L.A. Caveman (24 page)

"Stanna," he whispered. He shook his
head. Hopelessly, he told her what he'd really come to
say.

"I love you."

He turned to leave, as she'd
requested.

He heard a great whooshing of exhaled
breath. "What? What did you say?"

Jake found that he couldn't move
another step toward the door until he found out what put that sweet
breathless tone in Stanna's voice. The shock he felt locked his
muscles for a long moment.

He turned slowly, not daring to hope.
The sight of her intense, searching, hopeful eyes hit him like a
blow. He couldn't catch his breath. When he could, he sucked in air
and turned all the powerful emotions he felt on her like a beacon,
willing her to feel the strength of what he felt for her. He locked
his eyes on her.

"I love you, Stanna. I love you. I
love you." With each sentence thrust before him like an offering,
or possibly a weapon – whatever worked – he took another step until
she was against him again.

He felt the sob rip through her
simultaneously with her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. "I
love you, too!" she wailed. She shook against him, and he felt the
wonder of their embrace and his own tears threatening.

When he heard her soft, reverent voice
calling his name, he looked down at her, wondering for a moment why
she was blurry. She touched a tear as it spilled over and smiled
radiantly. "I thought Neanderthal caveman types like you never
cried," she teased gently, wiping her own face.

"We do when we get our cavewoman
back." He tightened his grip possessively and she snuggled
contentedly against him.

"Does this mean I get you back?" she
asked him. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"For as long as you want me," he
assured her, marveling at how lucky he was. How lucky they both
were, to be together just like this, finally and despite it
all.

Stanna felt the gentle brush of Jake's
warm fingers tucking a strand of her blond hair back behind her
ear. The strand had escaped from her elegantly simple-looking
upsweep, which wasn't at all simple to create. The Bridal Tresses
stylist actually spent the better part of three hours earlier in
the day making it perfect, and already it leaked tiny
wisps.

It served its purpose, though, she
thought in satisfaction as she watched her brand-new husband Jake
looking at her with those eyes of his soft with proud happiness and
love. She didn't need a mirror to know that her own expression was
identical. Who cared about hair at a time like this?

She smiled at her magnificent man, not
hiding at all the vibrant emotion she felt. She sighed contentedly,
surveying her wedding guests as they enjoyed the reception dinner
that she and Jake had planned together. Quite a few were her
co-workers, who had forgiven her that ridiculous business with the
news lady. When it turned out that the publicity actually helped
Men's Weekly
and they didn't need to worry for their jobs,
they quickly – and shamefacedly – came around. There was Corrinna,
smiling demurely around a mouthful of apple-stuffed lamb. And
Michael sitting across from her while blowing a diva-kiss in
Stanna's direction. Or Jake's direction. She wasn't
sure.

Her darling Jake, who she'd thought
was going to fire her! How ironic the document he'd handed her that
day in her apartment was actually a new contract between them for
her exclusive "Woman's Word" column. She'd ripped it to shreds, but
he printed out a new one for her that very same
afternoon.

She felt like a princess in her long
white dress. She moved slightly, feeling the silk rustle against
her skin luxuriously. And she had her prince beside her, dressed
not in caveman-esque animal skins but a proper -- and incredibly
sexy -- black and white tuxedo. Wonderful how it didn't hide his
animal virility at all.

The outdoor wedding was a great idea,
she thought with satisfaction. The cool scented breeze off the
ocean rippled the luxurious white tent coverings and made the
hundreds of hanging flower arrangements sway majestically. Her ears
filled with the happy chatter of guests and the romantic melodies
of the live band. She actively absorbed as many sensations as she
could, trying to imprint every last one on her mind to remember
always.

With everything that had happened in
the last few months, this was the best conclusion to it all she
could imagine.

Telly looked as if she'd agree to that
for herself as well.

She looked as radiant as Stanna felt,
in a bizarre jewel-toned wrap that showcased her superb sense of
style. Her date couldn't keep his eyes off her, that was for sure.
She couldn't blame him any more than she could blame Telly's
neglect of the wedding festivities in favor of ogling her handsome
date. A mechanic and aspiring racecar driver, Telly had told her
earlier. He did have a certain rough appeal. Not that he held a
candle to her... husband.

The word caused dozens of warm fuzzies
to whirl happily inside her.

Ever since he'd shown up at her
apartment to finally declare himself, those fuzzies were never far
away. She supposed she'd just have to get used to them, she thought
with satisfaction.

Everyone she knew in Los Angeles was
here to witness her happiness. She looked around with interest. No,
there was one missing person. Ian.

But then, he would hardly be there, as
she hadn't invited him. She hadn't heard from him since the one
last unsettling call to the magazine when he’d said he needed to
take his medication. It was as if he'd disappeared.

Stanna and Jake had decided not to
press charges. If Ian had the good grace to disappear and stay out
of their lives, then they could live without sending the old guy to
jail.

He would've been so surprised to see
the latest
Men's Weekly
change. Hell,
she
was still
surprised that Jake had agreed to it. Surprised and thrilled: A His
and Hers column writing on opposite sides of a subject. She wrote
what she pleased in "Woman's Word," and Jake presented the
opposite, manly take on the matter in his "Hear the Man." A perfect
solution for them.

From the challenging glint in his eyes
when he’d agreed to it, they'd never run out of material. Jake was
too fundamentally masculine. Sometimes he even edged into
chauvinist territory.

Nothing she couldn't
handle.

A lock of blond hair brushed against
her cheek and tickled her skin gently, but this time she didn't
mind. She just tilted her head until her cheek rested against the
broad shoulder of her husband, replacing the tickling sensation
with the solid warmth of Jake, giving her a vast, inexhaustible
contentment.

From his satisfied growl and the way
his arm immediately rose to fold her against him, she could tell he
felt exactly the same way.

The End

About the Author

An award-winning writer, Christina
Crooks lives with her husband in Portland, Oregon. She has a
bachelor's degree in English literature and is a member of Romance
Writers of America.

Christina's work has been recommended
by Booklist and has received commendations including an honorable
mention in the Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, a Reviewer’s Choice
Award from Two Lips and a Staff Pick from Powell’s
Books.

Christina's books have been published
by Kensington, Samhain, and Five Star Publishing. Her short fiction
has appeared in Hot Blood #13: Dark Passions, Space and Time
Magazine, Nossa Morte, Quantum Kiss, and elsewhere.

Please visit Christina at
www.christinacrooks.com.

Where sparks fly and
rubber burns.

©
2010
Christina Crooks

Sarah’s a whiz at tuning engines and
winning races. Winning Craig, the local drag race hero, proves more
difficult. He only has eyes for gorgeous women who are hot in the
sack, not grubby tomboys. Sarah’s world gets an overhaul when her
father hires Gordon Devine. Soon she’s torn not only between two
men she wants, but between the drag race winner she is and the
woman she feels pressured to become.

Enjoy the following
excerpt for
Thrill of the
Chase:

Powering up through the gears, Sarah
felt all the muscles in her body tighten with readiness and
excitement before the two turns. She gripped her Mustang’s custom
wood-lacquered shift knob with one hand, the thick steering wheel
with the other. Though the late morning traffic was light, she
checked her side mirrors twice and carefully scanned from left to
right through her windshield, alert for any movement. There were no
cars nearby. And, of course, no pedestrians. Nobody walked in
Huntington Beach’s industrial-zoned “automotive alley.”

Jerking the steering wheel to the
right then pulling it smoothly left, simultaneously heel-toeing the
clutch and brake pedals with the edge of her running shoe, she felt
her car’s tires break free from the pavement’s friction. The car
slid sideways.

Maintaining the throttle pressure to
keep her wheels spinning, she steered into the same direction she
slid. She spotted the large, faded red letters of Big Red’s Auto
Performance Shop’s sign out of the corner of her eye.

Right on target.

The four-wheel drift positioned her to
race up the exact middle of the entrance to the shop’s parking
lot.

With a satisfying screech of tires,
she floored the gas to gather more speed, then whipped her car into
the second and final turn.

Another four-wheel drift, pressing her
back into the firm, curved racing seats she’d installed. She
grinned as she piloted the sideways-hurtling car with an
instinctive touch, lifting off the gas pedal and feathering the
brakes to bleed off her speed.

The yellow Mustang slid to a halt. It
was positioned perfectly in the middle of her parking
space.

“
Yes!” Energized, she
leapt out of the car. Another day’s commute concluded.

Sarah pushed the building’s tinted
front door open, humming. She jogged through the shop’s retail
area, neither seeing nor expecting to see anyone manning the front
desk. Matt was probably in the back again, complaining to the
technicians. He pretended to be a gearhead, but she knew they saw
through it. What he should be doing was unpacking and stocking
those magazine shipments she saw lining the front wall in boxes, or
cleaning the grimy glass display case. He should be sitting on that
padded stool answering the ringing phone. Her dad hadn’t hired him
to hang out.

She shrugged. Matt didn’t know a
9/16th from a hole in the ground, but he wasn’t her main
problem.

Still, his absence added a new bounce
to her gait. How nice that he wasn’t lounging in the short hallway
staring at her workout bra–flattened chest as she returned from her
Friday morning routine. As she trotted into the back, a gust of
motor oil–scented air cooled her forehead. She wiped at it
absently.

It was perfectly acceptable for the
techs to sneak a peek—surreptitiously, of course—but Matt didn’t
even try to be subtle. She rolled her eyes at the memory of his
creepy peeping as he’d challenged her to arm-wrestle him. As if the
scrawny weasel would win. Since she’d started working out she had
arms of steel, powerful as any man’s. Useful for lifting
transmissions into place, and carrying flywheels without having to
always ask assistance from the guys in the back.

“
The ‘ho is on the flo’,”
she announced, trotting past the small group of men gathered around
the engine stand gazing at a shiny small-block motor.

“
Don’t I wish,” the taller
mustached blond answered. He winked at her as she passed, but his
attention remained firmly fixed on the small block. The shiny
chrome seemed to have them mesmerized. “Shake some ass, already. We
wouldn’t mind a little help.”

Flipping Will off even as she began to
veer toward the object of attention, at the last moment she kept
moving towards her own locker area, the converted women’s restroom.
She was late again, but first she had to swap out her damp gym
T-shirt. While she had no problem assaulting the guys with her
version of ladies’ perspiration, her white shirt was miraculously
unstained by grease. Best to keep it that way. Remembering with
chagrin the last time she’d worn a shop shirt on the weight
machines—she’d left black grease smudges on three of them before
the trainers threw her out—she was already beginning to pull it off
as the bathroom door hushed shut.

Yanking on her jeans along with a
faded shop-shirt, she spared just enough time to splash cold water
onto her face, pull her disarranged hair back into a neater
ponytail, and run a strawberry-flavored ChapStick over her lips
before rejoining the guys. “Is this a new engine build or a refresh
job?” she asked no one in particular.

“
Refresh,” Lee answered,
fingering the pen behind his ear. He edged his small body to one
side, making room for her next to the parts-covered workbench. He
smiled shyly at her, the bright chrome flashing in his
eyes.