Jingle This! (18 page)

Oops. She hadn't even thought about a wedding gift. "What?"

"I want you to print the story you wrote about us, sign it, and frame it."

"You're kidding." What is up with that? Tears again?

"Oh, yes. It's so wonderful, I want my children to read it when they get old enough so they can realize how much Quinn and I love each other." She fingered her pendant. "It's a masterpiece, Angie. You should submit it to journalism contests."

Angie sighed, a big fat sigh of contentment. She'd found her muse on her own without a man. It had simply taken a truly inspirational story. "Maybe I will."

Her phone rang then, and Heidi sprang to the door. "You can take that call. I'm going to go read that story again. Love you, Angie!"

Angie was still grinning when she picked up the phone. "Angie Miller. Can I help you?"

"Is this the Angie Miller who wrote the story on the Swift website about Quinn and Heidi?" a male voice asked.

Angie frowned. "Yes."

"Excellent. My name is Ken Oaks and I am in charge of content for the website for Tiffany and Company. I was alerted to your story today by a colleague, and it's fabulous."

"Thanks." Wow. She'd known it was good, but this was something else entirely.

"We have been thinking about doing something like this for a long time, and this put us over the edge. We'd like you to come work for us and be in charge of creating and writing human interest stories for our website. It's a brilliant idea and your talent is obvious."

Whoa. Leave New Age? Never have to see Kyle or Roger again? Evolve into her own independent woman? It was one thing to refuse to return Kyle's phone calls, knowing he was upstairs and she could see him anytime she wanted. But if she left New Age, she'd never run into Kyle again. She pursed her lips and knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't give up hope on him yet.

Her door burst open and Kyle stormed into her office. "You can't keep avoiding me," he announced. "I'm not going to let you go that easily."

"Hang on a sec, please, Mr. Oaks." She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Are you going to tell Roger that you love me and won't let me go for the company?"

Kyle scowled. "We can work this out, Angie. It's only for a few weeks."

"So that's a no?"

"Angie!"

Decision made. She uncovered the mouthpiece. "Mr. Oaks, I would love to work for you at Tiffany and Company. Assuming we can work out the salary, I accept the offer."

"Excellent! I'll email you a written offer of terms and you can let me know what you think. Fabulous. We'll get you on board right away."

They exchanged mutual congratulations, and Angie hung up the phone. And she felt great. Excited. Exhilarated. She was her own woman and needed no man for her muse or even her job. She leaned back in her chair and eyed Kyle. "I just accepted a job at Tiffany's. They loved today's story so much they made me an offer."

Kyle felt like his entire body was going to explode and then disintegrate into little pieces. "You accepted another job? You aren't going to work here anymore?"

"Yes, and no."

"But how could you do that? I thought we had something. You're going to throw it away because you're mad at me?" His gut hurt, his chest burned, and he felt hot all over. "That's ridiculous."

"Don't ever call me ridiculous!" Angie jumped to her feet and shoved him in the chest. "I've loved you for almost three years, and you chose my sister over me. And then I fall in love with you again, and you choose your company over me. Do you need to make it any clearer that you don't return my feelings? Forget it, Kyle! I'm not going to let you break my heart again!" She was dry-eyed and her voice was rock solid. "I deserve a man who will love me like I love him, and that's doesn't mean being bartered off for financial gain!"

He felt like he was falling off a cliff. "You loved me? Before I started dating Sheila?"

"Of course I did! How could I not? We had so much fun together and I thought you were too shy to make a move, that you really were falling for me too. Hah!"

Kyle thought back to those times with Angie, and how tempted he'd felt, and how relieved he'd been when Sheila appeared. He hadn't been ready for Angie then. "I think I loved you then, too."

She laughed, a cold and bitter laugh. "And you showed it by taking my sister to bed?"

"And I love you now."

"Then I would hate to be a girlfriend you didn't love, if this is how you treat me." She tried to whirl away, but he caught her arm.

"Angie. I love you. I'm ready for you."

Her eyes were flashing. "It's too late, Kyle. I need more."

They stood there in silence for a long moment, and Kyle realized he'd lost her. He'd driven her away by a stupid decision. The company would never make him happy the way Angie would.

He couldn't let her walk away. It was that simple. "Come here."

"No."

He grabbed her hand and walked out of her office, dragging her with him. "Kyle! Let go of me."

"No."

He refused to respond to any more of her questions as he tugged her up the flight of stairs, and then down the hall to Roger's office. He shoved open the door to his partner's office. Roger was practicing his putting.

Kyle stepped in front of Roger's ball as it rolled toward the hole, pulled Angie against him, and kissed her. He gave her the deepest, hottest kiss he was capable of delivering. He didn't stop until she was sagging against him.

Then he nodded at them both and walked out.

"I'm not selling you the company!" Roger shouted after him.

"I know." He continued walking, hoping, waiting.
Please come after me, Angie
. He didn't know what else to do. He'd put everything out there for her. If she knew him like he thought she did, she would understand what he'd just done. And she'd forgive him.

He walked into his office and shut the door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, he sat down at his desk and let his head drop to his hands. Too late. He'd been too late.

"Kyle?"

He snapped his head up to find Angie standing in front of him, her eyes soft. His throat tightened and he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Angie?"

"I love you."

The world opened for him. "I love you, too."

"I'm still taking the job at Tiffany's. I need my independence."

"I can respect that."

She nodded. "And you aren't my muse. I create my own from within."

He frowned. "Okay..."

"And you have to kiss me like that at least five times a day."

He grinned and held out his hands. "I can live with that."

"Alright then." She let him pull her onto his lap. "Let's start now. For practice."

For practice.

* * *

On New Year's Day, the phone woke up Kyle at four o'clock in the morning. Angie was sprawled across him, her hair tickling his chin, her new ring sparkling on her left hand.

He sighed with immense satisfaction, knowing that everything was right.

When the phone shrilled again, Angie jerked, so Kyle grabbed the phone before it could wake her. "Hello?"

"Kyle? It's Roger. Did I wake you?"

"Yeah." He kissed her hair. "Angie and I are engaged." Three years it had taken them to finally find each other, even though they'd been right in front of each other the whole time. He wasn't wasting any more time, and neither was she.

Roger was quiet for a moment. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. We're very happy." Angie stirred and lifted her head.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

When he said Roger, she smiled and began nibbling his right nipple.

"Rog, I gotta go." He shifted so he had better access to her. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Wait! I'll still sell you the company!"

Kyle brought the phone back to his ear. "What?"

"I don't want the damn thing. Take it."

"Are you serious?" He didn't realize how tightly he was holding Angie until she elbowed him in the stomach to get him to loosen his grip. "You'll sell?"

"Yeah. Let's close it soon. I have other things I want to try. Meet me tomorrow morning at eight to go over it?"

Kyle brought Angie's fingers to his lips. "Let's make it ten. I think I'm sleeping in tomorrow. I have a new fiancée who comes first."

"Fine. Ten. See you then."

Kyle hung up the phone and grinned at Angie. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"He's selling you the company anyway?"

"Yep."

She smiled. "That's awesome."

"Not as awesome as this." He kissed her ring. "This is what really counts."

"And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Who knew you could commit to a woman?"

"I'm not old." He flipped her onto her back and kissed her thoroughly. "But if you want to teach me any more new tricks, I'd be game for it."

A mischievous light came into her eyes. "Well, I had this one inspiration..."

(Ever After Series, Book One)

(Contemporary Small-Town Romance, Available Now)

Ducking her head against the raging storm, Clare hugged herself while she watched the huge black pickup truck turn its headlights onto the steep hillside. She was freezing, and her muscles wouldn't stop shaking. She was so worried about Katie, she could barely think, and she had no idea what this stranger was going to do. Something. Anything.
Please.

The truck lurched toward the hill, and she realized suddenly that he was going to drive straight up the embankment in an attempt to go above the roots and around the fallen tree that was blocking the road. But that was crazy! The mountain was way too steep. He was going to flip his truck!

Memories assaulted her, visions of when her husband had died, and she screamed, racing toward him and waving her arms. "No, don't! Stop!"

But the truck plowed up the side of the hill, its wheels spewing mud as it fought for traction in the rain-soaked earth. She stopped, horror recoiling through her as the truck turned and skidded parallel across the hill, the left side of his truck reaching far too high up the slippery slope. Her stomach retched as she saw the truck tip further and further.

The truck was at such an extreme angle, she could see the roof now. A feathered angel was painted beneath the flood lights. An angel? What was a man like him doing with an angel on his truck?

The truck was almost vertical now. There was no way it could stay upright. It was going to flip. Crash into the tree. Careen across the road. Catapult off the cliff. He would die right in front of her. Oh, God,
he would die
.

But somehow, by a miracle that she couldn't comprehend, the truck kept struggling forward, all four wheels still gripping the earth.

The truck was above the roots now. Was he going to make it?
Please let him make it—

The wheels slipped, and the truck dropped several yards down toward the roots. "No!" She took a useless, powerless step as the tires caught on the roots. The tires spun out in the mud, and the roots ripped across the side of the vehicle with a furious scream.

"Go," she shouted, clenching her firsts. "Go!"

He gunned the engine, and suddenly the tires caught. The truck leapt forward, careening sideways across the hill, skidding back and forth as the mud spewed. He made it past the tree, and then the truck plowed back down toward the road, sliding and rolling as he fought for control.

Clare held her hand over her mouth, terrified that at any moment one of his tires would catch on a root and he'd flip. "Please make it, please make it, please make it," she whispered over and over again.

The truck bounced high over a gully, and she gasped when it flew up so high she could see the undercarriage. Then somehow, someway, he wrested the truck back to four wheels, spun out into the road and stopped, its wipers pounding furiously against the rain as the floodlights poured hope into the night.

Oh, dear God. He'd made it. He hadn't died.

Clare gripped her chest against the tightness in her lungs. Her hands were shaking, her legs were weak. She needed to sit down. To recover.

But there was no time. The driver's door opened and out he stepped. Standing behind the range of his floodlights, he was silhouetted against the darkness, his shoulders so wide and dominating he looked like the dark earth itself had brought him to life.

Something inside her leapt with hope at the sight of him, at the sheer, raw strength of his body as he came toward her. This man, this stranger, he was enough. He could help her. Sudden tears burned in her eyes as she finally realized she didn't have to fight this battle by herself.

He held up his hand to tell her to stay, then he slogged over to the front of his truck. He hooked something to the winch, then headed over to the tree. The trunk came almost to his chest, but he locked his grip around a wet branch for leverage, and then vaulted over with effortless grace, landing in the mud with a splash. "Come here," he shouted over the wind.