A Valentine from Harlequin: Six Degrees of Romance

Chapter One

Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society.

Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte’s pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss.

“I’m sorry.” The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart.

Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fiancé. “John! I thought you were dead!”

John’s eyes narrowed as he peered at her through the gloom. He took a step away from the woman he’d been necking, a step closer to her. “Wishful thinking, Charlotte.”

She crossed her arms over her red Valentino sheath, trying to cover the tell-tale pounding of her heart. “I remember you saying something about us breaking up over your dead body,” she reminded him acidly. “Since we’re broken up, I assumed you must be dead.”

John moved away from the woman and stepped closer, looking more gorgeous than such a lowlife should be allowed to look. “If I’d given you a set of knives for an engagement present instead of a ring, I would be dead.”

As he spoke, she relived with devastating clarity the moment she’d thrown her exquisitely cut engagement ring at him—giving him a rather exquisite cut of his own just above his left eyebrow. Anger had given her superhuman strength—and an aim she certainly hadn’t shown in high school athletics.

The last time she’d seen John he’d chased her all the way down his hallway, blood seeping into his eye.

Residual anger glittered in his eyes. It ignited something inside her.

Of course, something usually ignited when they were close. Usually the bedsheets. Just the thought of the pair of them between luxurious cotton sheets had her poor overworked heart knocking itself out again as her libido spiked.

The truth sucked. She missed him.

He’d been unfaithful. He was a louse. He didn’t deserve her. It was over.

But still, she missed him. Their engagement had been an unmitigated disaster—well, apart from burning up the sheets, but that wasn’t enough to build a marriage on. There had to be trust. And faithfulness.

“Why are you here?” he asked her. The breeze blowing off Vancouver’s English Bay was cool and soft with a hint of ocean; the stone balcony was warmed by a gas heater. She shivered, but not from cold. What was she doing here? She might have guessed he’d be at the Duncan girl’s party—if only to flaunt his date under her nose. Sleazy two-timer.

“I was invited,” she said.

“So was I,” he replied, his eyes crinkling in that sexy way she loved. “Perhaps the Duncans were trying their hand at matchmaking.”

“They probably got you mixed up with someone else.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You look beautiful.” His words floated softer than the brine-scented breeze to tease her ear and remind her of all the words he’d whispered into her ear over the three years they’d known each other. Humorous words, teasing words, erotic words…

“I think I’ll go inside and…um…powder my nose,” said the date they’d both forgotten about.

“No, Sonya, that’s not—”

She interrupted him with a gesture. “I’ll be right back.”

John’s recent kissee nodded to Charlotte. Charlotte nodded back, feeling like a marionette placed on the wrong stage. The woman’s voice was oddly familiar and yet she was certain they’d never met.

The woman—Sonya, he’d called her—disappeared through the French doors and they were alone.

John took a step forward.

She took a step back.

Why, oh why, did he have to be wearing a tuxedo when she saw him again? The crisp, dark lines, starched white linen shirt, and all those studs. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment as she heard the echo of studs popping and dancing across the polished wood of her living room floor one night—one of the many nights—when they’d been crazy for each other.

He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she jumped out of his reach, knowing the power of his touch to fire her blood. “Don’t touch me.”

His eyes smiled into hers. Gray flecked with gold. She used to tell him they looked like granite with a vein of pure gold running through. She’d thought it an apt metaphor for all of him. He could be hard, impassive, even cold when required, but deep inside was a streak that was 24-carat pure and more precious than any metal. That was the part she’d loved.

Now she knew it was only pyrite: fool’s gold.

“I’ve missed you, Char.”

Her eyes widened as she experienced his traitorous nature yet again. “How can you say that when you were just kissing another woman?”

“That woman is a very nice lady who keeps me company when I need a date. But she’s not you.”

Suddenly she remembered where she’d heard the woman’s voice. “She kept you company in Atlanta, too. That’s why you didn’t introduce us. You didn’t want me to hear her voice. She’s the one who picked up the phone in your hotel room at two in the morning.”

“That’s right.” He said it so calmly, she wished they were still engaged just so she could hurl his filthy diamond at him again. “I always wondered why you called me so late that night.”

She let her eyebrows rise just a fraction, forcing cold amusement into her eyes, while deep down she was dying to know what else he’d wondered. Had he thought about her over the months since she’d dumped him? Wished he’d done things differently? Wished he’d remained faithful? At least until the damn wedding?

The sass went out of her as she thought of everything he’d thrown away. Maybe she’d never see him again, and suddenly, she had to know. “How could you do it?”

The anger that flashed in his eyes startled her. “Do what?”

“You weren’t playing canasta in your hotel room at two in the morning.”

“So quick to judge.” He moved so fast she didn’t have a chance to avoid him this time. His hand swooped, catching her arm, and where his fingers contacted her flesh she felt a sizzle all the way to her toes. No one had ever affected her like this. Not before and not since.

“So quick to betray,” she countered, hating the quiver in her voice even as she heard it tremble in the mist-soaked air.

“Do you really think so little of me? Of yourself? You think I’d cheat on you only a few weeks away from our wedding?”

Her chin went up at that. “I was home making out the invitation list for our wedding!”

“Ah,” he said, and the anger dulled, edged with humor now. “I always wondered what frightened you that night.”

Chapter Two

“I was not frightened.” Charlotte pulled herself erect, stretching out every one of her five feet and eight inches. She looked tall, svelte, and madder than hell.

Scared, too. John saw it in her eyes, in the tensed shoulders exposed by her dress.

In the two months since she’d tossed his ring back in his face, he’d plotted revenge, tried to forget her, to move on as all his well-wishers urged, but it was hopeless. He’d suspected as much before. Now that she was standing in front of him, every delectable inch of her quivering with disdain, her scent reaching him, her skin begging to be touched, he knew he had to get her back.

He leaned a hip against the rail considering just how he was going to go about convincing the most stubborn woman he’d ever known that she’d been wrong. And that she wanted him back as much as he wanted her.

No, want didn’t begin to cover the feelings that swelled within him just being close to her again. Need was a closer fit. He needed her like he needed food, water, and shelter. It was that basic.

Of course, admitting she was wrong was not something Charlotte did gracefully, or well. Still, his life was on the line here. Both of their lives. And he had a small advantage in knowing his way past her defenses.

If straight talk wouldn’t convince her she’d been a fool to throw their happiness away, he could ambush her in the most underhanded way possible. He’d use his knowledge of her body against her. He could whisper in her ear and know her toes were curling without so much as peeking beneath her hem. A soft kiss on her nape would raise goose bumps down her spine, cause her to sigh and her nostrils to dilate.

And if he took his tongue to her—

Her soft gasp made him realize he was staring at her chest, which must have given her a pretty good idea what was on his mind, for those nipples he could almost feel against his tongue had come to full alert.

Charlotte might want to reject him, but her body had other ideas.

If he could get her into bed he could get her into the mood to talk. If she’d just talk to him, just listen to what he had to say, they could straighten this whole thing out.

She crossed her arms under her breasts, and if she thought it would hide her pebbled nipples she was sadly mistaken. The gesture lifted her breasts like a silent offering.

Oh, and how he wanted to take the offered dish and taste it, savor it, devour it.

“I’d better get back inside,” she said. Even her voice gave her away. It was as husky as a torch song.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “What made you panic that night, Charlotte? I’ve wondered. I’ve imagined you so many times writing name after name of important people in your life. People you respected. Was it that? Were you so afraid to make a public mistake that you deep-sixed our future together?”

Angry red stained her cheeks until her face almost matched her dress. “I wasn’t the one caught cheating with another woman at two in the morning.”

He couldn’t help his grin. “That’s quite a picture you paint.”

She withered him with a glance. “You know what I mean.”

“You’ve always been the perfect one, and with the history of divorce in your family I think you couldn’t take the chance at failure. So you panicked.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

He eyed her speculatively. “If you weren’t afraid of failure, then…”

The angry flush had died down and he’d caught her interest, as he’d known he would.

Her eyes gleamed like melting chocolate in the moonlight. “Then what?”

“Then you were more afraid of this.” Before she saw his intention, he’d fisted his hand round the elegant French braid at her neck, pulled her to him, and brought his lips down hard over hers.

Giving in to the temptation that had teased him from the instant he saw her again was heaven. And hell.

For a moment he felt her lips quiver open on a startled gasp. Soft and cool, they yielded beneath his.

But only for a second. Just as she started to melt into him, he felt her murmured objection against his lips. Her body went rigid as she pulled away.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her eyes flashing, hands fisting, her lips wet and luscious from his kiss.

“Looks like I came back too soon,” Sonya said, and he could have cursed his old friend for her untimely entrance.

Glaring at him, Charlotte said, “No. Not at all. I was just leaving. I have a headache—and I feel a little sick to my stomach. Something at the party must have disagreed with me.” She stalked through the French doors without a backward glance.

“Well,” Sonja said on a quiet laugh, coming to his side. “I think kissing me worked. She’s certainly jealous.”

A smug grin tugged at his lips. If Charlotte was jealous, then she still cared.

Chapter Three

Yoga was supposed to be relaxing. Charlotte had been deep-breathing for twenty minutes, curling her body into various positions, working toward the serenity she knew was in her somewhere.

Except she was panting like a marathon runner—and twisting her body into a pretzel only made her feel foolish. And as for the meditation exercises, she no sooner closed her eyes than she began meditating on all the really rotten things she’d like to do to John for breaking her heart.

Her doorbell rang and she gasped, her one-legged Tree position turning into Quaking Aspen Felled by Strong Wind.

Thumping down onto both bare feet, she padded to her door and peered through the peephole.

She felt like pounding her head on the door in frustration. John. Just what she needed when she was trying to relax. She’d ignore him until he left.

“Char, I know you’re on the other side of the door. I saw your car in the garage.”

So much for ignoring him. “Go away.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I can say it privately inside or I can yell the whole spiel through the door. Your call.”

He was just stubborn enough to do it, too. And then she’d feel embarrassed every time she saw one of her neighbors at the elevator. She unlatched the door and let him in.

The minute he crossed her threshold, she wished she’d made him shout at her from the hall. Him, her, and this apartment brought back too many memories. All the times they’d made love in her bed, on the floor in front of the fireplace, in the moonlight out on the balcony. All the plans they’d made curled up on the couch with a bottle of wine.

Like the wine he now held out to her.

Her eyes narrowed. “If you came here to talk me back into our engagement, you’re wasting your time.”

“No,” he said. “I came to say goodbye.”

Her eyes widened and her legs felt more wobbly than when she’d trembled in the Tree position. “Goodbye?”

“Yes. So long as Atlanta’s between us, I know there’s no hope.”

She ushered him into the living area, motioned him to sit anywhere and flopped to the couch. Her heart ached as she took in his meaning. He wouldn’t try to get her back anymore. No more calls. No more emails. No more deliveries from the florist. She was relieved, of course.

Instead of sitting, he moved to the cabinet where she kept wineglasses and removed two. Then he opened the drawer and took out her corkscrew, as assured as though he’d done it hundreds of times. Which, of course, he had.

He handed her a glass and she swirled the ruby liquid absentmindedly and then sipped, fighting an urge to cry. “So, you finally admit you were unfaithful?”

He sat next to her and his eyes resembled gray metal—cold and hard. “I was never unfaithful to you. Sonya was in my room at two in the morning, as I’ve told you, running numbers, trying to save the deal before our final presentation the next morning. You don’t believe me. Fine. I won’t marry someone who doesn’t trust me.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze or she’d do something pathetic, such as sobbing her heart out. Instead she sipped her wine again, then slumped back against the couch cushions. “You could have told me that on the phone.”

He was silent so long she glanced up at his face, so ruggedly handsome, his gaze fixed on hers. “I’m going away for a couple of weeks. I wanted to say goodbye properly.”

This time she gulped her wine so fast it went down the wrong way and she coughed and spluttered as tears came into her eyes.

He patted her back, but so softly it was more of a caress. “We had some wonderful times together. I don’t want our last memory to be that fight and you hurling the ring in my face.”

She shook her head. No. She didn’t want that, either.

Calmly, he reached for her glass and placed it on the glass and marble coffee table along with his. He leaned forward then and touched his palm to her cheek.

That was all. Just his palm touching her cheek, and she felt the warmth of his flesh, the yearning in her belly. She couldn’t stop the movement. Her own hand reached up to cover his.

His gaze still fixed on hers, he moved closer and kissed her.

Oh, it was so sweet. So well remembered. His lips were warm, wine-flavored, and she moaned at the jolt of pleasure as their lips met. He slanted his mouth to the perfect angle, kissing her softly, then increasing the pressure, just the way she liked. Damn him. He knew her too well.

She slipped both arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered, pulling away from her mouth to study her face.

She should refuse. It was a dangerous idea. A terrible idea. She started to shake her head.

“One last time,” he said softly.

One last time. He was right. They should make their last memory of each other a sweet one. What was the harm? He was the most wonderful lover she’d ever known, and she’d loved him. “One last time,” she agreed softly.

He rose, hooked his arm under her knees and carried her, like a bride, to the bedroom.

She felt suddenly nervous. Even though they’d made love countless times, it had been months and he felt almost like a stranger. With an hour’s notice she could have been ready. As it was, he’d surprised her in cotton sweats and no makeup, her hair pulled off her face in a ponytail.

He laid her on the bed, leaned his palms on either side of her shoulders and kissed her again, taking his slow, sweet time about it.

She pushed gently against his chest until he raised his head. He appeared wary, probably thinking she was going to change her mind. But nothing could relieve the hot ache between her thighs except his loving. She wanted him so much it hurt. “I was exercising, I’m kind of sweaty. Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

Chapter Four

“I don’t mind at all if you take a shower,” John said.

Charlotte kissed him lightly. “I’ll be fast.”

“No hurry. Take your time.” He made himself comfortable on the bed and crossed his hands behind his head.

She’d be fast, all right. She was throbbing with excitement. She jogged into the adjoining bathroom, where she stripped then stepped under a pounding stream of hot water.

She shrieked when the shower door opened, then shook her head. She might have known he’d follow her.

Even through the steam billowing around her face, she could see he was naked. Gloriously naked and looking even better than she remembered.

She felt his scrutiny and shivered at the hungry expression on his face as he stepped into her shower without an invitation—or a lame joke about washing her back. Without any words at all.

His hands ran down her glistening, wet body then gripped her wrists, pulling them high above her head and resting them lightly against the steamy white tiles.

In that position the water struck her breasts, bringing her nipples to pulsing attention. With his free hand he picked up her lemon/lime body wash and squeezed some on her loofah. Then he ran the rough, soapy surface over her breasts and belly.

She moaned at the combined sensations of warm water, rough sponge, and slippery soap, then moaned again as he returned the loofah to its spot and, cupping a breast in his hand, bent to nuzzle her tinglingly clean nipple. His mouth was teasing, demanding, making her wild with wanting.

After treating both of her breasts this way, he rose to kiss her mouth. He pressed his body tight up against her tingling breasts and abdomen and she felt his erection, hard and heavy against her belly.

She wanted her hands free so she could touch him, but he either didn’t notice her tugging or chose to ignore it.

Since her hands weren’t free to caress him, she rose on tiptoe and spread her legs until his erection sprang free and she could trap it between her thighs. She began moving her pelvis, rubbing his hardness against the magic spot that ached with need.

He groaned, his kisses growing more demanding. The water pounded against his shoulder, her breasts, splashed against her face. The steam smelled of citrus.

At last he let go of her wrists to stroke both his hands all the way down her sides, to her hips.

“I need you now,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He cupped her upper thighs and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, opening herself to him as he thrust deep inside her.

Not the pounding spray of the shower, not even his mouth covering hers, could completely muffle her cries as he drove deep within her body to the places that had been so empty without him. When the sweet ache was more than she could bear, she squeezed him even more tightly to her and let herself go. His own groan of satisfaction soon followed.

“So, that was goodbye, then,” she said as calmly as she could as they dried off using the big white fluffy towels she kept in her bathroom.

“Hell, no,” he said. “That was just a warm-up.”

Chapter Five

The phone rang while Charlotte was in the middle of an energetic Sun Salutation. She smiled smugly feeling a sense of euphoria that wasn’t entirely Yoga-related. Her body was warm and limber this morning and completely relaxed from her night of loving.

She hoped it was John on the phone. He’d said last night was goodbye, but it wouldn’t be. Not if she had a vote. Sex that fantastic—no, she corrected herself—lovemaking that fantastic wasn’t something you threw away for no good reason.

The odd thing was, now that he’d officially renounced their engagement and said goodbye in his own spectacular fashion, she believed him. Deep down, she must always have known he and Sonya were discussing business strategy in that hotel room.

Maybe John was right and it was the whole wedding thing that had freaked her out. Death do us part and all that. With both her parents divorced—twice each—and her older sister’s divorce almost final, she hadn’t wanted to make public vows. What if she failed? What if she and John were terrible at marriage?

But was her yearning loneliness really any better?

Her brow furrowed as she fought the unease she’d felt since she’d awakened alone this morning. He always used to stay for breakfast and early morning chitchat. It was one of the routines she’d loved.

Had he meant what he said? Was he really only replacing a bad memory with a good one?

She unwound herself to answer the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s John.” Warmth flooded her body at the sound of his voice—echoey, which probably meant he was on his cell.

“Good morning,” she practically cooed.

“Listen, I’m double-parked downstairs. I’m all packed to go but I think I left my wristwatch on the bedside table.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, glancing at the plain stainless timepiece she’d strapped to her own wrist. She knew it was a childish gesture, and the darn thing was so big it kept bumping her wrist bones, but she’d wanted to extend her connection with him, however tenuous.

“Can you run it down?”

That’s right. He was leaving. She’d been so happy-fogged she’d forgotten he was off on his vacation. It was supposed to be their honeymoon, she remembered with a pang. She’d just rubbed out the lines she’d penciled across her calendar and planned to work the next couple of weeks. Before he left, she had to let him know she wanted to see him again when he returned. “Sure. I’ll be right down.”

She grabbed her purse on the way out, then locked her door and took the elevator down to the lobby. She jogged out and saw his car idling in her building’s loading zone.

She couldn’t help the flush of pleasure she felt creeping up her face as she approached the open window on the driver’s side, or the pang she felt knowing he’d be going away. “John, I—”

“The building super’s already yelled at me twice,” he said, sounding harried, staring into the rearview mirror.

“Whatever it is, hop in and tell me.”

“But I—”

“Quick.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door and she scooted round and jumped in. She shut the door and he pulled out and headed into the busy downtown street.

“Did you get my watch?”

So much for sweet nothings about their spectacular night together—a night he hadn’t even bothered to see all the way through. “Yes,” she said tartly, undoing it and passing it over.

He thrust his wrist at her. “Can you put it on?”

She sighed and complied, secretly enjoying the chance to hold his wrist, look at his hand and remember all the places it had been last night. Mmm, she grew warm just remembering. “John, I was wondering…”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I had a really good time last night.”

“Me, too.” He glanced at her and grinned in a way that made her flush.

“What I’m trying to say is…” A highway exit sign flashed by her. “Where are we?”

“Going for a drive.”

“I thought we’d just go around the block.”

“You thought wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m kidnapping you,” he said calmly, checking his rearview as he merged into the highway traffic.

She turned to stare at his profile, looking for the smirk, waiting for his laugh and a “gotcha.” His face seemed perfectly serious.

Since he didn’t laugh, she did. “And why are you kidnapping me?”

“The usual reason.”

She played along, enjoying the game. “Ransom?”

He nodded.

“But you have tons more money than I do.”

“I’m not after money.”

“You’re not.” Her chest started to feel tight, squeezing her lungs so she felt breathless. A semi roared by and she jumped. “What are you after?”

He shot her a quick glance, but still there was no joking in it, only a tenderness that made her quiver, and a heat that made her blush. “Your heart.”

“My heart.” She sounded like a ninny repeating everything he said in this stupid fashion, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“That’s right. You give me your heart and I’ll take you back home.”

For a long moment she just stared at his profile, its clean-shaven angles and planes, the straight blade of his nose, the determined chin. Tears blurred her vision as she accepted the truth. She’d never stopped loving him. She took a deep breath. “You already have it,” she said in a husky voice.

He nodded like a satisfied salesman who’d just closed a big deal. “I thought so.”

She laughed helplessly. “You can take me home now.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got my reputation as a kidnapper to consider. If I take you home now, I’ll look like a wimp. Besides, I can’t just take your word for it. I need proof.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, realizing she’d been just as irrational when she’d wanted proof he didn’t sleep with another woman. Their future together wasn’t just about love, it was about trust. Her breathlessness was back—if anything it was worse. “What kind of proof?”

“Your signature on a marriage license ought to do it.”

“Marriage? But you said—last night you said—”

“Last night I said goodbye.” He pulled over onto the shoulder and turned to her. “I meant what I said. I wanted to put a new memory over the old one, but I also needed to know whether you still loved me.”

“And what did you find out?”

“You wouldn’t have gone to bed with me last night if you weren’t still in love with me.” He reached forward and took her chin in his hand. “Last night wasn’t just sex. Was it?”

She shook her head.

“We were making love.” She didn’t nod, but her tearing eyes must have spoken for her. “I love you, Charlotte. But we’re at a crossroads, quite literally.” He smiled at her and pointed to the highway exit ahead. “I can take that exit and have you back home in half an hour and we’ll say goodbye.”

“Or?”

“Or you trust me with your heart. Pay the ransom and spend your life with me.”

His logic was a little faulty, but she didn’t call him on it. Absently, she rubbed the ring finger of her left hand where his engagement ring used to sit. “You mean you want to get engaged again?”

“Oh, no. I’m not being a chump twice. I made an appointment at city hall. We get married today.”

“But I…” She glanced down at her sweats, thought of the designer wedding dress she’d never wear, the 200 invitations she’d never address, the relatives and business associates she wouldn’t dance with at her wedding, the lunches, dinners, and brunches she wouldn’t eat, the thank-you notes she’d never write—and it was like an elephant stepping off her chest.

She gazed into those beautiful gray eyes, drawn as always by the streaks of gold. Who needed a designer dress? She grinned right back at him, and threw herself into his arms. “I’m in.”

And at that moment, as her pulse pounded, her heart felt so light that it might indeed float over to lodge in John’s chest for safekeeping.