Windy City Romance: Boxed Set: Prequel - Book III

by Barbara Lohr

  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 book 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 Kelly and Shannon

  May you have many adventures.

  Chapter 1

  The locker room reeked of teenage boys and wet towels. Amy’s footsteps echoed on the white tile floor. Jason’s office was just ahead, past the last row of metal lockers. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the online special she’d scored for a luxury hotel in Venice. What a coup. Just thinking about their Tuscany honeymoon gave her shivers.

  Jason always stayed late after football practice, mapping out new plays. Only three weeks until school started, right after they’d return from their honeymoon. Excitement revved up her pulse.

  Amy popped her head in the door of Jason’s office. Looked like a bomb had exploded. The light from the desk lamp revealed scattered papers and discarded workout clothes, along with a spilled can of pop and some cheese curls. After snapping off the light—Glenn, their principal, always asked them to conserve energy—she rushed past.

  Poor guy. Wasn’t easy to teach history and coach football too. Back in the shower room, water was running. Clouds of warm steam beaded the walls and coated her skin. Reminded her of one of those sexy movies. Swiping the claw clip from her hair, she shook it out, smiling as caramel curls bounced over her shoulders. She was scheduled for a cut and blonde highlights before the wedding.

  Listening to the rush of water, she could picture her future husband standing under the hot stream.

  Husband. She liked it.

  Another sound caught her attention. Amy’s sandals skidded on the damp floor and she grabbed an open locker, the metal biting into her palm. Pressing a hand against a heart gone wild, she listened. Through the splash of the water, she heard deep, satisfied groans.

  “Jason?” She rounded the corner. “Jason!”

  Through the billowing steam, she could see them clearly—Greta Hanson, the phys ed teacher, and Jason, bodies slick and their position pretty creative. He’d never suggested it with her, that's for sure.

  “Amy!” Jason’s eyes widened.

  With a tricky twist used by her cheerleaders, Greta flipped her head up, blonde hair fanning onto her shoulders. Usually, the queen of the Physical Education Department wore a blue warm-up suit as she moved through the hallways with long, sexy strides.

  The track suit didn’t do her justice.

  Amy froze. Was her heart still beating?

  Looking annoyed, Greta straightened and zipped past Amy, head high. The shower room was unbearably warm and Amy couldn’t catch her breath. Maybe she’d never breathe again.

  Jason turned off the water, pipes squealing in protest. Skimming one hand over his wet hair, he smiled. “Hey, babe, I can explain.”

  “No, I don't think you can.” Backing out, she groped the wall. Was the moisture on her face steam or tears?

  “Amy, this is not what you think, trust me.”

  “I’m not blind, Jason.” Turning, she stumbled toward the door, banging her knee on a bench. She kept going.

  “Amy, hold on!”

  When she pushed the metal doors open, she was blinded by the bright sunlight. Swiping at her eyes, she veered toward her Toyota, tore open the door, and flung herself into the hot interior. Somehow she made it home.

  But their apartment felt like a lie. Wedding gifts piled in the living room. Lists trailing from the refrigerator. Her wedding gown hanging in the guest room closet. The long organza skirt, bell-shaped sleeves and delicately beaded bodice had been her life-long dream.

  Two months of her teaching salary and she’d never wear it.

  Sinking into the desk chair, Amy caught sight of herself in the mirror and whimpered. Hair straggled to her shoulders, and her bloodshot eyes looked like she’d been crying for days. She was a hot mess. The wedding had to be canceled…and the honeymoon too. Rapallo, Florence and Venice—she’d never see them.

  Damn it. A hiccup shook her.

  St. Basil’s Church, the Stone Cold band, Elks Lodge, Missy’s Fine Catering—they all had to be notified. And what would her mother and Aunt Em say? Good grief, she needed help. Fumbling through her black tote, she grabbed her cell phone and called her younger sister. “Caitlin, the wedding’s off.”

  “What did you say? Why?”

  “Don’t feel bad. Really, it’s for the best.”

  “Thank God.” Her sister sighed.

  “What?”

  “He was never good enough for you.”

  The sharp intake of air stung Amy’s throat, raw from crying. “When were you going to tell me?”

  “You seemed so happy.” Caitlin hesitated. “I’m glad you snapped out of it before you tied yourself to that dead weight, as in ‘till death do us part.”

  “Not like I had a choice, Cait.” She described the ugly scene in the shower room.

  “Greta? You mean that horsey-looking phys ed teacher?”

  “That would be the one. Trust me, without clothes, not so horsey.”

  “What about the honeymoon?”

  “I'll never… get my… money back,” Amy moaned through her hiccups.

  “Go anyway. Have a great time.”

  “Right. Alone. What fun would that be?”

  “Wish I could go, but the shop’s so busy. End of summer sales and all.” Amy could almost hear the wheels turning in her sister’s head.

  “Don’t even think about it.” One week of her sister’s pity? Rather stick a pin in her eye.

  “Listen, I've heard about this website called Travel Chums. It matches you up for trips if you’re solo.”

  Amy snorted. “Who could leave in two weeks?”

  “Maybe another teacher who wants a final fling before she hits the books again?”

  A woman who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t know how stupid I’ve been. “What if we don't get along?”

  “Two women who like art museums? Put that in your profile. You can’t miss. Of course you’ll get along.”

  Of the two of them, Caitlin was the feisty sister—the one who didn’t know what to do after graduation so she opened her own T-shirt shop. Everything always worked out for Caitlin. Amy had to plan and schedule to make life happen. She was the teacher who had her grades in the day before they were due.

  So damn depressing.

  She expelled a long breath. “Mom and Aunt Em will be so disappointed. Those expensive new dresses they bought for the wedding? I can’t face them.”

  “I’ll take care of everything. Work on your trip. Travel Chums,” Caitlin threw out again before hanging up.

  One clean sweep of her arm and Jason’s sport magazines toppled off the desk. Amy grabbed her laptop. When the latch wouldn’t open, she nearly threw it across the room. Instead, she dropped her head into her hands and sobbed until all she had left was a thin string of hiccups.

  How could this have happened?

  ~.~

  “Travel Chums?” Mallory Thornton stared at the computer screen. Was this his cousin’s idea of a joke? The conference room of the Oglethorpe Club echoed with the clicking of Chad’s mouse. Almost midnight. The two cousins might be the only people left in the private club.

  Chad rocked back in his chair, and his devilish smile didn’t bode well. “Heard a client talking about this site. Had a great time with a woman who was a history professor. Might get you out of your slump—a bright, intelligent woman wh
o knows how to have fun.”

  “You really know how to hurt a guy.”

  Glancing at Mallory over one shoulder, Chad frowned. “It’s been eight months since the divorce. All you do is work. That’s no life.”

  Chad might have a point.

  A woman stared back at Mallory from the screen, darkish hair yanked into a tight knot. Granny glasses perched on her nose. Not much to look at except for her shy smile.

  He took another sip of his Maker’s Mark. “So it's come to this?”

  “Afraid so.” Chad scrolled through the bio. “We could check out dating sites, but that doesn’t seem to be the problem. You could have a date every night right here in Savannah.”

  Mallory groaned. “My word, every woman in the city wants an escort for some gala.”

  “So they say. What they really want is you, my man. Word’s out about your divorce, and the hunt is on. A trip to someplace new with a woman you don’t know might be just the thing to fire your engines. Someone who doesn’t know Thornton Enterprises.”

  “Well, not that woman.” Mallory jabbed a finger at the screen.

  “Fine.” One click and she was gone. Chad hopped onto another site. “But after Rhonda Reynolds, I’ll do the choosing. Just for this trip, anyway.”

  Following their weekly game of cards at the Oglethorpe Club, they’d stopped in one of the conference rooms. Chad liked to review daily figures from his import auto business. Instead, he’d gone on this site, an online service that matched up traveling singles. Mallory had to get his mind around that absurd idea.

  As Chad continued clicking on websites for single travelers, exotic scenes faded in and out on the screen. White sand beaches stretching for miles. Stone castles perched on soaring cliffs. Art treasures housed in architectural wonders. Something stirred inside. Maybe he’d eaten one too many deep-fried hush puppies.

  “Might be good to get away.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Good God, he was tired of being fresh meat on the Savannah social scene. And after Hurricane Rhonda, as his cousin called Mallory’s ex-wife, he didn’t trust his judgment.

  One more click of that damn mouse and Chad had flipped back to the original site. Travel Chums?

  So it had come to this?

  “Most men would kill for what you have. You’ve got the world on a string.”

  “What kind of string would that be?” A string of polo ponies like the ones Mallory kept at a Kentucky horse farm? Or maybe a string of lights on a Christmas tree, when he was a guest at other people’s homes?

  “Who knows? We may even find a wife for you.” Chad’s smile broadened. “Consider the trip your honeymoon.”

  His cousin was an expert at meddling in Mallory’s life.

  “That’s crazy.” But he might need crazy to avoid the binding clause of his father’s will. The future wasn’t looking good if he remained a bachelor.

  “Be married by thirty–five or lose control of Thornton Enterprises. My dear Uncle Owen made that clear in his will.” Chad’s tone told him what he thought of the clause.

  “My lawyers are working on having that nullified.”

  “Good luck with that. The will is ironclad.”

  “The board too. My word, they are on my tail like a pack of hounds. We had a rather heated discussion last week about the future direction of the company. Bunch of old codgers who should have retired long ago.”

  “Didn’t most of them come on the board when the corporation was originally formed?”

  “Exactly. My fault for not finessing some replacements. Most of them are two days older than water and may feel they are protecting my father’s interests. They suggested diversification. Purely a whim. Don’t I have enough to do, flying from Bangkok to Milan for showroom openings?”

  One click and Chad was back to the woman with the fierce scowl. “In a few months you’ll be thirty-five.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” Mallory rattled the ice cubes in his glass. Stripping off his pink silk tie, he stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “Not like I haven’t tried. My eleven-month marriage to Rhonda was hardly a resounding success.”

  Chad snorted. “Good God, man. You approached your marriage like a damn business merger. Only time I saw you smile was at the bachelor party. Could be why she took up with her personal trainer.”

  “Hope Raoul has a wallet full of credit cards.”

  “Impossible to match yours.” Chad’s smile tweaked upward. “Credit cards, that is.”

  “I’d like to think a woman wants me for more than my gold cards.” Only took a few months to realize the marriage was a mistake. Mallory began to spend most of his time with his lawyers, putting together an exit package for his bride. Hardly the behavior of a newly-wed. He didn’t mind Rhonda’s shopping sprees, but her affair? Snatched the last sprig of spearmint from his mint julep.

  He stared into his empty glass. “She seemed so right. Vice president of a bank. Attractive. Known in the area. Made perfect sense.”

  “Aren’t we missing something? Like love?”

  “Didn’t she remind you of my mother?”

  “Blonde. Any resemblance ends there.”

  Mallory’s right eye started to twitch. If his mother hadn’t died three years ago, she would have seen right through Rhonda Reynolds. “Don’t know if we ever really loved each other.”

  “The way to a woman’s heart sometimes might be our assets, my man. A sad truth.” Chad had experienced his own fair share of disappointments.

  Flat out annoyed Mallory that women might only be attracted to his credit cards and home in Majorca, which Rhonda now owned. He perched on the edge of the desk. “She lied to me, Chad. Rhonda Reynolds wasn’t even her real name.”

  “Lucy Fairchuck.” Chad shook his head as he considered the profile on the screen. “Time to put that behind us. You have to get back in the game. And if the game helps secure your position at Thornton Enterprises, well, saints be praised, my man. Don’t know what the board would do without you anyway, Mallory.”

  “Did you read the fine print in the will? Thornton Enterprises must remain in the family. Living heirs are at a premium. My father’s side has none.”

  Chad slumped. “I do not need another company. I need a happy cousin.”

  Following his father’s sudden death, Mallory had become the Interim CEO of Thornton Enterprises. And how he did despise the “interim” part. The will had been a shock but not a total surprise. Even beyond the grave, Owen Thornton held his son’s feet to the fire. Mallory had to marry and produce an heir. The rush to comply had precipitated his disastrous marriage. His life was turning into a mess of cold grits. A trip away sounded better by the minute. Traveling with a stranger? Might be highly entertaining.

  Drawing a deep breath, Mallory glanced back at the screen. “Why her?”

  “Doesn't a woman's profession indicate her character?” Chad shot him a sly glance. “Remember math and Miss Sandusky?”

  A bolt of middle school lust jolted through Mallory's body. “Miss Sandusky, as I live and breathe.” When the shapely teacher wrote math problems on the board, her ponytail swayed along with her body. Every boy in the class got an immediate hard on. For Chad and Mallory, there were tutoring sessions and the scent of her Charlie perfume. Never smelled the same on girls their own age.

  “She saved my sorry ass, and yours too,” Chad pointed out.

  “Most certainly did.” Miss Sandusky believed in Mallory long after his father had thrown in the towel.

  “This woman on Travel Chums is a school teacher. Says so right here.”

  Mallory leaned closer. “Museum Aficionado? What the hell is that?”

  “You’re no stranger to the New York Metropolitan Museum or the Louvre in Paris.”

  Mallory exhaled. Miriam, his executive assistant, sent both art organizations checks to make up for his absence at their fundraisers. He began to read. The twenty-seven year old English teacher lived in Chicago. Fine, upstanding Midwest stock. “Why is she looking for a man to tr
avel with?”

  Chad shrugged. “Maybe none of her friends wanted to take this particular trip, or maybe she won it as a prize. Probably the adventurous type.”

  “Not exactly a knockout.” Was her tentative smile real, as if she wasn’t quite sure about this? He knew the feeling. Straightening, he slammed his empty glass on the leather topped desk. “Consider it done. I’ll behave myself. After all, I am a southern gentleman. Twin beds.”

  Heated towels, crisp linens, breakfast trays.

  “You have to travel together.” Chad’s eyes issued a challenge.

  Suspicion tugged at him. “Sounds like a wager. Want to sweeten the pot?” He did so enjoy a wager with his dear cousin.

  Their eyes locked. Mallory sensed Chad’s dilemma. What could Mallory Thornton possibly want that he didn’t already have?

  Chad’s furrowed brow smoothed. “The custom BMW that arrived in my showroom last week.”

  Mallory had seen the car, all right. With subtle silver detailing, the dark gray car spoke of understated elegance. He’d considered having Chad set it aside for him. Win it? Sweet. The woman looked harmless enough. He’d make sure she had a good time. After Rhonda, he could go for dull as Aunt Delilah’s dishwater. “Done.”

  His cousin swiveled back into action. “Excellent. I’ll take care of filling out your profile. No photo. You don’t want some shallow woman who’s only interested in looks. I’ll handle the details and forward any messages from her to you, or vice versa.” He’d never seen Chad’s fingers fly so fast.

  “You know I’m Internet-challenged.” Computers were a waste of time, in Mallory’s book. He liked being in the thick of things, making calls, finessing deals—not hunched over a desk, pounding on a keyboard. “Miriam handles my emails.”

  “Only Mallory Thornton would have his executive assistant read his emails. Now, some ground rules—no using your own name or throwing gold cards around. And you have to finish up the week together.”

  “Fine.” This was sounding more and more like some crazy romantic comedy, the kind of movie he never watched. But wasn’t traveling balm for the sorry soul? Drawing in a deep breath, he nearly choked on the smell of vintage books and old money. Change of scene might revive him. A teacher should make a good tour guide.