Always Dreaming of You (A Romantic Comedy): Dreaming, #2

By Nina Cordoba

From Nina Cordoba's Inbox, regarding ALWAYS DREAMING OF YOU

"Just finished reading Always Dreaming of You. Fantastic!" --Sue

"I've read both Always Dreaming of You and Not Dreaming of You and really enjoyed them. can't wait for your new release to come out!" --Cathy

"I've just finished Not Dreaming of You and Always Dreaming of You, I must say I really enjoyed them both, I came upon you by chance, and I'm really glad I did!" --Mandy

BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Note: ALWAYS DREAMING OF YOU is the sequel to NOT DREAMING OF YOU.

CAN CHRIS AND HIS COUSIN KIKI FIND A WAY TO FILL THE HOLES IN THEIR LIVES?

Tragedy has struck the Carson-Villanueva family. All linguistics professor Chris Carson can do is keep busy and hope the crippling feeling of loss will fade. Until a chance encounter with a striking young woman injects him with optimism. But when she tips him and drives off without giving her name, he's disappointed...and a little insulted.

HOLLYWEIRD? OR MISUNDERSTOOD?
Elle--born "Liliana Brigitte"--Lorrence has one goal: To escape her mother's bizarre world of paparazzi, entourages, and over-Botoxed cyborgs. So far, transitioning to normal life has been harder than one would think, especially with her powerful mother thwarting every attempt. But if she can only pretend to be an actress for this one little independent film, the paycheck will enable her to set her escape plans in motion.

When Chris starts his summer dialect coaching job for a film, the actress turns out to be Elle Lorrence, the girl from the mall parking lot six weeks earlier. Chris is undeniably attracted, as well as intrigued by her angelic poker face and dry, sarcastic humor. However, he knows a relationship between them can't work. He has no desire to live a crazy celebrity lifestyle. And "Lily," as he can't resist calling her, is a future star, raised 100% Hollyweird by the diva of all divas--Academy Award Winner Rebecca Lorrence. After Elle's bizarre reaction to an incident at the diner, he knows he'd better do his job and get the hell out, no matter how irresistible she seems.

Every fiber of Elle's being tells her Cristóval Cesar Carson is the embodiment of the faceless man from her dreams. She's even more desperate to become a real person now. Real enough to deserve someone like him. It will be a stretch, considering her lonely childhood spent behind iron gates. But there's a much bigger hurdle inside her she must overcome, if she's ever to possess the man of her dreams.

A BABY FOR MARK AND KIKI?
Meanwhile, Kiki still wants a baby and, as much as Mark has grown emotionally, he's now confronted with a life-altering issue he'd never even considered. The decision is in his hands. If he chooses the one thing that could bring his wife ultimate happiness, it may be at the expense of his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nina Cordoba
• Release date: Oct 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536594812

Book preview

Books by Nina Cordoba:

Not Dreaming of You

Always Dreaming of You

No More Mr. Nice Girl

Don’t Make Me Make You Brownies

Mia Like Crazy

Dead Men Don’t Chew Gum

Dead Men Don’t Eat Quiche

Dead Men Don’t Flip

Prologue

The year of the accident.

Chris Carson stood at the cemetery, staring blankly at two mahogany coffins. Kiki buried her face against him, crying heart-wrenching sobs into his chest.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he should be crying too, but a strange numbness had enveloped him from the moment he’d heard the news.

The priest droned on in Latin, then said something in Spanish and motioned toward him. Although Chris had known Spanish as long as he’d known English, he couldn’t make out the words.

In fact, the last time anything made sense was several days ago, back in L.A., before the call.

He remembered the strange sound in Kiki’s voice when she told him she and her husband Mark were on their way over. Chris was surprised when she hung up right away. He’d never known his cousin to have such a short phone conversation with anyone.

Minutes later, she and Mark arrived. They sat Chris down at his small round dining table.

Cristóval... Kiki placed her hand on his cheek like his mother always did. He stared into her huge brown eyes and knew something unthinkable had happened.

"Primito..." she began, again.

Chris’s heart pounded in his ears. "Who?"

Liquid filled her eyes. "Mi tía and—" She gave Mark a pleading look as the first tear rolled down her cheek.

Mark’s fists clenched on the table. Chris, there’s been an accident. His shoulders dropped and he exhaled a heavy breath. Your parents are gone.

Kiki collapsed into miserable sobs. Mark reached out and pulled her to him.

Gone? Chris was unable to make sense of the word.

I’m sorry, man, Mark said. "Really sorry."

Strange, what went through a person’s mind at a time like this. Chris realized he’d practically never heard Mark use the word sorry before.

And none of it made sense in Chris’s optimistic mind. Not once had he considered the possibility of losing his parents, certainly not while still in his twenties.

So, as he watched Kiki, more heartbroken than he’d ever seen her, and Mark, completely stripped of his typical sarcastic attitude, Chris decided this was a dream. That was all it could be.

The priest stopped speaking and Chris came to, still in the same graveyard in Buenos Aires. People streamed by, grasping his hands. Touching their cheeks to his. Brushing light kisses against his skin and murmuring condolences in Spanish and English.

Even in a dream, losing your parents is a terrible thing.

When would this nightmare end? He clung to Kiki. If this were real, his cousin would be the closest thing to his mother—Leticia De La Vega Carson—left in this world.

The cemetery grew quiet as the last of the guests drove away, leaving Kiki, Mark, and Kiki’s parents—Tía Lorena and Tío Rolando—standing at the graveside with Chris.

I need to sit down. Tía Lorena’s voice was so hoarse, Chris barely recognized it. His mother’s sister, she’d been a second mother to him, but he couldn’t turn and face her.

I’ll tell the driver to bring the car around, Mark said. Chris heard shoes tapping on the pavement behind him.

Tía Lorena’s soft lips brushed his cheek. "You take as long as you need, hijito," she whispered.

This dream had gone on too long. His alarm should be blaring by now. He was late, and his students were sitting in his linguistics class at UCLA waiting for him.

He looked down at the framed picture clutched in Kiki’s hand, the one from the entry table at the church. A young man—tall and light-haired like Chris—his arms wrapped around a petite brunette with eyes that melted your soul.

His father. His mother.

Kiki sniffed and when she exhaled, Chris felt her shudder travel through him.

Did I ever tell you, when I was little, I thought all four of them were really my parents? she asked.

Chris stared at the caskets. You’re just like her.

They were quiet for several moments, until Kiki pulled away and he felt her peering up at him. "Primito...we have to go...Cristóval?"

His eyes met hers, and he became aware of how tightly his fingers were clutching her shoulder. She felt solid.

He glanced around once more, reluctant to be drawn back into her soulful gaze. She’d never lie to him about this, not even in a dream.

Kiki? At last, he could feel the liquid welling up in his eyes. Is this for real?

Fresh tears poured down her face as she pulled his head to her shoulder. The corner of the picture frame pierced his ribs and he no longer had any doubt.

Chapter One

Ten months later.

She enters the room and all the air is sucked out. It’s inside her, nourishing her greedy lungs. I gasp and flop like a dying fish. My chest aches, but no one notices. All eyes are on her.

Head pounding, I call out for help.

People are smiling. No one sees me. No one feels me. I’m nearly dead, but I must stay alive for some unknown future purpose.

She whirls out of the room and my lungs fill.

Another near-death experience and no epiphany to show for it.

As Elle laid her journal on the passenger seat of the car, she checked for anything new happening in the parking lot. Although the top was up on her Mercedes, she’d lowered the window an inch in order to eavesdrop on any useful information.

A silver Camry drove in and parked next to her. Two little kids popped out of the back seat as the parents emerged from the front looking tired. The dashboard clock confirmed it was only eleven-thirty in the morning.

Yea! McDonald’s! the kids yelled. Can we play in the balls?

The mother sighed. Yes, but when I say it’s time to go, I don’t want to hear any crying.

Elle saw the glance the parents exchanged, as if they were bracing for the worst.

She grabbed her Normal Information notebook and wrote: Kids love McDonald’s, just like in the commercials. Parents appear more ambivalent. Kids cry when they leave. Most adults without little kids seem to be using the drive-through.

She had no idea how this information might be useful in the future she was attempting to create for herself. But she hated to leave anything out because, at the end of summer, she planned to start her new life.

And this time, no one was going to stop her.

Meanwhile, she’d been visiting every normal place she knew of, collecting intelligence. She meant to use it to masquerade as a normal person until she actually learned to be one.

She looked up again, surprised to see Bruce and Nicole Jenson—Hollywood royalty—climbing out of a Hummer with their two kids.

The children were about four and six. Like the real kids she’d seen, the Jenson children seemed ecstatic to be at McDonald’s.

Bringing them out into the real world so they won’t grow up feeling like freaks? Good luck with that.

As the family started across the parking lot, she noted more movement at the Hummer. Two large men with extra-shiny heads got out of the front, one of them following the Jenson’s into the restaurant while the other stood, scanning the parking lot.

So much for a normal family outing. Elle decided to leave before the bodyguard mistook her for a stalker. But when she tried to stick the key in the ignition, she missed the slot and dropped it onto the floorboard.

Damn. She pushed a button, and her seat glided back until she had room to stoop down under the steering wheel.

As she sat up, a shadow settled over her. She turned to the driver’s side window, expecting to see a large vehicle. Instead, a Humpty Dumpty face peeked in at her, mere inches from her window.

She startled and jumped several inches off her seat.

When he realized he’d scared her, he straightened and took a step back. As she yoga-breathed to regain her calm, she noted his Hulkish torso and unusual combination of black dress slacks with a white muscle shirt.

Recognizing the Jenson’s bodyguard, she’d seen moments earlier, she rolled her window down.

Are you all right, Miss Lorrence?

Why would he recognize her? Was he mistaking her for her mother with a bleach job?

You know who I am?

You’re Elle Lorrence, aren’t you?

Better known as Rebecca Lorrence’s daughter.

Pretty surprising he knew her first name at all. No one had reason to recognize her on her own merits. She glanced back at where he’d been standing before.

Do you have cyborg vision?

No, I remembered the car and license plate from the ‘Hollywood Visits the Homeless’ thing a few months ago, he said. Then I saw the blonde hair.

You’re a regular Nancy Drew, Elle murmured, instantly recalling how her car had ended up at the event that night.

Her mother’s manager thought they’d seem insensitive going to a face-to-face charity event in a limo. And Rebecca had decided Elle’s blue Mercedes complemented her dress better than any of her own vehicles.

At the time, Elle wondered whether the homeless saw much difference between a limo and a brand-new Mercedes convertible.

As the Hulk flexed his hand on his walky-talky, huge veins pulsed in his over-developed biceps. It looked painful.

You can probably fix that by lightening your weights and doing more repetitions, she said.

Fix what?

Uh-oh, she shouldn’t mess with this guy’s livelihood. Bruce and Nicole likely hired him because he resembled a mutant.

Nothing. I was talking to myself.

Are you okay? he asked. Do you need help?

Elle considered the truckload of people employed by her mother. Luckily, most of them had left town with Rebecca and would be leaving again soon for a location shoot. Nice to have the house almost empty.

No, she replied. I have plenty of help.

Did you eat here already?

No. Her eyes darted to her notebooks. Luckily, the one on top was facedown. She certainly didn’t want him to know about her intelligence gathering.

We’re here now, he said. If you’re afraid of getting mobbed, or something, I’ll watch out for you.

Why would I get mobbed? Elle gestured around her to illustrate the fact that she was alone. My mother isn’t with me.

Well, I heard some celeb kids get paranoid. They always think they’ll get mobbed.

He was right. She knew the feeling well. It bordered on a phobia. An unwelcome memory muscled its way in, threatening to send fight-or-flight messages to her body. She shoved it away.

I’m an adult now. She nodded toward the restaurant door. Your employers are coming out.

This job was new for him if he expected the McDonald’s outing to happen. Besides, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be distracted by her while on duty.

Elle didn’t know any school rules, or soccer rules, or what you were supposed to bring to a pot-luck dinner, but she knew an awful lot about bodyguard protocol.

Oh, yeah. He checked behind him. Thanks.

He hustled away to open the car doors while his partner tried to hold off a group of enthusiastic fans. Elle recognized a couple of members of the paparazzi among them. They must have followed the Jenson’s and sneaked in from the other side.

Bruce and Nicole ran to the Hummer, each of them clutching a crying child.

Elle’s window was still down and she heard the little girl, who looked so much like beautiful Nicole, wailing. "You said we could go to McDonald’s!"

A sad sense of déjà vu washed over Elle, and a lump formed in her throat. Good luck, kids, she whispered. She started her car and pulled onto the street.

When she eased to a stop a few moments later, she saw a little boy in the car in front of her. As he peered through the back windshield, his thumbs plugged his ears. He wiggled his fingers as he stuck his tongue out at her.

She laughed and mimicked him. She’d never gotten to engage in this kind of monkey business as a child.

She still remembered the first time she’d tried to wave to a little girl in another car and realized she was invisible. After a while, she figured out the limo windows were too deeply tinted for anyone to see her.

But Elle continued to be invisible, especially standing next to her mother, Academy Award Winner Rebecca Lorrence. Famous for her smoky cat eyes, Rebecca had the ability to assume absolutely any persona when the director yelled action. And she always knew exactly what to do to keep all attention focused on her.

In public, it wasn’t a problem. Elle didn’t need to be in the spotlight. In fact, her natural shyness made her want to flee when she walked into a room with Rebecca and all heads turned their way. Mass attention, her mother’s dearest friend, was Elle’s worst enemy.

Unfortunately, Rebecca’s need to have the world revolve around her didn’t stop when the bulbs quit flashing. That was the biggest obstacle in Elle’s path in moving forward with her own life.

Until recently, Rebecca even insisted her daughter follow her on location shoots. Though Elle had managed to avoid the chore lately, her mother still expected her to be at home, waiting.

Waiting for the moments Rebecca needed someone to vent to. Waiting for Rebecca to come home and want the companionship of the one person in her life who wouldn’t stab her in the back for a movie role. Waiting until Rebecca decided to take her out of storage and make her Rebecca Lorrence two-dot-oh.

Uck! The idea of being Rebecca Junior sent a shiver down her spine.

She eased to a stop, apparently behind some sort of traffic incident. She didn’t want to go home anyway. The McDonald’s escapade hadn’t yielded much useful information, and the scene in the parking lot had dented her optimism.

Searching for a mood-booster, she thought of Sam, the day security guard at her mother’s house. He planned to fly to New York Saturday to marry his partner Jorge. She needed a wedding gift.

She decided, this time, she wasn’t going to some exclusive boutique. Just thinking of where she was about to go made her heart race and her palms sweat.

But it was time for Elle Lorrence to boldly go where every man, woman, and child had gone before.

~

Chris couldn’t believe he’d been talked into helping another guy shop for clothes. Marty, his old college friend and drummer in his band, believed Chris was a chick magnet who would magically transform him into one, too.

But Chris knew he was the worst possible choice for the job. He would never have set foot in a mall if Kiki and their two moms hadn’t convinced him years ago he had a duty to be their chauffeur and protector. And the women in his family always told him what to buy, not vice versa. He hated shopping.

Hmm... Was this truly Marty’s idea or had Kiki put him up to it to make sure Chris wasn’t home alone while she packed for Argentina? She’d felt responsible for keeping him busy since his parents died.

His whole life he’d been an easy-going, fun-loving person. His parents’ deaths had rocked his world. Since then, he didn’t see much point to anything, and he couldn’t hide his attitude change from Kiki, of all people.

A glimpse of a female form in his peripheral vision pinged at his nerve endings. He turned quickly to scan the walkway outside the store entrance.

Just a horde of shoppers. No one special. Maybe his mind had played a trick on him. How long had it been since he did more than kiss a woman on the cheek?

How about this one? Marty asked, holding up a psychedelic shirt.

Chris checked his face to see if he was serious. Of course he was. This was Marty.

If Barney and Godzilla were thrown into a blender, then splattered onto a shirt, this would be the result.

Awesome! Marty cried.

Chris exhaled loudly. Thirty minutes of fashion consulting had him ready to bolt. As he stared longingly at the exit, another movement caught his attention.

There she is. Nice.

Grabbing some shirts off the rack, he sent Marty to the dressing room, promising to go back and give him a thumbs up, or down, which still seemed a ridiculous job for him. But, then, anybody could improve Marty’s wardrobe. He always looked like a disco reject from the seventies.

Chris’s eyes shot back to the distraction. A long, silky blonde ponytail attached to a petite young woman. Her luxurious hair, which hung almost to her waist, caressed her back whenever she turned. Her movements were restrained, yet graceful, like a ballerina. He half expected her to curve her arms above her head and pirouette around the mall.

Marty called his name and he reluctantly walked back to the dressing room.

~

Elle was thrilled she’d found a store full of kitchen gadgets. Sam told her he’d met Jorge in a cooking class. What a perfect place to find their wedding gift.

When she’d first stepped inside the mall, the building teemed with people of all ages. She’d stood paralyzed while anxiety pulsed through her body, her eyes darting back and forth until it sank in these were regular people going about their business.

No fans trampling her to get to the celebrity. No entourage to make her throat close up. No paparazzi yelling until her ears hurt.

No one’s looking. No one’s coming. She turned to check behind her. No one’s following.

Her stomach calmed and the feeling quickly spread through her body to her fingertips. She relaxed and enjoyed a sense of freedom she’d never known.

But now, the kitchen store employees were ignoring her, an experience she’d never had in a boutique. Was she supposed to flag them down? After several minutes of courage-gathering, she approached one of the clerks.

Since the woman claimed to be an aspiring gourmet herself, Elle asked her to pick out a dream team of gadgets any cook would be thrilled to have.

As the clerk climbed the ladder and handed items down to her, Elle felt a sense of accomplishment. She didn’t let herself dwell on the idea that regular people would think it a simple thing to come to the mall and pick out a gift.

For her, this was monumental. She’d managed to get out of her car, walk into a building full of people, and talk to a stranger. After taking inventory, she found her throat open, her lungs functioning normally, and no gray mist obscuring her vision.

She mentally high-fived herself. Maybe she’d be a real person, after all.

~

When Chris emerged from the clothing store, his eyes scanned the area, searching for his target.

Bingo. The blonde was still in sight, standing at the counter in the kitchen store.

Adrenaline charged through his body, compelling him to go after her. His feet reacted before he’d formulated a plan. Swerving between two kiosks, he weaved through the herd of shoppers, his eyes glued to the back of her.

Chris? Marty’s voice called.

In his determination to get the girl, Chris had completely forgotten about his friend and the reason they were at the mall in the first place. Glancing back, he saw Marty trailing behind him.

Where are we going?

Here.

Where? Marty asked. The Comely Kitchen?

Chris strode across the threshold. Yeah, I need a new... He scanned the area. Vegetable peeler.

You peel vegetables?

Chris ignored him, pretending to examine the fancy peeler display while surreptitiously checking out the blonde.

Her lithe body seemed even smaller up close. Not more than a couple of inches over five feet. Her packages were bigger than she was.

She wore a plain blue stretch t-shirt. He admired the delicate swell of her breasts barely visible at the base of the V-neck. In such simple attire, without a single piece of jewelry, she was the opposite of the women he’d spent his life around. Yet, so unmistakably feminine.

Why was he drawn to her? Something about the way she moved? He remembered a similar line in a James Taylor song, but he’d never really gotten it before.

He sneaked another peek. Maybe he just couldn’t resist the petite, but perfectly round ass filling out those white shorts so nicely.

Unfortunately, he still hadn’t gotten a clear view of her features, since he stood off to one side of her and her face was turned the other way.

The trim, girly version of a ball cap she wore wasn’t helping matters either. A fearsome image appeared in his mind in which she turned and revealed her hatchet face like in that Johnny Depp movie.

That would suck.

Oh, he heard her say as she signed the credit card receipt. Can you have these delivered to my house?

Delivered? the cashier repeated.

Yes.

We don’t have a delivery service.

Oh.

She turned her head, exposing part of her face to him. Smooth skin. Small, straight nose. At least one side of her face hadn’t met the hatchet. That was good enough for him.

He stepped forward. I’ll help you, he said. Marty moved to stand next to him. Why didn’t he make him wait outside?

She turned toward Chris and tilted her head back. His pulse leapt as he stared down at her.

The bill of her cap had been hiding the loveliest face he’d ever seen. Soft, feminine features set off bright, innocent blue eyes. Slanting up at the outer corners, they formed an alluring feline shape, framed by long elegantly curved lashes.

An innocent temptress. Just what he’d always wanted. Actually, he hadn’t known it was what he wanted until he’d seen her face. But now he had to have her.

As he held his breath waiting for her answer, his line of sight traveled down to her bare pink lips. So kissable.

Raw carnal energy snaked over his skin, alerting every nerve ending to his need. His fingers twitched at his sides. He’d never been more tempted to reach out and touch someone.

And, man, she smelled good. Like his Grandma Carson’s kitchen.

Or maybe that was coming from the cooking demonstration at the back of the store. Not that it mattered. She’d have to smell pretty bad to cancel out her physical perfection.

She stared at him, then Marty, for several seconds as if she were sizing up their potential as axe murderers.

Do we look like we collect shrunken heads? Marty asked.

"Not shrunken," she replied.

Chris chuckled at what had to be a joke, but she didn’t crack a smile.

With the exception of Mark, everyone in his family laughed, or at least smiled, when making jokes. Come to think of it, the shrunken reply sounded like something Mark might say.

But she doesn’t look like Mark.

She lowered her head, allowing the cap to obscure the top half of her face. The instant she did, Chris had the urge to slide a finger under her chin and bring her captivating features into view again. He missed peering into those bewitching eyes.

So, do you want some help? he asked hopefully.

Okay, thanks, she said, her head still down.

The extra air he’d been holding in his lungs released so suddenly, it sounded like a gust of wind blew out of his mouth. She gave him an odd glance, then averted her gaze again.

Chris wasn’t used to feeling this awkward around women. Their attitudes toward him were typically more enthusiastic.

He grabbed the biggest box while Marty put his shopping bag on his wrist and picked up another package. She took the two bags.

You must love to cook, Chris said as they walked toward the mall exit. He knew he only had a few minutes to get from love to cook to what’s your phone number?

I don’t know how.

Silence stretched between them while he waited for more explanation, but none was forthcoming. He held the glass exit door open with his back as Marty and the blonde went through.

As they all headed for the parking lot, Marty got out in front, turning to face them, walking backwards. Then why would you spend all this money in a cooking store?

Chris wished he’d back off. Whenever Marty talked to women, they made like magicians’ assistants and disappeared.

They’re gifts, she said.

Wow, you must like this person an awful lot! Marty yelled. You spent an arm and a leg in there!

Be cool, Marty.

Chris tried to send him one of those psychic messages Kiki thought she could conjure up. In his family, talking about how much someone spent was tacky, especially if you hardly knew them.

I do, she answered. They’re wedding gifts.

He wasn’t used to women who answered questions in five words or less. She should have bored him. Instead, he found her mysterious and intriguing.

But she kept avoiding eye-contact. Not a good sign. His body tensed as he clutched the box harder. What was this unfamiliar sensation?

Desperation.

She stopped behind a car.

Damn. Too soon.

Is this it? he asked casually, nodding toward the blue Mercedes.

Uh-huh. She hit a button on the key chain and the trunk opened.

Wowsa! Marty cried. This is a nice—

Lowering his chin, Chris raised his eyebrows in a back off, dude expression. Apparently, that trumped a psychic message because Marty shut up mid-sentence.

Chris needed a one-on-one conversation with this girl and his friend was cramping his style, big time.

They loaded the car and he opened her door for her. Marty had been kind enough to step away.

Well, I’m Chris, he said as she sat down in the driver’s seat. Nice meeting you... He put his hand out toward her, expecting her to give him a little handshake and fill in her name.

Oh, yes, she said. Just a second. She reached into the center console, turned back toward him, and placed her hand on his. Her soft fingertips slid over his palm, sending blood racing to his crotch. He inhaled suddenly, an odd shudder in his chest.

Exerting every ounce of control he possessed, he stopped himself from curling his fingers around hers and pulling her toward him.

A moment later, her hand moved to the inside handle of her car door. She slammed it shut, backed out, and sped away without another word.

Chris’s shoulders sagged as the Mercedes disappeared around the corner. Why did he feel as if a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just cruised out of his life?

As his friend approached, he felt something crackle in his fist.

You dog! Marty cried. She gave you her phone number just like that?

It didn’t feel like a phone number. Chris opened his hand to reveal a crisp twenty-dollar bill. He stared down at Andrew Jackson’s face.

It’s money. He frowned at his palm. What the...? He checked his clothing to see if he resembled a panhandler.

Jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing fancy, but they were clean and relatively new. Very casual, but so was she.

Marty burst out laughing. I guess it’s not every day millionaire-professor Crystal-ball Carson gets tipped.

It’s Cristóval, and I’m not a millionaire. Chris’s annoyance grew as the Mercedes disappeared from sight.

I thought you inherited millions—

Yeah, Chris turned his attention back to Marty, tempted to blame his friend’s ridiculous wardrobe and questionable social skills for his dream girl’s quick departure. But I’m no Trump, and I wish you’d quit telling people.

Gee, it’s the first thing I’d tell the babes, right before the part about the house in Malibu.

Chris counted to ten to quell the impulse to punch his friend in the nose.

Marty? he said. Do you ever consider what had to happen for me to inherit that money?

Marty quirked his head in thinking mode. His face fell. Oh...shit... I’m sorry, Chris. No wonder women avoid me like a disease. He sounded genuinely disgusted with himself. I’m a real asshole.

Chris felt bad for the guy. He did have a disease. Foot-in-Mouthitis, and he obviously had no control over it.

Come on. Chris glared one last time in the direction the blonde had gone but saw no sign of her car.

He threw his arm around his friend and steered him toward the mall doors. Let’s go finish making you God’s gift to womankind.

Awesome! Marty Saturday-Night-Fever strutted toward the entrance.

Chapter Two

Elle pulled into a parking spot on the other side of the mall. She tried to kick herself, but the steering wheel got in the way.

Those guys were so nice to volunteer to carry her bags, and she’d acted like she had something wrong with her, which she did.

She’d spent the first moments with her mother’s voice in her head, wondering if they were thieves or kidnappers, or worse...paparazzi.

When she’d finally chased Rebecca out of her mind, her own shyness still controlled her.

Chris had asked her polite questions she’d barely answered. She’d kept her head down so he couldn’t see her blush.

So handsome. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded masculinity. Not manufactured like in the movies. Not primped and staged like on the red carpet. Natural. Real.

But there was something in his brown eyes that did her in. A warmth she wasn’t accustomed to. A pull she’d never experienced when viewing the faces of her mother’s co-stars, young or old—men the rest of womankind adored.

She wished she’d stared into his eyes longer so she could lock his warm, inviting orbs into her memory banks in high-def detail, forever.

But she was too shy.

Frustrated, Elle hit the middle of her steering wheel with her fist. The horn sounded, and several people in the parking lot turned her way. Her sight dropped automatically to her lap. Through slitted eyes, she searched side to side to see if they were still looking.

If the same thing happened to Rebecca, she would have calmly waved and smiled as if she’d seen someone she knew.

Her mother didn’t reveal an ounce of self-consciousness in public. Not once had Elle seen embarrassment or chagrin or uncertainty cross Rebecca’s face when the flashbulbs were popping.

Elle figured her shyness must have come from her dad’s side of the family, whoever they were.

She rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel, as all the confidence she’d gained from her mall shopping drained away.

I’m never going to make it in real life, she said to the floorboard.

But some real people are shy too, aren’t they? And they make it through somehow.

Of course, they got to start out in