Warm Hearts

 

 

 

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Contents

Title Page

Copyright Notice

Author's Note

 

Heat Wave

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

A Special Something

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

 

Teaser

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Also by Barbara Delinsky

Praise for Barbara Delinsky

About the Author

Copyright

Dear Reader,

I'm a woman with a past—namely, a group of novels that have been lost for nearly twenty years. I wrote them under pseudonyms at the start of my career, at which time they were published as romances. In the years since, my writing has changed, and these novels went into storage, but here they are now, and I'm thrilled. I loved reading romance; I loved
writing
romance. Rereading these books now, I see the germs of my current work in character development and plot. Being romances, they're also very steamy.

Initially, I had planned to edit each to align them with my current writing style, but a funny thing happened on the way to
that
goal. Totally engrossed, I read through each one, red pencil in hand, without making a mark! As a result, what you have here in this dual volume are the originals in their sweet, fun, sexy entirety.

The first of the two,
Heat Wave,
is set in Washington, D.C., but rest assured that it has nothing to do with politics, which is one of two topics (religion being the other) that I do not touch in my writing. That said, I have loved the nation's capital since my first visit there when I was eleven. Tourists then, my family visited every major monument, plus the Smithsonian, Mount Vernon, Arlington National Cemetery, and the White House.

Young as I was, I saw a charm in the city. The irony here? I wrote
Heat Wave
in 1987, a full four years before my oldest son moved to Washington. Little did I know back then how important the city would be in my life today!

There are vintage elements in
Heat Wave
, most noticeably the absence of cell phones and sonograms during pregnancy. Beyond that, though, the fantasy of falling for an irresistible stranger across a sultry courtyard is as electric today as it was in 1987.

Another timeless fantasy is at the heart of the second book of this pairing. Have you ever fallen for a guy in a magazine ad? The Marlboro Man is one example, but in 1984, when I wrote
A Special Something
, another ad was making the rounds. This one was for cologne and featured a searingly handsome guy in a bed, not wearing chaps or much of anything else. I stared at that ad for days before realizing what a perfect story it would make.

A Special Something
is set on the island of St. Barts, where the Caribbean heat is in sharp contrast to the February chill in New York, from which hero and heroine have escaped. I've never been to St. Barts, but with its reputation for topless beaches, it struck me as the perfect locale for a tryst. So I researched the island, reading everything I could find in the library—which was where we did research back then. Now, a click of the mouse would do it. But I did love library time.

Why have I bundled together these two particular books? Both involve the fantasy of instant attraction between strangers. Both involve hot weather. Each features a strong heroine who is wary of commitment, a hero who seems too good to be true, and a raft of family complications. That said, there are more differences than I can count in plot setting and detail. So alike, and yet so different. In this sense,
Heat Wave
and
A Special Something
are a perfect pair.

Enjoy!

Barbara

heat wave

1

Caroline Cooper untied the wilting bow at the neck of her blouse, released its top button and peeled the damp fabric from her sweaty neck.

Beep.
“You're working too late, Caroline. It's eight o'clock your time now, and Lord knows when you'll be hearing this message.… I'm worried about your father. The X rays of the leg look good, but he's in terrible pain. I'm beginning to wonder if he'll ever walk right, let alone play golf, and so help me, if he doesn't we'll sue. Maybe we'll sue anyway. The doctor who set his leg wrong last fall shouldn't be practicing medicine.” Sigh. “Call me when you get a chance, sweetheart. We need to talk.”
Click.

Freeing the last of the buttons, Caroline carefully separated the blouse from her shoulders and arms.

Beep.
“Ahh, Caroline, still out on the town. How I envy you your energy. Can you loan me a little?” Groan. “The baby's getting bigger. I'm getting bigger. Where I get the strength to keep going I'll never know. I think it's defiance. The men in the firm are worried that I'll give birth in the office. What sissies they are. Of course, they've never been pregnant. For that matter, neither have you, but I need a pep talk. Call whenever.”
Click.

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped out of her skirt and an even greater one when she rolled the nylons from her legs.

Beep.
“Would you like to know what your good friend did today? She demanded—not asked but demanded—to keep the lake house. It's not enough that she has the Colonial, the Camaro and Amy. She's a greedy bitch. I don't know what you ever saw in her as a friend.” Grunt. “I don't know what I ever saw in her as a wife.” Pause. “Catch you another time, Sis.”
Click.

Clad in panties and bra, Caroline padded wearily to the bathroom. The light there was oppressive after the dimness of the larger room and, if anything, exaggerated the heat. Wetting a cool cloth, she pressed it to her face.

Flowers. That was what she wanted to come home to after a long day's work. A bouquet of fresh, sweet-smelling flowers. Not an answering machine spouting complaints.

With a sigh, she dragged the cloth down over her neck and held it to her pulse. A bouquet of flowers … or a bunch of brightly colored balloons … or a gorgeous guy with a sympathetic smile and a frozen daiquiri in his outstretched hand. She moved the cloth around to her nape and realized that just then she'd take the daiquiri over the guy.

With a wistful sigh this time, she unsnapped her bra and let it fall to the commode before rewetting the cloth and dragging it slowly over those parts of her that hadn't breathed all day—the insides of her elbows, the curve of her waistline, beneath and between her breasts. The relief was wonderful, if short-lived. She debated taking a cool shower, decided it was too great an effort. She felt drained. What she wanted—given no bouquet of flowers, no bunch of balloons, no gorgeous guy, no frozen daiquiri—was to wipe her mind clear of all thought and relax.

Dropping the cloth in the sink, she flipped off the light and returned to the large single room she called home. It was a loft apartment, the third and top floor of a Georgetown town house. She'd been working in Washington for three years before she'd found it. Miracle of miracles, she'd been able to afford the rent, so the last thing she'd begrudged was the lack of air conditioning.

Until tonight. The dog days of summer had arrived suddenly and with a vengeance, but it wasn't even summer. It was the sixth of June. She shuddered to think what July and August would be like.

Her movements were sluggish, legs seeming to lack the strength to cut through the opaque heat. The Casablanca fan on the ceiling stirred the air some, but because the only air in the room was sweltering, the improvement was negligible. Her feet made a sticky sound on the large adobe tiles as she crossed to the closet. Even the thin batiste shift she slipped on felt heavy.

Opening the broad French windows as far as they'd go, she put one knee on the window seat, gathered the mass of her thick hair in her hands and held it off her neck. The courtyard seemed devoid of air this night. Still, it was peaceful—another plus for the loft. Cars were parked around the cobblestone drive; at its center was a small cluster of trees and shrubs, a patch of grass and a modest wrought-iron bench. Sharing the courtyard on its far side were town houses just like hers. All in all, the effect was charming.

Or claustrophobic. She'd begun thinking of open spaces, of fields filled with wheat that swayed in the wind or meadows dotted with willows and irrigated with bubbling brooks, when the sound of the telephone rent the still night air. She closed her eyes for a minute, took a long, deep breath and pushed away from the seat. Her hand hovered over the phone in a moment's indecision before it finally lowered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, yourself,” came a pleasant male voice. “Just get in?”

She didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Though she'd been dating Elliot for several months, she wasn't in the mood for him just then. She was hot and tired. After a long day of talk, she craved silence. Still, she supposed Elliot was better than her family.

“A few minutes ago. What's up?”

“It's been a hell of a day, but I'm in heaven now. No more than two hours ago, we signed the contract on the shopping mall, but you wouldn't have believed the last-minute glitches. It was touch and go for so long I thought the whole thing was going down the tubes. But we did it, we actually did it. Do you realize what a coup this is?”

Caroline gave a weak smile as she daubed her beading forehead with the back of her hand. Predictably, Elliot babbled on.

“My firm is about to build the classiest mall Arlington's ever seen. For a young firm, that's not bad. The developer may be a tough nut to crack, but the architectural plans are great, and our reputation's bound to soar. So—” he paused and spoke with an audible smile “—how about you and I go out for some champagne and caviar?”

The frozen daiquiri still sounded better. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, bracing the lax muscles of her neck with her hand. “I'm really exhausted, Elliot.”

“But there's cause for celebration. It's not every day I land a deal like this.”

“Shouldn't you be celebrating with your partners?”

“Spent the last hour doing that. The next couple of hours are for us.”

She stifled a moan and worked at summoning compassion. “I'd really love to, but it's been a hell of a day for me, too, and I don't have a contract to show for it.”

“Come out with me and I'll share the excitement.”

“Nah. I'd only drag you down.”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “that would be impossible. Nothing's about to drag me down tonight. I'm on a first-class high. Join me and you'll see.”

She rubbed an incipient tension from the bridge of her nose. “Thanks, but I'd better take a rain check.”

“Rain checks aren't offered on bright nights like this. Who knows how long the high will last? Once the reality of the job sets in, I'll be a nervous wreck. Now's the time to celebrate.”

She sighed. “Elliot, I don't think I could hold my head up for long in a restaurant.”

“Then take a cab over here and we'll do it big with take-out or something.”

“I'm not dressed.”

“So much the better,” he said in a tone that immediately told her she'd said the wrong thing. He'd been making suggestive noises for the past few weeks, and she'd held him off with one gentle quip after another. It wasn't that she didn't like him; she did. He was a good conversationalist and he was polite. He enjoyed concerts, lectures, fine restaurants. She could forgive him his self-centeredness, because she understood that it came from insecurity. But she felt little for him beyond friendship. He didn't turn her on.