Mad About You (boxed set of beloved romances) Read online

  He guessed she was weighing the consequences of being discovered in his company, so he offered her a tidbit of comfort. "Even nosy reporters won't be out in this soup." When he heard the strains of an official-sounding report coming over the tinny built-in speaker, he turned up the volume.

  "...dangerously high winds and torrential rain, visibility near zero. Residents are advised to take cover away from windows. The rain is expected to continue until dawn. The following roads are closed due to flash flooding: Bayview, Avon, Candlelight Court, Stanton..."

  "Did he say Candlelight Court?" she asked.

  "Maybe not for long," he soothed, sensing her rising panic. He could practically see the barrier she'd erected around herself.

  "Right." She inhaled deeply, then smiled. "You wanted me to see the rug?"

  "Let me grab a flashlight, just in case the electricity goes."

  With the wind rattling the windows, he led the way back to the storeroom, wondering how she would react to the carpet, if she would even believe he'd had nothing to do with putting it up there.

  "I don't quite know how to explain this," he said before opening the door, "so I'll just let you make up your own mind."

  Pushing open the door, he allowed her to enter, then he followed. One step inside the room, he froze, his eyes bulging.

  "Greetings, Master."

  Grinning wide, Gene bowed, then swept his arm toward a small table that had been lavishly set for two, complete with glowing candles.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JASMINE SEETHED. Twinkling crystal and romantic candlelight in a storage room made for a beautifully clandestine dinner. Ladden had set her up!

  She wheeled, standing on tiptoe to voice her outrage. "This was all a ruse!"

  He inched backward, his hands raised. "Jasmine, I swear, I knew nothing about this."

  But she advanced, poking her finger into his chest for emphasis. "I... don't... believe... you!"

  Gesturing to the old man, he said, "Tell her."

  "It is true what my Master says," the old man proclaimed, inclining his turbaned head.

  Incredulous, she looked back to Ladden. "And I'm supposed to believe him? A man who claims to live in a copper lamp and grant wishes?" She laughed in amazement. "You know what I think? I think you're both nuts, and I'm getting out of here."

  She turned to go, but the door leading to the showroom slammed shut inches from her face, and when she tried the knob, it wouldn't budge. Frantically, she tried to remember if she had anything in her purse to use as a weapon. A cell phone, two lipsticks, and a fountain pen. Slowly, she turned until her shoulderblades scraped against the door. "I'm warning you two—I have a b-black belt in karate." An outrageous lie, but what did she have to lose?

  "Jasmine, wait," Ladden said. "No one's going to hurt you." He walked purposely toward the old man. "You, on the other hand..."

  The man's eyes widened until the coal black centers were framed in white. "Master, I arranged for you and your princess to be alone. The wind, the rain—it is all for you."

  Ladden stopped and glanced back to her. "I think he's schizophrenic. The man's lost touch with reality and I've been letting him make me crazy."

  "How can I convince you?" the man asked, splaying his hands and talking hurriedly in broken English. "You rub the magic lamp and release me from shackles of many centuries. I call you Master, say I will grant you three wishes." He shrugged, looking bewildered. "I grant the two wishes you made, yet you still don't believe in magic."

  Smiling fondly in her direction, he continued. "I know my master loves the fair princess Jasmine, and although I cannot make her love him back, I can help."

  Her cheeks warmed, and Ladden shifted nervously.

  Gene pointed a bony finger at her. "I arrange blister on heel and for women's dressing room door to lock, so she will use men's."

  A strange tingling started in Jasmine's fingers.

  Then he pointed toward Ladden. "When you arrive, I arrange for door to lock behind you." The man sighed. "Still it was not enough, so I arrange wind to blow princess into water and for screams to reach your ears." He sighed louder. "Still no lovey-lovey." Scowling, he said. "Then Master choke me! Today I work hard—break down very long car of driver to—how you say, postpone?— trip with other man. Then I steer car of woman who works with you, arrange storm, and fix pretty table." For emphasis, he gestured to the romantic table setting.

  Jasmine started to tremble. How could one crazy little man plan all this?

  Grabbing his turban with both hands, he wagged his head. "Still no lovey-lovey and still no believe in magic. Americans have hard heads and hard hearts."

  Jasmine inched forward until she stood slightly behind Ladden, shielded—from what, she wasn't sure—by his wide shoulders. "H-how do you know all these things?"

  The man looked at her as if she were dense. "I am a genie."

  "When you say 'arrange,'" Ladden said, "what do you mean?"

  "Arrange?" The man's face wrinkled into a frown. "Make happen." He waved his arms, as if this movement would explain everything.

  Jasmine cleared her throat. "You expect us to believe that you have magic powers?"

  "It is not so strange," he said simply. "Centuries ago, there were many genies doing good things all over the world. But some began to do bad deeds, and their powers were taken away."

  "Taken away by whom?" Ladden asked.

  "The Genie Of Divine," he said matter-of-factly, lowering his voice in reverence as he glanced heavenward. Then he straightened and once again indicated the beautifully set table. "So you will eat and lovey-lovey?"

  Ladden glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "What do you think?"

  Slightly numb, she whispered back, "I'm a little fuzzy on the lovey-lovey part, but from the sound of that storm, we're going to be here for a while, and I'm hungry."

  "We'll probably find peanut butter and jelly sandwiches under those silver trays," he murmured.

  "Fine by me—I'll have a chance to inspect the rug." She nodded toward the carpet that lay stretched in the space cleared for the table—on the floor. "Just get rid of the old man."

  Ladden's gaze bounced back and forth between the rug and the ceiling several times.

  "What's wrong?" she whispered.

  "Never mind," he said. "I'll get rid of him."

  But when they turned back to Gene, he was gone.

  "He's a kook," Ladden said, pivoting all around. "But he's a slippery kook."

  "He certainly went to a lot of trouble," she said, surveying the table.

  A beige lace tablecloth had been draped over a small Queen Anne table, its corners gathered and tied with large, pale yellow bows. More lace tablecloths tied with similar bows had turned mismatched chairs into special creations. A complex table service for two had been created from many different antique china patterns and silverware, with domed silver lids covering the top plate. The crystal wineglasses and water glasses sparkled, reflecting the flames dancing atop the elaborate silver candelabra. A huge green vase held white and purple striped lilies, and a bottle of white wine chilled in a pewter bucket.

  "Are all these things from your store?"

  "Besides the flowers and the wine, yeah, although you'd never recognize them," he said, peeking under a tablecloth.

  Jasmine lifted one of the domed lids. "Oh, my. This is not peanut butter and jelly."

  Ladden craned his neck, his eyes widening. "Rack of lamb?"

  "One of my favorites," she breathed.

  "Mine, too," he said, lifting the other lid to find the same.

  "And mushrooms!" she squealed.

  He grinned at her, igniting desire low in her stomach. "We agree on two foods, it seems. Let's eat."

  Ladden pulled out her chair, which made her a little nervous. When she'd planned her evening, sharing a romantic dinner with Ladden Sanderson had not been on the list. With his hair so neatly shorn, he looked boyishly handsome, a direct contradiction to his well-developed physique.
The single most vivid impression she'd carried away from their encounter at the party was that she'd never felt so protected, so wanted, so cared for as she did standing in the circle of Ladden's arms.

  "Wine?" he asked, uncorking the bottle.

  She nodded and watched, mesmerized, as he filled her glass with the pale liquid. The dancing candlelight distorted the collection of furniture lining the walls, projecting immense images on the ceiling. The effect was slightly spooky and very intimate. "If someone walked in," she said softly, "this would be hard to explain."

  Filling his own wineglass, he said, "I've given up trying to explain things lately." He raised his glass toward hers. "To magic."

  But Jasmine stubbornly refused to believe the fantastic things the little old man had described, despite his uncanny accuracy. Cautiously, she touched her glass to his. "Coincidence maybe."

  After a deep sip of wine, he said, "Gene's right—you're a tough nut to crack."

  Jasmine drew the sweet, cool liquid into her mouth and swallowed. "No, I just stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago."

  At her serious words, he met her gaze. Her body responded instantly to the desire in his eyes, remembering all too well the feel of his lips on hers. But above the nearly palpable physical attraction, she felt an odd connection with Ladden, an unconditional attachment so strong, it felt... ancient.

  "Jasmine," he said quietly, "a few days ago, I would have agreed with you. But after this week—" He broke off, shaking his head. "For just a few hours, let's allow ourselves to believe that anything is possible."

  Except it was dangerous to pretend—to be lulled into a soft, make-believe world where the harsh outline of reality was blurred. She knew that was true because here in the warm cocoon of their private dinner, living and loving the rest of her life with Ladden Sanderson not only seemed plausible, it seemed desirable.

  "Okay," she whispered. "For just a few hours."

  And as if they had indeed been thrust into a dimension where perceptions and expectations were abandoned, she allowed herself to be vulnerable to what Ladden had to offer. The sexual energy bounding between them unleashed itself in the room, enveloping them so completely, they might have been moving in slow motion. Suddenly, the simple act of eating seemed fraught with innuendo—every smooth slice and urgent bite of the delectable lamb, every savored swirl of the heady wine, every musky mouthful of the black mushrooms.

  When Ladden deserted his half-eaten meal with a clatter of abandoned utensils and reached for her, Jasmine was hungry for him. Their mouths came together almost violently, their tongues battling, their lips devouring. He moaned her name, somehow expressing his need for her in mere guttural syllables. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into the hard wall of his chest. He cupped her buttocks and effortlessly lifted her against his hard arousal, wrenching a gasp from her throat. Her limbs weakened and she allowed herself to be swept away on a wave of desire so strong she felt powerless to resist. Despite the warning bells chiming in her head, something else told her if she stopped now, her life would be somewhat less than it might have been.

  As if he'd read her mind, Ladden lifted his head and touched her cheek with a trembling finger. His dark eyes glowed with passion. "Jasmine," he whispered, "if you want me to stop, please tell me now."

  "No, don't stop," she murmured. "Please don't stop."

  The room spun for a moment, then she felt the wool of the carpet at her back. Ladden lowered himself beside her, his breathing ragged and shallow. She pulled his mouth to hers, and their hands roamed over each other's bodies. Anxious to explore his expansive chest, Jasmine lifted the hem of his thin cotton shirt and helped him drag it over his head. Enthralled, she ran both hands over the alternately rounded and planed muscles of his chest and arms, tracing the outline of flat nipples indented in firm skin, squeezing his biceps. A triangle of black hair on his chest trailed down his flat stomach to disappear into his waistband.

  "Beautiful," she whispered.

  He slid his hands under her loose blouse, caressing her stomach with his thumbs, then shimmying up her waist and fingering the sensitive skin of her rib cage. His broad, seeking fingers felt coarse and strong. The desire for him to touch every inch of her swelled and she tore at her clothing, their hurried movements magnified in shadows on the walls. When only her filmy white panties remained, she clambered up and astride him, savoring the texture of denim between her thighs and the look in his eyes as she arched above him, lifting her bare breasts in the air. He reached up to unclasp her hair and as she rocked forward, grinding against him, her hair fell forward in a dark curtain, sweeping his chest. He groaned his approval and cupped her breasts, thumbing her dusky nipples until she cried out for him.

  She slipped her fingers to his fly and unfastened the jeans, longing to see all of his magnificent body. He shifted and together they removed the rest of his clothes. His straining shaft glistened with his urgency, and she knew she was warm and wet.

  "Jasmine, I want you," he rasped, rolling her beneath him and smoothing her hair away from her face. "I've always wanted you."

  Quivering with her need for him, she stared into his passion-glazed eyes and said, "Ladden, at this moment, I'm yours."

  They came together in another kiss, a promise of how wonderful their lovemaking would be. He slipped his hand inside her panties and she opened to his probing fingers. Latching on to a nipple, he drew the puckered skin into his warm mouth and nipped at the beaded tip while he made love to her with his hand. She writhed beneath him, thrusting to match the rhythm of his skillful fingers. When her moans began to escalate and she felt a burgeoning climax, he transferred his kisses to her neck and earlobe.

  "Jasmine," he whispered. "Open your eyes, I want you to see my love for you."

  Overwhelmed by the emotions flooding her, she struggled, but managed to open her eyes. His dark brow was furrowed with his concentration on pleasing her and he studied her face, poised to respond to the slightest movement. His eyes widened with hers as the first wave of climax descended.

  "Oh, Ladden," she moaned, pulsing around his fingers, clawing at his shoulders as the orgasm mounted, crested, then slowly seeped away. "Ladden... oh, Ladden."

  He nuzzled her jaw until she stilled, then slowly withdrew his hand. "Jasmine, I have to have you now."

  "Now," she agreed, looping her arms around his neck.

  His erection surged against her thigh in anticipation. Her desire for him was so great, she trembled. Slowly he settled between her legs, raining kisses over her face and breasts, then entered her in one slow thrust.

  The storm outside renewed its force, crashing and booming around them, the wind barreling past the windows like a locomotive. Jasmine cried out with pleasure as their bodies melded, and Ladden choked out her name. He slipped his hands beneath her hips to angle their bodies perfectly for each long, powerful stroke. Within seconds, she felt another climax building, this one deeper, like a vibration at her very core.

  His eyes were open, his mouth alternately stretched in ecstasy and clenched with restraint. At the top of each thrust, she tightened around him and he moaned. Synchronized, they moved together, faster and faster until she yielded to another orgasm. His shuddering release came before hers had subsided. "Jasmine... Jasmine... Jasmine."

  As they recovered together, unmoving, she clung to him and listened to the ferocious storm outside, her eyes already tearing in preparation for the inevitable storm inside.

  "What's this?" he asked, lifting his head. He wiped at the corner of her eye with his finger, then he smiled. "I can't say I've ever moved a woman to tears before."

  She inhaled deeply. "Ladden—"

  "Shhh," he whispered. "Not yet. Let me hold you for a while."

  He eased their bodies apart, then retrieved a quilt. Frightened by the extent of their wrongdoing, she slipped on her underwear while he rummaged for his boxers. But when he came back to the rug and reached for her hand, she went to him readily and t
hey curled together. As if he could read her troubled thoughts, he caressed her arm slowly and continuously, and occasionally whispered, "It'll be all right."

  * * *

  Jasmine wasn't sure how long she'd slept, because when she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by blackness so thick, she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face. And it had turned cold—a window must have blown open because a breeze whipped over their bodies. Beneath the quilt, she snuggled closer to Ladden's heat, then sat straight up when she recognized the sound of an engine whine, growing louder and louder. Had an appliance been struck by lightning during the storm?

  He was sleeping soundly, evidenced by his soft snores. Concerned, she swung her feet over the edge of the carpet, terrified and disoriented when her feet sank into freezing nothingness instead of the floor she expected. She jerked back, lying completely still as close to Ladden as she could without being on top of him. Her mind spun, and she forced herself to concentrate. Where was she? Had he carried her to another location inside the store?

  The carpet seemed to be vibrating... almost as if they were moving. But that was ridiculous. Then, incredibly, she identified the distant lights overhead as... stars, and realized the open window was actually the outside air blowing around them. How romantic—Ladden had carried her to the roof while she slept. She smiled into the darkness and reached over to give his shoulder a shake.

  "Hmmm?" he mumbled sleepily, pulling her closer. "What's wrong?"

  "Why didn't you tell me we were outside?" she murmured into his ear. "I might have walked off a ledge or something."

  "You're dreaming," he whispered. "Go back to sleep—or we could make love again."

  She poked him again. "I'm not dreaming, and I need to go to the bathroom. How do I get back inside?"

  He shifted, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I don't mind that you talk in your sleep—it's a trade-off I can live with." He reached up to cup her breast.

  "Ladden, I'm serious," she hissed. "Where's the light and where's the bathroom?"