All Wrapped Up in You Read online

  All Wrapped Up in You

  Sun Chara

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Contents

  Sun Chara

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  Love Romance?

  About HarperImpulse

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Sun Chara

  Greetings from southern California! I’m a teacher turned actor/writer and have appeared on stage and film in How the Other Half Loves, General Hospital, and McGee & Me. The showbiz background comes in handy with speaking engagements, judging RWA contests, and judging the Emmys. I have a Master of Arts Degree, and I’m a member of the Screen Actors Guild and Romance Writers of America. Globetrotting for lore (once, on an excursion amidst the pyramids in the Valley of the Kings, a gentleman offered fifteen camels for my hand…now had it been race horses…) while keeping tabs on Hollywood leads, I love creating stories of pure passion with global thrills!

  Mega thanks to creative genius, Jordi Alba for his generosity with the iwallinshop giant advertising billboards … amazing!

  Millions of thanks to world-class filmmaker Gerard Alba for the favor of creating my beautiful book trailers amidst his other film projects. Your generosity and talent are boundless!

  Super thanks to my fantastic friends Jackie Knazan, Jonna Greenlee and Colleen Shannon for always being there with unlimited words of encouragement, inspiration and cheers! You are truly treasures!

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Ninety-nine cents.” Ellie stood outside the Burbank Media Mall showcasing a Christmas brooch in her gloved hand to shoppers rushing by.

  She kept a smile plastered on her face, offsetting the desperation rising in her throat, and wiggled her foot, adjusting the cardboard patch over the hole in her boot.

  It had been three weeks since she ditched Prince Charming and the ‘castle’. Had she made the right decision?

  She replaced the brooch in the basket, and scooped up the coins on the bottom. Two sales on Christmas Eve; not a good sign.

  The Santa Ana winds sliced through her thin coat, numbing her flesh; a gust swayed the palm trees lining the boulevard. She pulled the fur cap lower over her ears, glad she’d also worn the matching scarf.

  “A dollar ninety.” Ellie counted the money in her palm and a tremor shot through her. What could she buy with the pennies in her hand? She rifled through the pockets of her coat to ensure she hadn’t missed any coins. Nope, she hadn’t.

  She leaned against the street lamppost and heaved a breath. Air frosted her lips. Her heart thudded, and she fisted her fingers, the coins grating in her palm. “I can’t return to the castle…and to him.”

  But she had to get home…a laugh bubbled inside her, and she bashed it down before it erupted from her in a hysterical sound that’d have people gaping at her. She dropped the coins in her purse, and with her head slightly bent against the wind; she made her way to the bus stop, but stalled in step when a Porsche pulled up alongside of her.

  “Get in,” the driver commanded, his voice sending shimmers of awareness through her. “You’ll freeze waiting for the bus.”

  “No.”

  “Ellie, don’t be obstinate,” he said, a ripple of impatience in his voice. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  An eerie silence ensued in the lull in the wind, and the melody sailed to her from the car radio. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la…’

  She nearly snorted at the lyrics. Jolly… Huh!

  Peter Medeci, M.D. The highly sought after neurosurgeon, the man of her dreams. The man that had given her everything except the one thing she wanted most…and that’s why she skipped out on him. To get close to him again would be self-destructive, but even as she reasoned, her body hummed with yearning.

  “I’ll make my own way.” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed; she didn’t even have enough for the bus fare for the long ride back to her North Hollywood mouse hole.

  “You will not.” She heard the car door open, and paused. “Get in, before you make a scene.”

  A gust whipped her, and she quivered, glancing at the warm interior of the car. Sighing, she reluctantly got in. He reached across her to shut the door, and his arm bumped her breast. A shiver invaded her body but it had nothing to do with the cold weather. “Tha-ank you.”

  He grunted his acknowledgment, revved the engine and shot into the traffic cruising onto Victory Boulevard.

  Awkwardness filled the interior, but it suited her because she was in no mood to talk. But then she noticed he knew the way to her digs. “You know where I live?”

  “I do.” He shot her a shadowed look, his jaw a hard line. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Ellie.”

  She should’ve realized that Peter Medeci would not easily relinquish what belonged to him. And in his view she belonged to him. She crinkled her brow wondering why it’d taken him three weeks to force a confrontation. “I don’t doubt that.”

  He smiled, and her heart involuntarily flipped in her chest.

  “We have to talk, Ellie.” He slowed down on her street, which looked like an image of a third world country neighborhood.

  “You want to talk now?” She suppressed the giggle gurgling in her throat. For five years, she had wanted to hear those words from him, but now she didn’t care. A niggle zapped. Okay, she didn’t want to care. “You’re too late.”

  “Am I?” he asked, shooting her a penetrating glance. “I think not.”

  “Just drop me at the corner, and I’ll make my own way,” she said, not even acknowledging his words.

  He filled his lungs with air and blasted out a typhoon. Of course, he drove her to her doorstep. “Here you are, principessa.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Would you prefer, Mrs. Medeci?”

  His words gouged her heart, and, yanking the door open, she scooted out and ran into the building. Once inside she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to kick back into normal tempo.

  When she thought she’d heard him drive off, she trudged up the stairs, set the basket down and went for her purse to get the key. But in her haste to leave him, she’d left it on the seat in his car. Even now he had such a hold over her that she’d felt compelled to escape his presence as soon as possible or risk giving in to her desires. What was she going to do? She needed her purse; it had her keys, her phone…

  “Are you looking for this?” Peter climbed the stairs two at a time and held out her purse.

  She nodded her thanks, took her purse and rifled in it for the key. “Why are you still here?”

  He stood his ground.

  Inserting the key in the lock, she pushed the door open.

  “Invite me in.”

  She shook her head, stepped inside and was about to close the door when he blocked it with his foot. “You can’t avoid me forever, Ellie.”

  “That may be so,” she murmured. “But I can for today.”

  “Tomorrow.” He hesitated, and then turned and without a backward glance descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing back to her.

  And as much as she denied it, she already missed him…but she had to be strong and not succumb to his overpowering sexual attraction.

  Her body flamed and her heart longed for him, but her mind rebelled.

  She shut the door, and still gripping the doorknob, blinked up at the ceiling. The defective plumbing from the apartment above hers had leaked, blotching the ceiling. She lowered her sights a notch to the peelin
g paint on the walls, then glanced to her right. Loose fitting sheets, now hooked to the side with nails, doubled as curtains on the one window.

  Wind whistled through the cracked pane, chilling the already cold room. A raindrop splattered against the window.

  She’d called this dump ‘home’ for three weeks. What was she thinking?

  Tilting her chin, she straightened her shoulders and marched across the floor, then skidded to a stop. Outside, the odd horn sounded in the rush hour traffic, and she was glad she was indoors, away from the craziness on the street. She sucked in frigid air, and blasted out a blizzard.

  Clutching the collar of her coat closer around her neck, she futilely attempted to buffet the chills assaulting her body.

  A spider crawled along the crack on the wall above the refrigerator, dangled a moment and shimmied up the silver thread into the corner of the ceiling. Ellie forced down a shriek, but it burst from her in a hysterical laugh. Tottering along several steps, she set her basket on the stained carpet, and collapsed on the tattered sofa doubling as her bed. Her single suitcase served as a bedside table. On top of it, a portable radio was now playing, “Away in a Manger…”

  The melody filled the room, but she barely tuned in. She leaped up, tossed her purse across the sofa and heard the coins jingle inside. A quick glance in the full-length mirror behind the door reflected her gaunt look. Urgently, she yanked off her cap, tossed it on the sofa, removed her gloves and ran her fingers through her golden brown locks to detangle. Dark lashes fringed her eyes, the color of warm chocolate, now shadowed with uncertainty.

  Anxiety. Fear?

  She had to get a job or she’d be out on the street…freezing in the cold.

  You could call him…return to him.

  For better or worse…to honor and obey…she’d promised. But to her Italian husband, it seemed as though his career had overtaken his vows. Obviously, he’d forgotten the part about to love and to cherish.

  Hear him out. Maybe you’re wrong.

  She slammed those ‘weak’ thoughts down. Somehow she would make her own way. She wouldn’t put up with feeling second best anymore.

  With a dollar and ninety-nine cents to your name? The taunt ripped through her psyche, but she ignored it.

  Had she been foolish and overreacted? After five years of living with the hotshot doc, she doubted it.

  A tremulous smile brushed her mouth, and she pinched her cheeks to add color. Closing her eyes, just for a moment she drifted back to her fairy tale life in the luxurious Beverly Hills mansion with her sexy husband, chauffeur, servants, Rodeo Drive fashions, Tiffany jewels, designer shoes .… but it had upended. Disillusionment and pain mocked her.

  A pounding on the door splintered her reverie, and she started.

  “Ellie, open the door!”

  She wound the woolen scarf around her fingers, the sound of his voice sent ripples of joy through her, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the sadness.

  “I will not,” she said, forcing the words from her stiff lips.

  “I demand it.”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Something you’re good at.” That’s why she’d left. His grueling schedule and demands had infiltrated their private life to such a degree that she’d lost herself in his life; while he thrived with his career, she stayed home, acting the good doctor’s wife and turning into a shadow of herself. She’d left him and his wealth, but somehow she couldn’t divorce herself from him…this man she’d tumbled head over heels for and married.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Ellie, we must talk.” He jiggled the handle, and she must’ve forgotten to lock the door, for he stumbled inside. Her heart vaulted in her throat, her breath whipped her lungs and her breasts tightened. He filled the doorway like a welcome beacon, wearing his Armani coat, his dark hair damp from the drizzle outside. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, but she bit her lip, resisting his sexual magnetism.

  She’d just ditched him and the fairytale castle, hadn’t she?

  “Ellie.”

  The sound of her name on his lips, turned her insides topsy-turvy, but she gritted her teeth, stiffened her spine against the erotic sensations rocking her body.

  He shook his head and droplets sprayed her face.

  “Oh,” she giggled, but smothered the sound with her palm.

  He shot her his killer smile, the smile that made her bones melt and her stomach dive deep. “This is nonsense, Ellie.”

  She sidestepped him to the door and gripped the doorknob. “There’s nothing more to say, Peter.”

  “Really?” He shuttered his eyes and advanced a step, bringing him within an inch of her. His heat mingled with the dampness of the wool of his coat, the familiar scent somehow comforting yet, unsettling.

  She veiled her eyes with her lashes and nodded. “Y-yes.”

  “Look at me and say that.”

  Tentatively raising her lashes, she collided into the blue heat of his gaze. Her legs became wobbly, and she leaned against the doorjamb for support. “I-I need space.”

  “Why?”

  “Not your business.”

  “I’m making it my business.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute.”

  “No, we’ll get to it now.” She almost stamped her foot in frustration.

  He grinned, and she knew she’d fallen into his verbal trap.

  “You have something to say,” she snapped, her voice rising an octave. “Say it, and get out.” She flinched at the shrewish sound in her voice…what was happening to her?

  Peter Medeci had happened, that was what. But even as that thought flashed through her mind, she knew she couldn’t blame him completely. And that irked her.

  And then, he did something that aggravated her even more. He propped his shoulder against the wall like he hadn’t a care in the world and scoped her with his midnight blue eyes, his mouth slanting in that infuriating grin that had her vitals spinning.

  “Don’t give me the ice-maiden look.” He folded his arms across his chest, and glanced at her bosom, noting the agitated breathing that made her breasts rise and fall…squinting at the handcrafted bead necklace twisted at the collar of her coat. “There’s kindling igniting beneath that ice.” His glance lit a fiery trail down the rest of her body, pausing at the apex of her thighs, then shot back up to her stormy eyes.

  “Don’t provoke me, Peter.” She ran a weary hand through her hair, her words frosting her mouth.

  “Why not?” Peter unfolded his arms and stepped closer, stopping a feather breadth from her. Her perfume, some kind of flowery scent spiked his senses. “Because you might find out I’m right…about us?” His voice lowered to a husky tone, and he reached out, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. Soft silk. Air coagulated in his chest, then sizzled between his teeth. He had won her once… and would again…in time.

  She remained silent, but he glimpsed the uncertainty in her gaze, and pressed his advantage. He lowered a hand to her shoulder, his fingers tangling in her hair, the string of beads at her collar. “Afraid you might find you still feel something for me?”

  “The only thing I feel for you is loathing.” She twisted away from him, but her voice quivered.

  His hand dropped to his side, and he tightened his abs, his pulse pounding through his bloodstream. “I could prove you wrong.”

  Eager to avoid his magnetic pull, she backtracked away from him until her legs touched the sofa and she could escape him no further. Her cheeks looked frostbitten, and he frowned.

  “It’s freezing in here,” he muttered, shifting gears. “Where’s the heater?”

  Shrugging, she licked her lips. “I’m used to it.” She wrapped the scarf around her hands. “If it’s too tough for you, then leave.”

  “In good time,” he baited, eclipsing the grunt about to erupt from his chest.

  “Why are you here, Peter?” she challenged, taking the bait and flinging it back at him. “Besides trying to get me into bed.�
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  “I’d hardly be doing it here.” He glanced around the place in distaste.

  “Trying to manhandle me?”

  A shocked sound reverberated through the room, and she realized it had come from her. Why had she said that to him?

  His face paled. His lids lowered, turning his focus blade thin, and she glimpsed something else in the blue depths. Pain?

  Then she stuffed her hands in her pockets, and straightened her shoulders, doubting he felt anything but arrogance. Regardless, she was honest enough to admit her words were untrue. “I’m sor—”

  “I have never forced—”

  “I know.” She glanced down at her scruffy boots and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Yeah.” He palmed his nape, and a nerve clubbed his jaw.

  The motion mesmerized her, and she remembered holding his hand, reveling in his strength, kissing, tasting, wanting to…no!

  That had been the problem.

  “You can’t really want to live here.” His abrupt remark sliced through her erotic fantasy.

  “Why can’t I?”

  He hiked an arrogant brow.

  “Not your style?”

  “No,” he growled. “Nor yours.”

  She laughed, the sound hollow as it bounced off the dingy walls. “You don’t know my likes or dislikes, Peter.”

  “Have they changed in the space of three weeks?” He bridged the gap between them in two long strides and loomed over her.

  So he’d kept count, had he? She smiled inwardly, pleased for some inadvertent reason. Curling her fingers around her scarf, the softness acted as a buffer to the harsh verbal match between them.

  “No,” she murmured, then with more bravado. “But you will no longer impose—I-I can make up my own mind. Wha-at I want, when I—”

  He actually grinned. She couldn’t believe it.

  But seriousness glinted in his gaze, now drilling into her. “I thought you wanted…me.”

  “I—I do…did…I mean…” Her words slipped away, confusion rippling across her features.