Copyright © 2008, Beth Kery
Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews For GATEWAY TO HEAVEN by Beth Kery

“Gateway To Heaven by Beth Kerry has an interesting plot. I liked the characters. We tend to see celebrities as bigger-than-life. We overlook the fact that they are real people, and the “star” is a persona. There was physical tension between Christian and Megan from the beginning. Emily was adorable, especially when interacting with Christian. Gateway To Heaven is an enjoyable read for fans of rock and romance.”_Debra Gaynor for ReviewYourBook.com

5 Enchantments! “Wow!! I loved this story. Ms. Kery did a fabulous job painting her scenes with words. I sat down to read it and within minutes I was enthralled. I absolutely loved the way she brought Christian and Megan through their challenges, and it has what every good romance needs…a happy ever after!  I will read this again. If you are a romantic at heart, this is definitely a must read!! Great work, Ms. Kery, I loved it!”_Desiree de Cleves, Enchanting Reviews

5 Angels! “Ms. Kery has created a beautiful story with complex characters dealing with real life situations and learning that to love is to trust.  Christian isn’t your average rock star and underneath he is looking for what everyone wants, love and acceptance. Megan’s life has unfortunately revolved around the dreadful situation she was in years ago until Christian entered with his breath of fresh air giving her something she never had before, unconditional love and acceptance. Together they have to fight prejudice, misunderstandings and find the belief in each other that only trust can give.  Thanks go to Ms. Kery for creating a story that was fun, inspiring, and very romantic all rolled into one great book.”_Reviewed by: Teresa, Fallen Angel Reviews

“Heaven is something that we all wonder about and questions what it exactly is. Is it a place up there where we find peace or something that we hear or look forward to seeing? For Christian he has only known one Heaven and that is Megan Shreve. Something about her makes him feel like he can be normal and not pretend to be rich. With Megan he can be himself and be honest. Now Megan she is for the first time in awe about Christian. Here is a guy who is gorgeous and wants her. I loved that Beth Kery not only created two people who have both been scarred, in pain and heartache to overcome so many things. Not only is Beth Kery talented buy you get to see how she can create one painful memory and bring in new wonderful memories with one kiss. I loved the book and can’t wait for more by this talented author.”_A Reviewer Top Pick, Reviewed by Melinda, Night Owl Romance Reviews

Christian Lasher stilled like a predator that had just sited unexpected prey when he casually glanced over Father Gregory’s shoulder. His eyelids narrowed over a pair of blue eyes a female reporter from Rolling Stone had once described as being equally as adept at giving the impression of stripping away the protection of a woman’s clothing as they were at drilling straight through her outer facade to her very soul. The same reporter had added that, much to the regret of a broken-hearted collection of discarded lovers, Lasher seemed to prefer what he saw in the former instance much more than what he saw in the latter one.

Father Gregory apparently didn’t notice Christian’s sudden absorption as he continued to pump his hand, extolling his thanks for the hundredth time that afternoon.

“The parish, and especially the children, will be eternally grateful to you once again, Christian. The proceeds from this year’s festival will not only make it possible for us to finally purchase a new gymnasium, but also to hire a full-time art teacher, something we sorely need.”

Christian glanced solicitously back at the elderly priest, but his eyes returned to their target almost immediately. “I guess it’s the least I can do to make up for putting that skunk in Sister Elizabeth’s desk drawer back in the sixth grade.”

Father Gregory’s broad smile faltered, as did his vigorous shaking of Christian’s hand. For a brief moment, his voice became as stern as the one Christian recalled from his grade school days. “Christian, you were responsible for that? We couldn’t use that classroom for a month!”

Christian’s grin was nearly as devilish as it had been back when he was a twelve-year-old hellion. “Yeah, and I don’t think Sister Elizabeth ever got the smell of skunk out of her habit either, although I know she wore the same one every Tuesday until I graduated the eighth grade.” Before Father Gregory could make a predictable comment about Sister Elizabeth’s years of dedicated service to St. Catherine’s, Christian continued. “Who’s she?”

The object of his interest was bending over to speak in a soothing voice into the tear-streaked face of a brown-haired child. Not the same little girl Christian had seen her with in the park next to St. Catherine’s or in the lobby of his loft condominium. Not the little girl whose white-blonde hair was two shades lighter than her mother’s and who shared the same red bow of a mouth and sparkling green eyes. The little girl Christian had seen her with on at least three other occasions was too young to be of school age.

Despite the almost Quaker-like conservatism of her dress, Christian thought she might be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He had no right to find her so appealing. He’d seen her repeatedly with the little girl. Christian had already noticed that she wasn’t wearing a ring, but that was never proof of anything. Cecilia used to forget to put on her wedding ring once in a while. There were a million reasons this young woman may not be wearing one.

Christian Lasher didn’t do married women. Not his thing. Never had been.

He’d returned to his hometown of Chicago for a sabbatical during this stressful, painful period of his career. He needed a sanctuary to lose himself for a while…maybe to find himself again. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with a woman who was either married or by the look of her clothes, a step away from the nunnery.

When he was a student here, hadn’t all of the teachers been nuns?

But then Christian recalled the way her eyes had widened when he’d intentionally held her gaze yesterday in the condominium lobby. In that brief meeting of their gazes, he’d seen passion secretly encased in all of that innocent softness, that sea of soothing calm. He doubted she even knew it existed. Christian admonished himself for it but he couldn’t seem to stifle the impulse.

He wanted to cause some serious waves in that calm sea.

“Ah, perfect. That’s Megan Shreve, our art teacher. We got her almost fresh out of graduate school. You’ll be able to personally meet one of the people your performance will directly benefit. After the St. Catherine’s block party in a few weeks, we’ll be able to offer Megan a fulltime position,” Father Gregory said enthusiastically as he began to start over to the young woman. He paused and looked up in surprise when Christian stopped him firmly with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t tell her about all that. Just tell her I’m a St. Cat’s alum back for a friendly visit. Come on, Father, it’s not like I’m asking you to lie or anything,” Christian added compellingly when he saw Father Gregory’s hesitation.

Father Gregory gave a conspiratorial nod. Christian knew the priest had assumed he wanted to keep his identity secret due to modesty, a desire for anonymity in his charitable acts. That was part of it, but his primary reason was a lot more mercenary.

He doubted the depraved hard-rocker type would impress Megan Shreve. Not that he was depraved. Not that he wanted to impress this slip of a female.

As Christian got near enough to her to capture her fresh floral scent, he was man enough to acknowledge that at least one of his self-assurances was a lie.

Megan sighed as she straightened and sent Lori Hunt on her way, the tears on the little girl’s face replaced by a hopeful smile. She unconsciously rubbed tense muscles at the back of her neck, mentally grateful that it was a Friday and she didn’t have to worry about school for a few days. It would be a relief not to have to divide her attention. It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved taking care of Emily, her sister’s four-year-old daughter, every afternoon and evening for the past week while Hilary had been at a sales conference and Terry, her brother-in-law, worked late. She’d actually loved it. But keeping up with a four-year-old when you weren’t used to it could be a challenge. She almost groaned out loud when she recalled that she’d volunteered to keep Emily for the weekend while Terry went on a golf outing in Galena with friends.

She turned around when she heard Father Gregory’s voice behind her. “Crisis thwarted with Miss Hunt, I see.”

Megan returned Father Gregory’s smile. “The vase she made for a…Mother’s Day gift collapsed in the kiln.” Halfway through her explanation, Megan became aware that Father Gregory wasn’t alone. Her gaze traveled up to meet the eyes of the tall man with burnished brown hair who stood broodingly next to the priest. When their gazes met, Megan started in recognition. The man’s stare was unapologetically direct and just as unforgettable as it had been yesterday.

It had the same effect on her today.

She glanced rapidly down the considerable length of him, taking in the crisp, white t-shirt with the worn logo on one side that enigmatically read Velvet Funk, the soft, unbuttoned shirt he wore over it and hadn’t bothered to tuck into a pair of well-washed and worn jeans. His general appearance emphasized not only an obvious disregard when it came to impressing other people but a potent masculinity.

Megan glanced away. “I told Lori I would fire her replacement in the kiln at my Earth class. She’ll still make Mother’s Day,” she finished breathlessly.

“Earth is where Megan gives classes in sculpture. She’s a very gifted artist. Megan Shreve, I’d like you to meet Christian Lasher.”

Christian knew his face gave nothing away as he studied her while Father Gregory made introductions. He hadn’t missed her look of embarrassment or the telltale blush that deepened the color of her fair complexion when Father Gregory praised her talent. He should have stopped his eyes from following the fascinating trail of that blush as it lowered across the regal column of her neck and the inch or two of skin exposed at her chest.

He should have, but he didn’t.

His gaze lingered. The white cotton blouse she wore was the epitome of modest good taste. Even Sister Elizabeth would have approved of how high she’d buttoned it and there could be no complaints about its tightness against her slender figure. Once again, there was no wedding ring in evidence. As a matter of fact, the only jewelry adorning her flawless skin was a small pair of pearl studs in her ears.

So why did Christian think that the way the crisp blouse ghosted her breasts, hinting at their surprising fullness, the way it revealed those delicious few inches of flushed, dewy skin above its conservative collar, made it the most feminine, sexy garment he’d ever seen? Weren’t pearl earrings a common, modest choice for women’s jewelry? So why did he have an overwhelming urge to experience what Megan Shreve’s pearls felt like pressed between his tongue and lips?

Megan forced herself to look back up into Christian’s face when Father Gregory introduced him, but his attention wasn’t on her face. He must have noticed the way her breasts rose in agitation, because his gaze dragged unhurriedly back up her chest and neck before resting on her parted lips.

Did he know that her breath had just caught and held with a nameless, newly born anticipation?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Shreve.”

Megan tried to ignore the shiver that ran through her arm and tickled her neck when Christian Lasher took her hand. She couldn’t have said if it was the touch of his skin next to hers or the compelling sound of his voice. It sounded deep, a little raspy, and as resonant as a finely-tuned instrument. She leaned back too abruptly when she realized that her body had swayed forward, mindlessly spellbound by the contrast of masculinity and tenderness in that voice.

Christian didn’t miss the way her gaze skittered nervously toward Father Gregory as if she’d just been caught doing something red-handed that she’d probably never had to bring to the confessional in the past. Only the handful of people who really knew Christian Lasher would have recognized the fact that the infinitesimally small shift of his lips connoted a smile.

“You went to St. Cat’s? Me, too. What years were you here?” Megan asked conversationally when Father Gregory mentioned that Christian was a former student.

“Too many years before you to count, I can imagine,” he said sardonically, but Megan only saw the warmth of his unexpected smile. He’d seemed so serious before, so intense. Megan found herself relaxing a little at the sight of his engaging grin, the sudden contrast of white, even teeth against sun-darkened skin.

“Not too many years, Christian,” Father Gregory corrected authoritatively. “When you’re as old as me, a decade or so is a drop in the bucket. The Lashers lived only a few blocks away from your parents, Megan, until they moved to Evanston…what was that, ten years ago, Christian?”

Christian nodded, instinctively knowing that the approximate timing was right. It was eleven years ago that Lasher Down got their first big break premiering with the first of seven albums, all of which had since gone platinum. Sometime soon afterwards, he’d had the financial means to help his parents buy their dream home in Evanston.

“I think Megan’s older sister Hilary was too far ahead of you in school. Does the name Hilary Shreve sound familiar?”

Christian shook his head.

“Do you like living here in the neighborhood where you grew up?” Megan asked. When she smiled up at him Christian didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t a die-hard loyal, near west-side Chicagoan, like she was.

Or maybe he was. Chicago would always be his true home. Even though he owned a small home in Brentwood, California and a large recording studio in Los Angeles, he’d made a point of buying a condominium in downtown Chicago in the neighborhood near the park where he’d hit his first homerun, in walking distance from the high school from which he’d graduated, and a relatively short cab or L ride away from the bars and clubs where he’d first experienced the thrill of performing his own music.

Christian liked Chicago’s honesty, the way it embodied the integrity of the workingman’s spirit, something that he had always respected about his own father even if he’d followed a very different path.

So instead of correcting her assumption, he only raised his eyebrows a fraction, an unspoken question. When he saw her cheeks flush again, he knew that she’d read his thoughts perfectly.

“Oh…I recognized you. I…I think you live in my building.” Megan swallowed with difficulty when he just continued to spear her with his unsettling stare. “748 West Adams? You do live there, right? I thought I’d seen you.”

For Megan, the few seconds before he answered dragged on for an eternity. The moment when their eyes had randomly met yesterday obviously hadn’t scorched an indelible place in his memory as it had hers.

“It was yesterday afternoon in the lobby. You were wearing a pink sweater. The little girl you were with was wearing pink, too.” Christian leaned toward her slightly. “She was as cute as you are, in a completely different way of course.”

Megan’s mouth fell open at his matter-of-fact recital of facts. His voice sounded light and amused, but his eyes bore into her with an alarming intimacy. Didn’t he realize that her boss—not to mention the fact that he was her priest—was standing barely three feet away? Unaccountably, Megan felt like he’d just reached out and stroked her, brushed the pads of his fingertips across her lower lip, sunk his hand into the restrained hair at her nape, forced the sleek knot open, dragged his knuckles across the tightening crests of her breasts…

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the direction of her thoughts and the uncontrollable reaction of her body. But she needn’t have worried about Father Gregory. Christian’s words had a drastically different effect on him than they did on Megan. He cracked his shiny forehead with the palm of his hand.

“I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, Megan! Terry called earlier. He asked if he could drop Emily off right after school let out instead of at four o’clock. He must be outside right now—” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression apologetic, when they heard the loud call of a horn sounding from the street.

“That’s okay, Father. I’ll just grab my purse. It was nice to meet you, Christian.”

She didn’t dare look back to see if they were still standing in the hallway when she locked and shut the classroom door after getting her purse. She raced across the front steps of the school as if she were being chased.

“Are you sure this is okay, Megan?” Terry asked after Megan had unbuckled the grinning Emily from her car seat, swung her to her hip and met Terry on the other side of the car.

“Of course. We’re going to have a ball, huh Em?”

Her niece nodded enthusiastically. “Get to go to Aunt Meg’s clay class and ’Merican Girl.”

Megan met Terry’s amused gaze. “I offered to take her to ride the Ferris wheel on Navy Pier, or to see The Lion King onstage—”

“But even the American Girl store takes second place to going to clay class,” Terry finished for her and they joined in laughter. He gave his daughter a hard hug that necessarily included Megan. Both of them received a kiss on the cheek. He pulled a shoulder bag containing Emily’s things from the backseat. “Emily, you’re going to have to walk. Aunt Meg can’t carry both the bag and you.”

When Emily whined in protest and clung to Megan’s neck, Terry sighed in exasperation. “Emily, it will take me too long to find parking and I’m going to get a ticket parked here. Be a big girl and walk, so that Aunt Meg can carry the bag.”

Megan swung the heavy duffle up to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Terry, she’s tired. It’s almost naptime and it’s only across the street.”

They argued for a few seconds, but Megan was insistent and Terry was running late. He finally gave in. “Thanks again, Megan. Hilary and I owe you. Emily, you be good. No sneaking into Aunt Meg’s clay unless she says you can.”

Only after Terry’s vehicle had vacated the spot did Megan glance back toward St. Catherine’s School. The double take she did caused her to stumble slightly due to her heavy burden and precarious balance.

Christian Lasher was standing at the top of St. Cat’s steps. Most people would have said his posture was casual as he stood with his long, jean-clad legs slightly spread, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his back resting lightly against the limestone entryway. But for a reason Megan couldn’t name, she knew that estimation would have been dead wrong.

She sensed the tension in those long, corded muscles just as she instinctively knew that the expression in his blue eyes was as intense as ever even if now they were alight with… anger? Or was it disappointment?

Why?

Megan had no answer to that as she watched him lift one booted-foot and kick the wall behind him to lever himself forward. He sauntered toward the entryway with a loose-hipped swagger. Even as she spoke to Emily in a bright voice she wondered at the feeling of regret that flooded through her.

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