Mistletoe & Hollywood (2 page)

“VIP room. More privacy,” he whispered.

More VIP than first class. Alrighty, then.

JACK HANDED ME
a package shaped like a large brick that he withdrew from his backpack. Not quite long enough to be a shoebox and heavier than that. It was wrapped in red paper, the folded ends, messy and irregular, puffy from being folded over itself so many times, and taped closed with far too much tape. “Did Katie wrap this for you?” I asked, just to see his reaction.

We were sitting in two club chairs in a corner of the lounge partially obscured from the entrance by a frosted screen. I’d just eaten smoked salmon on tiny little miniature toasts and was nursing my second glass of champagne from the ice bucket in the corner Jack insisted I have to calm my nerves. And no one had bothered us since we’d been offered refreshments, which in and of itself was a miracle. We’d been apart for weeks, but I didn’t feel we were quite alone enough to start making up for lost time.

“What? The perfect angles and lack of excess paper gave it away?” He snorted and rolled his eyes, his dimple making an appearance.

I laughed softly. “Anyway, it’s nine days until Christmas. What are you doing giving me my present this early?”

“This isn’t your present. This is the twelve days of Christmas. Days one through three since I haven’t seen you until today.”

I furrowed my brow. Intriguing. Three gifts in one.

“Hurry up,” Jack said, impatiently.

I grinned at him, amused by his boyish attitude. “I think you’re more excited about this gift than—”

“Open it!”

“Okay, okay.” I laughed and tore open one end to reveal what looked like three hardbacks stacked together and quickly pulled at the rest of the paper. Surprise and wonder stopped my hands as I stared down at the cover of the first hardback.
Warriors of Erath: Dream Warrior.
The cover was the original. Wait. I quickly glanced up at Jack to see his face broken out into a massive heart-stopping and self-satisfied grin. He was seemingly relaxed, slouching in his black T-shirt, his strong forearms resting along each chair arm, but his long fingers drummed incessantly, belying his impatience. Looking down again, I flipped the book open and thumbed through the first few pages until I found what I was looking for.

First Edition. 10-1

I let out a sharp breath. “Wow,” I said in shock. I’d wanted this forever and constantly stalked eBay to that end. A first printing of a first edition. I swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed. “Thank you. How on earth did you—”

“Wait, keep going. Turn the page,” he said as I went to put them aside and thank him properly before even looking at the next in the stack.

I paused and reopened the book, heading to the title page.

To Keri Ann, the girl who captured the heart of the real dream warrior:

Keep believing in your dreams. Your dreams believe in you.

Warmest regards,

JM Burke

The message blurred as my eyes filled with tears.

“Oh God, don’t cry,” Jack whispered earnestly and pulled the books out of my hands, laying them on the floor. He hauled me onto his lap, where I went willingly.

Burying my wet face in his delicious neck, I curled into a ball, hiking up my knees too and cursed my ridiculous and sentimental heart. “Sorry, they’re happy tears,” I murmured against his warm skin and followed it with a kiss to the soft spot under his ear. I held him tightly, his body hard and hot beneath my hands, and focused on his heartbeat. The pulse in his throat. “I love you so much,” I whispered.
Understatement
. I adored this guy. I loved him with my entire being. My heart swelled so huge when I let myself think of him, of us; it was physically painful. In the best way.

A small shudder went through him, and his hands tightened on me, his head dropping forward. “I can’t wait to be truly alone with you, to hold you all night.”

“Me too. And I can show you how much I love my presents,” I whispered in his ear, biting back a grin because I knew what was coming.

Jack let out a low vibrating growl and shifted beneath me. “Wench,” he said.

I pulled back with a giggle and took his face in my hands.

His eyes stared into mine.

We said nothing and everything.

FOR SOME REASON,
I’d been lulled into the feeling we were escaping madness when we left America. And in the quiet cocoon of first class, each of us with our own flat bed, although Jack came and spooned with me while we watched a movie, I’d gotten over the fact we were flying in a steel tube thirty thousand feet above the ocean. I’d succumbed to the mindless drone of the engines and warm curve of Jack at my back and fallen asleep. It was only when he gently shook me awake an hour before landing that he spilled the beans about the paparazzi in England.

“Hey Keri Ann, baby, wake up. They’re going to ask us to sit upright for landing. Have some breakfast.”

“I can’t eat right now, it’s,” I grumbled and looked at my watch through bleary eyes, “two thirty in the morning.” I pulled the small but cozy white airline duvet over my head and felt Jack laughing next to me as he climbed onto my bed.

“It’s seven thirty, we need to change the time on your watch.” He lifted the cover so he could slide his hand over my belly, making me sigh with sleepy pleasure. “Tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear, “I’ll be able to wake you up with more incentive.”

“What? With a real almond croissant from Pret A Manger?” I joked, deliberately ignoring his sensual undertone. I’d had one back in October when Jack and I had spent a weekend in New York. Knowing it was an import from London had put me on a mission to have an original pretty much as soon as we landed.

Jack stroked my hair back from my face. “We’ll get you one of those as soon as possible, I promise. Right now you gotta wake up, and we have to talk about what we may face out there when we get off the plane.”

I groaned. “You go. I’ll just come off the plane incognito later, and you can pick me up.”

He was quiet so long, I finally flicked my eyes open and rolled over toward him.

Resting his head on his hand, his elbow propped, Jack gazed down at me with his eyes grey green in the odd, bright airplane light. His hair was messy, and I reached up to smooth it down. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean that. I’ll be by your side.”

“I know it’s hard for you. It’s fine if you want to do that.”

“No. What is the plan? I have a feeling I’ll screw it up if we don’t go together.”

“Come on, get up. I’ll have them bring you some breakfast while you freshen up, bathrooms free, then I’ll fill you in.”

He dropped a lingering kiss on my lips and a short one on the tip of my nose, then uncurled himself from me.

WE WERE HUSTLED
off the plane first, and like our departure, we were met by an airline rep who escorted us through the crew and diplomatic passport line. Our bags were handled for us and would be delivered later in the day. Jack kept his ball cap and glasses on, but they were so trademark, everyone stared at him anyway.

The hard part was entering the arrivals hall. Yep. Photographers. Lots of them, and lots of flashes. And lewd and crude questions.

One voice, a loud, guttural British accent, maybe Cockney, though I wasn’t familiar with the different dialects, was an incessant stream of questions about Jack’s shenanigans the last time he was here and if I would mind if he looked up a few old girlfriends.

Jack vibrated with tension next to me as we walked swiftly, heads down, following the rep who was now joined by a stocky guy in a suit who Jack seemed to know. I assumed he was our driver, and a security guard. They were on either side, guiding us. It was when that awful guy yelled something after us about the waitress having a magic
something too crude to mention
, that I felt Jack almost snap. He hissed and pulled me tight against him and stopped.

It was so abrupt I stumbled and we all came to an awkward pause, the general throng also quieting down. “Take a deep breath,” I whispered. “Please get us out of here.” Jack’s mouth was tight, but a split second later he nodded, and we kept moving.

We finally got outside into a bitingly cold early morning wind and dived into the warm leather interior of a black Range Rover.

“Okay, so that car behind us will stop anyone following us, and we’re trading cars in the parking garage. Or so they think,” Jack informed me as I craned my neck back to look. Sure enough a black sedan pulled out behind us and followed us to a parking entrance where it came to a stop sideways, blocking anyone from following. We drove in and parked next to a silver version of our same car also with tinted windows. The driver got out and headed around to make like he was opening back doors. “We just stay here.”

I could tell it probably looked like we were trading cars if anyone was able to see in from the entrance, which I’m sure they were. “I don’t understand why we don’t actually do it. Surely most of them still think we left in a black car? Won’t they still follow this one?”

“They are all talking to each other. They coordinate for the most part, even though they are competition. It’s a total sport here, worse than any other country. They’ll work together, and then get cutthroat about the pictures. At this point they are just trying to find out where we’re headed by sending a single ‘follow car’ so they can get pictures later. It’s the follow car I want to avoid.”

Swallowing, I stared out the window to the parking entrance. This was insane. I thought it had been crazy back home. The feel of Jack’s warm hand on my cheek had me peeling my wide eyes away from the back window to look at him. He’d removed his sunglasses and gently took mine off. “You okay?” he asked.

I nodded and leaned into his hand. “Are you?”

He sighed. “Yes. No. God, I hate it here.” His hand left my face, and he turned to face forward. The driver got back in and we started moving. “Welcome back, Mr. Eversea,” the driver said with a curiously amused tone. He was maybe mid thirties, portly, with slicked back brown hair.

“Nigel,” Jack greeted him. “When are you going to start calling me Jack?”

Suddenly aware of the delicious smell of warm coffee, I leaned forward inhaling loudly. “Coffee. Well, that’s just cruel.”

Jack’s shoulders relaxed and he chuckled. “Nigel. This is—”

“Keri Ann, I know. Lovely to meet you, finally. I see this boy finally got ’is heart back.” Nigel, craned his thick neck up and winked at me in the rearview mirror.

I turned to look at Jack and he looked at Nigel, avoiding my silent question. “Nah, she still has it. Owns it. Doubt I’ll be getting it back anytime soon.”

“Ah well, at least it’s next to you and not on the other side of the world.”

I folded my arms, amused. “I’m right here, guys. I’m not an inanimate vessel.” Huffing, I pretended to be annoyed but was ridiculously warmed that Jack had obviously spoken of me the last time he was here, which was back when I thought he’d moved on and forgotten me.

“Cranky,” Jack teased.

“If we don’t stop for coffee soon, Nigel will get to experience just how cranky I can get.”