Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

he jumped right off the walls of a modern art gallery. I don’t see how this is fair. My traitorous heart quickens. Why oh why must my body have this visceral reaction to him... every time?

Something akin to dismay flickers over him and he steps back. Aaaand there goes the pacing scalp rubbing show I can’t resist. He checks his watch again and really what’s the point? It’s too dark to see the time. Wherever he has to be right now it’s not gonna happen. Seriously his obsession with the time is getting on my nerves.

“My guess is it’s about 7 o’clock.” There’s a little sass in there mixed with a measure of triumphant booyah.

I suppose I feel wickedly pleased that his plans are toast. A small taste of retribution for the heartbreak he put me though. They say you never quite get over your first love. In my case, I never got over my first crush and the emptiness I felt when I realized my affection was unrequited. Maybe it wouldn’t have stayed with me all these years if it was just a schoolgirl infatuation—if he hadn’t made promises only to stand me up and pretend he hadn’t pulverized all my hopes. Maybe if he’d owned a watch back then he wouldn’t have kept me waiting on my prom night.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment I go ahead and ask.

“Hot date?”

“Something like that.”

I try for a breezy tone. “Where are you taking her?” It’s not a breezy tone. Unless chipmunk was what I was going for.

He sighs. “If you must know, The Royal Crown.”

The Royal Crown in Manhattan? Swanky. And quite a drive from Albany. He’ll never make it now. Unless he takes his private helicopter. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“Ohhh. Fancy pants. How did you manage that?”

“Sold my left kidney for reservations.”

My stomach twists. Sounds serious. “She must be a special lady.”

“She is.” There’s a deep fondness in his voice. It almost cracks my heart, but I keep on with the third degree because I’m stupid.

“Were you going to propose tonight?”

He laughs like it’s a ludicrous idea. “No.”

“Oh come on. The Royal Crown? You can’t take a date there and not expect her to at least suspect—“

“She’s already married.”

Say what now? Married? What kind of monster is this guy? I always thought he was bad news but this is next level.

“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.” I make a show of swallowing then stick out my tongue. “Yep. Definitely some upchuck action going on there.”

He flashes me a hard stare. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t.” I go for cool as a cucumber but I’m such a liar.

“Really? Because this game of twenty questions you’re playing sure seems like you do.”

His chest heaves under the thin fabric of his dress shirt and I try with all my might not to let my eyes dawdle there. He frees the top button and tugs at his tie. Clearly I’m making him uncomfortable. Good. But there’s a storm in his eyes and the forecast predicts thunder all up in my business. I brace myself but his next words surprise me.

“You know what? I’m glad we’re getting all this out in the open. Tell me, Rose. Why does it bother you? You don’t give a fig about me. You made that perfectly clear when I came back home from college.”

“Oh did I? Surprised you noticed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re a homewrecker and I’m done with this conversation.”

He narrows his gaze in a thoughtful way. A thinking way? Anyway, something I said gives him pause.

“Backdoor man.”

“Ummm... what?”

“Backdoor man is probably more accurate than saying homewrecker. Just in that it’s more widely used when it comes to men.”

“Whatever you call it doesn’t make the act any less deplorable.”

“I agree.”

Grrr! I have to get away from him—even if that makes me a horror flick cliché. I storm off, bringing my heels down on the floor with hard clicks. I imagine they’re bullets coming out of my feet. Pew pew pew. If there really is a psycho killer hiding in the shadows, he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Hold up. Wait.” Ingram catches up to me and takes hold of my wrist. I recoil from him, grossed out by his touch.

“You do you. It’s none of my business. Just don’t touch me.”

“Touch you?” He half laughs. “I wouldn’t presume. But maybe it’s time I started to.”

He’s all up in my space now—practically stepping on my toes. I back away but he’s right on me, never giving me an inch of reprieve. My back runs into a dough proofing rack and Ingram’s hands hit the glass on either side of me, caging me between his strong arms. I could easily slip under or give him the knee but I’m paralyzed by whatever venom radiates from his skin. There’s a charge between us and I hate how much I want him. I blame the sultry red lighting.

“Tell me what this is...” he rumbles, “...Rosemary.”

My name is a whisper on his lips laced with sandpaper. It hangs in the air. A challenge.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know what this is. Jealousy? Naïveté? Self-inflicted torment?

“Survival,” I say and when I open my eyes there’s a shift in his expression. I can’t quite place it. He seems softer now, even with his face half in shadow. He drops his arms but doesn’t back away. His mere presence locks me in place. The horror moviegoers are throwing popcorn at me right about now. “Just run,” they say. “He’s the killer.”

Yes, yes movie watchers. We already established that.

“The woman I’m supposed to meet tonight...” His hands go to rest on his waist and he lowers his eyes to look at my shoes.

That’s right. They are lethal weapons. Please continue.

“It’s not what you think.”

Oh, do tell.

He lifts his gaze to meet mine and suddenly I’m reminded of the star football player, slash homecoming king, slash lead in all the high school musicals. Basically the most