Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume III Page 9

  She turned to face him, and she found every last chaotic emotion she felt reflected on his handsome face. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm in her chest.

  “You look beautiful,” he said quietly, his dark gaze holding hers hostage.

  Elena swallowed hard and ran her damp palms along the black slacks she wore. She stopped herself from reaching for the plain green rubber band that held her hair back, but just barely. “No, I don’t.”

  His smile was full and utterly convincing. “Yes, you do.”

  And, suddenly, she felt that she was beautiful. At least in his eyes. And her response was complete and overwhelming.

  She’d missed him. Incredible, considering that she’d barely had time to get to know him. Or, rather, she’d missed feeling…special. As if everything she ever needed existed there in his eyes. As if he held her heart in the palm of his hand, and that she trusted him utterly to keep it safe.

  Before she could prepare herself, he was kissing her. Hungrily, greedily, crowding her to his body as if they were coming home from a late-night date and the next logical destination was her bedroom.

  But they weren’t in the privacy of her house, they were out in public, in front of the restaurant. A driver honked his horn as the busy traffic zoomed by on the four-lane highway behind her.

  Elena tugged her mouth from his, curiously out of breath as she leaned her nose against his chin.

  It was then that she realized that it wasn’t the exotic Aegean locale that had inspired her atypical behavior a month ago. No, the emotions expanding within her were due to this one man, and this one man alone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I really hadn’t intended to do that.”

  She looked up at him through the fringe of her lashes. “Hadn’t you?”

  His grin was quick. “I’d wanted to. Still…want to.”

  Elena considered everything that had happened in the past month. It was strange that it all looked different now as she stood in front of Ari. Not so important.

  “I…”

  She waited. Then prompted him, “You…”

  “Damn it all, Elena. I’ve been going through hell these past weeks. Not being able to see you…touch you…”

  The heat in her belly surged upward to her chest.

  “I kept thinking it would go away. That what happened in Greece…what happened between us was only a dream from which I’d soon wake up…”

  Elena could relate.

  “Sex.”

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  Ari grinned at her. “I thought it had to be all about the sex. My inability to forget you.”

  She looked away.

  “You have to admit, that night was pretty incredible.”

  She bit her bottom lip. She woke up sometimes two times a night in a bad way, yearning for him, reaching for him, only to realize he wasn’t there. And probably wouldn’t be again.

  “But this…what I’m feeling, it’s not about that.”

  She searched his face.

  “Well, it’s not only about that.”

  He paced a short ways away then came back again. “I kept trying to convince myself that it was nothing but a one-night stand. That the sex was so mindblowing because of our circumstances. I mean, we barely knew each other…”

  Cars continued to drive by, the world continued to turn, but all Elena saw was him.

  “But I’ve come to understand that…well, the sex was so incredible because…oh, hell, I’m making a mess out of this…”

  Elena reached for his hands. “Go on.”

  He looked into her eyes as if finding courage there. “You’re the one for me, Elena. We were meant for each other. That’s why that night was so memorable. Why I can’t forget about you.”

  Her breath lodged in her throat.

  He dropped to one knee. “And I don’t want to go one more night without you.”

  Another horn honked.

  Elena grabbed his hand and anxiously tried to yank him to a standing position. “What are you doing?”

  Ari resisted. “I’m proposing to you, Elena.” He looked down and then back up again. “Will you marry me?”

  Marry him?

  She couldn’t have been more surprised had he presented her with two first-class tickets back to Greece.

  And he couldn’t have made her any happier.

  But…

  “Are you crazy? I don’t even know your middle name. And you don’t know mine. We don’t know anything about each other.”

  “Constantina.” He said her middle name.

  He was serious. He really wanted to marry her.

  Then it dawned on her. She’d spent the past year convincing herself she knew Manolis. She’d built her life around what had turned out to be little more than a mirage. She’d convinced herself that the affection she’d felt for him could be coaxed into love.

  But when it came to Ari…

  Well, when it came to Ari, she was in love. Truly. Madly. Deeply.

  “No,” she said.

  He blinked at her.

  “Get up off the sidewalk before my mother comes out here with a broom.”

  “No?”

  He finally rose upon her insistence.

  “No.”

  He looked so crushed that it almost broke her heart.

  She reached out and touched the side of his face. “No…not now.”

  It was his turn to be speechless.

  Elena smiled. “I love you, Ari. I know that. But a month ago, I thought I loved someone else. Enough to almost marry him.”

  “But you won’t marry me.”

  “No. Not now. Maybe not ever.” Her smile widened. “Maybe next week.”

  She tried to work her head around her feelings.

  “Look, I don’t want to be swept off my feet. I don’t want to be rescued. I just want to be loved.” She wished away the worried expression from his striking face. “Can you do that for me? Can you love me? Just love me? With no expectations to be met? No promises to keep?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment.

  She was half afraid that he might give her an ultimatum. Marry him or not. No in between.

  Then he slowly grinned.

  “That depends.”

  A condition. She didn’t like the sound of that.

  She began to withdraw her hands, but he held them tight.

  “Not the love part. You already have that, Elena. You always will.”

  Her heart sprouted golden wings.

  “It depends on whether your proposal includes lots more of that phenomenal sex.”

  The joy that burst within her was unequal to anything she’d ever experienced before. Not as Manolis’s bride. Not as her parents’ daughter. Not at any other time in her life.

  She wrapped her arms around him, aware of every inch of him as she kissed him. “That goes without saying,” she whispered.

  He returned her kiss hotly, his hands pressing her hard against him. “Then I can wait as long as you want.”

  How stupid she’d been, she thought as liquid heat flowed through her bloodstream. She’d thought a place and a ceremony and a dress made a fairy tale.

  All she’d ever needed was this man…

  And they lived sexily ever after…Fairy tales are fairy tales because of the very fact that they never come easy. Elena and Ari learned the hard way that love, real love, does not always come without sacrifice and difficult choices. And it may arrive at your well-fortified gate while you’re busy making other plans.

  Love is not something that can be planned or mastered, but instead is a gift from the gods that demands complete and utter surrender. Oh, you may choose to ignore it, deny it and pretend it doesn’t exist because the timing isn’t right, or others stand against it, but the punishment exacted by those same gods will be everlasting. But no matter what promises you might break, or empires may crumble, if you’re brave enough to open yourself to that once-in-a-lifetime love, then that love becomes all the rew
ard you will ever need.

  At least until what you set into motion comes full circle and others must also decide to stand up and be counted, or risk disappearing into the fog of history forever…

  YOU HAVE TO KISS A LOT OF FROGS…

  Tawny Weber

  To Krysta and Melyssa, for still believing in fairy tales.

  To Brenda, for always giving me chances.

  And to Lori and Tony, for being so awesome.

  Prologue

  “SO YOU WANT TO KNOW about the Great Rite, do you?” The woman’s oddly accented words were husky, reminding him of lusty mornings after. “Sex is a fabulous source of power. Combined with will and intent, the power is amplified by the Winter Solstice.”

  “So how’s that work? December twenty-first you get up on stage and have sex in front of a bunch of chanting people and call it magic?” Sebastian Lane clarified. He’d got that much from his research, but wanted her take on it. What made people believe in this…stuff?As if she read his mind, the blonde tilted her head and gave him an indecipherable look. “The magic is real. And the results are always…amazing.”

  Her sultry once-over suggested she’d be happy to give him a personal lesson right there on the cold steel of the noisy nightclub table. Once upon a time, it would have been tempting. But Sebastian had learned over the years not to mix business with pleasure.

  And thanks to the article his editor wanted, this sexy blonde was all business. Sex business, of course. That’s what Garret always assigned him. Sebastian’s way with woman was something of a legend at Machismo magazine. A legend that was rapidly getting in the way of his career goals.

  Who knew he’d finally get tired of being seen as a sex object.

  “I believe in the power of sex, don’t get me wrong. But what I’m really interested in is what makes people believe that sex has some form of magical power,” he said carefully, not wanting to lead her response. Or, he admitted to himself, to show his cynicism. Witches, magic, bullshit. It was all smoke and mirrors. And it was his job to report the story, to blow through the smoke to the truth.

  Sebastian had made a name for himself in sex, building his reputation on breaking sex scandals. Pornography, prostitution, politicians. The standards, he called them.

  “Oh, believe me,” the woman repeated, her husky voice intent over the loud music, “the magic is just as real as the sex.”

  Was this a head game, or did she really believe that? Only one way to find out. Sebastian leaned forward, giving her his most charming smile. Her swift intake of breath, the dilation of her pupils and the fact that she didn’t pull back told him he had her.

  He arched his brow and challenged, “Show me.”

  After a long, considering look she slid to her feet and gestured for him to follow her through the crush of bodies.

  “I know your work,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Her words were quiet, but he could still hear them over the pounding music and loud voices. The nightspot, Mystique, was purported to be a witches club, from the high priestess–styled servers to the pentacle engraved on the dance floor. What better place, his editor had prodded, to gather feedback for a feature story on the Great Rite. Sex magic—fluff at its best.

  “It’s always good to have the work recognized,” Sebastian returned, paying more attention to the sales menu than her words. Love spells, money spells, fertility spells. Looked like Garret was right. There was a bundle to be made in witch-world.

  “Your articles are…interesting,” she continued, sweeping a curtain open with one red-taloned hand. “It’s a shame a man of your talents shows so little respect to women.”

  Already playing with the angle of his opening paragraph, Sebastian followed her into the hazy, incense-filled room. Shock rocked his body, even though he’d never admit it. Holy shit. This was…wild. Wall-to-wall bodies, proving that group sex was, apparently, good sex. Finally, he tore his gaze from the room, with its black walls and flickering candles shadowed by the multiple couples having sex on every surface—horizontal and vertical.

  Even he, as sexually adventurous as he was, was a little shocked. Then her words sank in. He smoothed out his frown.

  “Respect?” His mellow tone didn’t reflect his irritation. He totally respected women. They were, in his mind, the most amazing creatures on earth. He hoped to devote his entire life to studying, appreciating and enjoying them.

  “You use women,” she said, her voice low and even. But there was a snap underneath the soft words. “You use them in that magazine you write for. That men’s rag that denigrates women.”

  Ignoring the sounds of sex-gone-good, Sebastian tilted his head to one side, trying to determine if she was kidding. She’d known he wrote for Machismo. She’d enthusiastically agreed to be interviewed.

  “Sweetheart, I’m doing an article on the Great Rite,” he reminded her. “If you want to back out of our interview, that’s your call. Don’t make it personal.”

  “It’s never personal to you, is it, Mr. Lane?”

  For the first time since he’d stepped into Mystique, Sebastian felt an inkling of discomfort. Tension wound a tight noose around his spine. The last time he’d felt like this, he’d been staring down the wrong end of a sawed-off shotgun, trying to break a story on a prostitution ring fronting as a tutoring center.

  But this woman had no weapon. And from what he could tell, nobody else in the room was paying any attention to them.

  “Sweetheart, letting things get personal is what causes problems in my business,” he told her as he shifted to the balls of his feet.

  “And when it’s not business?” she asked as those red-nailed fingers flicked the buttons of her robe. The heady scent of incense was starting to make Sebastian’s stomach churn. One button, two buttons, three. The silky black fabric shifted, then slithered to the floor.

  “It’s always about business,” he said absently, all of his attention suddenly diverted by her quite fine nude body.

  She made a hissing sound as she shook her head, sending the slide of white-blonde hair over her naked shoulders.

  “Selfish games you like to play, but now it’s come, the time to pay. Your pride is great, your talent immense, your ability to wield them I take forth hence.” The husky voice rose, throbbing with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Sebastian’s neck stand at attention. “Must arrogance depart and your puffed-up ego be blown, this curse will only break when you put a woman’s needs before your own.”

  Light flashed in the dark room, momentarily blinding him. Power surge? Before he could do more than wonder, Sebastian’s head did a quick spin. His stomach quickly followed, like he’d fallen off a tilt-a-whirl.

  Holy hell. Mom had always told him masturbation would make him go blind, but dammit, he hadn’t even had his hands in his pockets.

  It was enough to put a guy off sex for a month.

  1

  JORDAN OLLIVER EYED the oh-so-bad-for-her temptation with a sigh. Just don’t drool, she warned herself. The last thing she needed was for her gnawing hunger to be obvious. Delicious, decadent and a constant enticement—she hated that it took every ounce of willpower she had to resist the urge to nibble.

  In the year she’d been at Machismo, she’d developed an overwhelming oral fixation. One that she was forcing herself to deny, since she was sure giving in to it would derail not only her standing at the magazine—such as it was—but also her career plans.So she dragged her attention off the sleek, tempting sight of tall, dark and sexy—her fellow reporter Sebastian Lane. Instead, she snapped her teeth into a cruller, welcoming the fat-laden sugar rush. It was a lousy substitute, especially since she was up to one a day. If she wasn’t careful, she’d gain ten pounds. Or worse, get sick of donuts, dive across the table and take a big, juicy bite out of Sebastian.

  She wasn’t sure which bothered her more. Her fascination with Sebastian, or her resentment of him. The Golden Boy. Always two steps ahead of everyone else, he was the magazine’s star. And her fat
her’s idea of the perfect son.

  “Olly, I need you to revise this article,” Randolph Garret, Machismo magazine’s editor, said, diverting her attention even more successfully than the deep-fried pastry. He tossed a folder across the table at her.

  She frowned. First at the folder, then at Garret. “Revise it? Why? You wanted an article on what to get a woman for Valentine’s Day, right? That’s what I wrote.”

  Garret gave her his patented, don’t-forget-who-you’re-talking-to look. One blond brow arched over narrowed blue eyes. He didn’t say anything, just waited.

  Jordan had to grind her teeth to keep from voicing a smart remark. She was here at Machismo to prove a point. If she could succeed here, at a men’s magazine publication, the magazine’s owner—aka her father—would be forced to accept that she was serious. Then he’d be forced to see her as an actual asset instead of a pretty little princess to be indulged. Which meant keeping her snide comments to herself.

  “The article needs a little different slant. Why don’t you look at my notes, see what you think,” Garret instructed, indicating the folder.

  She didn’t bother to open the file.

  “You want a fairy tale. Fiction rather than fact,” she guessed. “Something that feeds men’s prurient fantasies that their girlfriends really like wearing scratchy lace merry widows while cooking chicken fingers and serving frothy mugs of beer.”

  “That’s what our readers want,” he reminded her. Jordan shrugged, but before she could agree Garret turned with a big grin to ask, “Right Sebastian?”

  The last of the donut squished between her fingers. This, more than the fear of rejection, was what kept her desire to nibble her way up Sebastian’s torso at bay. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, she’d never be as good as the Golden Boy. She looked at Machismo’s shining star and her father’s favorite reporter. If it wasn’t for his easy humor and the fact that she knew he wasn’t trying to undermine her, she might hate him for that alone.