Valentine's Day Is Killing Me (15 page)

His hand found the box, and she couldn’t even open her eyes as she heard the paper rip—but she had to. She weakly lifted her head, gaping, half from the need to breathe through her mouth, and half from sheer astonishment. The man was hung like a horse. She almost sobbed as she watched him sheath himself…
God was good.
Immediate warmth covered her. A tremble was her initial response. For a moment, that was all she could offer until a slow entry made her voice rend the air with her man’s name embedded in it.

Her shudder connected to his, fluid motion became deep, penetrating liquid fire, soft caresses turned into a feral grip, cool exterior transformed into sweat-drenched skin—tender kisses broke with his head thrown back, eyes closed tight, a staccato pant keeping time and yet blocking it out…her name became, “Oh, baby.”

Lights danced beneath her shut lids, the sun gave the splintered darkness a golden haze, her hands slid up and down slicked back skin, broad, thick shoulders worked in unison with clenching and releasing muscles in sculpted buttocks that her calves gladly embraced…she arched so hard that she was sure her spine would snap…like her mind had. The pending seizure swept through her so suddenly that all she could do was weep.

The moment she tumbled over the edge, he lost his mind. Forgot all about the precarious nature of latex, taking it slow, or whatever else he was supposed to be thinking about. Jocelyn…Jesus, it had been so long. He hit the pleasure wall, convulsed so hard that he was seeing stars. His body wouldn’t stop twitching…and he had messed around and had fallen in love.

He peered down at her, the sated expression on her face so serene that hot moisture filled his eyes. He gently kissed the bridge of her nose and she looked up at him, her hand cupping his cheek. Oh, yeah, he was a goner and had to make coffee in the morning, the afternoon, and at night a permanent part of his life.

“Tell me you don’t have to go back to work this afternoon,” he whispered, still breathing hard.

She smiled tenderly and shook her head. “No…I still have to make us that coffee. The job can wait.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head to her shoulder. “Good…’cause so can mine.”

One year later…

“I can’t believe you’re getting married on Valentine’s Day, girl,” Jacqui sniffed, her rose bouquet bobbing as she removed her mink coat and came in close for a hug.

Tina dissolved into tears and hugged her, mussing her deep red velvet dress with the crush. “Oh, girl, this is soooo romantic!” She patted her protruding belly, and laughed. “I can’t believe you’re letting my wide behind walk down the aisle with you—but thank you.”

Jocelyn kissed Tina’s cheek. “One of you had to be my matron of honor, and since you got married first,” she added, laughing through the tears, “it doesn’t matter under whatever conditions, you’ll always be my girl.”

Freddie extended her huge, four-karat ring and sighed. “Marcus just gave this to me this morning,” she whispered thickly. “It’s catching. How can I ever thank you, lady?”

“Just be happy,” Jocelyn said, as butterflies swept through her stomach. She glanced at her mother, who had tears standing in her eyes.

Kimika grabbed Jocelyn’s hand and just stared down. “You young girls know how to get the rocks that don’t stop. Have mercy.” She dropped Jocelyn’s hand and chuckled. “You sure you don’t need a crane supervisor on site up at the altar to help lift your hand when he puts the second band on there? Gotta be five or six karats, flossing single solitaire in platinum—we should be taking lessons from you, doll!”

“Oh, gurrrllll…” Gail sobbed, hugging Jocelyn and falling apart so badly that the four pamper ladies shooed her away. “I can’t believe you let
me
be in
your
wedding!”

“Do not get makeup on her gown, honey,” Agnes fussed.

Kimika fluffed Jocelyn’s veil while Sue-Lin fretted over her bouquet and Mildred poufed out her train.

“This is it, Cinderella,” Agnes said with a sniff. “Our job is done. The music is playing, now the rest is up to you. Enjoy the ball.”

“My baby girl,” her mother said, weeping, and then hugged Jocelyn so hard she could hardly breathe. “Now you remember everything that I told you?”

Jocelyn laughed, sniffing, then smoothed back her mother’s hair, and nodded. “Momma, everything you told me was right. I love you.”

Her mother let go with a sniff and then chuckled. “You were right, too. Your professor’s friend is…well, never mind. He’s a very nice man.”

“I can’t believe I’m standing here next to you like this, Holmes,” Raul said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Never thought I’d see it happen.”

Raymond smiled but kept his eyes toward the back of the church, waiting. “Me, either, man. You have no idea.”

All his brothers were assembled at his flank. Flowers littered the sanctuary. Friends had squeezed into the pews like sardines. His mother and sisters sat on the front row, crying. But he saw none of it. When the music started in earnest, he blocked it out and got tunnel vision.

She floated down the aisle like a vision, her professor holding her arm. A sheer, pearl-beaded veil covered her beautiful face, shimmering at the edges like it had been dipped in sugar. Her coffee-and-cream shoulders were bare, framed in a winter-white scoop that gave modest rise to her bosom. Blood-red roses trailing ivy and small white buds trembled ever so slightly with each step she took. Sudden moisture stung his eyes and gave her an angelic haze as she neared him. The winged collar shirt beneath his black, cutaway tux felt like it was strangling him, but he knew better; the sight of her did that. Always did, always would…just like Valentine’s Day had just become more than a holiday. It was sacred…and the wait for Jocelyn Jefferson, soon to be Mrs. JeffersonMayfield, to walk down the aisle, was killing him.

To my twin sister, Jennifer,
the ultimate Valentine survivor.

T minus 87 hours

Shanna Murphy hopped off the bus. “This is going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever!” she announced as she raised her fists above her head. Excitement fizzed through her veins as she tilted her face toward gray Seattle rain clouds.

“You say that every year,” Heather pointed out as she wearily hooked her backpack over one shoulder. “Come on, I’m chilled to the bone.”

Shanna didn’t know what her sister was talking about. She wasn’t the least bit cold. “This year is going to be different!”

“You’ve said that each year, too.”

She ignored Heather’s comment. No one was going to dampen her spirits. Shanna waited too long for the perfect V-Day and she was almost there. Eighty-seven hours and everything was in place! Nothing could—or would—go wrong. She’d made sure of it.

The certainty was unlike anything Shanna had felt before. She wanted to burst with joy. She wanted to squeal. Do a Mary Tyler Moore hat toss and twirl. Her body language must have given her away, because Heather grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along.

“This year
will
be different.” She fell in step with Heather as they followed the crowd to the office buildings. “And do you know why?”

“I don’t want to know.” Her sister determinedly kept her gaze straight ahead.

“I’ll tell you why. Because I have a fail-proof plan.” Just saying it aloud made her jittery. She felt like a kid the week before Christmas. A virtuous kid who knew she was getting a good payoff from Santa.

Heather spared a sideways glance. “If it’s anything like last year’s ‘contingency plan’…” She curled her fingers in quotation marks.

Shanna winced and her spirits took a tiny dip as she remembered last year. That had to be the worst V-Day. Ever. And for someone who had never had a good Valentine’s Day—not even a date on February 14 during her long and, uh, illustrious dating career—that was saying a lot.

“Okay, last year’s plans didn’t work,” Shanna admitted, “but I really hadn’t been expecting a natural disaster.”

“Maybe I should define ‘contingency plan’ for you.”

She swatted at Heather’s hands. “Enough about that.” She hated when people did quotation marks at her. Twin sisters, especially. “Last year was a dress rehearsal. Just like all the other years. But they were also learning experiences.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Apparently you haven’t learned enough, because you’re still excited about Valentine’s Day.”

“But don’t you see?” She didn’t know exactly why, but Shanna needed to convince Heather. Which was ridiculous—not to mention impossible—since her sister missed out on the romantic gene altogether. “I’m approaching this holiday in a different direction. I’ve pared down.”

“You?” Heather stopped abruptly on the sidewalk corner and almost got run over by another pedestrian. “Pared down? Do I need to define that, too?”

“I want the perfect V-Day. A quintessential February14. That means boiling it down to its very essence.”

“This does not sound good,” Heather muttered under her breath as they crossed the street.

“I even made a list.” Shanna unzipped her purse and hurriedly shuffled through the trash.

“Yep.” Heather rubbed her fingertips against her forehead. “Not good at all.”

“See?” She pulled out a sheet of paper, slightly crumpled from constant viewing. “I’m concentrating on the basics.”

“Give me that.” Her sister snatched it from her fingers and read it aloud.

THE LIST

1. 1. Receive a dozen long-stemmed red roses. At work. In front of everyone.
   
2. 2. Dinner at the most romantic restaurant in downtown Seattle. Champagne optional, but would gain bonus points.
   
3. 3. A date with someone who knows where my G-spot is without asking for directions. And knows what to do with it.
   

“So?” Shanna prodded, anticipation buzzing inside her again. “What do you think? Good, huh?”

Heather pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. She wordlessly returned the list.

“Knock it off.” Shanna reverently folded the paper and slipped it back into her purse. “You have to admit that this list is fail-proof.”

Heather’s forehead crinkled. “Are you kidding?
Everything
will go wrong.”

“You wanna bet?” She already regretted showing her sister the list.

“Sure. Let’s look at your dinner requirement. What do you consider the most romantic restaurant in Seattle?”

“Swish.” She hadn’t actually been there, but it had topped the ten most romantic restaurants for the past three years. For all she knew, they could serve macrobiotic junk. Who cared, as long as they did it with a romantic flair?

“Oh, sure. Swish.” Heather scoffed at the idea. “Like you’re going to get in there. I hear that they take reservations a year in advance.”

Shanna didn’t say anything, but she knew she was gloating. The best kind of gloat, as long as you weren’t on the receiving end. The smirk tugged at her pursed lips. She felt the pull of her eyebrows as she tried not to waggle them.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” she asked innocently.

“You made reservations a year in advance.” The way Heather said it made it sound like an accusation. “Without even having a boyfriend on the horizon.”

The smile she tried to contain broke through. “Yep. I decided I was not going to suffer through another bad Valentine’s Day. On February 15 of last year, I called Swish and made reservations. I got a table for two by the window overlooking Elliot Bay.”

“Lovely.” Sarcasm shimmered through the single word. “Too bad the second seat in your dinner for two is going to be empty.”

“Not necessarily.” She felt her eyebrows waggling.

“I’m not eating dinner with you.”

Shanna tilted her chin up. “You’re not invited.”

“Are you telling me you have a date in mind?”

Pure pleasure kicked into her veins. “I sure do.”

For the first time that morning Heather showed a spark of enthusiasm. “You and Calder?”

Calder. Calder Smith. Her breath hitched in her throat as her ex-boyfriend’s image slammed into her brain.

His pitch-black hair was cropped close against his skull. Tanned, weathered skin stretched over his lean, angular face. Lines fanned from his gleaming brown eyes and bracketed his stern mouth. And every once in a while, a slow, almost shy smile that made her heart tumble.

She used to think that Calder had been almost too tall for her. So tall that she felt delicate next to him. Or maybe it was his harsh masculinity that made her feel fragile and ultrafeminine. Whatever it was, Shanna still shivered at the memory of his earthy sensuality.

She swallowed roughly and tried to clear her suddenly swollen throat. “Heather, you know the rule,” she reminded her in a hoarse whisper. “Do not speak his name in front of me.” It was bad enough she had to see him almost every day because they worked for the same computer software company.

“Okay, fine. But He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named should be on that checklist.” She shook a finger at Shanna. “That would be the perfect V-Day you’re searching for.”

Like she didn’t know that already. She didn’t want to think about it. Shanna tried to push the image aside, but the tingling of her skin remained. She had to forget about him and not let any what-might-have-beens get in the way of her goal.

“So who’s your date?”

She wasn’t too sure if she wanted to share any more information, but she knew her sister wouldn’t let the topic rest until she found out. “Dominic.”

“Dominic? Who’s Domi—no!” She grabbed Shanna’s arm and pulled her to a stop. “Not…”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

Heather’s eyes widened with dismay. “He’s a
slut
.”

“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘serial dater’.” Even though she hated it, Shanna did the quote thing with her fingers. Just because she could.

“For future reference, anytime you use the word ‘serial’ to describe a guy, it’s not going to be good.”

Damn if her sister didn’t use the quote move again. “I’ll remember that.”

Heather covered her face with her hands. “Dominic. Why-y-y?” She wailed and stomped one foot after the other. “Why him? He’s not going to send you flowers.”

“Yes, he is.” If the subliminal messages didn’t work, the full-frontal request could not have been misunderstood.

Heather dropped her hands from her face and glared with suspicion. “Shanna, tell me the truth. Did you order and pay for the flowers in advance?”

“No!” Her mouth dropped open in shock. Outrage. “I would never do that. That’s pathetic! I can’t believe you would even think I’d consider it.”

Her sister’s jaw slid to one side and she arched a knowing eyebrow. “Shanna.”

“Okay, the idea crossed my mind,” she admitted, as she and Heather jaywalked through a parking lot, “but I rejected it. I know the minute I did that, all my bitchy coworkers would sniff out the truth.”

“Yeah, you would never live that one down.” She shuddered at the possibilities.

“Anyway, the whole point of the exercise is having a
guy
send me a bouquet at work. A dozen red roses, to be exact. I will accept no substitutes.”

“Why do you think Dominic is going to send you flowers?”

“He will if he wants to find my G-spot on Friday.” Shanna knew the motivation didn’t sound the least bit romantic, but it would all work out in the end.

“Do
you
know where it is?”

“It hasn’t made itself known for the past three months,” she said with a shrug, “but that doesn’t mean it changed addresses on me.”

“And you think it’s going to head the welcome committee for Dominic?” Heather exhaled long and hard. “Of all the men you could have picked. Couldn’t it have been anyone else?”

“Heather, think about it.” It wasn’t like she had randomly picked Dominic. He fitted her requirements for the night. “How many guys can you name who knows what a G-spot is, let alone what to do with it?”

“There’s me,” the familiar, rough voice said from right behind her.

Shanna stumbled to a halt and forgot to breathe altogether as Calder steadied her. His fingers spanning against the curve of her hip made her knees melt. She trembled as his heat washed over her. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, her G-spot just announced that the hibernation season was officially over.

Calder’s fingers flexed against Shanna, but he restrained himself before curling her against his side. He felt the void—ached with it—but he had to be patient.

“Calder.” Her breathless whisper made his body tighten.

“Shanna.” He reluctantly allowed his hand to drop as she took a cautious step back. His gaze roamed her face, his heart squeezing tight at the exquisite beauty. He could never get tired of her sassy pink mouth or the constellation of freckles scattering across the bridge of her nose.

Wishing he could look into her pale blue eyes without scaring her off, Calder allowed his attention to wander. His mouth straightened into a stern line as he noticed her trim, athletic body hidden under her shapeless brown sweater and faded jeans.

He forgot all about her clothes as she nervously hooked her long red hair behind her ears. He bunched his fingers into fists before he did the task for her and turned to Shanna’s twin. “Hi, Heather.”

It was a wonder how the two could even be related. They might share the flame-red Murphy hair—Shanna’s long and flowing hair begged to be touched while Heather’s short, spiky hair reminded him of a porcupine—and that was where the similarities ended. They were like yin and yang. While one was romantic and yielding, the other one was brash and sharp. One cried over sappy commercials. The other was the anti-Cupid.

Heather’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hey, He-Who-Shall-Not.”

“Heather.” Shanna gave a warning glare at her sister. He felt the unspoken communication arcing over them. Some things never changed.

Her sister paused and smiled sweetly. It was a scary sight. “Sorry, Calder. You don’t make the cut for this list.”

What list? Oh, yeah. The G-spot-hunter list. “Why not?” He didn’t care if he sounded gruff.

“We’re talking about a Valentine hunt for the G-spot,” Heather explained. From the corner of his eye, Calder could see Shanna bristling. “Kind of like hunting Easter eggs, but on February 14.”

Hell, not the whole Valentine thing. Again. Anything but that. Calder felt his temper flaring. “Why does the date make the hunt different?”

For the first time that day, Shanna met his gaze. Too bad it was to glare at him. “It just does,” she said through clenched teeth. She pivoted on her heel and marched away.

“Oh, good answer,” Heather called out to her as she clapped her hands. “Brilliant comeback.”

Shanna whirled around, her blue eyes flashing. “How many people go looking for eggs on days other than Easter?”

Calder felt his eyebrow arch. “So you’re saying that Valentine sex is different from any other kind of sex?” Because he didn’t have any qualms reminding her of a few encounters they shared that made the average day special.

“You wouldn’t by any chance have a case-by-case-analysis on this argument?” Heather asked.

Shanna folded her arms across her chest and huffed. “I wouldn’t share it with you because I’ve wasted enough time trying to convert you nonbelievers.”

“Yeah, you are never going to convert me,” Calder admitted with brutal honesty as he held the door open for them to enter the office building. “I don’t need a calendar telling me when to give flowers to the woman in my life.”

“Yes, I can believe that,” Shanna said as she bestowed a brittle, closed-mouth smile. “A calendar would be useless, considering that the last time you gave flowers to someone was in the second grade. And that was a Mother’s Day assignment for school.”

She had him there. He didn’t feel bad about it, but that was the last time he allowed his mother loose with the family scrapbooks.

Shanna snapped her fingers and looked at the other side of the lobby. “That reminds me, I need to get some flowers.”