by Dani Dundee
Pandora confessed that she’d railed against the doctor upon finding he’d kept the secret of Jasper’s being in Paris, as a means of keeping her to himself. He’d flown off in a rage to his atelier, declaring if she were truly wise she’d shrug off this childhood romance and act like an adult. When he came back, he expected her to accept his proposal.
“I know,” she agreed. “But what do we do now? We were counting on him to help get us started. We’re back to square one.”
“We have all the time in the world,” Jasper told her, and seemed to realize it, now, for the first time. What was the rush?
“What are you suggesting?”
Jasper smiled. He brushed a hand over her soft golden hair, remembering all at once how it felt the first time he’d done it. “We don’t need a patron to attend The Sorbonne.”
“How will we live? They won’t let us take Lee.”
“I’ll work,” Jasper said, a thought that would have sent his father into a pique. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“We don’t need him,” she answered, speaking less to him than to herself. “We can do this on our own. We don’t need Archie, or my father, or your father, or anyone else who would get in the way of our dreams.”
Jasper’s heart skipped to see the girl he fell in love with reappear. “We can, Pandora. And we will.”
Pandora sidled up to him, sitting down in his lap. Her arms came around his neck. “Thank you for understanding. For coming to find me.”
“I said I would. And I always will.”
Jasper used what was left of the money he brought with him on a down payment for a small flat along the Champs-Élysées. One room, with only a hot plate and a small fridge for the kitchen, and a bathroom whose entirety would have fit in his shower stall at home. He was hired on as a shopkeeper for an antiquary, a job that both paid the bills and helped start a path toward the future he and Pandora dreamed of.
He kept work hours around their schedule at The Sorbonne, where every day his exhaustion spoke to him, telling him it would all be worth the temporary sacrifice. His discomfort rendered insignificant when measured against the size of their dreams.
At nights, he would return to their homely abode and reflect on how it was the simplest things—the way Pandora moved about the flat in a white nightgown, the perfect smiles on his son’s face—that kept his world spinning, day after day.
One day, he and Pandora would change the world. They would see their dream through, and introduce a blend of magic and science such as New Orleans had never seen.
For now, though, he was perfectly content in this imperfect world of their loving creation.
***
PANDORA’S BOX is a short story from the expansive The House of Crimson & Clover series. Dive into the secretive, ancient powerful world of the Deschanels and Sullivans in this bestselling Paranormal Southern Gothic saga that New York Times Bestselling Author Christopher Rice calls “modern gothic with fierce smarts.”
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THE ILLUSIONS OF EVENTIDE
The House of Crimson & Clover Volume I
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About Sarah M. Cradit
Sarah is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional.
An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests). She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes.
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Table of Contents
Red Hot Candy
Table of Contents
The Things I Never Said by Jo Raven
Perfectly Equipped by Lacey Silks
Billionaires in Disguise: Rae, Kidnapped by Blair Babylon
A Fan-TAB-Ulous Night by Olivia Rigal
Take it Easy by Daisy Prescott
Before Flesh by Sky Corgan
Scorched into Submission by Daizie Draper
Pandora's Box by Sarah M. Cradit
Braving Love by SJ Mayer
Always Enough by Molly McLain
Mine In Dreams by Olivia Hardin
Like Home by Mira Bailee
Unshakeable by JC Valentine
Yearning to Yield by Pavarti K Tyler
First-Class Scoundrel by Liv Morris
Mated in Bearfield by Jacqueline Sweet
Le Moulin by JC Andrijeski
Jesse's Girl by Alison Foster
Dude by Gillian Cherry
Biker Billionaire's Bitch by Layla Wilcox
Swaying Fate by Irma Geddon
Gender Studies 101 by Dani Dundee
Disclaimers and Copyright Notices
BRAVING LOVE
By SJ Mayer
BRAVING LOVE
By SJ Mayer
BRAVING LOVE © S.J Mayer 2015
A scarred and broken stuntman looking for redemption . . . can he find it in the arms of a soft-spoken southern girl?
Chapter One
Luke
The bright lights of the movie set burned my sleep-deprived eyes and made me rethink the brilliant idea to come out of early retirement. I’d driven eight hours through the night to get to the set on time—called in as an extra stuntman. The late summer heat wasn’t helping with my mood; that was something I’d not missed about Los Angeles.
“What were you thinking, man?” I mumbled to myself as I settled my sunglasses over my eyes. They helped a little and gave me the chance to watch people’s reaction as I walked onto the set. Some stared, a few whispered, but of course, the worst of my scars were under my shirt and jeans, which made the mystery all that more titillating, I suppose.
They’d heard the rumors, I was sure. Some had seen the accident happen, even. Something like that would’ve made Hollywood headlines regardless, but I’d been twenty-eight and in my prime. Too bad one stunt gone wrong could put a man out of the game for good. Or so I thought.
Now, two years later, I was doing exactly what I’d sworn I would never do again: a big budget film with big budget stunts. And that meant lots of explosions, fire, or big heights. Most likely all three.
Two of my fellow stuntmen, Jet and Hugh, insisted I take part in this particular film. When they called and told me they were a man short and it was the last day of shooting, they flat-out begged me to fill in for the guy who’d backed out last minute. I had no legitimate reason to say no.
Besides, I couldn’t be a pussy in front of my peers any more than any other stuntman could. Even if I was retired. But the real reason I’d come back was far simpler. My workers’ comp and disability had run dry the week before. So when they waved a paycheck under my nose, it had been enough to force me into action.
My lips tightened—I knew a set up when it was all but shoved in my face, but I appreciated the effort, and they were right. I needed this—needed to be pushed back into the game. For two years, I’d wallowed in self-pity and fear. I’d let my accident rule my life and keep me from really living, and my friends knew it.
Speak of the devils, the terrible twosome jogged toward me. Jet grinned from ear to ear. He was over six foot but still a couple inches short of my six five, and his blond hair was buzzed short, like a military cut.
Hugh laughed as he cla
pped his hands over his head and swayed his hips like a hula dancer. Bigger than Jet, Hugh had dark hair and enough muscles and charm to keep the ladies begging, if he could hold off on being a goof for more than two minutes. Actually that was true of them both. The ladies flocked to their good looks, but their cavalier attitudes left more than one broken heart.
What a pair of idiots. Still, I grinned back at them, the scar along the left side of face pulling but I ignored it. “Gentlemen, what is this welcome all about?”
Jet caught me in a hug, slapping my back. “Luke, you came! I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
I snorted and cuffed the back of his head. He laughed and dodged, pointing at me. “Not fast enough, my friend. Not by a long shot.” He was only a few years my junior, in his late twenties at the most, but I felt like an old man next to them. I opened my mouth to say something, but found myself staring at the lens of a camera, my throat going dry.
The last time I’d had pictures taken was when the doctors were documenting my injuries. I could almost smell the hospital air, stale and cloying with antiseptic and the cleaner the custodian used outside my hospital room every day.
The moment took me back and for just a split second, I was laying in my hospital bed, hoping the sweet angel who held my hand and spoke softly to me when I’d been in and out of consciousness would come back and save me from the horror of being prodded and poked by doctors. Of being studied like a freak.
But she hadn’t come back. If she had, I never would have let her go, the soft soothing touch of her hands on mine was enough to keep the fear at bay. Even if I didn’t know who she was. She might have not even been real.
Jet intercepted, pressing the camera down with one hand while he slid his other around the girl’s waist. “Hey, Jasmine, if you can believe it, he’s a bit camera shy. Stuntmen are funny that way, they can handle all the explosions in the world, but a single shot with a camera sends them running like frightened bunnies.”
He was covering for me and I appreciated it, while at the same time, I loathed the truth of his statement. I didn’t used to fear anything, never mind something so innocuous as a camera.
She lowered the camera and smiled at me. Dark hair flowed over her shoulders, and green eyes glowed with a genuine concern. Jasmine was a beautiful girl, and I immediately drew back a little. Beautiful women didn’t like men with scars like mine.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Her voice was husky and had a nice tone to it.
I held up a hand, as if to ward her off. “No problem.”
An awkward silence fell between the four of us. Normally Hugh, Jet, and I joked about everything, always taking things a step too far. But since my accident . . . I hadn’t found too many things to laugh about.
Lifting my hand, I waved at them. “I’d better get to makeup.”
My smile faded as I walked away. It was an effort to not touch the left side of my body and the scars that ran from my lip to the top of my hip: my reminder of why I retired from the business.
I waved at the people I knew, my mind a thousand miles away on the last movie set I’d worked. Replaying the scene, the explosion that had gone off too soon and slammed me against a brick wall, flames burning my left side.
I shook my head, there was nothing I could do about it, nothing I could change no matter how many times I replayed it. But the fear that went with it, the loss of sleep as I jerked awake at night feeling the pain over again. That was why I was here, to face my demons and put them to rest once and for all.
“Luke, I heard you were coming out of retirement, but I’m surprised you had the balls.” The high-pitched voice ran along my nerve endings and I had to fight not to cringe. Of all the women I knew, why did this one have to be on this movie set?
“Abby,” I half turned, keeping my left side directed away from her, “I didn’t realize you were working here. I thought you’d slept your way into the Fox studios by now.” We’d been dating when the accident happened. Of course, she didn’t stick around—she was the girl who wanted to be with the gorgeous guy, not the guy with burn scars. The guy who was in the hospital for months getting skin grafts and dealing with healing by himself. Abby was out for herself—I’d just been blind to that tiny little fact.
She glared at me and I glared right back. There was no love lost between us.
Not that she’d taken any time to drop me other than a text to tell me we were done, that she wouldn’t be seen with a freak covered in scars. Yes, those exact words.
No, there had been no one from the set to see me. I had dreams of that angel telling me to hang on, that it wasn’t my time. The doctors said it was normal to hallucinate under the drugs I’d been on.
Abby sashayed up to me, and laid a hand on my chin, tipping it so she could look at the scars that curled from the left side of my lips and down my neck. I pushed her roving fingers away. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
A soft snort escaped her. “I’m the assistant director, I think you should play nice, Luke. Or that big fat check you’ve been promised will be out the window.”
Biting my tongue, I walked away. Though the money was nice, it wasn’t the reason I was here. No, the fear eating at me since the accident had to be dealt with. And there was only one way I knew to battle through it.
Face it head on. Besides, she didn’t have the seniority to fire me.
Seconds later, I was in the makeup room, slumping into one of the chairs. I fell into old habits, pretending there were no scars on me, and laying the confidence on thick. “I don’t know which of you ladies has the distinct pleasure of working on me, but I’m sure you won’t ever forget it.”
A smattering of laughter from the women, and then a pair of soft hands settled on my shoulder. A sweetly sensual voice curled around me alongside her vanilla perfume. “Nice to see you up and about, Luke.”
My eyes rose to the mirror and my tongue suddenly felt too thick to speak properly but I tried anyway. Of all the women I’d known in the industry, this girl had to be the sweetest. Not to mention, one of the sexiest. Which was heightened by the fact she seemed oblivious to the effect she had on me. Always had on me. But even I knew when I was out of my league, and Soleil was that girl.
“Soleil, good to see you.” She’d changed in the year and a half I’d been away from the industry. Not so much in her looks, she still had those stunning blue eyes that sometimes seemed green in the right light, and long wavy blond hair she had pulled in a loose braid over one shoulder. No, this was the first time she’d ever held eye contact with me. Before it had been flashes before she would duck her head no matter how I’d tried to draw her out. Out of my league? Absolutely. Did that mean I would stop flirting? Of course not.
I grinned at her. “Not so shy anymore?”
Her eyelashes fluttered down and a light pink rose in her cheek, her voice accented lightly, her southern upbringing showing. “Can’t be shy in this business if you want to get anywhere. If you want to get what you desire.”
Standing behind me, she leaned closer, her white shirt skimming her shoulders and giving me a good view in the mirror of the smooth skin across the top of her chest. Her hands cupping my face, one finger stroking up and over my jaw line. “What’s it going to be, Luke? What do you want?”
We both knew the makeup was already lined up. I had no choice in what I wore on set.
For more than a split second, I struggled to think past the heat that curled from her hands down my neck. Her touch was gentle and warm. The tension of coming on the set, of facing my fear of doing stunts receded as her fingers massaged along the edge of my jaw.
For the first time in almost two years, I breathed easy, though it wasn’t helping my cognitive abilities. “Want?”
Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter and the color in her cheeks seemed to spread across the top of her chest. “Yes, Luke, you have to tell me what you want. I’m not a mind reader.”
I swallowed hard and grinned at her. “Good thing. I’m not
sure you’re ready to see what I’m imagining.”
***
Chapter Two
Soleil
Since the day I’d visited Luke in the hospital after his accident, I’d wondered how this moment, if it ever came, would feel. When he’d been lying there, pale as the sheets the nurses tucked around him, I held his hand and told him how I felt. Told him how his laughter and smile brightened every day I’d worked with him. Told him I only wanted him to get better--I didn’t care about the scars.
Now that the moment was here, it took everything I had not to drop my eyes and look away from his intense gaze in the mirror, which held me as firmly as if he had his hands on my waist. We stared at each other, him in the chair and me standing behind him, touching his jawline, the mirror the conduit between us.
I’d been dreaming about Luke since I met him almost three years ago. He stood over six feet tall, and had the wide shoulders and narrow hips that had every woman in the industry drooling. With smoky gray eyes and dark brown hair long on top, which gave him a messy Johnny Depp look—he had buckled more than one set of knees.
The cherry on top were those lips of his—they were so damn sensual—always laughing, smiling, or cracking jokes. He wasn’t a brooder despite everything that happened to him. I stared into his eyes, and forced myself to be bold. “You sure about that?”
I didn’t take my hands from his face, but for the first time let my fantasy play out for real.
Touching him for more than just a touch up before he went onto the set.
