by Jenna Harte
Drawn to Her
Southern Heat Series
Jenna Harte
Contents
Copyright
Also by Jenna Harte
More from Penner Publishing
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More Southern Heat from Jenna Harte
Smart Women’s Fiction
Drawn to Her
Jenna Harte
* * *
This edition published by
Penner Publishing
Post Office Box 57914
Los Angeles, California 91413
www.pennerpublishing.com
* * *
Copyright © 2016 by Jenna Harte
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Designs
Drawn to Her/Jenna Harte. — 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1-940811-49-9
Also by Jenna Harte
Available for pre-order from Penner Publishing
Meant to Be
Wed to Her
More from Penner Publishing
Join our newsletter to be the first to know about our new releases!
Sign up for the Penner Publishing New Release Newsletter
To Jay. Thank you for the happily ever after!
Chapter One
“Rummy again.” Lexie McKenna laid her cards on the table over Oliver Carmichael’s hospital bed.
“You wouldn’t be trying to take advantage of a dying man, would you?” He grinned at her, despite the fact he was indeed dying.
At least he is dying on his terms. Lexie admired his courage to abandon his life of riches in New York to live out the rest of his days in his quiet, childhood home, in Charlotte Tavern, Virginia. He was comfortable, or as comfortable as could be expected when dying of lung cancer.
“Oh, please, you’re richer than God.” She gathered the cards and prepared to shuffle them. “I couldn’t win enough dough to dent your stockpile of money.”
He laughed. “You got that right.”
“Since you can’t take it with you, I might as well pad my pockets with your loot.” She dealt them each seven cards, glad he was in good spirits today. Being his personal nurse hadn’t always been card games and banter. Oliver was the definition of cantankerous with his brusque demeanor, quick temper, and low tolerance of others. His illness hadn’t improved his attitude. Lexie understood it was difficult for a larger-than-life man such as Oliver to accept his mortality and the limitations imposed by his illness, but that didn’t mean she was going to put up with his surly behavior. Over the six weeks she’d been his private nurse, they’d come to an understanding; whatever he dished out, she gave back. As a result, Oliver’s behavior had improved, and they’d become friends.
“Double or nothing?” Oliver picked up the cards she dealt him.
“It’s your money, Warbucks.”
“What the hell?” A man stepped into the room.
Startled by the intrusion, Lexie turned to the man behind the deep, harsh voice. “Great day!” She drawled the southern expression of surprise and dismay, under her breath as a scowling, very tall, broad-shouldered man approached. In Lexie’s world, nearly everyone was taller than her, but this man was humongous, not just in size but in presence as well. He swallowed up space with each step until the room shrunk to the size of a closet. His narrowed gray eyes moved from her to Oliver. His dark foreboding stare reminded her of Oliver when he was in one of his moods.
Finally, someone has come to visit. Except that a glance toward Oliver told her neither man seemed particularly happy.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver’s scowl matched the man’s although his voice, raspy from cancer, didn’t match the dark intensity of his features.
“I’m here to see you, and I’m not leaving until we talk.” The newcomer stood at the end of the bed in a casual stance, belying the expectant look in his face. Lexie couldn’t deny there was something compelling about him. He was handsome for sure, with short, jet black hair, and dark, steely gray eyes made more attractive by the long lashes rimming them. He exuded a power that suggested he always got what he wanted without much effort, and an energy that said “keep your distance.” Typical New York businessman.
“I’m sick.” Oliver slunk down in his covers, letting his eyes drop to half-mast.
Lexie frowned. Oliver wasn’t one to take orders or be intimidated by others, and yet, instead of telling this man to take a flying leap, he hid under his blankets.
The change in Oliver’s demeanor concerned her. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
Lexie’s hackles rose. Who did Tall, Dark, and Brooding think he was coming into her home, well, Oliver’s home, making demands like he owned the place?
“Harrumph.” Oliver straightened in his bed. “Lexie McKenna, this is my grandson, Drake Carmichael. Drake, this is Lexie, my nurse.”
Lexie’s annoyance was lessened slightly knowing someone in Oliver’s family had finally come to visit. She’d made so many calls and sent several letters, all of which had been ignored.
She stood and extended her hand. “How wonderful that you’ve finally—”
“Nurse? What the hell kind of nurse jokes about dying and taking your money?” Drake stepped close to her, towering his imposing body over hers, causing a shiver that had nothing to do with fear or intimidation. She should have been wary. Instead, she was intrigued. “Your bedside manner is lacking.”
“Now wait a minute.” Lexie ignored the crackle of electricity zapping within the narrowing gap between them. She wasn’t going to let some stranger, no matter how big, mean, and gorgeous, intimidate and insult her. Unfortunately, at five-three, she only came to his chest. Not a good vantage point to make a statement.
“Hold that thought.” She grabbed the step stool next to Oliver’s bed and gained the extra foot she needed to look Drake in the eyes. “You have some nerve.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger, ignoring the jolt of heat zapping her each time she felt the hard, firm muscle underneath his starched white shirt. “Where have you been all this time your grandfather has been sick? You never once called or sent a note.” She glared at him, pleased at the surprise in his steel gray eyes.
His surprise quickly changed to disconcertedness as his dark stormy eyes sized her up from head to toe and back again. He glared at her with such intensity, she worried she’d
whither into nothing. But she wasn’t a delicate flower. She gathered her resolve and turned her stare on him, openly assessing him back. At first, his eyes remained hard and cold but, upon closer inspection, there was something smoldering and compelling hidden behind them. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, and his gray eyes turned flat and unreadable.
“Ahem.”
Lexie ignored Oliver’s attempt to get her attention because she couldn’t turn away from Drake no matter how forbidding his eyes. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of flinching first. At least that was what she told herself as she continued to hold his gaze. It wasn’t easy with her heart hammering and her knees turning to jelly.
“I hate to interrupt this moment, but I’d hate for someone to get hurt,” Oliver’s voice cut through the standoff.
Drake’s gaze held Lexie’s. “I’d never hurt a woman.”
“It’s not Lexie I’m worried about.”
Drake looked at Oliver, breaking the impasse.
Lexie’s lips curved in satisfaction. That’s right, buster. You don’t scare me. You might make me swoon, but you don’t scare me. With the battle of wills over for the moment, she turned on the charm southern women were famous for.
“Let’s try this again. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carmichael.” She held out her hand.
He looked at it as if she had cooties. Finally, he grasped her hand, his long fingers wrapping fully around her hand in a firm, although not crushing grip, as she might have expected.
“Ms. McKenna.” His voice was rough, laced with annoyance. Even so, he held her hand, his gaze boring into hers as if searching for something. Her heart skipped a beat at the heat of his gaze. It was oddly thrilling, yet terrifying.
“Why don’t you sit here?” She disentangled her hand from his before she turned to mush, motioning to a chair near Oliver’s bed. “And, you.” She fixed Oliver’s covers and moved the over-table out of the way. “Be nice.” Casting Drake one last glance, she left the room.
Lexie sank back against the closed door, blowing a loose curl of hair off her forehead. Wow! She placed a hand over her racing heart. She couldn’t remember ever having such a visceral response to a man. Not that she was immune to good-looking men. She appreciated a handsome man as much as the next woman, but she didn’t usually go for the tall, dark, and brooding types. And certainly not openly rude ones.
Although, she had to concede that someone who didn’t understand her relationship with Oliver could construe her banter with him as being in poor taste. Or maybe Drake thought she really wanted to take Oliver’s money, in which case he’d think she was a gold digger. Lexie dismissed that idea. She didn’t have the assets, such as long legs and melon-sized breasts, required to seduce old rich men. So, most likely, Drake just thought she was insensitive.
Maybe she was. She didn’t have a lot of experience with terminally ill patients. Her past nursing jobs had involved emergency care, which didn’t allow for long-term interactions. She understood the nursing aspect of caring for Oliver, and had read many books on death and dying, so she had knowledge of the psychological parts, as well. Regardless, Oliver seemed to think she was doing a good job and continued to keep her around.
Would Drake stick around too? One part of her hoped he’d stay. Terminally ill people should be surrounded by family. But Oliver was adamant he didn’t want his family fussing over and feeling sorry for him. She had difficulty accepting his position, though her research on hospice care taught her terminally ill people sometimes didn’t want their families around because it created more stress for the dying, who felt the need to protect the survivors from the reality of death.
What really bothered her wasn’t Oliver’s insistence people not visit, but the fact his family hadn’t made contact with him. If someone in her family were dying, she’d be right by their side. But no one had come for Oliver. Until now.
She hadn’t witnessed a happy reunion. His grandson was here because he wanted something, she felt sure. She considered pressing her ear to the door to find out what it was. Perhaps she should intervene. On the other hand, despite his illness, Oliver hadn’t lost any of his bluster. His mind and tongue were as sharp as ever. He didn’t need her help to deal with Drake.
She, however, might need Oliver’s help to deal with Drake, if he decided to stay. She supposed it was adrenaline-fueled annoyance that had her standing up to Drake, but she’d come precariously close to melting under the intensity of his gaze. How can someone be so irritating and sexy at the same time? She chastised herself for being selfish. She should be thinking about what was best for Oliver, not whether or not she could withstand Drake’s piercing stare and rude behavior. If Oliver wanted Drake around, then she’d find a way to control her smart aleck mouth and hormones.
Chapter Two
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Oliver said when the door shut behind Lexie.
“Something, all right.” Drake sat in the chair, but his gaze remained on the door. How had that pixie-like nurse looked right though him to his soul? “What was that she said when I came in? Great what?” He tore his gaze away from the woman’s wake to look at his grandfather.
“Great day. It’s a southern saying usually expressing surprise or dismay. Sometimes, it means ‘oh my goodness.’ You seemed to have made an impression on her.”
“She doesn’t have much respect for authority.”
Oliver smiled. “She’s got respect for authority, just not for overconfident, conceited jerks like us. You’ll get used to Lexie putting you in your place. She’s a real spitfire. Your intimidation tactics won’t work on her.”
“I wasn’t trying to intimidate her.” It was a lie. He did try to intimidate her. At first because he recognized she was the gatekeeper to his grandfather, but later, he wanted her to stop looking at him as if she could see through his bravado to his inadequacy.
“Weren’t you?”
“I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Why did you come? I told you specifically not to.”
Drake inhaled a deep breath to bolster his confidence. Most of the world perceived him as impenetrable and confident. But when it came to his grandfather, and apparently Nurse Lexie, Drake didn’t feel as steady as he’d like. He knew his grandfather wasn’t happy about the visit and wouldn’t welcome him, but the future of Carmichael Corporation was at stake, and Drake believed his grandfather was the key to saving it.
“Why are you here? If you’re sick, you should be with family.”
Oliver’s lip curled in disgust. “Not my family. There’s no peace with you or your brother and his barracuda wife.”
“Why here in Virginia? Why not some place in New York, near home so we can keep tabs on you?”
“I don’t want you to keep tabs on me.” Oliver crossed thin, frail arms over his chest. “You and Derrick have the business. You’ve been trained all your lives to run it. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Derrick and I can’t run the business together.” Drake leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest, hoping he looked casual and not nervous.
“You’re going to have to because I don’t intend to do it anymore. I’d like to spend my last days in peace and quiet.”
Drake studied his grandfather, searching for clues as to why he was adamant about staying. “At least come back to New York. I’m sure they have wonderful hospice services there as well.”
“I have people looking after me here. Lexie has been a godsend.” Oliver was frail, but there was no mistaking the firmness in his tone. He wouldn’t budge on the matter.
Drake glanced toward the door again. “She has very poor manners. I know we can get someone better for you.”
Oliver’s eyes darkened. “Don’t you dare! Lexie has brought light and laughter into a very dark time of my life. I’m dying, Drake. Not talking about it or pussyfooting around it doesn’t make it not so. I appreciate her openness about it and—” Oliver tensed and then jer
ked as a coughing fit seized his body.
At first, Drake waited for him to stop, but the coughing spell worsened as it continued on and on, and Oliver’s face reddened. Panic clutched at Drake’s gut. “What do you need? What can I do? Ms. McKenna!”
Her name was barely out of his mouth when she rushed into the room. Drake moved out of her way so she could tend to Oliver. She was amazingly calm and efficient as she helped Oliver sit up.
“Hand me that water, would you?” Her attention stayed on Oliver as she reached one hand back toward Drake.
Drake’s hands shook as he picked up the glass from the nearby table and handed it to her. Oliver managed a few sips and then sunk back into his pillow. Drake let out a breath as relief flooded him. He stepped back, stunned at the reality of Oliver’s ailment. His grandfather was dying. How did he feel about that? Sad, of course. His grandfather had raised him and his twin brother, Derrick, since they were six, when their parents died. But Oliver didn’t provide a loving home. He was a hard man who expected his grandsons to follow in his footsteps, which meant living one hundred percent for the Carmichael Corporation. Only terminal illness had pulled his grandfather away from the business.
“Maybe it’s time for a rest.” Lexie set the water on the over-table and fixed Oliver’s covers. “You’re past your afternoon nap.”
“I’ll have plenty of rest when I’m dead.” Oliver’s voice lost the vigor it carried before the attack.
She nodded, casting a look at Drake he supposed meant he should leave. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Then as quickly as she’d whisked into the room, she was gone.
Oliver sighed, his body settling into the bedding as if he were being deflated. “Drake, I’m dying. I’d like to spend my last days without drama every damn day. Go back to New York. Let me die here in peace.”
