Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) (5 page)

Chapter 8

The lobby of the Metropolitan Opera teemed with patrons dressed in their best glitz and glam. Jewels glittered at the throats, wrists, fingers, and ears of the Met’s wealthiest female patrons, all vying to see and be seen. The men, attired in either tasteful dark suits or tuxedos, networked with current and prospective business associates.

Josh stood back, watching the throng with something akin to dismay, trying not to look the small-town yokel that he was. He’d lived in New York for over ten years now, but he’d never seen so much affluence in one place in the whole of his life. The very air seemed to carry the scent of money.

These were the people he needed to rub elbows with if he wanted to raise money for the Women’s Legal Fund of Harlem, the legal aid center he volunteered for, which helped single mothers with civil legal matters. Their big fundraising gala was set for late summer and as event chair, these were the people he’d like to attract. As marketing chair, Laura’s connections would go a long way to make that happen.         

A familiar laugh rose above the crowd, capturing his attention. Surprised, he scanned the crowded lobby for its owner.

He spotted Darcy among a small circle of people, next to a guy who could have been on the cover of
GQ
. For her part, she put even the most glamorous women to shame. Dressed in some gauzy number the color of a ripe peach, her neck and wrists devoid of anything that glittered, she made the other women in the room look like a flock of crows in their unrelieved black.  

She’d pulled her golden brown hair up and away from her face, revealing her long, slender neck.

Mr.
GQ
slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, before whispering something in her ear. Whatever he said made her blush.

Another blind date? She appeared to be enjoying this one anyway. Josh groaned as he felt the familiar fangs of jealousy puncture his heart. Putting a lid on his emotions, he made up his mind to go over and find out just who this
GQ
jamoke was.         

Making his way through New York’s power elite, he overheard snippets of conversation, first about a dreadful week in Zermatt, then something about the jet being under repair, and finally the latest gossip about someone’s botched plastic surgery.
Ah, the woes of the super-rich.
  

Darcy and her date were just separating themselves from the group when Josh caught up to them. “Darcy.”

“Josh! What are you doing here?” The expression on her face revealed not only surprise, but apprehension as well.

“The firm’s box had an open seat. Thought I’d treat myself to some culture. Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He lifted a questioning brow.

“Oh, yes. Josh, this is Blake.” She flashed Josh a warning look. “Um, Blake Garrett. Blake, this is my dear friend, Josh Ryan.”

Josh’s eyebrows winged up in disbelief.

The two men shook hands, sizing up one another.

“Blake Garrett?
Dr.
Blake Garrett?” Josh asked, cutting a glance at Darcy.

“Yes. How did you know?” Blake gave Darcy a quizzical look.

“Your reputation precedes you,” came Josh’s muttered reply. “Darcy, can I talk to you?”

“There’s the Governor. I’ll just step over and pay my respects.” Blake walked away.

“He knows the Governor!” Darcy gushed.

Josh grabbed Darcy’s arm, practically dragging her into a quiet corner of the lobby. “What the hell were you thinking? Writing a novel about a real person? Do you have any idea what kind of legal issues that creates for you, for your publisher?”

“I
didn’t
write a book about a real person. At least I didn’t mean to. I mean, I didn’t know he was real.”

“Then how do you explain that?” He jabbed his finger in Blake’s direction.

“I can’t . . . really,” she faltered. “I met him in the hospital. He treated Laura after her accident.”

Josh shot her an exasperated look. “You met a man with the same name as your hero, and he just happens to be a doctor?”

“It’s true! I’m just as surprised as you are. But it’s not someone with the same name who also happens to be a doctor. It’s
him
. I can’t explain it.” She leaned in to whisper, “He even has the scar over his right eye,” pointing to her eyebrow.

“The one he got rescuing the earthquake survivor?”

“Yes!” Her eyes sparkled in her excitement. “You’re very handsome in your tux, by the way.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” He glared at her. “There has to be some explanation. It must be a joke, then. Laura! She must be playing a practical joke, and it’s a doozy.”

“It’s not a joke. She didn’t even know my hero’s name, let alone what he looked like. You know she doesn’t read my work-in-progress, and the book’s not due out until October.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Blake striding toward them. “I’ve got to go.” She turned back to see the frown on Josh’s face. “Look, don’t worry about me. My hero has come to life. I don’t know how or why, and frankly, I don’t care. I only know I’ve been searching for Mr. Right, and here he is, in the flesh, only he’s
Dr.
Right. Who better than the man of my dreams, quite literally?”

An unconvinced Josh watched as Darcy joined Blake. Joke or not, he would get to the bottom of Darcy’s
hero
.

Darcy floated on air. She didn’t want the
evening to end. As first dates went, this one had definitely rocked her world. The car service had arrived right on time. In the back of the limo there had been a picnic basket filled with gourmet treats and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

When they’d arrived at the hospital, Blake had come out in a perfectly tailored tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips, looking every bit as debonair as she’d written him. His spicy cologne filled her senses when he’d slid across the seat to kiss her cheek. 

Since they wouldn’t be eating dinner until after the opera, he’d had Dean and Deluca pack a basket. They’d eaten juicy grapes, honey-drizzled brie and crackers, and fine Belgian chocolates, all while sipping the excellent champagne. Even she couldn’t have written a more perfect start to the evening.

Running into Josh had been a little bump in the road. If she knew Josh, and she did, he wouldn’t let this go. But the opera had been both breathtaking and heartbreaking, leaving her tearful at the end. Although her father’s firm held a box at the Met, she’d never been to an opera.

On Blake’s arm, she’d met some of the city’s most influential people. Her ego got a boost when a few of the women recognized her name. Apparently even the rich and famous liked to live vicariously through steamy romance novels.

Following the performance, Blake had taken her to an intimate little restaurant for a sumptuous dinner accompanied by a crisp white wine and erudite conversation. Now, tucked under his arm in the back of the limo, she could hardly believe her fantasy had come to life. 

The car pulled up in front of her Park Slope brownstone. Before the chauffeur could do his duty, Blake opened the door and helped her out.

As they climbed the steps up to her front door, hand in hand, she wondered if he would kiss her good night. The thought sent her pulse into overdrive.

He turned her to face him. “I had a lovely time, Ms. Darcy Butler.” He smiled, crinkling the corners of those mesmerizing eyes. Cradling her face with his broad surgeon’s hands, he leaned in ever-so-slightly. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

She just shook her head no. Standing on the step above him, her face was almost even with his. This was it, she thought, as she glanced at his lips. The Perfect Kiss. A kiss that would be the ideal combination of heat and tenderness, seduction and devotion, need and fulfillment. She sighed in anticipation.

His lips tenderly brushed hers, testing, tasting, before diving into the kiss. His mouth was warm and inviting. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she melted against him, enjoying the feel of the athletic body she knew lay beneath that well-tailored tuxedo. God, it had been so long since she’d been kissed.

Then disappointment began to creep in. The kiss held warmth, but no tenderness; it hinted at seduction, but not devotion; and while there was clearly need, it left her unfulfilled.

Huh.
Maybe they just needed practice. Something to look forward to.

He lifted his head and, gazing into her eyes, stroked her cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I would love to see you again. I have to fly to South America tomorrow to operate on a boy injured in a mine collapse, but I’ll be back next week. Can I call you?”

“I’d like that.” Despite the less-than-Perfect Kiss, she still felt lightheaded.

He took her key and opened the door for her before walking away.

“Blake?”

“Yes?”

“I had a wonderful time. Thank you.”

A soft smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “See you next week.”

Chapter 9

The following Monday, Josh stared out the window of his cluttered office, absentmindedly tapping a pencil on his leg and ignoring the stack of cases on his desk. Who was this Blake Garrett? Obviously he wasn’t the actual character from Darcy’s book. Fictional characters didn’t just come to life. Except maybe in the movies.

He wasn’t above doing a little detective work. The law firm contracted with a service that could find the proverbial needle in the haystack. If there was any dirt to be found on this guy, they’d find it.

Feeling better now that he had a plan of action, he returned to the brief he’d been drafting. A few sentences in, someone knocked on his door. “It’s open.”

Mark Woodring, a fifth-year associate, stuck his head in. “Hey, man, you up for some hoops tonight?”

About to go with his first inclination to decline, Josh thought better of it. The physical activity and the male companionship might help relieve the stress and unwind the knots that had formed in his neck and shoulders since meeting Blake. “Sure. What time?”

“Seven.”

“Great. See you then.” The pick-up game gave him the incentive he needed to finish the brief before he left for the day. Then he’d be free to have a beer or two after the workout. But first, he’d call the people locator service and get the ball rolling on Blake Garrett, M.D., if that was even his real name.

The door
bell buzzed, interrupting Darcy’s train of thought. Since her first surprise encounter with Blake, she’d been lucky to keep that train solidly on the track. Something would trigger a memory of the sparkle in his eyes, his spicy scent, or the way his hair fell over his forehead concealing the scar, and the train would derail, leaving mayhem in its wake.

At this rate, her latest manuscript might be finished sometime next year, instead of in the six months she’d contracted for.

She still couldn’t explain the mystifying manifestation of Blake Garrett. She’d been up most the night trying to figure it out, but it defied explanation. While she believed in fairytale happy endings, she didn’t believe that a pumpkin and mice could actually become a coach-and-four. She believed in love, not magic. She’d finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning no more enlightened for her loss of sleep.

How could she wait a whole week before she saw him again? To confirm that he was indeed real and not just some illusion? Or
de
lusion, for that matter?

She glanced over at the ARC bearing his likeness. At least there was that, she thought.

She’d recently completed the renovations on the third-floor bedroom that now served as her office and writing retreat in her brownstone. She’d previously been sharing the downstairs office with her assistant, Millie, but Virginia Woolf was right, a woman must have a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

The soft yellow walls and bright white trim gave the space a cheery feeling. She’d found some great antique floral prints at the Hell’s Kitchen Flea Market, and the colorful area rug at the GreenFlea Market.

Her antique Queen Anne desk faced the window overlooking her tidy backyard with its sizable elm tree, where a pair of mourning doves had built a nest. She looked forward to watching the pair incubate the eggs and then feed the downy-covered creatures until they fledged the nest.

But the pair of doves also acted as a bittersweet reminder of her own single, childless situation. Hopefully that would change—and soon. At least the single part.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, Millie, perfect timing.” Darcy didn’t glance up from her computer. “I need a million-dollar word for ‘new.’”

“Nascent.”

“That’s it! Perfect.” Her fingers clicked across the keys at lightning speed.

“Glad to be of assistance,” Millie said dryly. “The reason I disturbed you in the first place was to bring you these.”

Darcy finally turned to see her assistant practically staggering under the weight of an enormous bouquet of peach calla lilies that dwarfed her petite frame. 

Millicent Stephens, with her dull brown hair pulled back into a severe bun, sharp facial features, and slight overbite, resembled the little brown mouse Darcy had once encountered in her parents’ garage.

Millie, awash in browns from head to toe, including the eyes behind her brown-rimmed glasses, gave the flowers the appearance that they’d sprung from a patch of soil. But her attention to detail and dependability made her the perfect personal assistant. And there was no mistaking the intelligence in those dun-colored eyes. Plus, the woman was a walking thesaurus—a real bonus for an author. According to Millie, one should read the dictionary cover-to-cover at least once a year. 

“Calla lilies are the symbol of purity and chastity among Christians, but the symbol of lust and sexuality among the Romans. I wonder which meaning he had in mind when he sent these.” In complete contrast to her appearance, Millie’s voice had a sexy bedroom quality to it, honey with a splash of fine aged whiskey.

Darcy snorted and, taking the vase, placed it on her desk and opened the card.

These calla lilies may embody your elegance and grace, but they pale in comparison to the real thing.

Yours, BG

Darcy hugged the card to her chest, sighing wistfully, before grabbing Millie’s hand to pull her into a dance around the little room.

After a couple of turns about the small space, Millie wheezed, “Darcy, I’m getting dizzy!”

Darcy released her and Millie pulled her sweater back into place before giving Darcy a skeptical eyebrow lift. “Don’t you find it odd that the man you just met is the personification of the hero in your upcoming release?”

Darcy adjusted the flowers in the vase, and gave a slight shoulder lift. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Mmm hmm. Some believe there are no coincidences in life. Everything that happens, every person we interact with, serves a purpose.”

“Well, maybe Blake’s purpose is to make me happy.”

“And maybe that’s just wish fulfillment.”

“Boy, Millie. You really know how to suck the joy out of something.”

“Just being realistic.”