Buch lesen: «Hold on to the Nights»
Dear Reader,
I’ll admit it; I do read celebrity gossip and showbiz news and there are several actors whose careers I have followed over the years. Over time, most of these Hollywood hotties have found their own happily-ever-afters and have tied the knot, dropping off the list of eligible celebrity bachelors. But then there are those few who, despite being drop-dead gorgeous, talented, and personable, remain single. So that got me thinking …
What if one of these stars had a youthful, first love that he’d never forgotten? Or what if he’d done something really crazy, like secretly eloped with her, only to have the relationship fall apart? And what if, years later, his first love reappeared in his life?
And so Graeme and Lara’s story was born. He’s jaded and disillusioned, but he’s never forgotten sweet, idealistic Lara. She wants to finally put him in her past and move on with her life. After all, what they had couldn’t possibly have been that good, right?
I hope you enjoy reading their story. I love hearing from readers, so please drop me a note at karenefoley@comcast.net.
Hugs,
Karen
Praise for Karen Foley …
Of Flyboy …
“Passion that won’t quit!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
Of Overnight Sensation …
“A captivating read!”
—Night Owl Romance
“A fantastic plot and enough steam to fog your glasses!”
—CataRomance Reviews
Of Able-Bodied
“ …meltingly hot!”
—Romantic Times
“With its blaze of heat, this is one very captivating tale!”
—CataRomance Reviews
About the Author
KAREN FOLEY is an incurable romantic. When she’s not watching romantic movies, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, and enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.
Hold on to the Nights
Karen Foley
MILLS & BOON
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For Gerry.
And for Brenda, the best editor a girl could ask for.
Prologue
JOSIE HEARD the rumble of the delivery truck when it arrived. Leaning over the counter, she peered through the display window with its colorful exhibit of costumed mannequins, toward the street, where a large van had pulled up to the curb. She’d been eyeballing Tom, the delivery guy, for two months now, and today she was finally going to let him know she was interested.
Stepping back from the window, Josie glanced down at the costume she’d chosen. The costume shop, Dressed to Thrill, wasn’t big, but what space they did have was packed with variety. In the end, she’d selected a slave-girl getup, complete with collar and chain. It was a high-end reproduction of the same outfit Princess Leia had worn in Return of the Jedi, after she’d been captured by Jabba the Hutt and added to his harem.
The bells over the door tinkled, and a gust of cool, autumn air caused goose bumps to rise on her bare flesh.
“Hi, Tom. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hey, Josie,” he said, his eyes running over her as he brought the two-wheeled dolly to a stop. “Wow. That’s, uh, quite the outfit you’re wearing.”
Josie leaned close to him as she signed the receipt for the cartons of costumes and accessories. “Like it?”
He swallowed hard. “It looks great on you.”
“So,” she purred, “how’ve you been? It’s been a while since you’ve …delivered.”
Tom’s neck and ears turned ruddy. “Yeah,” he agreed with an uneasy laugh. “It’s been a while.”
Josie edged even closer, prepared to really crank up the heat, when his cell phone rang. He smiled apologetically before he reached for the small phone at his hip. Turning away, he spoke into the receiver. “Well, hello there, sweetie,” he crooned.
Sweetie? Josie stared at him in dismay before walking quickly back to the reception counter where a computer beeped loudly, indicating an online order had just arrived. She automatically opened the e-mail request, but her eyes were on Tom as he bent his head and spoke quietly into the phone. The thought that he might be involved with somebody hadn’t crossed her mind, not when he looked at her as if he was starving and she was an all-you-can-eat buffet. She wanted to howl with frustration at the unfairness of it all. Just when she was getting up the courage to finally put the moves on him.
With one eye on Tom, Josie scanned the online order from a woman right here in Chicago named Lara Whitfield. She was requesting any costume related to the popular sci-fi television series, Galaxy’s End. Josie was a huge fan of the hit show, which starred sexy Scottish actor, Graeme Hamilton. She read the short note that Lara Whitfield had included at the bottom of her order.
I’m attending a Galaxy’s End fan festival in two days, so need this shipped overnight express. I’d prefer something all-concealing, like the shaman costume.
A fan festival, huh? Josie snorted, envisioning a ballroom filled with middle-aged, overweight women, all clamoring for a kiss or an autograph from the famed actor. Lara Whitfield obviously needed a life. It was one thing to crush on a delivery guy; it was another thing altogether to crush on a Hollywood celebrity.
One thing was certain, however; Lara Whitfield wouldn’t get so much as a second glance from any guy if she was disguised as the Galaxy’s End shaman. That particular costume was more concealing than a burka. Besides which, they were running low on stock, having just gotten through the Halloween rush. Josie was pretty sure they were sold out of Galaxy’s End costumes.
A quick electronic query of the shop’s inventory confirmed her suspicions. Worse, when she performed a query for alternative costumes, the computer returned a picture of the very same Star Wars slave-girl outfit that Josie wore right now.
Across the shop, Tom finished his conversation and turned back to Josie. She gave him a polite smile, refusing to be misled by the appreciation in his eyes. “Thanks, Tom,” she said airily, and turned back to the computer, pretending to be absorbed in the online order. “I’ll see you next time.”
She sensed his confusion, but didn’t look at him again. When the door closed behind him, her shoulders slumped. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she concentrated on the order. Too bad the customer had asked for something that concealed rather than revealed; Josie was certain the slave-girl getup would garner more attention than the woman had ever had in her life and she wanted nothing more than to get rid of the exotic costume. Having it in the shop was a humiliating reminder of her failure with Tom. She was in the middle of responding that they had no costumes available, when her fingers paused over the keyboard.
Why couldn’t she send Lara Whitfield the slave-girl costume? Sure, it was revealing, but the size was right. She’d even throw in a gorgeous, wrought-gold mask that would match the metal bikini and completely disguise her face, for free. What did it matter that it was a Star Wars costume and not a Galaxy’s End costume? They were both sci-fi space flicks, right? Besides, she’d be doing the poor woman a favor. Nobody would even notice her in the shaman’s voluminous robes, but the slave-girl getup was guaranteed to turn heads. And just to make sure the customer didn’t complain too much, she’d give it to her at a twenty-five percent discount. Combined with the free mask, it was more than a bargain; it was a steal.
With a grim smile, Josie typed in the stock number for the slave-girl costume and completed the order. Pushing back from the counter, she made her way to the stockroom to remove and package the costume. She refused to think about how the customer would react when she opened the parcel and realized she’d received the wrong item. Josie had screwed up orders before, but never deliberately. She told herself she had the customer’s best interests in mind. She just hoped the costume would bring Lara Whitfield better luck than it had brought her.
1
Lara Whitfield paced her hotel room, uncertain what to do now that she was actually here in Las Vegas, possibly in the very same hotel as him. She’d never attended a celebrity fan festival before, and wasn’t certain what to expect. Certainly not the throngs of women she’d encountered in the hotel lobby, who gushed and quivered with excitement over the fact that Graeme Hamilton would be here, in the flesh.
Even after following his meteoric career, Lara found herself stunned by the enormity of his appeal. For all intents and purposes, he hadn’t existed as a public figure until he was cast as the sexy bad-boy character, Kip Corrigan, in the hit television series Galaxy’s End. The pilot episode had aired two years earlier and, seemingly overnight, every woman in America wanted him. Based on the chaotic scene in the hotel lobby, Lara was convinced that every last one had traveled to the fan festival in the hopes of seeing him.
Her cell phone rang, startling her. Digging into her purse, she pulled it out and glanced at the display, smiling ruefully when she saw the number. She’d forgotten to call Val when she’d arrived at the hotel. Her college roommate and best friend, Valerie was worse than any mother. Now Lara flipped the phone open, knowing she was going to get an earful.
“Hi, Val,” she said, squinting. “I, um, made it here safely.”
“Uh-huh,” came the exasperated voice on the other end. “I’ve only been worried half out of my head, wondering if you were okay.”
Lara walked over to the window and pushed aside the curtain. Below her, the Las Vegas strip teemed with activity. “I’m fine. I don’t know why you worry about me so much.”
Val made a tsking sound. “Maybe because you have your head in the clouds most of the time. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if you’d gotten on the wrong flight and ended up in Europe somewhere.”
“No, I’m definitely here in Las Vegas.” Lara dropped the curtain. “I wish you had come with me. It feels …strange to be here by myself.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Val said sympathetically. “But I think you were right—this is something you need to do on your own. Besides, who would help Christopher run the theater program if we were both in Las Vegas?”
Lara pushed down the pang of guilt she felt at the mention of the program, reminding herself that she would be gone for less than a week, hardly enough time for the children to miss her.
Since she’d been a small child, Lara had wanted to be involved in the theater. Her parents had divorced when she was just four, and her father had moved to Washington, D.C., to pursue a political career. Lara had grown up on her mother’s estate on the outskirts of Chicago, while her mother had spent most of her time pursuing and capturing husbands number two, three and four.
Lara’s childhood visits with her father had been filled with parties and soirées where she’d either been stuck in a corner and forgotten, or left in his cavernous apartment with the housekeeper.
Alone and lonely, she had imagined herself as a princess locked away in a forbidden castle with only fairy creatures to keep her company. Surrounded by a host of imaginary friends, she probably had seemed an odd and pitiable child, but her make-believe world had been very real to her.
Eventually, she’d put her imagination to good use, obtaining a degree in theater arts and writing. While she resisted using her family’s influential connections, she hadn’t been above tapping into the substantial trust fund her father had set up for her to open a small drama school for underprivileged children on Chicago’s west side. If anyone needed to escape the harsh realities of life, even for a few hours each day, it was the children who attended the inner-city theater program.
The nonprofit program only operated in the afternoons and during weekends, so Lara also did some freelance writing for several different magazines. The money wasn’t great, but it paid her bills. The theater program, however, was where she invested most of her time and energy.
Christopher had been her screenwriting professor in college and when he’d heard about her venture, had expressed an interest in getting involved. They had worked together for more than six months before he’d finally asked her for a date, and even then Lara’s first reaction had been to refuse him. He’d persisted, however, and finally she had acknowledged that unless she made some drastic personal changes, she risked going through life alone, with only her imagination and her memories to keep her company. The fourth time that Christopher had asked her out, she’d accepted.
He was smart and sweet, and if he didn’t make her blood heat and her body throb with need, she was mature enough to realize that he was still a good catch.
A great catch.
Lara knew that at the slightest indication from her, he’d take their relationship to the next level. But no matter how much she told herself she wanted that, as well, she still held a part of herself back. She’d finally acknowledged that she’d subconsciously been hanging on to her memories of Graeme, reliving the past through her erotic stories.
Until she put Graeme behind her and stopped writing fan fiction about him, under the guise of writing about Kip Corrigan, she would never truly be over him. And until she was over Graeme, she couldn’t begin a meaningful relationship with Christopher.
“You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?” She asked Valerie.
She didn’t want to think about how Christopher might react if he knew she was spending the next few days in Las Vegas. Alone. At a sci-fi fan festival. He’d think she’d completely lost her mind.
“Relax, of course not,” her friend replied. “I confirmed what you told him—that you needed some time by yourself after your father’s death. He totally believes that you’re at your mother’s beach house on the Outer Banks, doing some deep meditation on the meaning of life.”
“You said that?”
“Well, except for the deep meditation. But he knows how much your dad’s death upset you, especially considering you hadn’t really reconciled with him before he died. He understands that you need some time.”
Lara blew out a hard breath, hating the deception, but feeling as if she hadn’t had any other choice. “Okay, thanks. And thanks, too, for covering for me at the theater for the next couple of days. Make sure you give Alayna an extra hug from me, okay? And tell her I’ll definitely be back in time to see her performance. I don’t think she believed me when I said I’d only be gone for a few days.”
“I will. I know you have a soft spot for her, and she’s going to miss you like crazy, poor little thing.” There was a brief silence while they both thought of the tiny girl with the enormous eyes, whose mother had been killed in a random shooting, an innocent victim who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Since the incident, Alayna had become very attached to Lara, unwilling to leave her side at the theater.
The kids were rehearsing a stage performance of The Wizard of Oz, and nine-year old Alayna had the role of one of the Munchkins. Lara knew how nervous the little girl was, and had promised to be at the performance, just three weeks away, to cheer her on.
“So, have you seen him yet?”
Lara knew she referred to Graeme. “No. I haven’t even left my room yet.” She shuddered. “You should see how many people are here, Val. I swear, there must be thousands. I’m not sure if I can do this.”
“Lara, you have to.” Val’s voice was firm. “He deserves to know the truth.”
“I know. It’s just …” Lara’s voice grew small. “All these years, I’ve imagined him a certain way. What if he’s changed?”
“We all change. Trust me, you’ve changed, too, Lara. In fact, he might not even recognize you, that’s how much you’ve changed in the past five years.”
Lara laughed. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Oh, I am,” Val said, and Lara could hear the smile in her voice. “When I first met you, you were withdrawn to the point of being backward.”
“I was reserved,” Lara said primly. “And heartbroken.”
“Uh-huh. My point exactly. And look at you now—teaching drama to a bunch of underprivileged kids, writing erotic fan fiction on the Internet, and dating your former professor who just happens to be the hottest faculty member on campus. I’d say you’ve come a long way, baby.”
Lara gave a helpless laugh. Christopher was hot? Sure, he was good-looking in an artsy, academic way, with his shaggy hair and easy smile, but in the months that they’d been dating, Lara had never once thought of him as hot.
“He is cute,” she acknowledged. “But as far as the erotic fiction goes …I’ve actually decided to give it up.”
There was a stunned silence. “What?”
Lara sat on the edge of the desk and her hand drifted to the stack of conference brochures that she’d brought with her from Chicago. Sifting through the pile, Lara withdrew a recent issue of People magazine. Staring back at her from the glossy front cover was a full-page photo of Graeme Hamilton. His blue-green eyes gazed warmly at her, and his lips curved in the vaguest suggestion of a smile, providing just a hint of the deep dimples that had endeared him to millions of female fans.
“I can’t keep doing it, Val. To my readers, the stories are just steamy tales about the Galaxy’s End characters, but I know they’re more than that.” She stared at the cover of the magazine. “I know they’re really my own fantasies about Graeme, and they’re not healthy. If I really want to put him in my past and move on with my future, then I need to stop writing about him. About Kip.”
The photograph of him was so clear that Lara could see the individual stubble of whiskers on his jaw. Tiny laugh lines splayed out from the corners of his eyes and for a moment, Lara’s heart contracted painfully. She ran her fingers over the image. Beneath her hand, she could almost feel the rough velvet of his cropped hair.
“I understand how you feel, Lara, I do,” Val said, her voice sympathetic. “But your stories have such a huge following. I checked your stats this morning and the story that you posted last night has already received more than ten thousand hits. Ten thousand hits in just one day, Lara! That’s completely crazy, you know that, right? I don’t think you have any idea how popular your stories on these Web sites are.”
“Well, maybe I’ll find another character to focus on, then. But I can’t keep writing about Kip Corrigan. He’s too real to me, and it brings back too many memories. I need to find something else to write about.” Lara glanced at her watch. “Listen, Val, I have to go. The masquerade ball is starting soon. If I’m really going to do this, then I should probably go scope out the situation first.”
“Okay. Call me. Anytime, for any reason. Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the room.”
She hung up and placed the phone on the table. She and Valerie had been roommates since their first year of college and they were closer than most sisters. After they’d graduated, they’d continued to share an apartment. Valerie knew all Lara’s secrets, including her reasons for attending the fan festival.
Lara looked again at the magazine she held in her hand. The caption beneath the photo read, “Graeme Hamilton—Sexy and Single!” Lara groaned. Sexy? Most definitely. Single? Most definitely not.
Should she venture down to the convention and join the hordes of other women all clamoring to get a glimpse of the hot Hollywood stud, or bide her time until she could get him alone? Lara glanced at her watch. If she wanted to join the festivities, she’d need first to slip into the Galaxy’s End costume that she’d brought with her. She’d specifically ordered a costume that would conceal her identity and allow her to blend in with the crowd. There was no way she wanted Graeme to recognize her before she was ready. She had a plan for how their encounter would unfold, and it didn’t include crowds of partygoers.
Even now, after two weeks, she still couldn’t quite accept the chain of events that had brought her to the second annual Galaxy’s End fan festival. Her gaze slid reluctantly to the sheath of legal documents that she had carried with her from Chicago to Las Vegas. They lay on the polished surface of the desk looking harmless enough, but Lara knew better. Those seemingly innocent papers had turned her safe, orderly world upside down.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered under her breath, and, giving into temptation, snatched up the letter that lay folded on top of the documents.
Most people came to Las Vegas for a quick wedding. She’d come for a quick divorce, or at least a quick signature on the divorce papers that she’d brought with her. The kicker was, the guy in question didn’t even realize he was still married. Each time Lara tried to envision how he might react to that little tidbit, she had a full-blown panic attack.
She could have let her lawyer handle the nasty job of breaking the news to him, but she felt strongly that this was something she should do. She was a true glutton for punishment.
Sinking into the upholstered chair near the bed, Lara unfolded the letter and reread it, although she knew the contents by heart.
My darling Lara,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I know that you despise me and I don’t blame you, but please don’t destroy this letter without first reading it through. I realize how difficult it was for you to visit me here at the hospice center today, but I am grateful to have seen you one last time before I go. For the first time in five years I have hope that you might eventually forgive me. Please know that what I did, I did because I loved you.
I wasn’t the best of fathers, but I always wanted what was best for you. When you came to spend that summer with me in London, you were so grown-up. My hope was that we would finally develop the kind of closeness that divorce and distance had prevented, but I was too caught up with my job.
I don’t blame you for falling in love with that boy. You always had a romantic heart, and you thought he was your Prince Charming. But when I discovered you had eloped with him, I did what any father would do. Lara, you were just seventeen, and so naive. So sheltered. So trusting. He had nothing to offer you. I knew, eventually, he would break your heart and maybe even ruin your life. So I put you on the next flight back to the States and directed my lawyers to file the annulment papers, hoping that you would forget him. I never guessed that I would lose you completely in the process.
Yesterday, my deepest wish came true; you finally came to see me and brought with you a man whom I believe will love you and care for you as you deserve. And now comes the most difficult part of this letter, for I have a confession to make that will not endear me to you.
Your marriage to that boy was never annulled, and my legal counsel informs me that despite my best efforts, you are still legally wed. I didn’t tell you this earlier, because I thought that if you knew, you might return to him. But now that you are over him, and in the event that you plan to marry again, you need to know the truth.
Please know that I only want your happiness.
Forgive me.
Your father,
Brent Whitfield
Lara dropped the letter into her lap and gave a small huff of laughter. Even at the end, her father had refused to call Graeme anything except that boy, as if by doing so he somehow diminished Graeme, both in his own mind and in Lara’s eyes.
The news that she and Graeme were still married had hit her like a physical blow. She’d tried so hard to forget him, but the letter had brought all the emotions back in sharp relief—the longing for what might have been and the regrets for what would never be. Worse, she’d begun dreaming of Graeme again, and certain things had come back to her in startling clarity; his laugh, his smell …his taste.
Christopher had no idea she’d once been married, and Lara didn’t relish telling him, even if that marriage had only lasted for two amazing, unforgettable nights. And if she was honest with herself, one of the reasons she was so reluctant to tell him was because a part of her realized that after five years, she shouldn’t still be thinking about those two nights as often as she did.
Almost absently, Lara reached inside the open collar of her blouse and withdrew the small, round locket that lay nestled between her breasts. The silver was warm from her skin and she ran her finger over the delicate open-face filigree on the front, in the shape of a Celtic love knot. Helpless to resist and knowing she was a true glutton for punishment, she flicked the locket open.
On one side nestled a tiny photo of Graeme. His lips curved in the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Lara recalled the day the picture had been taken. She and Graeme had been walking along the Thames, arms wound around each other, when a peddler with a Polaroid had offered to take their photo for five pounds. Graeme hadn’t been interested, but Lara had insisted. She’d wanted a photo of Graeme, and had tormented him until he’d finally capitulated. He’d encircled her in his arms with his chin resting on the top of her head.
Afterwards, he’d taken one look at the photo and declared it unfit to keep, although Lara hadn’t missed how he gave the peddler ten pounds instead of five. She’d tried unsuccessfully to wrestle the photo from him until they were both breathless and laughing, and then the photo had been forgotten altogether.
Lara hadn’t thought of the picture again until the day Graeme had given her the locket. He’d carefully snipped her face from the photo and had tucked it into one side of the locket, facing his picture. Lara had liked to think of their images, closed in the snug space, eternally kissing.
The locket had been her wedding gift from Graeme. Snapping the locket closed, Lara dropped it back beneath her blouse. Despite everything, she’d never been able to put the locket away. She wore it every day, like a talisman. It represented all the dreams she’d once had, the dreams that would never come true, thanks to her father. Even at his bedside, knowing he would die soon, she’d been unable to speak the words that she knew he’d longed to hear.
I forgive you.
You did the right thing.
I’m happy with the way my life has turned out.
After her father had died, Lara had come to the bitter realization that if her life hadn’t turned out exactly as she’d hoped, then she had only herself to blame. She needed to forgive her father, cut her losses and move on. Getting Graeme to sign the divorce papers would be the first step.
Unzipping the outer compartment of her suitcase, Lara withdrew the bulky envelope that contained her costume. She’d ordered it just two days before leaving Chicago and had almost given up on receiving it in time to bring it with her to the convention. In fact, the UPS delivery truck had arrived at her townhouse at about the same time as her taxi had arrived to take her to the airport. She’d shoved the package into her suitcase and hadn’t yet had an opportunity to look at the costume. Now she turned the lumpy packet over in her hands, noting the return address.
Dressed to Thrill, Chicago.
Lara had ordered costumes and accessories from the small shop before, but only to support the children’s theater program. The nonprofit venture had a small staff and an even smaller budget, but the expressions on the kids’ faces when they saw their new costumes made it worthwhile.
The envelope that contained her own costume was lumpy and hard in places, and Lara knew without opening the package that it didn’t contain the shaman robe and hood that she’d requested. Of course, she hadn’t specifically ordered the shaman costume. She’d indicated that any costume from the Galaxy’s End television series would fit the bill, so long as it concealed her identity. What had the costume shop sent her instead? Turning the envelope over in her hand, Lara tore it open and dumped the contents onto the bed, ripping aside the lavender tissue paper.
What the—?
Lara gingerly picked up a piece of the costume and inspected it. No. There was absolutely no freaking way she could wear this outfit. She’d asked for a costume that concealed her identity, one that would let her blend in with the crowd and enjoy the festival, secure in her own anonymity. Instead the costume shop had sent her …a skimpy slave-girl outfit!
And not just any slave-girl costume, either. It looked suspiciously like the one that Princess Leia had worn in the Star Wars movie.
Pushing aside the remnants of tissue paper, Lara spread the bits and pieces of the costume out on the flowered bedspread.
Yep, there was no doubt about it.
There in front of her was a perfect replica of the famous metal bikini with its wrought-gold top and bottom, the delicate, curved slave bracelets for her upper arms, the chunky slave collar and chain, and the tiny suede booties, cleverly designed with straps and Velcro to conform to any foot.
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