Triple Threat (24 page)

“Wake up, space cadet.” Ethan jostled her shoulder. “You won.”

“We won,” she said, pulling him up with her. “Come on. I’m not doing this alone. Besides, I might need help on the stairs. This gown is impossible to walk in. And don’t get me started on the shoes.”

They made it to the stage, where they were congratulated, and Holly was handed her statuette. She fingered the silver disk, etched with the comedy and tragedy masks that symbolized the theater. “Wow.” She flicked the shiny medallion, spinning it. “I guess now we have bookends.”

The audience laughed, and she looked over her shoulder at Ethan, who gave her an encouraging nod. “In all seriousness, this is truly an honor. This time last year, I was eating ramen noodles and mac and cheese, struggling to get by while I wrote the play of my heart. Now I’m standing in front of you all, my peers, holding this—” she raised the statuette “—as validation that it was all worth it.”

Holly took a deep breath, wiped away a tear and continued, “There’re so many people I need to thank. Judith Aaronson and the Churchill Foundation for putting their money behind my words. Ethan Phelps and the entire cast and crew, for bringing them to life. My family and friends, for seeing me through some pretty dark times. And last, but no way near least, my husband, who...”

A commotion in the wings made her stop and turn. Nick, tall, dark and delicious, the stage lights bouncing off his thick, black hair, crossed the stage toward her.

She covered the microphone with one hand. “I thought you said to meet you backstage.”

“I couldn’t wait.” The sexy grin was back, with a playful spark in his eyes to boot.

“For what?” Her hand fell away from the microphone, the crowd forgotten. All that mattered in that moment was the man—her man—standing in front of her, opening himself up before their family, friends and pretty much all of New York’s theater elite in a way she never imagined possible just twelve months ago.

“For this.”

To the hoots and catcalls of the audience, he scooped her up and kissed her so passionately she was sure the network censors were poised with their fingers over the red button. When he was done, he raised his head, beaming, and she pointed at the conductor in the orchestra pit.

“You can cue the music. I’m done.”

Holly laughed as Nick carried her offstage to an up-tempo version of “Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man,” one hand wrapped around his neck for balance, the other still clutching her Tony.

A backstage attendant sporting headphones and carrying a clipboard waved her arm, directing them up a flight of stairs.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Pressroom.”

“Are you planning on carrying me there?”

“If I have to.”

“Sure you can handle it?” She looked down at her stomach, still flat for the time being. “I’ve put on a few pounds.”

“You’re not even showing yet.” He hefted her a little higher, as if to prove his point.

“But I will be. Soon. I’ll be as big as a whale and I won’t be able to see my feet and—”

“And I’ll still be there to pick you up. You and this baby are everything to me.”

“Oh, Nick.” She tipped her head back to look at him, and her breath caught at the depth of emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’m scared. What if...?”

“Shh. It’s going to be different this time. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe and comfortable.” He traced her jawline with his knuckles, making her shiver. “Even if it means carting you around until you give birth.”

She buried her nose in his neck, reveling in his warm male smell and the crispness of his collar against her cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself the same question about you every day.” They reached the pressroom door and he paused to brush a soft kiss across her forehead. “Ready to face the fourth estate?”

She bit her lip. “What do we say when they ask what’s next for us?”

He blew out a long breath and smiled. “How about we tell them we’re working on something very special that we’ll be ready to debut in about six months?”

“That sounds perfect.” She threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing his head down to hers, and kissed him. “Absolutely perfect.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from WICKED NIGHTS by Anne Marsh

Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.

Austin Treffen has the plan… Hunter has the money… Alex has the power!

Read each of their stories in the captivating Fifth Avenue trilogy, only from Harlequin Presents:

Avenge Me
by Maisey Yates
Scandalize Me
by Caitlin Crews
Expose Me
by Kate Hewitt

And don’t miss the Fifth Avenue prequel that started it all,
Take Me
, by Maisey Yates!

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1

P
IPER
C
LARK CUT
hard right, the prow of her motorboat slicing through the clear blue water, yards in front of his. He’d have recognized that impish, take-no-prisoners grin anywhere.

Plus, she flipped him the bird as her wake hit his deck, soaking both him and his gear.

Definitely Piper.

Good thing for her he’d grown up in the past twenty years. Cal Brennan’s ten-year-old self would have gunned his motor and gotten even, racing her for Discovery Island’s marina until he’d swamped her deck every bit as much as she’d swamped his. Tit for tat—those were the rules of engagement they’d always competed by. Still, he picked up speed, hugging her wake—and was just in time to watch as she maneuvered her boat into the last decent slip. Mentally, he readjusted his assessment of his maturity.
Score one for Piper.
He forced his fingers to unclench from the wheel, counted to ten and concentrated on searching out an empty slip. She waved jauntily as he motored past her, close enough to read the name painted on the boat’s side. What kind of name was the
Feelin’ Free
anyhow?

She’d always named things badly. He distinctly recalled being hit over the head with a stuffed teddy bear named Grand Poo-bah. There had also been a rescue puppy named Mr. Cuddles. Mr. Cuddles had been a mostly deaf white Boxer with a severe drool problem. Mr. Cuddles had moved on to the Happy Hunting grounds some years before, but apparently Piper’s lack of naming skills had stuck.

Not that the other four thousand full-time residents on Discovery Island would mind. Twenty-two miles long and eight miles wide, the island’s main selling point was its horseshoe-shaped bay with postcard-perfect deep blue water, dotted by boats and two piers. The pier for the cruise ships stretched out into deeper water, but the shorter pier was pure pleasure and clear at the other end of town. The good folks of Discovery Island had named
that
pier Pleasure Pier and the broad strip of creamy, palm-tree-studded sand fronting an old-fashioned boardwalk was Primrose Path. The hotels, shops and restaurants lining the street sported even worse names in Cal’s opinion. Good Time, Please Your Eye and Wine, Women and Song. The daily influx of tourists who ferried over from the California coastline to explore the boardwalk loved the names. Or they simply loved diving, fishing, zip-lining or doing any one of the hundreds of activities on offer. Discovery Island was big on keeping busy.

Grabbing his sodden gear bag and his deck shoes, he padded barefoot along the dock, enjoying the heat from the sun-warmed boards soaking into his feet. He and Piper had business, more so than usual. The familiar, soothing noises of the marina washed over him as he fielded greetings from the occasional other boaters and closed in on his target. Discovery Island’s marina was a hopping place, but the blue water with its glint of fish and kelp were an invitation to take it easy, as was the familiar bouquet of sea salt, motor oil and Neoprene rubber filling the air. Lazy waves broke against the docks, slapping fiberglass hulls, and he could just make out the beach boardwalk. On a summer day like today, the place bustled with tourists looking for the quintessential California dream. It was also an ideal day for diving, but he’d stuck to the surface. He hadn’t strapped on a tank or even free dived. Not him. He’d had a nice swim, stuck his head under water and promptly panicked.