Page 44 of Captivated
“I thought we should.” As she straightened, her braid slid over her shoulder. “Actually, it’s a little congratulatory gift for you. But I’d hoped you’d share.”
“Be glad to. What am I being congratulated for?”
She nodded toward the envelope in his hand. “For that. Your story.”
He felt the little knot that had remained tight in his stomach all day loosen. “You liked it.”
“No. I loved it. And once I sit down and take my shoes off I’ll tell you why.”
“Let’s go in here.” After shifting the bottle and envelope to one arm, he tucked the other around her. “How was business?”
“Oh, it’s ticking right along. In fact, I may see if Mindy can squeak out another hour or two a day for me. We’ve been...” Her words trailed off as she stepped into the drawing room.
The candleglow was as mystic and romantic as moonbeams. It glinted on silver, tossed rainbows from crystal. Everywhere was the perfume of flowers and candle wax, and the haunting strains of violins. The fire smoldered gently.
It wasn’t often she was thrown off balance so completely. Now she felt the sting of tears in the back of her throat, tears that sprang from an emotion so pure and bright she could hardly bear it.
She looked at him, and the flickering light tossed dozens of stars into her eyes. “Did you do this for me?”
A little off balance himself, he skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “Must’ve been elves.”
Her curving lips brushed his. “I’m very, very fond of elves.”
He shifted until their bodies met. “How do you feel about screenwriters?”
Her arms slid comfortably around his waist. “I’m learning to like them.”
“Good.” As he settled into the kiss, Nash realized his arms were too encumbered to allow him to give it his best shot. “Why don’t I get rid of this stuff, open the champagne?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” With a long, contented sigh, she slipped out of her shoes while he walked over to pluck out a bottle already nestled in the ice bucket. He turned both hers and his around to show the identical labels.
“Telepathy?”
Moving toward him, she smiled. “Anything’s possible.”
He tossed the envelope aside, snuggled the second bottle in the ice, then opened the first with a cheerful pop and fizz. He poured, and then after handing her a glass, rang his against it. “To magic.”
“Always,” she murmured, and sipped. Taking his hand, she led him to the couch, where she could curl up close and watch the fire. “So, what did you do today besides call up some elves?”
“I wanted to show you my Gary Grant side.”
With a chuckle, she brushed her lips over his cheek. “I like all of your sides.”
Contented, he propped his feet on the coffee table. “Well, I spent a lot of time trying to get those flowers to look like they do in the movies.”
She glanced over. “We’ll concede that your talents don’t run to floral arranging. I love them.”
“I figured the effort was worth something.” He entertained himself by toying with her earring. “I did a little fine-tuning on the script. Thought about you a lot. Took a call from my very excited agent. Thought about you some more.”
She chuckled and laid her head on his shoulder. Home. She was home. Completely. “Sounds like a veryproductive day. What was your agent excited about?”
“Well, it seems he’d taken a call from a very interested producer.”
Delight shimmered from her eyes as she sat up again. “Your screenplay.”
“Right the first time.” It felt a little odd.... No, Nash thought, it felt wonderfully odd to have someone so obviously excited for him. “Actually, it’s the treatment, but since my luck’s been running pretty well we’ve got a deal in the works. I’m going to let the script cook a couple of days and take another look. Then I’ll ship it off to him.”
“It’s not luck.” She tapped her glass to his again. “You’ve got magic. Up there.” She laid a finger on his temple. “And in here.” And on his heart. “Or wherever imagination comes from.”
