Wooing Sophie

By Kara Abbington

Ten years ago, Sophie Templeton had a wild night with fellow actor Drew Carelton.  They had dinner, a few drinks, and took several very naughty pictures together.  She fled from him the next morning in embarrassment over her behavior and now, he’s suddenly back in her life.  He’s at her favorite bookstore, grocery store, and coffeehouse.  He’s forgiven her for leaving and is interested in pursuing a future with her.  There’s just one tiny problem.  Drew’s ex-girlfriend may have stolen those pictures and has threatened to destroy him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara Abbington
• Release date: Sep 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519952844

Book preview

Prologue

The day was unseasonably cold and rainy, a chill wind whipping through the streets and lowering the temperature further.

Sophie Templeton pressed the buzzer for Drew Carelton’s apartment and hugged herself as the wind seemed to cut right through her flesh and into her bones.  She yearned to be finally back at home taking a long, hot bath before having leftover Chinese food and vegging in front of the television.  Stopping by Drew’s was her last errand on a long list of errands she’d already completed and she was tired.

She’d had a long week of auditions and knew she was lucky that her boss at her office job was a frustrated actress herself.  Lacy was willing to let Sophie work odd hours to make her auditions and she was grateful her former roommate had introduced them.  It made things a bit easier.

Her attention turned back to her destination and to Drew Carelton.

She wiggled her toes in her shoes.

He was a delicious dish of a man, tall and lean with muscle.  While his hair was naturally dark, he’d had it brown, blond, and black for different roles.  All managed to suit him just fine.  His eyes were blue and he wore colored contact lenses to enhance the color.  But what was appealing about him to her wasn’t his looks.  Really, it was his kindness.  There was a gentle warmth of genuine goodness in him and she thought it was a rarity anymore.

He talked to anyone and thought nothing of things like helping to clean up a mess on the floor, those things most people ignored as it ‘wasn’t their job’.  Drew did all of those common courtesy things that were becoming obsolete, such as holding doors for others.  A gentleman, that’s what he was.  A modern-day gentleman.  No one had a bad word about him and she loved that.  It had been fun spending time with him and she thought they were getting to be good friends.  His presence had made four and a half months go by quickly, the sometimes tedious long days on set waiting not quite so tedious.

She still thought of him as a bit unreal, to be honest.  No man could be as perfect as he seemed to be and definitely not all of the time.  There had to be some faults, but for the life of her, Sophie couldn’t figure out what they were.  He was smart, funny, handsome, and so very kind.

An example of that kindness was why she was currently on her way to his apartment.  He was going to tell her about a project he’d been working on with one of his screenwriting friends and she was excited that he thought she might be interested in hearing about it.

Inside the building, she climbed the narrow steps to the top floor rather than take the rickety looking elevator.  The apartment building wasn’t in a trendy area, but rather an older, established one.  His neighbors were likely older, with kids that were already grown, but maybe not yet at the grandparent stage.  She’d seen many middle-aged and elderly couples on her walk here.  On a sunny day, it’d be a nice neighborhood to walk around.

Drew was waiting, the door open.  He was leaning against the door jamb, in jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare.  His hair was tousled just a little and he looked pleased to see her, an appealing smile on his lips.  The lights were blazing in the apartment.  Still raining?  You look like you could use a hot drink, Sophie.  Leave your umbrella in the hall.  No one’ll disturb it.  Mrs. Newscomb’s in Rio this week and the other place is empty right now.

She left her bright patterned umbrella where he’d indicated and stepped past him into the apartment, catching a whiff of a rather pleasant aftershave as she did.  He always smelled good.  She usually took as many discreet sniffs as possible when beside him.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, he asked, closing the door.  Capable, strong hands turned the two locks and added the chain.

Why would he lock all of them?  Surely only one was necessary at this time of day?

He glanced at her with a grim and mildly bitter twist to his lips.  I never leave my door unlocked.  Not after the Alicia incident.  I learned my lesson the hard way.  His hand went to his jaw, fingers touching the scar there as if reminding himself about it.  He dropped his hand.  I’d rather not leave it unlocked, but I could if you’d rather?

It made sense to her then.  Alicia Sanders had been his first experience with a stalker, a woman who’d tried everything to get to him, including claiming they’d had a fling in the women’s restroom of a club and then breaking in to his previous apartment.  Never mind that he’d actually been in Vancouver during the date she’d claimed the fling had occurred.  It had been real in her mind. 

Sophie thought about the break-in and how terrifying it must have been.  Alicia had broken in, waited in his bedroom closet until he’d gone to bed, then crept out to attack him.  The tiny scar on his jaw was from where Alicia had tried to stab him with one of his own kitchen knives.  He’d been lucky the knife hadn’t gone lower and cut his throat. 

He’d been classy throughout it though, never looking angry or upset, merely like he pitied the girl.  His official comment had been that she was obviously a rather disturbed individual and he hoped she’d get the help she needed.  The girl had been arrested and Sophie wondered where she was now.

The scar hadn’t hurt his physical appeal at all.  It seemed to have increased it, giving him a slightly rakish air.

Maybe just put on the chain, not the bolts?

With a nod, he reached out and undid the bolts.  So, was that coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

The warm bath she planned for later was calling to her and Sophie shook her head.  I can’t stay long.  I need to get home.

You can’t stay?  Oh.  Disappointment was in his eyes, as if he’d really looked forward to talking with her.  Do you still want to discuss the project?  He slid his hands into his jeans pockets.  We can’t if you run off after only a couple minutes, but if you’ve changed your mind and are no longer interested, I understand.

No, I’m interested.  I am.  I just....  She sighed and decided to admit the truth.  Why not?  It wasn’t as if he didn’t have such weeks himself.  She thought he’d understand.  I’ve had a long week.  I’m sort of exhausted.  I’ve tried to get an entire week of errands done in one day.

I’m very familiar with that strategy.  Never turns out like you expect.  Why don’t you stay awhile?  Have a hot drink and we’ll just chat.  We can always discuss the project at a later date instead.  The brilliant blue of his eyes was almost piercing.  Besides, do you really want to go back out in that so soon?  Warm up a few minutes at least.  That wind is vicious.

As if on cue, the wind howled and rain lashed loudly at the building.

No, she didn’t want to go back out in it so soon.  His apartment was blessedly warm and smelled like cinnamon and apples of all things.  A pleasing scent.  A relaxing one.  She felt the slight tension in her shoulders ease a fraction.  I suppose I could stay for a little while.

Excellent.  Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, he asked again in an amused tone.

She hesitated, then nodded.  Hot chocolate, I suppose.  I haven’t had any in ages.

Coming right up.  Hang your coat by the door and go ahead and sit down.  I’ll be back in a couple minutes.

She hung up her red raincoat and let her attention turn to the room.

The living room was good sized, much bigger than her own, with a long row of beige curtains along the outer wall.  Was the view outside the closed curtains a good one?  She wanted to go and see, but went to the couch instead.  It wouldn’t be a good idea to be nosy and she didn’t blame him for keeping them closed on this dreary day.

There was an electric fireplace on one wall, a row of framed photographs sitting on it.  The two on either end were landscape shots, the ones in the middle candid shots of people and she wondered who they were.  Obviously they meant something to him, because why would he have them in a prominent place if they didn’t?

The couch was large, leather, and comfortable.  The fabric was soft and worn, not shiny and crisp like some leather couches she’d sat on before.  It was a comfortable space overall, very sparse, yet visually warm.  The coffee table was a large square, with very little on it.  A few magazines and nothing else.  There were almost no knick-knacks anywhere.

His apartment wasn’t what she’d expected.  It almost looked like the space of a man just in his first apartment and not that of a man in at least his second.  The furniture certainly wasn’t shiny and new and she remembered that he didn’t seem to particularly care about money and possessions.

Here you go.  Drew returned, handing her a large turquoise blue pottery mug.  There was a small chip on the bottom of it. 

He had a matching one and sat beside her, slightly turned to face her, his knee brushing her leg.  He smiled warmly and something in his expression made her recognize that she’d misunderstood about this meeting.  She suddenly knew that this wasn’t simply a casual afternoon get-together between friends.  He’d asked her here, not to merely discuss the project, but to genuinely get to know her further.

This was a date.  A date.  She had a date with Drew Carelton. 

It made her a little uncomfortable and embarrassed that she’d not realized it.  How could she not have understood?

Actually, pretty easily.  She had a history of not understanding these things.  Clueless Sophie strikes again.

Quickly, and to try to hide her embarrassment at her misunderstanding, Sophie looked down at the mug and raised it, taking a sip.  Mint?

She wasn’t good at these things.  Her misunderstandings often led to what she felt were awkward moments.  A prime example was when Dickie Mercer had kissed her through her car window in eleventh grade, all sloppy slobber and disgusting cigarette breath.  Sophie had realized at that moment that he thought she was his girlfriend.  She’d thought they were just friends hanging out together.  In retrospect, she supposed those outings they’d had with her friend Jack and Jack’s girlfriend Susie had been double dates.  And all of those dances she and Dickie had attended together had been dates as well.

History was repeating itself it seemed, except she couldn’t imagine Drew’s kisses being sloppy or him having cigarette breath.  As far as she knew, he didn’t smoke.  His apartment didn’t smell like he did.

Yup, she’d been clueless then and was apparently no closer to losing that attribute than she’d been then. 

Her mother called her prettily naïve and claimed she’d eventually grow out of it.  Sophie was still waiting on that.  She was twenty-three, for crying out loud!  She shouldn’t be having these moments.

Mmm.  Kissing Drew.  The mental image made her stomach feel all fluttery and now that she’d had that thought and image, she couldn’t get it out of her head, imagining him dragging her to him like something out of a bodice ripper romance. 

Crème de Menthe and a flavored packet.  Added in a little whipping cream, too.  All I have is flavored packets.  My sister has a thing for hot chocolate and is forever trying to bring me around to it.  I’m primarily a coffee lover, though I like tea nearly as much as coffee.  I keep the hot chocolate packets for her when she visits.

She liked coffee, too.  And tea.  Anything with caffeine, to be honest.  In college she’d had a love for Mountain Dew.  I didn’t know you had a sister.  His private life was off-limits to everyone.  The most anyone knew for sure was that he had parents still alive somewhere and that he’d been born in Chicago.  The rest was speculation.  He’d been very good about keeping things a secret.

Mmm-hmm.  Three years younger than me.

Is she an actress?

He laughed and shook his head.  Hell, no.  Becky can’t act to save her life.  She’s the worst liar I know.  When we were growing up, she used to be the one who got in trouble for lying.  Mom and dad rarely caught me at it, though when they did, I caught hell for it.  Do you have siblings?  I can’t remember that you’ve ever said.

No, I’m an only child.  What does Becky do?

She’s a stay-at-home wife who knits for a hobby and occasionally sells her projects at craft fairs.  Becky is big on craft fairs.  Her husband, Alan, does something with some insurance company, but it bores me too much to ask for details.  I’m afraid my eyes glazed over the last time Alan tried to explain what he does.

Oh.

They visit a couple times a year, I think only because they can stay here and not spend money on a hotel.  Drew got up, went to the fireplace and returned with one of the photographs, handing it to her.  That’s Becky in the middle.  Alan is on the left and that older couple is our parents.

He looked like his dad and his sister looked like their mom, though Sophie could see that his eye color and mischievous grin was from his mother.  She had those eyes and that very expression in this picture, one that indicated she was thoroughly enjoying life.  They look happy.

We’re a rowdy bunch when we all get together.  He set the photograph on the coffee table.  We play a lot of board games and card games.  They were our primary entertainment growing up.

She drank the cocoa as conversation wound around to her career.  It was good cocoa, creamy and sweet.  He barely touched his own mug, setting it on the table and apparently forgetting about it.

I watched that medieval historical drama you starred in a few days ago.

While a solidly historical project with fairly accurate costumes and enough sex and violence to please viewers, critics had hated it.  It hadn’t done well in theaters.  It had been her first starring role and a learning experience.  She drained the mug and set it down on the coffee table.

Drew turned, arm along the back of the couch facing her. 

She’d realized as they talked that he was one of those people who really listened in a conversation.  When he was talking with a person, he gave them his entire attention and it was flustering her now that she’d noticed.  She was sure her face was a nice bright red.  It felt hot enough to be red.

Why had she never noticed how close he liked to be before?

I enjoyed it very much.

She flushed further at the way he said that, having the sudden idea that he wasn’t referring to the film as a whole, but to the sex scenes.  The only thing critics had liked were the sex scenes.  Sophie had hated filming those, but in a rare turn, they’d actually furthered the plot.  None of the sex had been gratuitous.  I’d never worked on a historical before.  Most of it was fun.

What did you like about it?  What was fun?

I liked the clothes.  Biggest surprise was that the corset didn’t hurt.  I’d heard they did and it didn’t at all.  And I liked that I got to learn how to fight with a sword.  Most women’s historical roles don’t have that.  It was a nice addition and a well thought out plot point.

Who was your coach?

Marc Hoshi.

Marc’s great.  I’ve worked with him twice now.  His choreography is excellent.  I must admit, I’m envious of you.  Your historical was more historical than anachronistic.  The historical series I did was loosely based on history and when I say loosely, I mean not having anything to do with actual history.  It was definitely more of a, he made a motion with one hand, drive-by of the possible historical era.

Sophie vaguely remembered seeing it.  It looked like no one was taking it seriously; like you were all having fun with it.

It was fun to an extent.  His head dipped in a slow nod.  But I had to wonder if my character was brain damaged to not realize the man, he used air quotes on the word, "he kept fighting was really a woman.  I mean, Alexa has, um, quite a...generous chest.  It was obvious at a glance that she wasn’t male."

I’d forgotten that part.

And my character kept getting his ass kicked by men smaller than him.  Every week, he got his ass kicked.  Again.  I had bruise makeup on for weeks.

She giggled.  "You were taller than everyone else.  He’d stood inches above the rest of the cast.  At least there was continuity.  That’s a plus.  Some shows don’t get that right."

True.  You’re right though.  We didn’t take it seriously.  We were all just glad someone was letting us work.

Did you like the small historical aspect in it?

I did.  You know, I really want a solid historical drama, preferably a Tudor era, but I could enjoy a Regency project.  I’m almost desperate for one.

Hero or villain?

"Villain, of course.  Unless the hero is tragic and tortured and interesting.  The character has to be interesting, with something to him.  Too often the heroes are mild and boring, too clean-cut and average.  I want complicated characters that stretch my abilities.  He looked down at his watch, tongue slipping out to wet his lips before saying, I need to go check on my stew.  Come on in the kitchen with me."

Sophie followed him into the kitchen.  As always, he was making chatting very easy for