Every Girl's Secret Fantasy (14 page)

“I'm happy you're excited about becoming you again,” she offered.

The intensity in his eyes lifted a little, and the beginnings of a smile hooked his mouth. “I'm not a whole new person. My bike's not going anywhere.”

She smiled back, even while she died a little more inside. “So I'll see you around.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. He cupped her cheek and she quivered, waiting for his last kiss. She'd carve the memory into her mind and treasure it for ever.

But his mouth pressed not against her lips but her brow, and although disappointment pulsed through her Phoebe soaked in his scent, absorbed the liberating feel of his touch. When he pulled away—when he
walked
away—an odd calm settled over her.

She'd never been so sure of anything. Whatever name he went by, she loved Pace. She loved him with all her soul. And feared she always would.

A
WEEK
later, Phoebe was still numb.

She'd acted in a mature fashion, accepting the inevitable, and had watched Pace walk away. No good could come from clinging when obviously Pace's passion for her was running out of steam. Still, she was agonisingly aware of how easy it would be to call him, or show up unexpectedly, and explain that she knew it could work—she only needed a little time to get over the fact that she'd been humiliated, knowing that he'd kept his true identity a secret the entire time they'd been together.

In the same situation that was what her mother would've done.

Her mum had been desperately in love and, it seemed, hadn't been able to handle “the end”. Phoebe had always resented the fact that her mother hadn't put her child before her need to be with a philanderer—a man who hadn't wanted to know either of them.

While Phoebe still wished her mother hadn't left that rainy night, at least now she could appreciate the passion that had propelled her to go. Once you loved someone, that emotion couldn't be turned off like a switch. The beautiful memories, the ache of loss and
longing, were always there. Phoebe couldn't imagine a time when this cruel throb beneath her ribs would ease. Couldn't think of a time when she wouldn't be hopelessly in love with Pace.

She might be stronger than her mother—she had no intention of running after Pace, no matter how much her weaker side begged her to. But perhaps that was because she'd lived her life in the shadow of a tragic consequence brought about by someone who couldn't let go.

Until now Phoebe hadn't acknowledged quite how angry she'd been with her mother; those feelings had always simmered, hidden beneath her surface. She would never stop wishing that her mother were alive, but at last she'd forgiven her. Love, in all its forms, was the most powerful force in the world. It could lift you higher than a rocket ship. Could also fling you down and break you like a glass vase.

Empty. Shattered.

Phoebe didn't want to live like that.

Instead, these past days she'd thrown herself into her work, and had filled her time in the evenings catching up with friends. She'd been so determined to hide her pain, not even her best mate Roz had guessed how torn up she was about “that man with the bike you were seeing”.

Walking down the main corridor of Goldmar Studios, her mind stuck on Pace, Phoebe stopped when a deep voice from behind shot over her head.

“Where have you been? Having another three-hour pow-wow in the make-up room?”

Withering inside, Phoebe recognised the voice and, without enthusiasm, turned around. Exuding his usual
superior air, her boss stood before her. After no sleep this week, she
so
didn't need this now.

She rubbed a gritty eye. “What do you want, Steve?”

“You've been riding high in the ratings this week.”

Her jaw unhinged.
Sorry?
“Was that a compliment?”

“We've decided to add another dimension. Another host to share the spotlight.”

If he wanted her to bite, he'd be disappointed. She couldn't be bothered retaliating. He wanted a co-host on the show? Fine. He was the boss.

“Send me the details,” she said.

But his mouth shifted in a way that told her he was peeved by her easy acceptance. “There's also the matter of your contract, of course.” He held up a copy of, she presumed, said contract. “Now that there'll be two hosts, a renegotiation's necessary to even up the budget.”

She took a double-take. “You're telling me the show is doing so well that I have to accept a pay
cut
?”

He rolled his eyes. “I was hoping you wouldn't be difficult.”

She felt so beaten, at first she automatically decided to get this over with and agree to whatever. But then the words stuck in the back of her throat. She knew what she ought to say, but she couldn't make herself say them.

She couldn't do this any more. She was a professional, but she was also
over
copping Steve's ill treatment on the chin. Going to the top and complaining was an option. But even if she won against Steve's harassment, frankly, she didn't know that she wanted to be stuck in
this environment any more. Was any job—any
thing
—worth this angst?

A smug look on his face, Steve was wheeling away, contract held high. “Be in my office by six.”

The steel in her voice came naturally. “I have somewhere to be at six.”

She wouldn't be treated like a doormat any more. If she was strong enough to walk away from the man she loved, surely she could tell this jerk to jam it.

Steve slowly angled back. The contract crumpled in his hand when he made fists and set them low on his belt. “I'll be clear. Be there, or don't come back tomorrow.”

Phoebe's patience levels climbed into the red. Since breaking up with Steve she hadn't thought she had any choice other than to ride out his chauvinist trip. But she
did
have a choice, and it looked more appealing by the second.

Her gaze dropping to the contract, she put out her hand. One corner of his mouth curled up in a satisfied grin as he handed the papers over. Without preamble, she flipped to the last page, where a signature was required. When she wiggled her fingers for a pen, Steve supplied one gladly. Then she hooked a finger, telling him
come here
. Suspicion glinting in his eyes, he sized her up, but then stepped closer. Lifting the contract, she used his chest as a flat surface upon which to sign.

She felt the heat of his hand hovering near her hip, remembered how it had felt to have him touch her, and cringed. Thank God she'd ended it when she had.

“There now,” he crooned as she wrote. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

“Surprisingly much easier than I thought.”

For a punctuation mark, she stabbed the pen into the paper.

Steve jumped back, cursing and holding the pinprick in his shirt. He gaped down. “That
hurt
.”

She batted her lashes. “Sorry.”

After sending her a death glare, he tracked down her autograph. When his gaze landed on the spot, he blinked rapidly and began to wheeze and hyperventilate. “Wha—what's this?”

“I'll be clear.” She slotted the pen in his shirt pocket and, before walking off, enunciated two words.

“I. Quit.”

 

That evening, Pace and Nick sat in the artificial light of the new co-president's office, working on quarterly sales figures and projections for the coming year.

Pace was on edge—but not because he couldn't cope with the rows of numbers; he seemed to have more tolerance for financial statements and economic forecasts these days. He was itchy because he couldn't stop thinking about Phoebe. The way they'd parted. How low he'd felt afterwards.

Before walking away that night he'd said he'd call. He hadn't. The message in Phoebe's glistening eyes couldn't be mistaken. After learning that he'd used an alias the entire time they were together—that he'd hidden so much from her—she didn't want anything more to do with him. Given he hadn't had two minutes spare since, accepting her wishes had seemed kinder to them both. A clean break was a good break.

Not that any part of this break was remotely good.

“You thinking about your girl again?”

Pace glanced up from the latest report Derrick Wilson had put together to meet his brother's concerned gaze.

“She's not my girl, Nick.” Tapping his pen against the conference table, he muttered, “Not any more.”

“Sorry things didn't work out. You obviously cared a great deal for her.”

Pace flinched at the stab beneath his ribs, but quickly shrugged it off. “You know what they say. It was good while it lasted.”

Nick nodded. Then, a line forming between the dark slashes of his brows, he scratched his jaw. “From what you told me of your time together, I'm still not clear why you're throwing it away.”

Sitting back, Pace growled. “Don't start, Nick.” He was in no mood for any brother-to-brother “I know best because I'm older than you” talk.

But Nick held up his hands. “Easy, mate. All I'm saying is that if what you had with Phoebe is even half of what I have with Amy, you'd be an idiot to walk away.”

“You're forgetting. Phoebe's the one who let me know she was happy for me to back off.” Sure, he'd suggested they take time out. He had a job to do and he couldn't—
wouldn't
—blow it again. But Pace would always remember the nights they'd spent together, how he'd only had to look into her eyes to know she was his. Completely. Unreservedly.

But that was yesterday.

“It's over. I'm head to tail into this.” Pace pinched his nose to kill an annoying sting. “Besides, she'd never feel the same way.” Or look at him all starry-eyed the way she'd used to.

“She doesn't trust you,” Nick concluded.

“Not as far as she can throw a cow.”

“Then convince her that she
can
,” Nick said, reaching for his coffee cup. “You can do that. I know firsthand. And don't wait until middle age rolls around to do it. There are lots of women in the world, but only one right one.” He took a long sip before his cup rattled back into its saucer. “Want some advice?”

Habit had Pace about to say he'd heard enough. But when he saw the sincerity shining in his brother's eyes he relaxed and nodded. “Shoot.”

Nick leaned forward. “If you've found the right one, find a way. Make it work. Admit you were wrong to let her go. Bring her back and, most important of all, never let her go again.”

G
OSSIP
always shot around the television industry grapevine at lightning speed.

The day after Phoebe had resigned, feeling a little lost but nonetheless pleased that she'd stuck up for herself, she'd taken a call from a rival network. The executive producer there had explained they had a new primetime show launching and they wanted her to host it. When he'd stated their contract terms, Phoebe had stammered and stuttered into the mouthpiece. Did people truly earn that much?

But she hadn't said yes. She'd needed time to get her bearings. Gather her energy. As she'd packed her things at Goldmar, she'd ignored Steve's bleating about her needing to hand in the BMW. Given the stuff she'd put up with, she deserved at least a week's grace.

Deciding to make good use of the vehicle while she had it—and not wanting to think about dropping it off—she'd packed a few provisions and driven out to Tyler's Stream. Other than escape, she wasn't certain why she'd decided to head back to her hometown. When she'd arrived, however, it had dawned. She wanted to return as the person she was now and take the time to remember her mother in a different light…as a woman
who'd fallen head over heels and had only wanted that love returned.

Boy, could she relate.

After arriving late last night, thankfully she'd fallen into a deep sleep and hadn't stirred until ten this morning. It was as if she'd completely run down and needed to recharge her batteries in readiness for the next phase of her life. Dragging herself out of her loft bed, she reminded herself of how strong she could be. Three months from now, surely the pain over losing Pace would have eased to almost bearable. She simply had to put one foot in front of the other and get on with it until then.

After showering, she dressed in low-waisted pants and a peasant top before catching her hair in a high ponytail. Convalescing here with lots of quiet and fresh air would be ideal. But only for a week, tops. Aunt Meg would be back soon, and Phoebe wanted to have accepted that position and be into her new role before her aunt had time to worry.

Picking at a meagre breakfast, she slid a glance around her lonely-looking cottage, remembering the amazing night she and Pace had spent here. The night she'd taken another stand and had stomped out, once and for all, those horrible, haunting insecurities. The smell of the slow-burning fire…that sultry music washing over her… She'd gone from nervous to curious to full-blown vamp in a matter of minutes.

Crossing to the kitchen, she dropped her dish in the sink.

That glorious night seemed a lifetime ago. Today she only smelled the damp of the previous day's rain and heard the wind picking up outside. She could light a
fire, but a walk would clear her head and give her body the exercise and oxygen it needed. Deciding to pass on a coat, she called Hannie and they headed out.

Ten minutes later, strolling by the stream, Phoebe found a smile when her little dog bolted off, racing for Phoebe's special tree as its glossy clumps of leaves came into view. With a crisp chill in the air, she regretted passing on her coat. But the water's familiar fresh scent and soft babbling comforted her, and her mind wound back to a time when she'd known the perfume of cotton-wool blossoms floating all around.

Nearing the tree, she remembered, too, that secret, special time when she'd first carved her initials and a love heart into its trunk. She'd believed with all her soul that, no matter what, magic did exist: love didn't always desert you. Just a child, she'd even thought if she wished hard enough her mother would come back one day.

As a teenager, and more aware of her position—illegitimate, orphaned—her perception of reality and love had changed. After age thirteen she hadn't touched that carving again.

Now she reached into her back pocket. But, rather than a penknife, she found the folded sheet of paper she'd placed there before leaving her cottage.

Her wish list.

As the breeze played with her ponytail, she noted the points with a subjective eye—particularly the first. She'd wanted to find
Mr Right Now
and she had. Despite the pain of accepting they'd broken up for good, she simply couldn't regret her time with Pace. He'd been the catalyst behind her facing so much about herself. He'd helped her to grow. Indirectly, he'd helped
her to forgive. For that, more than anything, she was grateful.

Phoebe held the list tight, shut her eyes, sent up a prayer that she stay strong, then tore the paper as many times as she could. She watched the pieces float away on the rising wind, her eyes edged with tears and her stomach sinking even lower.

What came next?

She could go full circle and try to believe that magic would find her again…but she couldn't imagine kissing anyone else,
loving
anyone else, other than Pace. No one could hold her the same way or bring out the unbridled joy he did. It wasn't so much about sex. It was about finding that one extraordinary connection. Discovering that unique person you could spend the rest of your life happily getting to know.

A knot in her chest, she brushed a tear aside, and she had begun to walk off when she paused to blink back over her shoulder. Hannie was running around in circles, yapping at the plump white blossoms that were drifting from the boughs up above. She frowned. Edged around. But that couldn't be. It wasn't spring. It was closer to winter—in more ways than one.

Shading her eyes, she spied a giant cardboard box nestled within the tree's nearest fork. A masculine hand reached in, and then a sprinkle of flowers whirled down from the branches, one handful after another. Before she had time to think it through, the box was upended to spill its entire contents, and Phoebe's world was transformed into a petal-filled wonderland. Through the tree's foliage a far more handsome version of a Cheshire Cat's smile appeared.

Her eyes widening, she held her throat.

Pace?

He'd swung down and landed before Phoebe could swallow. When he stepped close, he blocked off the wind and murmured in that lethally sexy voice, “Surprise.”

A flicker of warmth lit in her chest at the same time as a smile hovered around her lips. But she had the presence of mind to tamp them down quickly. He hadn't so much as tried to call this past week. He'd got on with his life.

So had she.

She assembled her courage and met his gaze square-on. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you gave Steve Trundy a mouthful and left Goldmar Studios. I wanted to say, good for you.”

Her lips twisted into a cynical line. “You didn't come all the way down here to say that.”

If he thought he could turn on the charm and seduce her back into his bed, he could think again. She loved him more than her soul, but she also respected herself—and in her book that was sacred. A knife in the heart might have hurt less than letting him go and then forcing herself not to crumple later or throw herself at his feet. But she'd done it. She wouldn't surrender now only to be passed over again when his next challenge came along.

He had no idea how low he'd made her feel that night.

How dispensable.

But he was looking at her now as if nothing else existed…as if he'd found his way out of a maze and she was the door. As his gaze combed her face, heat leapt
up her neck to scorch her cheeks. He was as convincing as he'd ever been. Hypnotic. Fatally seductive.

She stood up tall.

She wasn't going there again.

“When I walked away that night,” he said, stepping closer, “I thought it was best. I knew I had to work with my brother and get the company back up to speed. I was going to be busy. I
am
busy. You deserve someone who'll be there for you whenever you need him, one hundred percent.”

A fist-sized ache swelled in her throat. What was this? Torture hour?

“Well, thanks for dropping in and clearing that up.”

When he reached out, his hand settled on her forearm. Her first instinct was to sigh at the contact. His touch always felt so hot, so right. But she remembered her mother, and how bereft she'd felt the night Pace had walked away, and found the wherewithal to shirk back.

Pace's brows fell together. “Phoebe, we need to talk—”

“There's nothing left to say.”

“You need to take a minute—”

“I need to get on with my life.”

His chest expanded on a breath and his eyes narrowed, as though he were working something through in his mind. Then he reached for her arm again, more determined this time.

“We'll go back to your cottage, out of the weather and—”

Her heart pounding and breaking all over again,
she stepped back. “Whatever you have to say, Pace, please—just say it.”

He studied her for a long moment, the intensity of his gaze rippling over her like heatwaves, those fake blossoms swirling all around. He might have come to apologise, but she hadn't been born yesterday. They were highly compatible together into the bedroom. He thought he could win that privilege back. He should have thought about that while he was living a double life. Before he'd let her know something more important had come up and he was bowing out of their relationship.

A breeze ruffled his dark hair as he slid his hands in his coat pockets.

“I was wrong, Phoebe. Dead wrong. That's hard for me to admit. Growing up, I always had to be right—or put on a good show that I was. Competing with my brother every step of the way…trying to make my father proud when most of the time I only ever felt overshadowed and overwhelmed by him. I wasn't ready to take on the head chair when he died. I should have asked for Nick's help then. But I was stubborn. The worst thing I could've done, or so I thought, was to show any weakness.”

Phoebe frowned. But this man was confidence personified. She didn't know anyone who exuded more self-assurance than he did.

She shook her head. “That's ridiculous.”

“As ridiculous as you needing to find ‘Mr Right Now' to prove something to yourself.” His hands eased from his pockets and took hers, so warm, so firm. “Don't you know that you're the most beautiful, desirable woman alive?”

A rush of hot emotion flooded her veins and a well of moisture rose in her eyes, but she held the tears back. She needed to keep her head and remember that this was
Pace
, the consummate flirter, bad boy and breaker of hearts. He'd go a long way to get what he wanted. Apparently even as far as pretending to open his heart.

When she tried to free her hands he released one, but held the other, unyielding.

Quivering inside—with anger, with desire—she raised her chin. “If you think you can sweet-talk me back because after a week your bed is cold—”

“This is me saying that you and I have a lot in common. Something very human. Everyone doubts themselves some time. No one likes to admit it. Who I am with you is the real me. Doesn't matter if it's Pace or Davis. I want to succeed in business like you want to succeed in your profession. But I want you more. So much more. I want to be with you. I think you want that too.”

Couldn't he show some mercy and leave? Even if a world of magnets was pulling her towards him and deep inside a voice was telling her to succumb. To forgive.

“Pace, you have no idea what I want.”
She
hardly knew any more.

“You want passion and fun.” He stepped near and brought that palm to his lips. “You want love and commitment.”

A warm tear trickled down her cheek; more lay aching in her throat. If he'd stooped to saying that simply to get her back in his bed, he'd gone too far.

She was about to tell him as much when, through blurred vision, something caught her eye. That tear
curled around her chin at the same time as she recognised a dazzling gem glittering up from the crimson jewellery box Pace held. She shook her head, disbelieving, as he gathered her into a single-armed caress and brought the box higher.

“I was wrong,” he said, his lips nuzzling the shell of her ear, his breath warming her cheek. “I should never have walked away.”

His mouth trailed her brow and she swallowed hard against the want clutching at her heart and the urge to collapse and believe everything he'd said.

“This past week,” he went on, “I've learned that you're the one person who makes it all real and clear and worthwhile for me. If you let yourself trust me again you'll admit that you love me the same way I love you.”

A wave of emotion crashed and broke free. Smothering a hitched sob, she buried her face against his broad chest. Could she believe him? Had her father ever said that he'd loved her mother?

But Pace had a ring. A beautiful ring…the most beautiful ever created.

When he cupped her face she met his gaze, shamefully weak with hope.

“I can't wave a wand,” he said. “Wish I could. I knew in my heart when we said goodbye that night I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I won't let you go again.” His head lowered over hers. “Marry me, Phoebe,” he whispered, his lips touching hers. “Be my wife, my partner. We'll ride on the good times and weather the bad. We'll do it together. And I promise we'll be happier than two people have a right to be.”

When his mouth slanted over and captured hers,
Phoebe felt as if she were Aladdin opening that mysterious, wondrous cave. All those elusive treasures could be hers…

If
she said yes.

If
this was really for ever.

“I saw my life as win or lose,” he said when they came up for air. “Wrong or right. It's not about that. It's about this.”

He kissed her again, bringing her flush against him, and as her eyes drifted shut again all she could feel—all she could see—were those blossoms swirling around their heads and the magic breaking open in her heart. Then she was holding his face, too, her tears of happiness spilling freely. In her head those blossoms lit up like stars, and the answer—the
only
answer—seemed to light up and blaze in her mind too.