Mr. Valentine
Page 18
He lifted his head and gazed down at her. “I love you, Krysta. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us together. I’ll work extra jobs to help pay for your father’s care.”
“No.” She swallowed and blinked back tears. “I won’t have you sacrifice your writing for that.”
“If I can’t be with you, my writing holds no joy for me.”
She cradled his face in both hands. “I won’t be the burden that keeps you from writing, Jack.”
“No, you’ll be my inspiration, just as you have been for months.” His mouth hovered over hers. “And I really need some inspiration, Krysta.” This time his mouth descended with less delicacy and more hunger. His embrace became more urgent, his tongue more demanding.
She managed to wrench her mouth from his. Their hot breath clouded the air as they gazed at each other. “We’d better go inside to continue this discussion,” she said, sliding her fingers through his.
“Good idea.”
Krysta ran with him up the steps and pulled at the storm door. It was locked. She glanced at him and started to laugh. “We’re locked out.”
“Let me try.” He grasped the handle and pulled hard. “It’s no use. Sometimes the lock just clicks into place by itself. I’ve told the landlord, but so far he hasn’t fixed it.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve left any windows open.”
“Nope.”
“Then there’s only one thing left to do.” He took off his ski jacket. “Put this on,” he commanded, guiding her arms into the sleeves.
“Jack, what about you?”
“You’re going to keep me warm. Come on.” Moments later they were on his motorcycle headed along the streets of Evergreen. Krysta wrapped herself tightly around him in an attempt to keep him from freezing to death. She wasn’t sure how he was doing, but the friction of their bodies as Jack navigated the turns was keeping her toasty, not to mention extremely aroused. And she’d thought motorcycles were stupid.
At his apartment, he parked the bike and whipped her up the stairs almost at a run. A tabby cat greeted them at the door. “Krysta, my love, meet Krysta, my cat,” Jack said.
“You named your cat after me?”
He shrugged. “She has your eyes.”
“Oh, really?” Krysta tried to look into the cat’s face, but Jack pulled her toward the bedroom.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
“What happened to all that romance you’re supposed to be famous for?”
“There’s nothing romantic about catching cold together. We’re taking a warm shower.” He winked. “Now that might get very romantic.”
It did. Jack’s ministrations under the warm spray soon left Krysta too weak to stand. Afterward, he toweled her off, swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed, where he finished what he’d so adequately started.
As they lay sated in each other’s arms, he reached over to the bedside table and picked up a small object. “I think you left your heart in New York,” he said, handing her the plastic toy he’d bought.
She sighed and took the heart. “I sure did. You don’t know how I puzzled over this when you gave it to me. I couldn’t decide if it was a clever joke or a real request.”
“It was a real request.” He pushed the arrow shaft in, and the Be My Valentine message popped up. “Will you?”
She smiled at him. “You’re eleven months early.”
“I believe in getting a head start. Which reminds me.” He took the heart from her and put it back on the bedside table. “I have a new proposal ready.”
“You do?” She ran her fingers through his damp hair. “Goodness, Jack. You must have been working night and day to come up with one that fast.”
“Actually, this one took longer than it should have, but then, it’s the most important proposal of my life, so I guess that’s okay.”
“Is it a romance?”
His gaze was tender. “You bet it is.”
Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. “We’re not talking about a book, are we?”
He shook his head.
Her pulse quickened in anticipation.
“Krysta, I—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Damn, I want to get this right.”
“I don’t think you could possibly get it wrong.”
“Wanna bet? I may have written these scenes but I’ve never tried it out in real life.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Okay, here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Krysta, will you—”
The phone beside the bed rang and Jack frowned. “Ignore it. The answering machine in the other room will pick it up.” He turned back to her as the phone stopped ringing and his voice on the answering machine message filtered in from the living room. He spoke over it. “Krysta, will—”
“Jack, that’s Stephanie Briggs on the phone! I recognize her voice!”
“Who cares? I’m in the middle of something very important. I’ll call her back later.”
“Later?” She extricated herself from his arms and started to climb out of bed. “That’s not very wise if you’re about to take on the responsibilities of a wife, Jack.”
“I didn’t even ask you yet!”
She grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it as she hurried out to the living room. “I’m going to answer that phone. Then you can ask me. And I’ll tell you in advance my answer is yes.”
“Krysta!” Jack roared.
She ignored him, punched the stop button on the answering machine and picked it up, interrupting Stephanie in mid-sentence. “Hello? This is Mr. Killigan’s personal assistant and I just walked in the door. May I help you?”
“Candy, is that you?”
“Uh, my name is Krysta Lueckenhoff.”
“Your name is Candy Valentine,” Stephanie said. “Or at least it was a few days ago. I never forget a voice. Listen, you and your friend Jack threw us all for a loop around here, and now I’m in charge of damage control. Obviously I can’t send a guy on tour as Candy Valentine.”
“Obviously,” Krysta agreed. She glanced over her shoulder as Jack came in with a towel draped around his hips.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t get a look at your Jack. I should have just opened the closet door, but I, of course, thought he was some hayseed you’d dragged along with you to New York.”
“He’s no hayseed,” Krysta said.
Jack lifted his eyebrows.
“What does he look like? Is he presentable?”
Not at the moment. Krysta stifled a laugh. “If you dressed him right, he’d look pretty good.”
Jack scowled at her.
“Is he sexy?”
Krysta gave Jack the once-over. “Definitely.”
“How about compared to Fabio?”
“He’d give Fabio a run for his money. He’s even been known to wear his hair long.”
Jack started forward. “Now, wait just a damn minute. I’m not shaving my chest or—”
Krysta twisted away from him and walked the length of the cord.
“We may be able to salvage this situation yet,” Stephanie said. “If he photographs well, we can do a promotion billing him as Jack Killigan—Mr. Valentine.”
“I think that sounds like a terrific idea,” Krysta said. “We’ll have to fly you both back to New York, I guess. The accountants won’t like that, but I’ll handle them.”
“Both of us?”
“Both of you, Candy. Or Krysta, or whatever your name is. It’s obvious you’ve got a head for the business, and I’ve enjoyed dealing with you. No telling what I’d run into with Mr. Valentine, there.”
Krysta danced out of Jack’s reach. “You have a point.”
“Okay.” Stephanie heaved a big sigh. “I’m rescheduling the twenty-city tour and crossing my fingers.”
“I think we can do twenty-five cities.”
Jack gaped at her and began waving his hands in the air.
“Is that right?” Stephanie asked. “You’re a regular little hustler, aren’t you.”
“I believe in Jack’s talent. He’s going to be big.”
“Well, fortunately for you, I believe in his talent, too. I’ll see about extending the tour. And when I have dates for the return trip to New York, I’ll let you know. Are you both at this number?”
Krysta winked at Jack. “We’re both at this number.”
“Good. He needs you. I’ll be in touch.”
Krysta hung up the phone and turned to Jack.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Looks like I’ve been preempted.”
“On what?”
“My proposal.”
“Oh, Jack, do you really mind?” She crossed to him. “My answer is yes anyway.”
“What, no negotiating?”
“What on earth would I negotiate? I love you so much, that I—”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hold it right there.”
She paused and glanced up at him.
“Back up that train. What did you just say?”
She ran her palms over his chest and gazed into his eyes. “I love you so much.”
He closed his eyes. “Say it again. Slower.”
She stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. “The first rule of writing, according to someone who should know, is ‘show, don’t tell.”’
With a groan of impatience he pulled her close. “You can show me in a minute. Tell me now. I need to hear it.”
“I love you, Jack. I want to be your wife, your friend, your lover, your business consultant, your personal assistant, your contract negotiator, your—”
“My everything.” He gazed down at her and shook his head. “Twenty-five cities?”
“You never know what you can get unless you ask.”
“Is that so?” He leaned down and whispered an extremely provocative request.
“Perhaps that can be arranged.” She began to unwind the towel from his hips.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything, my love.”
“That I won’t have to shave my chest.”
“You won’t have to shave your chest,” she murmured as her own towel dropped to the floor.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She caressed him intimately. “You’re in my hands now, Mr. Valentine.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4592-5410-7
Mr. Valentine
Copyright © 1997 by Vicki Lewis Thompson
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