“Just love him the same way you live your life-love him without holding back, love him as if every day with him will be more magical than the last, love him as if he's your destiny and the world will be better if you two are together, and he won't be able to ever stop loving you.” Stephanie Garber
Darcie Rose settled comfortably into her worn but still serviceable office chair and woke her laptop up. Her intention, as always, was to work on her book but, also as always, she immediately clicked on her favorite streaming movie channel. She soothed her guilty feelings by reassuring herself that she needed the inspiration provided by the channel's endless supply of romances to be able to write her own romantic suspense novels. She grinned cheekily to herself. Yeah, right!
She scrolled leisurely through the listings, looking for any new additions to the lineup and found several. One in particular starred an actor she was especially intrigued by. Ronan Christopher. The man was simply gorgeous. Tall, dark, and intensely masculine. Almost too beautiful to be believed. Everything about him, including his voice, always left her melting inside, even as she debated whether he was gay or not. Nothing she had read told her one way or the other, but she was convinced that women could not possibly be so fortunate as for him to be straight.
But, oh, could she dream!
The movie was almost over when her cell phone rang. She thought about ignoring it but then remembered that her agent, Sylvia, was supposed to call sometime today. Tapping the screen to freeze the scene, she then reached for her phone and found that it was, indeed, Sylvia.
“How's the book coming along?” she demanded before Darcie could say hello.
“I'm doing well, thank you. How are you?”
“Don't be cute. I haven't heard from you in a week. Please tell me you're almost finished!”
Darcie sighed.
“Yes, almost. I should have the first draft finished today or maybe tomorrow.”
“Good! Send me a copy as soon as you can.”
She heard a quick slurp as Sylvia added still more caffeine to her already over-caffeinated body.
“I faxed you a list of dates and cities for your upcoming tour. It's only six weeks away.”
“I know, Sylvia. You remind me every time you talk to or email me. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“The Signet Channel wants to meet with you while you're in LA about making Over My Dead Heart into a film.”
Darcie's mouth fell open.
“The Signet Channel?”
“Yes, your not-so-secret guilty pleasure wants to turn your first book into a movie.”
“Wow!” She rubbed her forehead with suddenly trembling fingers. “That's our last stop on the tour. Just before Christmas.”
“Yep. Merry Christmas, sweetie. Santa came early this year to your house.”
“Wow, again.”
“Thought you'd feel that way so I've added a couple of days there to give you a chance to soak it all in.”
“Does it look like it's going to be a good offer?”
“They haven't said anything about it but given what I know about them, it most likely will be well worth considering.” Darcie heard another quick slurp. “Look, I gotta go. I just wanted to touch base and make sure everything's on track. Turn off the movies and get back to work!”
Sylvia knew her too well.
“Yes, Mother.”
There was a click as her agent ended the call.
~
By the time Darcie left on the tour over the Thanksgiving weekend, she had completed a second draft of her current novel and was half way through editing the galleys for her last. The first stop was New York where she appeared on national morning shows and met with her publicist. In between all the engagements, Sylvia dragged her into stylish boutiques and to an exclusive salon for a complete makeover. She had learned long ago not to argue with her agent's insistence on erasing as much of her country life from her appearance as possible, but Darcie absolutely insisted on having the final say on what she wore and how she looked while on tour. She was not an elegant socialite nor a hard nosed business woman and refused to appear as either. Her clothes, while expensive, were comfortable and fluid. Not quite bohemian but still free spirited. She refused to allow the stylist to cut her hair shorter but did agree to a sassy new, easy-to-take-care-of look created by artfully layering her fine, light brown hair so that its natural wave softly framed her winsome face. Darcie knew she wasn't beautiful and that her age couldn't be completely disguised, but she was content with that knowledge. She felt no need for artifice.
She arrived in LA ten days before Christmas feeling the effects of being on the road for three long weeks. It had been a good tour. She had given many interviews and met with her many fans, which she loved to do. But she was eager to get home and back into her quiet life. First, however, she had to meet with the Signet Channel's executives.
Her publicist, Toni, met her at the airport with her customary hug, which was another thing Darcie had learned to accept. Toni hugged everybody. Well, almost everybody. Sylvia had snarled once and Toni had never forgotten the warning. It didn't stop her expertly made up eyes from dancing with merriment, however, as if mischief was always just a thought away.
“Darcie, my love, how are you? I'm so glad to see you!”
“Hi, Toni. Frankly, I'm tired and I'm starved, and if I see another packet of airline peanuts I'll scream!”
“You poor, darling,” Toni's bright red mouth made a moue as she motioned to the nattily dressed man behind her that Darcie, with her exhausted mind, hadn't noticed, “Fred, take her bag. She's tired.”
Without a word, he gently removed the carry on from her hand and followed closely behind as Toni led them briskly away and up the concourse. LAX was huge, but Darcie always insisted that no one enlist the services of one of the passenger vehicles. Even as tired as she was, she had precious little time to get her daily steps in as she traveled. As part of her ongoing war with her weight, she considered walking to be essential.
At the baggage carousel she handed Fred her claim tickets with a description of the vivid blue luggage she had chosen so it would stand out against the endless line of black suitcases, then followed Toni out of the building to a limousine Sylvia had insisted on that was parked near the exit. The door was held open by another nattily dressed man, this one shorter and plumper than Fred. He smiled as they approached the car.
“Ms. Rose, it's a pleasure to see you again.”
Darcie returned his friendly smile.
“Hello, Clarence. How's that grand-baby doing? She must be, let's see, about two now, right?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied proudly “Her favorite word to the world at large is 'no' and her favorite words for me are 'puweese, gwanpa?'”
“And I'm sure she always gets what she asks for?”
Clarence grinned unabashedly.
“You bet. It's my solemn duty to spoil her rotten.”
She chuckled as she stepped into the limo, followed closely by Toni. The door closed quietly behind them, enclosing them in air conditioned comfort, for even in December it was quite warm in LA. In what seemed like moments, she heard her luggage being placed in the trunk, Fred and Clarence slid into the front seats, and they were soon on their way out of the madness of LAX.
The traffic on the freeway was as nuts as she remembered, but Fred handled the limo smoothly through it all. Until there was a sudden cough from the engine and a huge cloud of white bloomed from beneath the hood. Not so smoothly, he crossed several lanes of traffic, eliciting many strident blares from surprised motorists who refused to slow down for the elongated black car. How they made it to the shoulder without being killed, Darcie would never know.
The men remained in their seats in front as the women sat, surprised, in the back, while Clarence called for help. Within ten minutes, another limousine slid smoothly into place behind them. Darcie was impressed. She and Toni were expertly led to the second limo, their luggage quickly switched to its trunk, the men resumed their positions in the front seats (Fred after a hair raising trip against the traffic to the driver's door), and they were soon once again on their way. She estimated twenty minutes in all had passed from the beginning to the end of the experience. Again, she was impressed. She'd have been waiting for hours for AAA to answer her call for help back home. She knew, because it had happened. Twice. It was to be expected when you refused to give up the vintage AMC Pacer she called Centauri that she'd inherited six years before from her grandmother. She made a note to add the experience to some amusing scene in a future book.
At the impressively built hotel, Clarence apologized sincerely for the inconvenience as he helped first Darcie, then Toni, from the car. Both women smiled in return then quickly entered the hotel through doors held open by a formally dressed young man. Darcie imagined he had “aspiring actor” stamped across his forehead and winked as she passed. She remembered what it was like to be an aspiring writer and commiserated with him.
The lobby was formally plush, the employees agreeable, and the guests leisurely as she and Toni were led to the glass elevator car that soon had them whisked to the top floor. A valet waited outside the door of her suite and Darcie was surprised that, somehow, her luggage had beat them there. As soon as the door closed, she kicked off her shoes, walked into the bedroom, and promptly fell backwards onto the sumptuously made up bed.
“Oh god,” she moaned, her eyes closing with bliss,“this feels like heaven.”
Toni chuckled.
“You can thank the good people at Signet. Nothing's too good for a star.”
“I'm not exactly a star.”
“Tell that to your thousands of fans.”
“Well, there's a world of difference between this place and the Hiltons I usually stay at.” She opened one eye and looked at Toni, who stood at the foot of the bed. “I can't believe our limo broke down on the freeway. It could only have happened to me!”
The publicist frowned.
“Which it never should have. I'll have a talk with the company here in a few minutes. But, first, I want you to do what you must to relax then decide what you want to wear tonight.”
“Wear?” was Darcie's quick response. “I refuse to go anywhere else tonight.”
“Sorry. No can do. You are the guest of honor at a dinner planned by the head honchos at Signet.”
She grimaced and groaned resignedly.
“Of course I am. Don't they realize I've been traveling for nearly ten hours today?”
“All they're worried about is that they have three days to impress and convince you to let them make the movie.”
Darcie groaned again and sat up.
“When do we have to leave?”
“You still have a little over three hours. You have enough time to take a quick nap before you get ready.”
“Will Sylvia be there?”
“Of course. She should be landing at the airport about now.”
“A nap sounds wonderful.”
She began to strip down to her lacy bra and panties, another guilty pleasure, before lifting the bedspread and sliding between the sheets. The bed felt like a cloud and, with a sigh, she quickly fell into slumber.
Sylvia was waiting impatiently when Toni gently woke Darcie from her nap. During the time she had slept, her suitcases had been unpacked, her clothes hung or put away (except for the dirty ones, which were set aside to send to the hotel laundry), and her toiletries and make up set out on the room's dressing table. She wasn't sure she liked that particular service. There was something weird to her about someone else handling her stuff.
After a quick greeting with Sylvia, she stubbornly refused to hurry her shower and makeup, and nearly forty-five minutes later, she was dressed in a lacy, blush-colored dress and matching heels, and being led from the suite. Their limo quickly whisked them to an exclusive restaurant where they were shown to a separate dining room. Inside, a small army of people waited with what Darcie felt were measuring expressions that felt distinctly like judgments were being made. Instinctively, her chin went up as she made direct eye contact with those who seemed to have the power. She would not be intimidated.
“Ms Rose,” one man wearing an expensive Brooks Brothers suit approached and held out his hand with a cordial smile, “I am Robert Delaney. I'm the CEO of Signet. How was your trip to LA?”
Darcie returned his firm handshake with one of her own.
“My trip was uneventful,” she replied, “at least until we were on the freeway.”
“Oh? What happened on the freeway?”
“The limo decided it was tired and collapsed.”
Delaney's shrewd eyes widened in surprise.
“It broke down?”
“Yes. Right there on the freeway. I'm the only person I've heard of that has ever had that happen to them.”
“I'm so sorry that happened to you. I shall speak with the president of the company tomorrow.”
Darcie shook her head.
“No, please don't. Cars break down. I know mine does quite often.” Rolling her eyes, she grinned engagingly. “I happen to have a keen sense of the ridiculous, Mr. Delaney, and found the whole incident more humorous than not. Besides, the matter was quickly taken care of in less than thirty minutes. I truly wasn't inconvenienced in any way.”
Delaney eyed her dubiously then nodded in agreement.
“Very well. As you wish.” He turned to face the rest of the dinner guests milling around the table. “Everyone, let me introduce Darcie Rose. It's her book that we hope to produce as a movie later this year.”
There were smiling nods and greetings of welcome before everyone took their seats. Elegantly uniformed waiters moved about the table filling wine glasses and quietly answering any inquiries the guests might make. After everyone was settled, each guest introduced themselves and their partners and added their welcomes. Soon her head was swimming with names. Darcie was very good with faces but not so good at names. She only hoped she didn't embarrass herself later.
The discussion began with questions about her life and her experiences in writing. From there they spoke about the plans to be made with regard to the filming of Over My Dead Heart. The guests were offered their choice of gourmet Cornish hen or a vegetarian dish and the dinner progressed pleasantly until they began discussing possible choices of actors for the major roles.
“You would, of course, have some say in the choosing of our leads,” Delaney assured her.
“Of course she will,” Sylvia responded firmly, “It's something we will insist on.”
“Do you have any thoughts on possible choices?” someone asked and Darcie pretended to consider the question. She definitely had her ideas!
“Yes, I do,” she responded but before she could say more, Sylvia again spoke up.
“We will discuss that matter as well later,” she promised pointedly.
“Well,” the young wife of a middle-aged vice president began, “I believe Ronan would make a perfect Adam Blakely.”
“You've read Darcie's work?” Toni asked and was rewarded with a pleased smile.
“Why, yes, I have,” the young wife admitted, “I'm quite a fan of yours, Darcie.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. I'm always happy to meet one of my readers.”
Inside, Darcie squirmed a little in embarrassment. Mrs Stephens had no idea of just how much Ronan Christopher had inspired her hero!
An artful update of Peach Melba was served for dessert as the evening continued. Later, once she was back in her suite, Darcie relaxed in her favorite sleep shirt with its faded image of Wonder Woman gracing the front and enjoyed a cup of hot cocoa from the carafe sent up by room service. The sofa, like the suite itself, was the epitome of luxurious comfort and she sighed as her tired muscles were soothed into blissful repose. She debated whether to turn on the television, or read, or simply go to bed, and finally decided to do none of the above. Standing, she returned to the bedroom and collected her leather soft-sided attache from which she withdrew the galleys for her upcoming novel, which was scheduled for release in February. Returning to the sofa, she again relaxed, took a sip of cocoa, then continued her review from where she had left off. It was the one part of publishing that she least liked. By the time the manuscript was returned to her as galleys, she was heartily sick of the story, which forced her to become extra vigilant lest her impatience cause her to miss something. Minutes passed as she worked into the wee hours of the night until she set the remaining galleys aside and found her way to bed.
Sylvia had left the following morning free so Darcie was able to sleep in until she woke naturally, without an alarm. After showering and dressing casually for the day, she met Toni in the hotel restaurant for brunch before being driven to the Signet studios. There she joined Sylvia in meeting with Delaney and his assistant and the four of them began discussing the particulars in bringing Over My Dead Heart to life on the small screen. The location scenes would be shot in New Orleans. The interior shots would be done in LA. Names were bandied around for potential roles both before and behind the camera, until, finally, the meeting adjourned in favor of a tour of the studio grounds. By the time she returned to the hotel, Darcie was ready for a break. Unfortunately, she wasn't given one.
That night a party was planned for the hotel ballroom by the studio to introduce her to the stars and crew members of current Signet productions. After a couple of hours spent in the hotel beauty spa, she dressed in a silk gown whose simplicity was belied by it's deep crimson color. She had declined a pair of matching 4-inch heels in favor of crimson slippers as she knew from experience how dangerous heels were when she wore them for dancing. Discreet pearl drops hung from her ears, from a dainty gold chain about her neck, and a matching bracelet around one wrist. Standing back from the full-length mirror, she studied her reflection with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction. The stylists at the spa had primped and pampered her body with fragrant oils and lotions, and applied makeup that expertly softened the signs of living that added shallow lines around her eyes. The gown was fashionable and in good taste, not merely trendy, and her hair was styled simply with subtle highlighting that blended beautifully with the gray that had appeared over the past couple of years. The overall effect was of one of confident serenity. Nope. Not half bad for a tired, slightly chubby, forty-nine-year-old spinster.
After slipping her key card into her tiny wristlet, she made her way to the lobby where she was met by Toni and Sylvia.
“My lord but you look gorgeous!” her publicist complimented her with a smile. She was lovely in a short black sheathe.
“Hard to believe you live in a backwater,” was Sylvia's comment. “No one would ever guess based on your appearance tonight.”
Darcie smiled wryly at her agent, who was dressed in a feminine answer to the traditional mens' tux.
“Thank you. I think.”
The three women made their way to the ballroom where they were met at the door by the studio's bearded director of public relations and his husband, along with the sounds of mellow jazz from the featured live band.
“Ladies, welcome! My name is Phillip and this is Todd.”
Darcie smiled and shook their hands then looked around the room while they introduced themselves to Sylvia and Darcie. A passing waiter offered her a tray filled with a variety of viands. Another, glasses of wine. The ballroom was full but not uncomfortably so, allowing plenty of space for couples to dance at its center, and suddenly she didn't feel quite so tired.
Delaney appeared with his tall, stunningly svelte middle-aged wife and introduced them to one another.
“I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Rose.”
“I'm pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Delaney. And, please, call me Darcie.”
“Very well, Darcie. How are you liking it here in our fair city?”
“I like what I've seen of it. The city seems to have done a marvelous job of keeping its doors open to further prosperity and the people are quite friendly. I find that rather unusual for such a large metropolitan area.”
“You are from a small town in, is it Kentucky?”
“North Carolina. A little place not far from Asheville called Bellpeal.”
“I've never been there.”
“It's in the mountains, kind of off the beaten path. It's a quiet area that, so far, the tourists haven't discovered.”
“Another Mayberry?”
Darcie chuckled.
“Almost.”
She glanced at Delaney just in time to see him motion someone into their small group. Looking up at the man who towered several inches over Delaney, her heart stuttered to a halt and her breath caught as her eyes met the almost crystalline blue ones belonging to Ronan Christopher.
“Ronan! I want you to meet Darcie Rose, the author of Over My Dead Heart. Darcie, Ronan Christopher.”
Oh god, the man was even more gorgeous in person, and she would never have believed that possible!
“Ms Rose,” his voice was warm, rich, and slightly husky as he extended his hand, “I've looked forward to meeting you.”
Somehow she managed to smile and place her hand in his, expecting a professional shake. Instead, he gave it a gentle squeeze and held it longer than expected before slowly releasing it. Not realizing she was doing so, she closed it as if to hold the warmth of his palm captive against hers a few moments longer.
“Call me Darcie, please.”
She was grateful that there was only the smallest hint of breathlessness in her voice. His beautiful, slightly crooked smile widened.
“Very well, Darcie, if you'll call me Ronan.”
She could only nod in response. There was no way this man could be gay. She was suddenly sure of it!
The noise and movement in the ballroom seemed to fall away as they gazed at one another. She was surprised to see frank appreciation in his eyes and wasn't certain what to make of it. She was, after all, at least ten years older than him and couldn't hold a candle to the slim, gorgeous young women he worked with and was known to escort to public functions. She decided he really must be a consummate charmer.
Delaney suddenly interrupted their enchantment to introduce her to other actors and actresses who populated Signet's vast repertoire of romances and romantic comedies, separating her and Ronan as the night progressed. Soon her head was swirling with names and faces, a fact not helped by the two banana banshees she had allowed herself for the night. Thinking it would probably behoove her to eat something, she broke away from the conversation she had been listening to between Sylvia and a Signet middle manager and made her way to the tables leaden with a vast array of hors d'oerves.
She had just chosen a skewer of fresh fruit when Ronan appeared beside her.
“Are you enjoying the night, Darcie?”
She nearly bobbled the fruit, but catching herself, she smiled up at him. She hoped she didn't appear as flustered as she felt. Honestly! This was getting ridiculous!
“Yes. Yes, I am, Ronan, thank you. Are you?”
“I am.” The band had shifted to a slow tune and he held out his hand invitingly. “Would you care to dance?”
Unmindful of the haste with which she did so, Darcie set aside the fruit and accepted his invitation.
He led her to the crowded dance floor and, as he gently pulled her into his arms, she thought the night simply couldn't get any more perfect. He was a wonderful dancer who led her gracefully past her own inexperience so that she felt little of the awkwardness with which dancing usually afflicted her. Once again the crowd faded away and there was just the two of them, moving slowly on the dance floor. At some point, their bodies drifted closer and he dropped her hand to wrap his arms around her waist while her own encircled his neck and she laid her head against his shoulder. They didn't speak, at least with words. But their bodies communicated perfectly.
When the music ended, she pulled away just far enough to meet his eyes and felt rocked by the heat she found there.
“Come with me,” he ordered softly in his husky voice, and she nodded before he led her from the dance floor and ballroom, through the hotel lobby, and out into the elegant. fragrant gardens surrounding the pool. He found a quiet nook in the dimly lit darkness and once again pulled her into his arms. Without a word, she lifted her face to his and met his lips shyly with her own.
There was a strange hesitancy to his kiss, at least at first, and she had the fleeting thought that he seemed as shy as she. He sipped at her lips before settling firmly, and any impression of shyness was lost as he pulled her closer and she slid beneath a tidal wave of passion. Wrapping her arms tightly about his neck, she felt the thick softness of his hair between her fingers even as she felt his hands lightly cup her bottom through her gown and draw her against his growing hardness. Alarm bells rang in her head, but they were distant and easily ignored.
“Ronan,” she whispered as his lips left hers to leave little kisses about her face before making their way from her ear down her neck.
“I want you,” he whispered in return, “God!”
Once again his lips took hers and she shivered as she whimpered with need. In all her life, she had never felt such need. But then, there had never been anyone like him to incite it. When the bells rang this time, they penetrated the sensual fog surrounding her and she paused before slowly drawing away. This wasn't like her, and suddenly, having never known it before, she was frightened by the power of her passion.
“Ronan, I-I can't.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard, his eyes closed.
“Why?”
“I...I'm not...I don't...oh!” Another shiver raced through her and she shifted her head to lay her cheek against his. “This isn't like me.”
“Me, neither.” He brushed a kiss over her face as his breathing gradually slowed.
“Really?”
He pulled her close once again, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tightly as he rested his cheek atop her head.
“Really.”
“I find it hard to believe I'm the first woman you've ever, whose ever...”
He chuckled huskily.
“You're the first woman since I was a teenager to test my control so...”
“Really?”
“Really.”
They stood for several minutes, simply holding one another as the night went on around them. Couples emerged from the hotel to wander the garden but never intruded on their little sanctuary. Music escaped from the ballroom, again sensual and slow, and soon they were moving together once again, shifting from side to side, lost in its magic.
“When do you leave?” he eventually asked and she sighed.
“Morning after tomorrow.”
“What will you do for Christmas?”
“Not much.”
“Not spending it with your family?”
She shook her head.
“I'm estranged from my family.”
He pulled back to study her face. Her eyes sparkled with moonlight, but there was a sorrow there that no light could brighten.
“Why? Or is that too personal?”
“No, no it's not.” She sighed and rested her head once more against his shoulder. “I guess you could say that I loved them too much.”
“How can you love someone too much?”
“By trying to protect them against a danger they refused to see.”
He tightened his hold for a comforting moment.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Darcie started to refuse but then something, some need to share the burden, changed her mind.
“My mother died ten years ago. For a couple of years my dad had a number of girlfriends, all nice, respectable women who genuinely cared for him.” She paused, thinking back. “Then he met Evelyn and there was something about her that immediately made me suspicious. Everyone else fell in love with her, but I could never trust her. That created a lot of tension between me and my family, as I'm sure you can imagine, and I was accused of being jealous and of not wanting Dad to be happy. Never mind that I'd always accepted his other girlfriends and welcomed them into our family.” She sighed and he gave her a small squeeze of encouragement. “Finally, I had a background check done on her.”
“And then what?”
“There was nothing there. Just her name, where she last lived, and where she lived now. Nothing else. Nothing! That only increased my worry.”
“I can understand that.”
“Well, when Dad found out, he disowned me, and the rest of the family turned their backs on me.”
“They chose her over you.”
“Yes.”
Ronan sighed and tightened his arms about her as he pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head.
“I'm so sorry, honey.”
“Thank you. I am, too.”
“Do you still live near them?”
“No, I moved away. Far away. They still live in Arkansas. I now live in North Carolina.”
Silence fell between them and once again, he started moving them leisurely to the music. Then he pulled back to smile invitingly down into her face.
“Spend Christmas with me.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Here? In California?”
“Yes. Or we could spend it somewhere else if you prefer.”
“What about your family?”
His expression was suddenly shuttered.
“I don't have any family.”
Surprised questions sprang to mind, but something stopped her from asking them. She sensed the subject was too painful for him. Instead, she studied his face for a moment before lifting a hand to lay it gently against his cheek.
“Then spend Christmas with me, in North Carolina,” she smiled, “I can't offer you all the conveniences and wonders of metropolitan living but I can offer you quiet and even anonymity, if you like.”
He seemed to be considering her invitation, so she sweetened the pot.
“I make a helluva turkey dinner.”
“From scratch?”
“Of course.”
His smile returned.
“Then I accept.”
Darcie spent the next morning at the studio with Sylvia as a deal was worked out to produce Over My Dead Heart, then the afternoon was spent at a book lovers conference where she met with fans, signed autographs, granted interviews, and led a workshop on writing romantic suspense novels. That evening she shared an intimate dinner with Ronan at an exclusive LA restaurant and spent hours watching the lights from an overlook of the city as they shared thoughts and experiences, and a few heated kisses. They parted at the hotel with a final kiss after midnight and she managed a few hours of sleep before she had to board a plane for home. She was thinking ahead to their Christmas reunion when she fell asleep in flight.
~
The days passed. Darcie completed the review of the galleys then began decorating her modest little house for Christmas. Though she could easily have afforded a professional decorator, she preferred her own brand of over-the-top holiday decorating, and soon the house was festooned from corner to corner with holly, pine boughs, ribbon, and a balsam tree that filled the room with the aroma of winter. Multi-colored lights twinkled from among its branches while ornaments she had collected over the years hung from their tips. Hidden deep within was a small glass Christmas pickle, a nod to the German traditions passed down from her great-great-grandparents, and on a festive tartan taffeta and lace skirt, the gifts she had received from friends and fans resided patiently for Christmas Day. On top was a hand-crafted antique angel she had once found at an estate sale.
During that time, she spoke nearly every night with Ronan and once with Toni. During the conversation with her publicist, she learned what lay behind Ronan's odd response to her inquiry about his family. When he was fourteen, they had been living in a rural area of Northern California. One particularly cold night, the chimney to their heating stove had caught fire. In the end, the house was destroyed and everyone inside, but Ronan, had died in the blaze. He had been pulled to safety by firemen who arrived on scene shortly after the call had come in. He had suffered first, second, and third degree burns all over his body but, somehow, his face had been spared, and he had spent months in the hospital. That was why he was never filmed not fully dressed.
After her shock had worn off, Darcie's heart ached for the boy he'd been and all he had suffered and lost. And she marveled at the courage it must have taken to pursue his chosen career. A career that prized physical perfection, when only his face had been left unmarred. She suddenly remembered the odd moment of shyness she had sensed when they first kissed and thought she now understood.
She searched for over a week for just the right gift for him before finding it at a local artisan's shop. It was a dark brown braided leather bracelet with a pewter phoenix medallion attached. It was lovely and masculine, and wonderfully symbolic of all he had overcome. She paid the leathersmith a hefty sum for it and rushed home to wrap the box containing it in tissue paper and slide it into a stocking she had crafted for him out of felt and sequins. She then hung it next to her own from the oak mantle above the gas fireplace.
On a cold, blustery Christmas Eve afternoon, she drove to the teeming airport outside of Asheville to await his arrival. While there, she watched the people as they hurried to and from the ticket counter to the security area. There, they separated into those who would be flying and those who would be staying. Tears and laughter flowed equally between them. From the far left side, a steady stream of arrivals walked through a separate doorway, some carrying gift boxes along with their carry-on luggage and all looking harried. Most were met with laughter, hugs, and slaps on the back before hurrying off to claim their luggage, while others simply hurried through the milling crowd.
She finally spotted Ronan as he emerged with other arrivals. Not surprisingly, he was accompanied by an attractive young woman. Who just happened to be carrying a toddler wearing a pink coat with pink pants and pink sneakers on her tiny feet. And the toddler was seemingly fascinated by the man carrying a diaper bag along with his carry on. Darcie couldn't help grinning at the picture it made.
When he saw her, he grinned in response and bent to say something to the young woman. Together they crossed the terminal in her direction.
“Hi, Ronan,” she greeted him as they drew near. “You seem to fascinate women of all ages.”
“Hello, Darcie.” He smiled at the young woman. “This is Sarah and her daughter, Taylor. Ladies, this is my friend, Darcie.”
Sarah smiled and, after some juggling of her daughter, extended a free hand.
“Hi, Darcie. Pleased to meet you.”
Darcie smiled in response.
“Hi, Sarah.” Reaching out, she touched the child's hand. “She's beautiful.”
The young mother smiled tiredly.
“Thank you. She's also a handful.”
They all chuckled as Taylor chose that moment to kick out and lean back over her mother's arm.
“I can see that.”
Ronan motioned to the rows of seats near the window.
“Why don't you have a seat, Sarah, while I collect your luggage?”
Sarah gratefully sank onto one of the seats and shifted her daughter so that she could reach into the pocket on the side of her cross-body purse. She withdrew claim tickets and handed them to him.
“Thanks, Ronan. It's a large purple rolling duffle bag.”
After setting the diaper bag and his carry-on on next to her feet, he strolled off toward baggage claim.
For a few minutes, the two women were silent as Sarah tried to get Taylor settled comfortably on her lap. The child, however, was restless and cranky now that Ronan was gone and Darcie hid another grin. Amazing how women of all ages responded to him.
Finally, Sarah reached for the diaper bag then looked back at Darcie.
“Could I please get you to get a bottle out of here?”
“Sure.”
Opening the bag she quickly found a bottle. Surprisingly, it was cool to the touch.
“These insulated diaper bags are amazing,” she commented as she handed the bottle to Sarah.
“The flight attendant was kind enough to put it on ice during the flight. That definitely helped.”
It only took a moment for Taylor to accept the bottle and quieten down.
“My inlaws are going to meet me in about an hour,” Sarah told her as she once again adjusted the toddler on her lap, this time so that she could more easily drink.
“Do they have far to come?”
“No, not really. I just caught an earlier flight than expected.”
Glancing down, Darcie saw that Taylor was nearly asleep.
“Poor little girl,” she crooned softly, “She's so tired.”
“And her momma ain't far behind her.”
They laughed and continued to chat until Ronan returned with Sarah's duffle. By that time, the toddler was sound asleep.
“Finally gave in, did she?” he asked after rolling the duffle to one side.
Sarah nodded with a tired smile.
“Yeah. Maybe she'll sleep all the way home.” She paused and gazed lovingly at her daughter. “I can hope, anyway.”
Ronan and Darcie remained with Sarah and Taylor until the inlaws arrived then wished them a merry Christmas and continued to short term parking, where she had left her car. In a few minutes, they were on the interstate heading west. A few minutes after that, she was driving the winding two-lane road toward home. The sky was spitting snow on the gusting wind.
“What's your town's name again?” Ronan asked with a smile.
“Bellpeal.”
He chuckled.
“I admit I knew that. I just love to hear you say it.”
Darcie chuckled along with him.
“It's the Arkansas twang coming out. Just wait until you hear the locals say it.”
It wasn't long after when she turned onto a one lane road that took them uphill by several old mountain homes until it dead ended at Darcie's modest little cottage.
“Home sweet home,” she announced after turning the car off.
“Cute house.”
“I thought so when I bought it several years ago. Since then, I've done a lot of remodeling and redecorating until I've perfected my own little nest in the wilderness. Come on in.”
After lifting his carry on from the back seat, Ronan followed her up the path that was paved with white marble chips, noting as they passed the neat flower beds now asleep but ready for spring, as well as the careful placements of garden gnomes, then up the steps to the large, wrap around porch. At one end hung a bench swing. Delicate gingerbread trimmed each post and a sisal mat that bore an image of the Mad Hatter declaring We're All Mad Here lay before the ornate white screen door. The otherwise plain white inner door was graced with an elegant brass door knocker.
Inside, he was greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of something from the kitchen and an open floor plan that was decorated as much for comfort as aesthetics. In front of the large picture window, the back of the neutral colored couch was draped with an intricately crafted ivory blanket, and matching pillows added still more welcome to the room. Two matching recliners upholstered in soft brown chenille sat on the opposite side. An oak end table sat between them while a matching coffee table and tall bookshelves finished out the ensemble. On the floor lay a gracefully detailed rug and directly in line with the door was a river stone fireplace.
And everywhere, there was Christmas. Boughs. Ribbons. Garland. Santa. And beside the fireplace, the most beautiful tree he'd every seen. It all reflected Darcie's personality perfectly.
“Beautiful place,” he complimented, his husky voice low with heartfelt appreciation, and she smiled.
“Thanks. Now, if you'll follow me I'll show you which room is yours.”
It had been a difficult choice because she knew where she wanted him, which was in her room, in her bed with her. But common sense had prevailed so she'd chosen the second bedroom for him, which also contained its own bath. It was decorated in soft greens and off whites with a lush tan carpet, while an antique cherry four-post bed with matching armoire and dresser invited the occupant to make themselves at home. On the walls hung paintings of the mountains done by local artists. And another, smaller, Christmas tree graced the top of a small table beneath the single window.
“I hope you find it comfortable.”
Ronan smiled as he set his carry on on the bed then turned back to her.
“It's perfect.”
“Good!” She couldn't quite meet his eyes so she looked nervously around the room before backing toward the door. “There are towels and wash cloths in the shelves above the toilet and if you find you need soap or shampoo, there's plenty under the sink.” She smiled. “I bring back plenty when I travel.”
Just as she reached the door, Ronan's husky voice stopped her.
“Darcie.”
“Yes?”
He slowly crossed the room until he stood close before her and reached up to smooth a tendril of fine hair from her forehead.
“Don't you think we should get something out of the way?”
Her mouth went dry as she read the look in his crystalline blue eyes. She didn't need to ask what he meant, so she took a step forward, raised her face to his, and answered in a soft, breathless voice.
“Yes.”
With a tender smile, his hands gently cupped her face.
“How is it,” he asked, “that I can feel this way so soon?”
Taking another half step closer, she brushed her body against his.
“How is it,” she answered, “I can feel this way? Now? At this...now?”
He tilted his head inquiringly as his thumbs caressed the corners of her mouth.
“At this...what?”
She tried to lower her face but he tenderly held it in place.
“Darcie?”
She looked everywhere but into his eyes, yet he waited, watching her intently until she finally met his gaze.
“Ronan,” she took a deep breath, “I'm forty-nine. I'm, what, ten or twelve years old than you?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“Doesn't it?”
“No. I look at you and I see a beautiful woman with a beautiful heart. You're beautiful, you're warm, you're sweet, you're honest, and you possess an integrity that is hard to find in this world. The way I see it, it took forty-nine years to gain all of that. To fully mature into your whole self.”
Leaning forward, he brushed a tender kiss across her lips.
“You wouldn't be you without those years. Yes, there is a decade difference in our ages. But it's not something that concerns me, I swear.” It was his turn to take a deep breath. “I worry, too.”
“About what?”
“When I was fourteen,” he began, his voice a near whisper, “there was a fire. My mom and dad, my brothers, all of them died. I survived, barely, but I was badly burned. I spent months in the hospital. I don't know how many skin grafts I was given, but I was left with-with scars all over my body. They're, they're not...pretty. In fact, they've disgusted women in the past so I've rarely...”
Reaching up, she laid her fingers against his mouth.
“Then those women were fools. They were only seeing the outside of you. They obviously didn't take time to learn who you are, inside, where it matters.” Her fingers traced his cheeks. “You may have a beautiful face, but you are so much more. You say I'm beautiful but the same can be said about you, for all the same qualities you listed. I would add that you possess a gentle spirit. You care about people.” She smiled. “You obviously love kids. Honestly, what's not to love?”
“I would ask you the same thing.”
They stared at one another as smiles spread across their faces.
“So we agree,” he dropped his hands so he could wrap his arms about her, “We agree that we're both wonderful people. But do we have any faults to speak of?”
“Of course,” she answered cheekily, “We're too good to be true . But whose going to believe it?”
He grinned, affection shining from his eyes.
“Obviously you've no problem with humility.”
She grinned in return.
“Obviously.”
They laughed softly at their silliness and Darcie laid her head against his chest, feeling the muscles move beneath his sweater as his hands caressed her up and down her back. Slowly, their laughter faded until they were quietly standing in each others arms. She could hear his heart beating and smell his clean, musky scent. She decided he was highly addictive in more than one way.
“So, what now?”
She loved the way his voice rumbled deep in his chest. Leaning back, she smiled up at him.
“First, you're going to freshen up while I go set the table. Are you hungry?”
“For food?”
She was shocked to hear a girlish giggle erupt from her mouth.
“Oh course food!”
“Oh, well, yeah, I guess for that, too.” He grinned. “What is that you're cooking anyway?”
“Cream cheese chicken chili. It's been cooking in the slow cooker since this morning. It's perfect for a cold day like today.”
“Sounds good.” He stole a kiss before stepping away. “How long do I have?”
“I'll give you thirty minutes. I'm hungry, too.” Her smile turned naughty. “For food as well.”
Ronan returned to the large, eat in kitchen just as Darcie was dishing up the chili. She had set the round dining table with stone- and glassware she had received as housewarming gifts shortly after she moved in and lit an antique oil lamp to place in the center. Sprigs of holly surrounded its base. It was comfortable and inviting, and wonderfully homey, and he realized how much he had missed the simpler things in life. Like a homecooked meal on pretty dishes.
Glancing at him as she turned with their bowls of chili in hand, she felt her breath catch. First at the fine picture he made in his well fitting jeans and pine-colored chamois shirt with its sleeves rolled comfortably up to expose well muscled forearms, followed by the scars that marred the skin of those arms. Her heart ached at what those scars represented, of all of the pain and the losses he had endured, even as she felt proud of all he had accomplished in spite of them. Glancing up, she found him watching her closely from shuttered eyes, and she wasn't surprised that he seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation of her response.
After a short pause, she continued to the table and set the bowls on the plates before their chairs. She then turned back and stepped close to him.
“I am not one of them,” she reminded him, “You are not your scars. They're a part of you, yes, but they are not all of you.”
Taking his hands in hers, she raised them to her lips and realized she had never noticed the scars that marred them as well. Perhaps because they were concentrated primarily on his palms.
“I see you, Ronan,” she whispered. “I see all of you, and I want to see still more. I want to see all those parts of you that those scars hide.” Reaching up, she cupped his face with her hands. “I haven't known you long, but already I can see how beautiful you are behind the beauty of your face.”
After dinner, they shared the clean up of the kitchen before retiring to the living room. After taking seats near the middle, they spent several minutes watching the twinkling lights of the tree. In the soft, indirect lighting, the tree sparkled as harpsichord carols played quietly in the background and a fire burned blue and orange in the fireplace.
“You've given me a stocking.”
She smiled at the marveling tone in his voice.
“How long has it been since you had a stocking?”
He shook his head.
“You mean a real stocking, one that actually belonged to me and wasn't a mere decoration?” He paused as she nodded. “Years. In fact, I can't remember when it was.”
“Well, that one really is yours. It's already filled and waiting to be opened in the morning.”
Reaching over, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thank you. There's something from me for you under the tree. For in the morning.”
“You didn't have to do that.”
“And you didn't have to give me a stocking.”
They smiled at one another before returning their attention to the tree. A moment later, he settled a little closer and put an arm around her shoulders to draw her against his warm body. Nothing else was said. Nothing else needed to be said. In the silence, their hearts were saying it all.
~
Christmas Day dawned with a blizzard. Snow fell heavily from a leaden sky, already blanketing the ground with over a foot of white. Crimson cardinals and other birds crowded around the bird feeders that hung from various trees in and around the yard. In places between the feeders, Darcie had also hung whole fresh fruit on skewers, already well on its way to being devoured. As she watched from the glass window in the back door, she was grateful she had taken the time to fill the feeders before going to the airport the day before.
Behind her, a cinnamon french toast casserole was baking in the oven while sausage links sizzled in a skillet on the ceramic stove top. She had awakened just after dawn and spent an hour savoring the silence as she penned poetry in the journal she kept for just that purpose. When she heard the shower start in Ronan's bathroom, she had started a pot of coffee, slid the casserole into the oven and dug out the skillet for the sausage. By the time he emerged from his room, breakfast was nearly ready.
As she stood at the back door, she felt his arms slide around her from behind and leaned back against him with a smile.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Merry Christmas to you.”
“What's for breakfast? It smells great.”
“A breakfast casserole, sausage links, orange juice, and coffee.”
“Sounds even better.” Leaning forward, he rested his cheek against hers. “When do we open our presents?”
Laughing, she turned and slid her arms around his neck.
“What are you? Eight?”
Pulling her closer, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Maybe in spirit. In body, I'm about eighteen again.”
“I can see that.”
Their lips met just as the timer went off from the stove. With a groan he ended the kiss and gave her a hug before stepping away.
“Saved by the bell.”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” She grinned saucily as she reached for a pot holder. “But there's always later.”
Breakfast was spent appreciating the meal and the memories they shared of Christmases and other holidays passed. After the kitchen was clean, Ronan grabbed her hand and pulled her eagerly into the living room.
“Now can we open our presents?”
Darcie laughed and pushed him down on the couch before retrieving his stocking from the mantle. His smile was wide and boyish as he accepted it from her then pulled her down beside him. Watching him, she wondered how often he had found such joy in the holiday. The first things he removed were a large candy cane, an apple and an orange, followed by a banana and handfuls of mixed nuts. In the bottom of the stocking, beneath a bag of Hershey Kisses, he discovered the wrapped box, which he immediately tore into. Opening the box, his smile faded as he stared at the bracelet. After a moment, he lifted it and set the box aside, then closely inspected the workmanship. Finally, he slid it onto his wrist and pulled the leather toggle to secure it in place.
“Do you like it?” she asked quietly and was rewarded with another beautiful smile.
“I love it. It's unusual. I've never seen such a detailed phoenix before, other than maybe in a painting.” Leaning over, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Rising to his feet, he circled the coffee table to remove a gaily wrapped box from among the others beneath the tree and handed it to her before resuming his seat.
“Now you get to open yours.”
On closer inspection, she discovered that it was actually two boxes wrapped together before carefully removing the top box. Setting aside the second, she opened it and laughed before withdrawing a dramatically long fluffy pink plume with a gold nib.
“Oh, Ronan! I love it!”
“I figured every writer needs a poet's pen. Now, open the second.”
Setting aside the box, she lifted the second and opened it slowly, savoring the wrapped mystery that was so much a part of the holiday season for her. Inside, she found a second, smaller box. Then a smaller box, and another smaller box, before she finally discovered a last long, nondescript box and removed it. This time she savored the mystery even longer because she sensed that this might well be life changing. With care, she unwrapped the gift then gasped as she lifted the lid. Inside, shimmering despite the grayness outside, was a silver bracelet studded with emeralds and diamond chips.
This time there was no laughing outburst.
“Oh, Ronan.”
Taking the box from her, he removed the bracelet and carefully placed it around her wrist.
“We seem to have been thinking the same things when we chose our gifts,” he commented quietly as he slid the clasp into place. “We each chose bracelets.”
“It's so beautiful!”
“Only because of the woman wearing it.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she lifted them to his.
“Thank you.”
Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
“I think I'm falling in love with you, Darcie Rose.”
She smiled tremulously.
“I'm thinking I've been falling for you for a long time now.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “I have a confession to make.”
“What's that?”
“Have you read any of my books?”
“Just Over My Dead Heart, after I learned of the part.”
“Well, you're him. You are Adam Blakely. I wrote him with you in mind.”
There was a long pause while she anxiously worried her lower lip.
“Are you upset?”
At first, he didn't know what to feel. But then he thought of the character she had created. Adam Blakely wasn't the stereotypically tough, larger than life, physically perfect romantic hero. She had made him real-to-life, flawed, with good traits and not-so-good. He wasn't a bad boy but he was no angel either. He could have been any man on the street. After a moment, he smiled and lifted her chin with his finger.
“No, not at all. I'm flattered. And I'm grateful that you didn't make him unrealistic.”
“I try to make all of my characters as real as possible. I've never seen you as anything other than human, Ronan. I knew there was more to you than what the camera showed.” She smiled at him. “And I was so right.”
Leaning down, he kissed her cheeks, her forehead, and her chin before taking her lips in a deep kiss that seemed to seal the bond between them. Leaning back against the couch, he pulled her close, changed the angle of the kiss, then took them both to a world only of their making. Tongues played, hands roamed, and sounds of growing passion were heard along with the Christmas carols playing on the satellite radio. He finally pulled away just far enough to ask, in a deep, husky voice,
“How long do you think the blizzard will last?”
“Probably only today, but the roads will be closed for days.”
It was so long, almost novella length, that it took me two readings to finish today.
Immediately I thought of you as Darcie. Only Darcie is your dream self, with a successful series of romance novels, well-known with an agent and a publicist so that your promotion is not something that you have to do. That is the romance, the dream.
Ronan as your knight in shining armor and protagonist of the novel that has been selected for a movie, is perfect because he has all of the right qualities. Hollywood stars often have secrets that are well kept, like Rock Hudson's homosexuality and Sean Connery's baldness. Many of the stars suffer from shyness and inferiority complexes that rarely show in their performances where they escaped their reality.
My very few personal encounters with celebrities was that their bearing and dress in public made them stand out in a crowd and easily become the center of attraction.
Why I found, their first meeting, strange that Ronan could leave the party when he was one of the main centers of attraction. But of course, as a romance writer you can conjure up an attraction like you did, making him compelled to leave the party so that he could get to know more of this highly attractive writer of the book he was going to play the lead role in was all about.
True to the formula of most romance novels, when Ronan arrived at Darcie's mountain retreat, instead of memories of his Northern California cabin life and death haunting him, everything was like arriving at Santa's North Pole with everything just right. Things were so sweetly perfect that it was totally unrealistic. The only place I feel you slipped up was having a discussion about his scars rather than having Darcie just trace some of the larger ones with her fingers in loving appreciation of his being different and not altogether perfect. Actually in love with his imperfect skin.
Yesterday, in my writers' group a retired English teacher who has read prodigiously almost everything, gave a presentation on constraints. He stated that if you write to a particular genre or theme like the 82 books that he has read on Star Trek, you must stay strictly within the constraints originally set up by Gene Roddenberry or your work will not be accepted. Precisely why all of my work is original, even if inspired by something that is famous already. I never did want to tag along with others and hated it when teachers made me write to precise constraints.
Thank you for schooling me on what romance novels are all about. I certainly will never write one. ;-) But you do a wonderful job in sticking to the rules precisely. Without any obvious errors, I might add.
Dive into an enchanting adventure! This light-hearted romance will transport you to 17th-century Scotland, where a free-spirited 21st-century heroine brings love & laughter to a stressed-out laird's life - with a little help from the Fae!
Angela Calminetti, mother of five, New Age practitioner and gifted psychic and telepath, is proud of her family ties and does everything she can to make sure that all of her younger siblings are as happy in love and marriage as she is…whether they wa
Darcie Rose settled comfortably into her worn but still serviceable office chair and woke her laptop up. Her intention, as always, was to work on her book but, also as always, she immediately clicked on her favorite streaming movie channel. She soothed her guilty feelings by reassuring herself that she needed the inspiration provided by the channel's endless supply of romances to be able to write her own romantic suspense novels. She grinned cheekily to herself. Yeah, right!
