing a navy uniform and a billed cap, just like you’d imagine a proper chauffeur would.”

  “Where?” She stood on tiptoe.

  “Over this way.” Taking her by the shoulders, he pointed her in the right direction to see the chauffeur. Beneath the fabric of her suit jacket, her body felt warm and supple, and he caught a whiff of her delicate cologne.