Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) Read online

  She had fully expected him to put the moves on her once the excuse for the visit was out of the way. And let’s face it, she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had. But instead, he’d offered her a fine tawny port and a stunning view of Central Park from his basketball-court-sized terrace.

  Even so, she had welcomed the opportunity to check out his place. While not her taste, his décor suited his persona, and fit the image she’d had in mind when she’d written him. All clean lines, sleek surfaces, and muted colors. Very tidy and masculine.

  He had eclectic taste in art. Everything from abstract modern pieces similar to what he’d purchased at the gallery to Picasso-like cubist works, and chaotic drip paintings not unlike Pollock’s. Only, to her astonishment, upon closer inspection she’d discovered that the Picasso-like painting was, in fact, a Picasso.

  Admittedly, she’d been disappointed at first by his honorable intentions, and while her ego had suffered a minor ding, looking back, she appreciated his gentlemanly restraint. Maybe a little old-fashioned, practically prehistoric by Laura’s standards, and certainly out of step with the more adventurous heroines she created, Darcy preferred a strong emotional connection before taking the relationship up a notch, or five.

  That wasn’t to say things didn’t get a little amorous beneath the stars. She smiled at the memory, and licking the creamy chocolate from her fingers, placed a lid on the cupcake carrier, grabbed her gift, her purse, and her keys, and walked out to her stoop to wait for Laura to pick her up.

  Notwithstanding the pretentious patrons at the art gallery, well, that, and the missed foul ball opportunity the previous week, Blake was batting a thousand on his dates.

  But with the upcoming release of The Doctor’s Dilemma inching closer every day, and the promotional activities she’d undertake soon, she had her own thorny dilemma. As Laura slid up to the curb in her flashy red Fiat 500 (she’d worked on their latest ad campaign), Darcy wondered how she was going to explain to him, and everyone else, how the guy she’s been dating came to be the hero in her latest novel. Or worse yet, vice versa.

  Amid the champagne punch, elegant wedding-themed wrapping paper, frilly bows, and feminine laughter, Darcy watched wistfully as Cindy, seated in the chair of honor, wearing a sketchy Halloween-costume-of-a-bridal-veil, opened her gifts. She let her imagination take over, and suddenly it was her bridal shower. And the lucky groom? Why, Blake, of course.

  The real bride-to-be blushed fifty shades of red when she pulled the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy from the chic white gift bag.

  Darcy rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to ask who gave her that as a gift. “Jeez, Laura.”

  “What? I think of it as a how-to manual. Except in my world the roles are reversed.”

  Hoots of approval, followed by howls of laughter, only made Cindy blush all the more. But Darcy thought she looked beautiful. She leaned over and whispered that exact sentiment to Laura, who glanced over at Cindy and waved her hand in the air as she replied. “She does have that certain . . . je ne sais quoi.”

  Darcy drew back with a snort. “Let me guess, a Frenchman this time.”

  “Oui. François.” Laura sipped from her champagne glass. “He’s a sculptor. And looks like Michelangelo’s David.”

  “What do you do? Hang out in front of the U.N.?”

  “No, but that’s not a bad idea, actually. Anyway, François says he wants to sculpt me.” Laura’s face split into a wide dreamy grin.

  “I bet he does.”

  “So, what’s the story on you and Dr. Perfect? You two playing doctor yet?”

  “If we were, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Liar. And you just did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The fact that you didn’t blush the same shade as our bride over there when you answered.” Laura popped a delicate petit four into her mouth then shot Darcy a knowing smirk.

  “Remind me again why I’ve stayed friends with you since kindergarten?”

  “Aw, come on. You know it’s because we have a life-long womance going.” She gave Darcy a friendly shoulder bump.

  “Who are you? Elmer Fudd? What the hell’s a womance?”

  “You know, a girl-crush. A straight female romance—the female version of a bromance.” At Darcy’s continued skeptical expression, Laura said, “I love you, girlfriend.”

  And at the exact moment of Laura’s declaration, a lull in the party chatter turned into a stunned silence, before the chocolate-and-champagne-buzzed gaggle erupted into a schmaltzy chorus of “Aws.”

  Chapter 19

  The remainder of May flew by in a blur. Between Blake’s busy social calendar and Darcy’s busy promotion schedule, work on her next novel suffered. Even on the occasions Blake had to leave for parts unknown to perform surgery, she had difficulty keeping her mind on her work. Dominic, the dashing rough-around-the-edges daredevil stunt-man with the tortured past, began taking on Blake’s more polished characteristics. She’d used the delete key so often that the word ‘Delete’ had rubbed off.

  Add to that the somewhat strained relationship with Josh, and she had a lot on her mind. Her work wasn’t the only thing suffering from her busy schedule. Josh had called several times about grabbing some dinner or walking through Brooklyn and into Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass (popularly referred to as Dumbo) and meeting her, one of their favorite pastimes—next to watching the Yankees, that is—but she’d already had plans with Blake.

  Last time Blake was out of town, she’d called Josh to ask if he wanted to catch a movie or something, but he’d brushed her off with some excuse about working late. Not that she blamed him. She hadn’t exactly been available for him. Turns out it was tough juggling work, a boyfriend, and friends.

  Laura was no exception. With François out of the picture—apparently sculptors were very tactile, and enjoyed touching things, especially beautiful women . . . lots of them—she was lonely. As a serial monogamist, Laura also demanded the same from her lovers, even for her short-term relationships. Darcy had had little time to be there for her until the next prey, er, hunk came along to take her mind off François.

  And now she had no idea if Blake would be home for Memorial Weekend, which was only two days away. Well, at least she’d have time to see her friends. If they’d have her.

  A contentious conversation with Gloria that morning about an interview with the Today Show hadn’t helped her state of mind. She didn’t oppose the interview, even though she dreaded it. Not when it would sell more books. She just hadn’t figured out how to talk about the hero, especially since she happened to be dating him.

  Feeling pissy and generally out of sorts, she abandoned her writing for more relaxing pursuits: shopping and an afternoon at Elizabeth Arden.

  Early Saturday morning found Darcy on her hands and knees in her little backyard, elbow-deep in garden soil, planting bright red petunias. When the house phone rang, she’d almost decided to let it go to voicemail, before she realized it could be Blake, and kicked it into high gear. Yanking off the gardening gloves, and taking her back steps two at a time, she answered the phone with a breathless, “Hello.”

  “Darcy, are you all right?”

  Darcy tried to hide her disappoint. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

  “Well, don’t sound so excited.”

  “Sorry, I was hoping it was—”

  “Blake?”

  “Yes,” she said, stunned. “How’d you know?”

  “Since my own daughter won’t tell me she’s seeing someone, I had to hear it from Gloria.” Her mother sighed gustily on the other end.

  “I was going to. I’ve just been so busy.” Busy keeping Blake a secret until I could work out a plan.

  “Uh-huh. With Blake.”

  “And the new book promotion, and my work-in-progress,” Darc
y added in a defensive tone.

  “When am I going to meet this Blake?”

  “Soon.” Darcy’s phone beeped, notifying her of another call. “Mom, I’ve got to go. That’s Blake calling now. Love you. Bye.” She clicked over to Blake.

  “Blake?”

  “I just arrived in New York late last night. Have any plans today?”

  “Um, no.”

  “I’m thinking about lobster tonight.”

  “Sounds great! Where should we go?”

  “Maine.”

  “Say what?”

  “When you’re in the mood for lobster, where better to go than Maine?”

  Darcy just laughed. “Where, indeed.”

  Never having flown on a private jet, Darcy didn’t know what to expect, but the luxurious accommodations didn’t disappoint. Buff leather captain’s chairs, plush carpet, even a corner sofa, completed the interior. The friendly flight attendant offered chilled mimosas and hors d’oeuvres, while the pilot delivered a smooth flight. Darcy could definitely get used to this pampered lifestyle.

  She’d fussed with her appearance for over an hour, trying to decide what to wear. A private jet seemed to call for something a little dressy, but a lobster dinner in Maine seemed to call for something breezy and casual. In the end, she’d compromised with a pair of black pedal pushers, a sunny yellow top, and a white jacket, with some hip jewelry she’d picked up at the GreenFlea Market to dress it up.

  For his part, Blake wore khaki slacks, a blue button-down shirt, expensive Italian loafers, and a lightweight navy jacket, à la Ralph Lauren. Yummy. They were quite the fashion-plate couple if she did say so herself.

  A sleek silver convertible Mercedes Roadster waited on the tarmac for the twenty-minute drive into Boothbay Harbor. They drove the Boothbay/Wiscasset Road, the early afternoon sun warm on her face, the cool breeze blowing her heretofore carefully styled hair.

  “You warm enough?” Blake asked, his hair fluttering in the breeze. “I can put the top up if you’re chilly.”

  “No, it’s great.” What the hell, she’d pull her hair back in a ponytail once they arrived at their destination.

  The picturesque seaside community of Boothbay Harbor lay nestled amid a craggy stretch of inlets and boasted pretty winding streets lined with quaint B&B’s, cafés and restaurants, craft and art galleries, boutiques, and jewelry stores. The sidewalks teemed with tourists, while the shops did a brisk business with the Memorial Weekend traffic.

  After strolling down the east side of Commercial Street, perusing shops and galleries, Darcy and Blake relaxed on a bench enjoying a tasty ice cream, soaking up the warm sunshine, and catching the cooling breezes off the Atlantic.

  “Having a good time?” Blake asked as he offered her a bite of his butter pecan ice cream.

  “Mmm. Yes!” She didn’t need a mirror to know that her eyes sparkled with joy. She could read her happiness in Blake’s eyes.

  He leaned over and kissed her, licking his lips afterwards as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. That small gesture sent a frisson of desire coursing through her. Maybe she could join the mile-high club on the flight back.

  “What?” Blake interrupted the gutterly flow of her thoughts.

  “What, what?” Darcy blinked.

  “What’s that look for?”

  Whoops. Using her napkin to wipe the apparent look of lust off her face, Darcy hedged, “Just thinking about that lobster dinner. Can’t wait.”

  The smirk on his face told her he didn’t believe a word she’d said.

  Chapter 20

  As the sun began its descent in the cloudless sky, Darcy and Blake crossed the footbridge connecting the west and east sides of the inner harbor. She’d been covering earlier with her comment about the lobster dinner, but now she really couldn’t wait. Between the hors d’oeuvres on the plane and the ice-cream cones, and, oh yeah, the dark chocolate cashew turtles, they’d skipped lunch, and, decadence notwithstanding, those calories had long since given up the ghost. Still, she mentally added another day or two at the gym to her already packed schedule.

  The restaurant Blake selected overlooked the Harbor, giving Darcy a clear view of the piers, where sailboats and cabin cruisers bobbed alongside lobster and fishing trawlers, all set against the postcard image of the town beyond with its cedar-shake-covered buildings.

  Diners vied for umbrella-bedecked picnic tables where they could unwind and watch the sunset. The hostess offered them a table, and Blake chose to sit next to Darcy so he could view the spectacle as well.

  They met thigh-to-thigh on the bench, and Darcy felt a flush creep up her neck and into her face as her thoughts returned to the gutter.

  Blake ordered a magnum of champagne and two lobster dinners with all the trimmings.

  “Be sure to save room for a slice of one of our homemade pies,” the waitress recommended after completing their orders. “Today we have blueberry and peach.”

  “Go ahead and reserve one of each,” he instructed the waitress.

  “Sure thing. I’ll be back with your champagne.”

  As the waitress walked away, Darcy could feel Blake’s eyes on her, and the flush deepened.

  “There’s that look again. You must really like lobster,” he teased.

  “Um.” She nervously cleared her throat, her eyes flicking to his lips. “Yeah.”

  He laughed, rich and deep, before leaning in close, and whispering in her ear. “If it makes you feel any better, I really like lobster too.”

  Darcy shivered as his breath tickled her neck and a sudden warmth settled deep in her belly.

  The waitress returned to the table with an ice bucket and two flutes. “Here we are . . . a magnum of our best.”

  Darcy practically snatched the flute out of the waitress’ hand after she’d filled it with the refreshing bubbly, and took a deep gulp. “Whew! Didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”

  “Yeah, all that thinking about lobster really works up a thirst.” Blake grinned and tapped his glass to hers. “Cheers.”

  Shortly into the flight back to New York, Blake dismissed the flight attendant with an offhand, but polite, “Thanks, Mandy. That will be all. We’ll call you if we need anything more.”

  Darcy relaxed as she and Blake reclined on the sofa, sipping excellent French press coffee courtesy of the now discreetly absent Mandy. Setting his cup aside, Blake reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small white box wrapped with a blue ribbon.

  Darcy swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.

  “I bought a little something for you today, to remember our time together. I think you’ll like it.”

  Taking the box, she slipped the ribbon off and lifted the lid to find a beautiful hand-wrought sterling silver bangle bracelet with a sand-dollar clasp. The same one she’d had her eye on earlier that day. “How’d you—?”

  “Before we left the shop, I signaled to the sales clerk to wrap it up. When you went to the ladies’ room, I snuck back and picked it up. Do you like it?”

  She looked up at him, awed by his cleverness and generosity. “I love it.” She slipped it on. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She leaned in to brush her lips against his.

  He cradled her face between his hands and met her halfway, capturing her mouth with his, lingering there, tasting, savoring. As the kiss deepened and the intensity swelled, he grasped her hips and pulled her across his lap, making her inhale sharply when her firm buttocks (thanks to Booty Barre!) met well-muscled thighs.

  Darcy grasped his shoulders, pulling him closer still. He slid his hands alongside her ribcage, shifting her body once more until she lay on her back amid the pillows, his lips still firm against hers.

  The plane bounced, jostling them momentarily.

  Breaking the kiss, h
e trailed his lips along her jaw, before nipping her earlobe, sending little sparks of electricity along her spine. Oh yes, mile-high club, here I come. She giggled at her own pun.

  A sudden dip in altitude smothered her giggle and had Darcy gasping for reasons other than desire. But Blake’s roving fingers stifled any concern over fiery plane crashes, as his fingers grazed the front of her blouse, unbuttoning the top button.

  “Dr. Garrett”—the pilot’s voice came over the speakers—“we’re experiencing some turbulence from thunderstorms in the area, so I’m going to ask that if you’re not in your seats, you return to them now and fasten your seatbelts for the duration of the flight.”

  Darcy groaned. So close.

  Blake buttoned her blouse. “Seems we better listen to Captain Southard.” He stood, and held out his hand to help her up, pulling her close as the plane hit another air pocket. “Just as well,” he whispered into her ear, before pulling back to gaze into her eyes. “When we first make love, it shouldn’t be partially clothed on a turbulent flight with only limited privacy. You deserve so much more than that.”

  Oh my. Way to smooth over an awkward moment. Dang, he was good.

  Chapter 21

  The following weekend, Darcy stood on the lawn of Sunnyside, Washington Irving’s historic home on the Hudson River, surrounded by wedding guests.

  Cindy glowed in her blush-colored satin gown, while Martin cut a dashing figure in his dove-gray morning coat. The wedding weather gods had smiled on the couple with vivid blue skies, cotton-candy clouds, mild temperatures, and a cooling breeze off the river.

  Darcy spied Laura in a royal blue silk charmeuse halter dress and her prized nude Louboutin platform pumps—the very pumps she’d been on her way to purchase the day of her now-infamous run-in with the New York City cabbie. As she turned to laugh at something her flavor-of-the-week date said, her thick blond hair swung across her bare back. Even at another’s wedding Laura managed to steal the show.