Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III
Page 1
Table of Contents
Windy City Romance
To my readers:
Windy City Romance
Licensing Information
FINDING SOUTHERN COMFORT
Finding Southern Comfort
Licensing Information
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
From the Author
HER FAVORITE MISTAKE
Her Favorite Mistake
Licensing Information
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
Epilogue
From the Author
HER FAVORITE HONEYMOON
Her Favorite Honeymoon
Copyright Information
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
Epilogue
From the Author
Playlist
HER FAVORITE HOT DOC
Her Favorite Hot Doc
Copyright Information
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
Epilogue
From the Author
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Coming Home to You
Windy City Romance
Boxed Set
Copyright © 2015 Barbara Lohr
All rights reserved.
ebook ISBN: 978-0-9908642-2-6
Purple Egret Press
Savannah, Georgia 31411
Cover Art: Carol Webb
To my readers:
Thank you for requesting this boxed set. The Windy City Romance novels are all stand alone stories that can be read in sequence or separately. The stories are developed from reader interest so join me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Barbaralohrauthor and visit my website to sign up for my newsletter! www.BarbaraLohrAuthor.com.
Windy City Romance
FINDING SOUTHERN COMFORT … Cameron Bennett and Harper Kirkpatrick are both desperate when she signs on as a nanny for his daughter, four year old Bella. But she can’t turn down the generous salary or the toddler with an eating disorder. Her feisty Chicago personality soon puts her at odds with the Savannah widower. And his TV personality girlfriend isn’t pleased to find Harper on the scene. Harper’s natural high spirits lead to high jinks. Cameron’s amused and then wildly attracted. Can the Windy City girl put the heart back in his home?
HER FAVORITE MISTAKE …When Vanessa Randall appears on a popular reality TV show, she isn’t prepared to see her Vegas Hunky Hottie from four years ago. Revenge can be sweet for Alex Compton, the Internet mogul. Soon he’s her mentor, helping ramp up the family business. She may need his help, but his high power tactics won’t crack the secret she holds close to her heart. Alex is the last man she wants back in her life. She ran out on him once. That won’t happen again.
HER FAVORITE HONEYMOON… The wedding might be off, but the honeymoon? No way will Amy Shaw give up a week in Tuscany. Travel Chums pairs her up with Mallory Thornton. But Amy expects a woman, not a jaded businessman fresh from a divorce. Her surprise troubles the man from Savannah and Alex strikes a gentleman’s pact with her. From Rapallo to Venice, a platonic tour? Fresh pesto, peach bellinis, and growing attraction bring outrageous fun and tempting decisions for the Windy City girl taking a romantic romp through Italy.
HER FAVORITE HOT DOC… One feisty midwife. One Hot Doc with a secret. One mission trip to Guatemala where there’s no place to hide. McKenna Kirkpatrick presents a challenge for the head of her department when she joins Montclair Specialty Hospital. Ranked a Chicago Hot Doc, Logan Castle has a reason for supporting established protocols while McKenna pushes the envelope. She also likes to push his buttons. Thrown together on a department revamp, Hot Doc soon discovers that McKenna generates her own heat but she puts him off. Can a mission trip to Central America resolve their differences... or end the romance for the Windy City girl?
Licensing Information
All Rights Reserved. This collection is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. No part of the collection may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems. With the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, this work may not be reproduced without written permission granted by the author
This collection is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places in the novels are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
FINDING SOUTHERN COMFORT
Windy City Romance
by BARBARA LOHR
Finding Southern Comfort
Copyright © 2014 Barbara Lohr
All rights reserved.
ebook ISBN: 978-0-9908642-0-2
Print ISBN: 978-0-9908642-1-9
Purple Egret Press
Savannah, Georgia 31411
Cover Art: The Killion Group
Editor: Nicole Zoltack
Licensing Information
All Rights Reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems. With the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, this work may not be reproduced without written permission granted by the author
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places in the boo
k are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
For
Gianna
Chapter 1
Harper Kirkpatrick shoved her Catwoman mask into place and rang the doorbell. Hard to look casual with a whip under her arm. A late evening breeze ruffled the Spanish moss overhead. Didn’t matter. She was sweating big time under the black spandex costume. Savannah in February was a lot warmer than Chicago.
An older woman answered the door. “Yes?”
“I’m the entertainment for the party.”
She stood aside. “Right this way, please. I’m Connie.”
The heels of Harper’s black boots clicked on the white marble floor as she followed Connie inside. Pink tulips drooped in a crystal vase on a long hall table. Harper sure hoped they were fake. Holding her breath, she scurried past.
Bypassing a parlor stuffed with antiques, Connie led her around the wide staircase where etchings of the Savannah squares hung above the wainscoting. She’d studied those squares as a design student and knew them well. A wide archway opened into a library and beyond that she glimpsed a dimly lit dining room with a long shiny table.
Pretty snazzy, as her mom would say. These sprawling southern mansions felt so elegant compared to the solid brick houses in Oak Park, the Chicago suburb where Harper grew up. Still, why was this house so quiet? Where were the birthday party decorations, the cake and the kids? The back of her neck prickled. In the three months she’d worked for Party Perfect, this was a first. Something wasn’t right.
The note from Rizzo was tucked under the spandex so she couldn’t check.
Good grief, had she goofed up again?
“Here you go, miss.” Connie yanked open a door under the staircase. Raucous male laughter shot up a narrow stairway.
“Thanks, Connie.” Harper reached for the handrail. These suckers looked steep. The door closed behind her, and she was left in the darkness. Maybe the children had brought their parents? She started down. Her wired tail flailed the steps, almost keeping time to the music.
“Keep ‘em in line,” Rizzo had told her with one of his sleazy grins.
Sure. Right. She’d thought he was talking about rambunctious first graders, not the howling group below.
A man waited at the foot of the stairs. The low lighting glinted off blond hair when he glanced at his Rolex. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, I had trouble finding the—”
“I’m Cameron Bennett and you’re thirty minutes late.”
Her cheeks stung. “I’m Harper Kirkpatrick and I said I was sorry.” She’d had trouble with the zippers. Probably not the time to share. His blue eyes iced her. Stumbling on the last step, Harper pitched forward.
“Good God.” He broke her fall with both hands.
“Sorry. So sorry.” Cripes. She pushed away from a chest that had seen a gym or two.
“You okay?” Cameron Bennett looked more annoyed than worried.
“I’m fine. It’s dark in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Squaring her shoulders, she peered into the room. “Where are the kids?”
“What kids?”
A chill shot down her spine. Guys with flushed faces lounged in leather chairs. The low-ceilinged room held a hint of Cuban cigars smoked long ago. Her lungs squeezed tight. She had rules and Rizzo had broken them.
But her rent was way past overdue.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Her arrival time of ten o’clock didn’t seem too crazy when Rizzo gave her the details. She’d worked a sleepover birthday party two weeks earlier for a bunch of cute second graders. She handed Baby Blues the CD Rizzo had given her. “My music.”
“Good, because you’re late.”
“You said that already.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. Anxiety chattered in her stomach.
“Cameron, ole buddy! Now, don’t keep that sweet thang all to yourself,” called out a guy who looked like a former lineman. He made a feeble attempt to stand before collapsing back in the club chair. They all roared. Felt like she’d stumbled into a locker room.
“Doesn’t look like a sweet thing to me,” said a guy with a pencil moustache. Her stomach flopped over.
“Gentleman—and we are gentlemen, in case some of you may have forgotten—y’all be on your best behavior now.” Baby Blues pushed her forward.
Show time. Harper stretched a smile across dry teeth.
They began to clap in a steady rhythm —like this was a rock concert and the main act was late. Holding the black whip tight against her chest, Harper shimmied through the closely packed tables. A hip here, a hip there. Open bottles sporting expensive gold labels gleamed on the tables. Definitely not a beer crowd and they weren’t on their first drink. A banner hung over the long bar. “Congratulations, Beau! Another Man Down!”
A blasted bachelor party. Her steps faltered. Grabby lap dances and straying hands. She needed chain mail, not spandex. Harper tightened her hold on the whip. She’d like to wind it around Rizzo’s neck. Beau must be the one grinning at the end of the bar, a ball and chain cuffing one ankle and a mourning band on his arm. Head down, he looked close to passed out. Still, he shot her a sweet, wobbly smile.
She threw back her head. No going back now. Not unless she wanted to be out on the street. Swinging her hips, she smiled her way to the bar. When one heel caught in the berber carpet, she caught herself and glanced back. Leaning against the wall, Baby Blues raised his eyebrows.
Fine. She’d show him.
How? This wasn’t exactly a hokey pokey group. That much she knew.
Breathe. Breathe. Just one foot in front of the other.
When she reached the bar, two men hoisted her up. Planting her feet wide, she nodded to Baby Blues. Sweat tickled along her hairline under the spandex hood. He pressed a button on the sound system.
“What’s New Pussycat” blasted, and she shrank. Really, Rizzo?
The guys loved it.
“Come on, Sugga!”
“Dance for us, you pretty thang.”
Her chin came up. What would McKenna do? Time to channel her older sister back in Chicago. This was just a group of southern boys goofy with booze. Drunk, but harmless. Harper began to strut. Keeping her balance was tricky. Wings, pretzels, and pork ribs sat in bowls along the bar.
“Dance for us, darlin’.”
“Yeah, give us a show!”
Her stomach plummeted into her boots. Maybe a few kicks. Bright smile. Hands on hips. Toes to the ceiling, as Mrs. VanderPool, their cheerleading coach used to say.
The bouncing sure didn’t help her breathing. So hard to keep her eye on everything. She froze when her right foot connected with a bowl of pretzels that sailed through the air like a missile. Baby Blues jerked when the snacks took out some shiny statues on a shelf. Pretzels flew and awards crashed to the floor.
A roar went up. Baby Blues closed his eyes. Harper kept kicking.
“That’s okay, sugga.” Propping his head up, Beau threw her a goofy grin.
She smiled back. Piece of cake.
But boy, it was hot in here. With every bump and grind, the spandex tugged on her skin. Were the black whiskers melting off her face?
When Baby Blues turned down the lights, it threw her off. Then he hit her with a spotlight. This was getting serious.
A pleased rumble rolled through the room.
“Whatcha got on under there?” A meaty hand slapped onto her calf.
“Play nice, now.” She tapped his head with the fluffy end of her tail. The guy looked like he could play for the Chicago Black Hawks but he pulled back with an embarrassed smile. Harper’s confidence grew. Mother of mercy, maybe this would be better than waitressing. At least she wouldn’t get carpal tunnel. Maybe she’d be able to keep a roof over her head after all.
With renewed confidence, she threw herself into the rhythm. The
guys clapped. Yeah, this was more like it. She kicked. She strutted. She smiled.
Then they started to chant, “Take it off! Take it off!”
Holy moly. Really?
Just… bump … shoot … bump … me … bump … now. She pictured the horrified look on Sister Gabrielle’s face. Her sweet fifth grade teacher often sent her to the office with messages for the principal.
“You’re so dependable, Harper,” Sister Gabrielle had told her. “Such potential.”
If Sister Gabrielle could see her now.
The room closed in around her.
But she wasn’t going down. Not like this.
Her airway felt like two thumbs were jammed against it. Harper just couldn’t do the fainting thing again. She could hurt herself falling from up here but these boys wanted something. With a quick jerk, she yanked back the hood. Her hair fell to her shoulders. Chin up, she threw her head up and sucked in a deep breath. What a relief.
Applause ruptured the close, warm air. Baby Blues was fooling around with the thermostat. Wheeling around, he saw her and settled back against the dark paneling. Cool air blasted her from a vent right above. She drank it in.
“More! Give us more!”
“We want more, Pussycat!”
Pussycat? Didn’t ... bump … they … bump … recognize … bump … Catwoman?
Now, if this were a children’s birthday party, they’d know. Kids loved all the super heroes—Catwoman, Batman, the Hulk, and Iron Man. She’d worn those costumes for recent gigs, and the children loved it. The parties had been fun and she’d made good money.
Six year olds never expected her to take off anything.
The chubby guy with bleary eyes staggered to his feet and began to jiggle his hips. Not a pretty sight but he was having fun. She smiled at him and his friends wrestled him back into the chair. “Bubba, no. You’re going to break something again.”
Bubba sank back into the chair. The men cheered. Bubba smiled. And Tom Jones wouldn’t quit. Up on the bar, breathing became a marathon event.
She never had to dance for the kids, just sing and clap. This group had definitely come for a show. Prancing along the bar, she tossed the whip lightly from one side to the other. Hands reached for the leather strips.