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Love by Design: Loving Jack\Best Laid Plans, by Nora Roberts
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From beloved New York Times-bestselling author Roberts comes a two-in-one volume featuring classic stories where love just doesn't happen, it is designed. Includes Loving Jack and Best Laid Plans.
- Sales Rank: #1007265 in Books
- Published on: 2010-03-23
- Released on: 2010-03-23
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.23" w x 4.21" l, .49 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 480 pages
About the Author
Nora Roberts is a bestselling author of more than 209 romance novels. She was the first author to be inducted into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame. As of 2011, her novels had spent a combined 861 weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List, including 176 weeks in the number-one spot. Over 280 million copies of her books are in print, including 12 million copies sold in 2005 alone.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The minute Jackie saw the house, she was in love. Of course, she acknowledged, she did fall in love easily. It wasn't that she was easily impressed, she was just open, wide-open, to emotions—her own and everyone else's.
The house had a lot of emotion in it, she felt, and not all of it serene. That was good. Total serenity would have been all right for a day or two, but boredom would have closed in. She preferred the contrasts here, the strong angles and arrogant juts of the corners, softened occasionally by curving windows and unexpectedly charming archways.
The white-painted walls glittered in the sunlight, set off by stark ebony trim. Though she didn't believe the world was black-and-white, the house made the statement that the two opposing forces could live together in harmony.
The windows were wide, welcoming the view from both east and west, while skylights let in generous slices of sun. Flowers grew in profusion in the side garden and in terra-cotta pots along the terraces. She enjoyed the bold color they added, the touch of the exotic and lush. They'd have to be tended, of course—and religiously, if the heat continued and the rain didn't come. She didn't mind getting dirty, though, especially if there was a reward at the end.
Through wide glass doors she looked out at the crystalline waters of a kidney-shaped tiled pool. That, too, would require tending, but that, too, offered rewards. She could already picture herself sitting beside it, watching the sun set with the scent of flowers everywhere. Alone. That was a small hitch, but one she was willing to accept.
Beyond the pool and the sloping slice of lawn was the Intracoastal Waterway. Its waters were dark, mysterious, but even as she watched, a motorboat putted by. She discovered she liked the sound of it. It meant there were people close enough to make contact but not so close as to interfere.
The water roads reminded her of Venice and a particularly pleasant month she had spent there during her teens. She'd ridden in gondolas and flirted with dark-eyed men. Florida in the spring wasn't as romantic as Italy, but it suited her just fine.
"I love it." She turned back to the wide, sun-washed room. There were twin sofas the color of oatmeal on a steel-blue carpet. The rest of the furniture was an elegant ebony and leaned toward the masculine. Jackie approved of its strength and style. She rarely wasted her time looking for flaws and was willing to accept them when they jumped out at her. But in this house and everything about it she saw perfection.
She beamed at the man standing casually in front of the white marble fireplace. The hearth had been cleaned and swept and was a home for a potted fern. The man's tropical-looking white pants and shirt might have been chosen for precisely that pose. Knowing Frederick Q. Mac-Namara as she did, Jackie was sure it had been.
"When can I move in?"
Fred's smile lit up his round, boyish face. No one looking at it would have been reminded of a shark. "That's our Jack, always going on impulse." His body was rounded, too—not quite fat, but not really firm, either. Fred's favorite exercise was hailing—cabs or waiters. He moved toward her with a languid grace that had once been feigned but was now second nature. "You haven't even seen the second floor."
"I'll see it when I unpack."
"Jack, I want you to be sure." He patted her cheek— older, more experienced cousin to young scatterbrain. She didn't take offense. "I'd hate for you to regret this in a day or two. After all, you're proposing to live in this house by yourself for three months."
"I've got to live somewhere." She gestured, palm out, with a hand as slim and delicate as the rest of her. Gold and colored stones glittered on four fingers, a sign of her love of the pretty. "If I'm going to be serious about writing, I should be alone. Since I don't think I'd care for a garret, why shouldn't it be here?"
She paused a moment. It never paid to be too casual with Fred, cousin or not. Not that she didn't like him. Jackie had always had a soft spot for Fred, though she knew he had a habit of skimming off the top and dealing from the bottom.
"You're sure it's all right for you to sublet it to me?"
"Perfectly." His voice was as smooth as his face.
Whatever wrinkles Fred had were carefully camouflaged. "The owner only uses it as a winter home, and then only sporadically. He prefers having someone in residence rather than leaving it empty. I told Nathan I'd take care of things until November, but then this business in San Diego came up, and it can't be put off. You know how it is, darling."
Jackie knew exactly how it was. With Fred, "sudden business" usually meant he was avoiding either a jealous husband or the law. Despite his unprepossessing looks, he had constant problems with the former, and not even a prepossessing family name could always protect him from the latter.
She should have been warier, but Jackie wasn't always wise, and the house—the look, the feel, of it—had already blinded her.
"If the owner wants it occupied, I'm happy to accommodate him. Let me sign on the dotted line, Fred. I want to unpack and spend a couple of hours in the pool."
"If you're sure." He was already drawing a paper from his pocket. "I don't want a scene later—like the time you bought my Porsche."
"You failed to tell me the transmission was held together with Krazy Glue."
"Let the buyer beware," Fred said mildly, and handed her a monogrammed silver pen.
She had a quick flash of trepidation. This was cousin Fred, after all. Fred of the easy deal and the can't-miss investment. Then a bird flew into the garden and begin to sing cheerily, and Jackie took it as an omen. She signed the lease in a bold, flowing hand before drawing out her checkbook.
"A thousand a month for three months?"
"Plus five hundred damage deposit," Fred added.
"Right." She supposed she was lucky dear cousin Fred wasn't charging her a commission. "Are you leaving me a number, an address or something so I can get in touch with the owner if necessary?"
Fred looked blank for a moment, then beamed at her. It was that MacNamara smile, charming and guileless. "I've already told him about the turnover. Don't worry about a thing, sweetie. He'll be in touch with you."
"Fine." She wasn't going to worry about details. It was spring, and she had a new house, a new project. New beginnings were the best thing in the world. "I'll take care of everything." She touched a large Chinese urn. She'd begin by putting fresh flowers in it. "Will you be staying tonight, Fred?"
The check was already stashed in the inside pocket of his jacket. He resisted the urge to add a loving pat. "I'd love to hang around, indulge in some family gossip, but since we've got everything squared away, I should catch a flight to the Coast. You'll need to get to the market pretty soon, Jack. There're some essentials in the kitchen, but not much else." As he spoke, he started across the room toward a pile of baggage. It never occurred to him to offer to take his cousin's bags upstairs for her, or for her to ask him to. "Keys are there on the table. Enjoy yourself."
"I will." When he hefted his cases, she walked over to open the door for him. She'd meant her invitation to spend the night sincerely, and she was just as sincerely glad he'd refused. "Thanks, Fred. I really appreciate this."
"My pleasure, darling." He leaned down to exchange a kiss with her. Jackie got a whiff of his expensive cologne. "Give my love to the family when you talk to them."
"I will. Safe trip, Fred." She watched him walk out to a long, lean convertible. It was white, like his suit. After stowing his cases, Fred scooted behind the wheel and sent her a lazy salute. Then she was alone.
Jackie turned back to the room and hugged herself. She was alone, and on her own. She'd been there before, of course. She was twenty-five, after all, and had taken solo trips and vacations, had her own apartment and her own life. But each time she started out with something new it was a fresh adventure.
As of this day…was it March 25, 26? She shook her head. It didn't matter. As of this day, she was beginning a new career. Jacqueline R. MacNamara, novelist.
It had a nice ring, she thought. The first thing she was going to do was unpack her new typewriter and begin chapter one. With a laugh, she grabbed the typewriter case and her heaviest suitcase and started upstairs.
It didn't take long to acclimate herself, to the South, to the house, to her new routine. She rose early, enjoying the morning quiet with juice and a piece of toast—or flat cola and cold pizza, if that was handier. Her typing improved with practice, and by the end of the third day her machine was humming nicely. She would break in the afternoon to have a dip in the pool, lie in the sun and think about the next scene, or plot twist.
She tanned easily and quickly. It was a gift Jackie attributed to the Italian great-grandmother who had breached the MacNamara's obsessively Irish ranks. The color pleased her, and most of the time she remembered the face creams and moisturizers that her mother had always touted. "Good skin and bone structure make a beauty, Jacqueline. Not style or fashion or clever makeup," she'd often declared.
Well, Jackie had the skin and bone structure, though even her mother had to admit she would never be a true beauty. She was pretty enough, in a piquant, healthy sort of way. But her face was triangular rather than oval, her mouth wide rather than bowed. Her eyes were just a shade too big, and they were brown. The Italian again. She hadn't inherited the sea green or sky blue that dominated the rest of her family. Her hair was brown, as well. During her teens she'd experimented with rinses and streaks, often to her mother's embarrassment, but had finally settled for what God had given her. She'd even come to like it, and the fact that it curled on its own meant she didn't have to spend precious time in salons. She kept it short, and its natural fullness and curl made a halo around her face.
She was glad of its length now, because of her afternoon ...
Most helpful customer reviews
24 of 28 people found the following review helpful.
Ouch.
By Kylara
Well, if nothing else, these two books (published originally in '89) do serve as examples of how terrible Roberts' writing was back then. First off, this is an overpriced collection of two old Silhouette novels that were rehabilitated into a more attractive package with Nora Roberts' famous name plastered in very large letters on the front.
The first story, Loving Jack, was *terrible*. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, a slightly unserious female with a heart of gold ends up living in the same house as a man unwilling to commit due to his Tragic And Lonely Past. The plot itself only has the fault of being cliched - it's her characters that are truly awful. Jackie is overbearingly perfect - she's a wonderful cook, charismatic, good at giving parties, and also possessing of a brilliant mind with in-depth knowledge in painting, architecture, Latin, and various other skills, but for the moment has decided to do what her heart compels her - romance novel writing. One cannot shake off the slightly terrifying feeling that Roberts is doing some sort of psychotic cameo in here, and it lingers throughout the entirety of the novel. [To make matters worse, the book Jackie writes really was published by Roberts as a historical Harlequin novel in October '03.] As for the love interest, Nathan, he is a staid sort of male. He has all the right characteristics - a brooding, confused, handsome sort of guy afraid to commit because of aforementioned Tragic And Lonely Past, all resulting in the most boring male ever in a Roberts book. The addition of the goddess-like Jackie MacNamara results in pure and undiluted tedium.
The second story, Best Laid Plans, isn't that bad, all things considering. Cody is a determined, amusing sort of fellow, and one who takes having a beer dumped on his head considerably well. An architect (partners in a firm with Nathan from the previous book) meets the hard-headed engineer on a desert resort project. He pursues, she refuses, also due to her Tragic And Lonely Past, and narrowly escapes being the most tedious female character in Roberts' novels because she has the very beginnings of a personality. Abra, despite her being a strong and smart female on a largely male-dominated area of work, falls into the hole of needing a man to save her at important moments. Take a scene near the beginning where she's in danger - she stands still, he saves her [bacon]. Take a scene near the end - she finds a dangerous object and immediately starts screaming for him. She is incapable of thinking without her man, which is very annoying. Aside from this, though, the novel ends (rather predictably, but not badly) and is concluded with a rather cutesy epilogue. The End.
On the females in these two novels: I think these novels were written in a stage where females had to possess only the concept of independence; at important or dangerous moments, the character reverts to "clingy screaming woman", the kind that it's very tempting to slap around. Jackie is perfectly domestic, Abra is perfectly dependent, and they both get their men and live happily ever after, plus children. Though it's not exactly a terrible fate, the characters are inevitably flat. One expects a better level of writing from Roberts now, but don't go looking for it here.
63 of 81 people found the following review helpful.
Early, Awful
By K. N. Nelson
I wish the publishers of Ms. Roberts earliest novels would NOT publish them as new releases. The two stories in this book are just awful. Really awful. They are as bad as some of the junk that other romance genre writers churn out even to this day.
I love Nora Roberts books from about 1998 on. And I am very fond of her J.D. Robb murder series. Especially the latest which are hip, sharp and witty which makes them selectively collectible.
However, with this offering save your money because Love by Design really sucks.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
My first Roberts read... what a disappointment!
By Theresa
I've never been an avid reader of the straight-up romance novel, but have been spending a lot of time at the beach and was given this book from a family member, so I gave it a read. I've also been wanting to read a book by Nora Roberts for some time. Boy, was I underwhelmed.
The book is a compilation of 2 stories: "Loving Jack" and "Best Laid Plans." I read almost all of "Loving Jack" before throwing in the towel. (There are just too many GOOD books out there to continue wasting time on this.)
To be fair, I can't review the second story since I didn't get that far, but "Loving Jack" is possibly one of the most tedious things I've ever had the misfortune of trying to read. It is completely formulaic, with the near-perfect Jackie falling for the emotionally-distant Nathan after coming to live at his impossibly-perfect house in Florida. (The setting, by the way, is one of the few good things going for this story!) "Here's how Jackie feels, and these are her thoughts", followed by "here's how Nathan feels, and these are his thoughts." Ugh. Honestly, if I had to read another description (of the hitting-you-over-the-head-with-it variety) of how comfortable and in-touch with her emotions Jack was, I think I would have thrown the book in the ocean.
From what I gather, Nora Roberts' writing has gotten exponentially better as time has gone on. I'm going to give her another shot, but with a more recently written novel.
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