Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

by Violet Duke

  The fireworks would be starting soon.

  Team Tutti-Frutti closed up shop at dusk that night to gather on a blanket under the canopy of stars, which would soon be replaced by the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air and the mosquitoes buzzing everywhere else.

  She sat no more than a foot in front of him, the glow from the distant streetlights caressing her hair. He felt his arm rise, lifting his hand toward the shimmering waves, but he forced it back down. He had to pull away from her.

  “Birthday torte?” Jacques said, passing around a cookie tin stocked with his delectable apricot concoctions. He blew Elizabeth a kiss and handed her a special one with the number “28” on it.

  “Thanks, Jacques,” she said. “Please tell me I don’t have to wait until my birthday officially starts at midnight to eat this gorgeous thing.”

  The Frenchman grinned. “Enjoy, mon amie.”

  When the tin reached him, Rob grabbed a torte for each hand to keep himself from seizing Elizabeth instead.

  Nick popped a big one in his mouth. “Mmm, man, these are awesome.”

  “Gretchen helped me with them,” Jacques said. “You should see that woman brandish a pastry crimper. She’s frightening. Comes snapping at you like a one-pincered lobster.”

  Gretchen retaliated by giving him a hard shove. “Don’t forget, I’m going to do the tartlets with you, too. You promised, and you’d better be nice about it or I’ll cut off your supply of amaretto truffles.”

  Jacques shuddered. “Cruel woman. Okay, you win. We’ll do the tartlets in the next week or two and let you all try them. They’re fairly safe. Only slight crimping is involved.”

  Gretchen made a comic face and the group laughed. Rob smiled before remembering that pretty soon their future plans wouldn’t include him. Sure, he wanted to return to Chicago but, at the same time, there was a growing list of things he’d miss about Wilmington Bay.

  “Oh, you guys,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t forget, Camden rescheduled. He’s now coming out on the fourteenth to do the photographs, so leave that following weekend open. He’ll probably be here Thursday through at least Saturday finishing the shots. We’re going to need lots of good ones from all of you.” She paused and grinned at him. “We’ll except for you, Rob. We won’t make you bake us any desserts, but we’ll probably need you to tackle most of the shop’s shifts alone during those days.”

  “I can handle it,” he told her. “No problem.” But, yeah, how could he not feel a little left out?

  “Oooh! Sparklers,” Gretchen said to Elizabeth. “Wanna get some?”

  “Sure,” Elizabeth said. “How about you guys?”

  Nick shook his head. “Sissy stuff. You two enjoy.”

  So they went off together leaving Rob alone with the other men for a few minutes. There was a long silence.

  “So, about Elizabeth’s cookbook,” he began. “Why is this project so important to her? You two know her writing history better than I do.”

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was trying to butter them up a bit. He’d always paid extra attention when one of Elizabeth’s essays was read in class and, on the infrequent occasion when she wrote a story for the school paper, he always read it two or three times because the way she explained things on the page was in the same voice she used when she spoke, which was a rare occurrence back then. He liked “hearing her,” if only on paper.

  Jacques, of course, got right to the heart of it. “She’s dedicating it to the memory of her mom. It’s Elizabeth’s farewell offering and, in her mind, it has to be perfect. An absolutely flawless project.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “She was close to her dad, too, but her mom was the one who taught her how to bake. I guess Mrs. Daniels was a great lady, although I never met her.”

  “I met her,” Rob said. “A few times, but it was years ago, when we were still kids. She was always very nice to me.”

  “I met, too,” Jacques said quietly. “More recently. She and Elizabeth acted like sisters. Elizabeth didn’t make her mother’s cheesecake recipe for two years after she lost her.” He paused, as if trying to decide how much Rob could be trusted to know. “Elizabeth is also completely self-supporting now. Only a tiny amount from the will remained after expenses were paid and, since she normally only works a few hours per week at the shop to relieve her uncle, her Tutti-Frutti salary is also very small. So, the advance and the royalties on her cookbooks are her major source of income. She can’t afford to be irresponsible.”

  The way he said it, it was like an accusation. As if Rob were one of Elizabeth’s few bad choices. It was an insinuation he sure could have lived without.

  The ladies returned, sparklers in hand.

  “We brought some to share with you boys, even though you said they were for sissies.” Elizabeth gave Nick an especially saucy grin. “I’m willing to bet you won’t be able to resist once we light them.”

  Nick laughed and snatched one of the packs away from her.

  “See,” she said, pointing at him.

  Rob watched as they lit a few, the sparklers brightening up their little corner of the park and casting a warm glow wherever the light shined. He noticed Elizabeth’s facial expression. How different it was tonight. Not because of the bright sparklers’ light but because of her growing confidence. That look of self-assurance flattered her, enhanced her natural quality of competence by adding a dash of poise.

  She may fancy herself in love with him, but it was clear she’d do just fine without any dumb jock hanging on her sleeve. He was seeing her transformation from the fearful, stuttering duckling to the secure, dignified swan right before his eyes. She didn’t need him to rescue her. If truth be told, she’d been the one rescuing him today. She didn’t need his help.

  Hell, nobody needed his help.

  Miguel assured him (at least twice a day when Rob checked in via cell phone) that The Playbook was doing just fine, despite him being over a hundred miles away and in another state. He’d worked long hours for years—hiring the right people, organizing every aspect of the restaurant, automating as many procedures as possible—so he wouldn’t be indispensable forever. Now, he wasn’t.

  Mama, Tony, Maria-Louisa and the gang were great, as always.

  His other siblings, in a variety of conversations and e-mails, declared they, too, were in terrific shape. No problems on their end, thanks.

  Tutti-Frutti required only a warm body to open and close the place, so even there he was nobody special.

  Maybe when the uncles returned he should close his eyes, throw a dart on a map and go somewhere new. Nothing pressing was holding him to either Wilmington Bay or to Chicago…other than a sense of duty and a bunch of old habits.

  The fire chief made the announcement that the first set of fireworks would be going up in a few moments. Elizabeth scooted next to him—so damned close his pulse started racing—and she nudged his side to get her expected hug. He knew he should pull away. He wasn’t going to stay in Wisconsin. He’d break her heart…but he just couldn’t do that to her tonight. Not now. Not when she was so confident for once, so sure of his eagerness to hold her.

  And the worst part was that he did want to hold her on this, the eve of her twenty-eighth birthday. Tightly, passionately, desperately.

  He wanted more than that, too.

  Boom!

  The opening display shot ribbons of colored light through the blackened sky, like streamers chasing each other then disappearing in a game of tag.

  Another boom. And another.

  Fireworks poured out of the heavens and rained down on them in a flamboyant thunderstorm. They looked up at it, awestruck.

  Elizabeth p
ressed harder into him and ran the tip of her nose along his cheek. He caught his breath and tried to resist, but he was as powerless against her as he was against the falling beams of light from the sky.

  He turned his head and their lips met for a deep, thorough, tantalizing kiss that made his mouth burn from the heat and his erection pulse against his zipper. He imagined laying her down on the velvety blanket beneath them, wishing away her friends and the entire Wilmington Bay Fourth-of-July crowd, unfastening all of these binding garments, sliding his fingers against her smooth skin and into damp and very intimate places before taking her…gently and undeniably…into full womanhood.

  “Rob.”

  He wanted to hear her scream his name in passion and feel her pulling him onto her, into her. Beautiful Elizabeth.

  He wanted to smell the musky scent of their lovemaking on his skin and taste the tears of her pleasure when she cried out in climax. He wanted to run his tongue along her neck and—

  “Rob.” Elizabeth cupped his cheek and tickled his chin until he stopped kissing her neck.

  “Um, yeah?”

  She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the rest of Team Tutti-Frutti. The three of them were smirkily avoiding establishing eye contact and focusing way too hard on the fireworks finale.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said. Or, at least that what he thought she said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s. Go,” she told him, enunciating both syllables. “To my place. Now.”

  And, see, this was the problem: He knew damn well that she didn’t really know what she was propositioning. That she ought to wait for a better first-time candidate. That he’d, nevertheless, find it impossible to resist her under the unrestrictive conditions of an empty apartment.

  And, yet, he couldn’t make himself stay in the nice, safe, noisy park with all those prying eyes. He couldn’t turn her down to save his life.

  *

  ELIZABETH KNEW EXACTLY what she was doing.

  Well, okay, there were a few technicalities that she was certain Rob’s expertise would make easier, but she knew she wasn’t making a mistake in her choice of a first-time lover. Even if it were doubtful he’d hang around long enough to be her last one.

  They collapsed onto her sofa. One of these times they ought to try her bed, she supposed, but the sofa was pretty comfortable and it had the added advantage of being several yards closer to the door.

  “Take off everything,” he whispered. “It’ll distract me enough so I won’t talk you out of this.”

  “Okay.”

  She stripped down to her underwear, and Rob assisted with unbuttoning, unlatching and other undoing activities. She always did appreciate a man who knew how to be helpful.

  “Your turn,” she told him, loosening his belt and flicking open the snap on his jeans. She saw the waistband of a different pair of boxers. Mmm. A true patriot. “Love those stars and stripes.”

  “Repeat after me, Lizzy. ‘I pledge allegiance to the flag…’” He paused to kiss behind her ear. “I don’t hear you repeating.”

  “I used to stutter through saying the Pledge in elementary school until I began mouthing the words.” She yanked the boxers off him. He gasped. “I’ll let my allegiances be known later.”

  “Alrighty then.”

  He took a shuttering breath and Elizabeth’s heart almost stopped. Please don’t back out on me now, she pleaded silently.

  “Okay, look, I only have the strength to ask you this once.” He pulled back and gazed deep into her eyes. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this…with me?”

  She still had her own cream-colored panties on. The new Victoria’s Secret extra-lacy ones she’d gotten with Rob in mind. Or, rather, with Rob discarding them in mind.

  She took his long, strong hand and placed it on her hip, his fingers brushing against the lacy leg opening at her right thigh. Oh, she wanted him so much, yet still he waited and made her wait. If her nonverbal green lights weren’t enough of a clue, she’d just have to add on the words as bluntly as possible.

  “Rob, if you don’t make love to me right now, I may have to poison your next ice cream sundae,” she said. How was that for a threat?

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” And her panties were gone before he reached the end of his sentence.

  While it was true she’d kissed a handful of boys before this particular night, and she’d even begun moving around those proverbial bases with them, Rob had long ago dragged her far into new territory. He was now taking her into an outfield she’d never explored except within the pages of an occasional romance novel. She couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of each and every movement, of the way his body’s contours connected with her own.

  His slightly roughened hand slipped between her thighs, abrading the sensitive, previously untouched skin and making her nerves jitterbug.

  “Relax,” he told her.

  Yeah, that was going to happen.

  His warm lips overtook hers, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth like a kind of kinky foreshadowing. She wished she didn’t like it quite so much. It made the strange tugging reaction of her lower regions feel more urgent. Her hips lifted to meet his fingers.

  He encircled the delicate folds with a fingertip, and she could feel her pulse in every part of her body. She heard herself moan.

  “Say my name.” He rubbed more insistently and moved his kisses to her breasts.

  But these first impressions of genuine physical foreplay took too much of her energy. Speaking was a difficult thing for her under the best of circumstances, but this—

  He pushed one of his fingers slowly inside her and her breath caught. Oh, Lord, this was going to be something…something unforgettable. What was she supposed to do next?

  “Say my name.” His finger began to thrust in and out. Just when she’d begun to get used to the rhythm, a second finger entered and joined the first in its dance.

  “R-R—” she said, not saying at all what she’d intended. Her earlier bravado began slipping away. Fast. What had she been thinking trying to take on a man like Rob? This kind of intensity couldn’t be safe. At least she hadn’t expected to feel—

  “Elizabeth. Say. My. Name.”

  She had to pull herself together. Refocus. “R-Rob,” she whispered.

  His fingers thrust hard into her and she gasped for air.

  “Rob, y-you have to s-stop.” She put her hand on his. He stopped moving so abruptly the world felt as though it’d crashed to a halt.

  He slid his fingers out of her, pulled back and looked down at her with a combination of stunned disbelief, hurt and, she had to admit, incredible self-control. “E-Eliz—”

  She touched her fingers to his lips. “C-Condoms,” she managed to say. “Do you have any?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Good,” she told him. “I-I need you in me now. No more of these preliminaries.”

  The pallor that had come over him a minute ago disappeared and he nodded, snatching at the wallet in the back pocket of his Levi’s. A moment later, she got her wish.

  The thing was, she’d imagined the reality of this experience, what it would be like, for years and years. At least ten years of wondering seriously: Would it hurt? Would she be driven mad with desire? Would her partner? So, to be honest, what she got wasn’t exactly what she’d expected.

  First of all, yes, there was a bit of an achy tenderness when he first entered fully, but not like the painful tearing she’d spent a decade worrying about. She doubted there’d be much—if any—blood. And that was kind of a relief. There was definitely something to be said for being
really turned on. It seemed to ease everything.

  Secondly, she could say without reservation that, yes, she was being driven mad with desire, but she’d expected that desire to be all consuming somehow, and it wasn’t. Not all consuming enough, anyway, to keep her from contemplating everything. She used to think, when this time came, she wouldn’t be aware of anything aside from the feelings The Man (whoever he was) brought out in her.

  Rob (a.k.a. The Man, in this particular and rather singular instance) brought out an overwhelming range of emotion in her, but she could still hear the clock ticking, the cars swishing outside on the street, the rumble of her food-deprived stomach because she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Well, no. She’d had one of Jacques’s tortes, but she was still starving.

  And she was having stray thoughts like these. Thoughts about pastries. What the hell was that all about?

  Finally, she didn’t know, and couldn’t comment on, whether Rob was being driven mad by desire. And this really wasn’t something she could ask him either.

  He did seem to be getting into the experience, what with all the moaning and grunting and other noises indicating his interest in continuing, but there was no way for her to know if his enthusiasm was because of her specifically or just because sex was an all-around, feel-good, never-turn-it-down-if-remotely-possible activity for a hot-blooded, twenty-eight-year-old, all-American, extremely-patriotic male.

  She did know that the thrusting, tugging, tightening and tension-filled physicality of the whole lovemaking thing shattered her ability to focus on any one feeling. It was too much conflicting sensation, and still too new to her.

  Not that she was finding it unpleasant or anything. Oh, no. Just really, really…well, overwhelming.

  As for Rob, his body’s urges seemed to have taken over every other part of him. He mumbled her name a few times. He kissed her mouth, her earlobes, her neck, her breasts—all the while still moving his hips in a slow grind that made her so dizzy that she was relieved to be lying down. He cupped her bottom and pulled her up into him, in time to a deliberate rhythm her heartbeat was beginning to copy. He covered her—inside and out—with himself.