by Amy Summers
Just Kiss Me
Carrington Cousins
Amy Summers
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Contents
Author’s Note
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
Epilogue
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Also by Amy Summers
The Carringtons Chronicles
About the Author
Preview of Just Trust Me
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Author’s Note
The Philadelphia Story
While You Were Sleeping
Gilmore Girls
Sleepless in Seattle
Sabrina
Did you love these shows and movies? Characters who say it just the way you feel it yourself? Situations that make you laugh out loud. Dialogue that makes you snicker. Things that make you sigh. Things that make you tear up, just a little.
These shows set a high standard that we all strive for. We’re offering our own versions in these books and we hope you enjoy the results!
Thanks for reading. Let us know what you think.
Chapter 1
“Guess what. I think Mom's having an affair."
Trish blinked, her heart doing a quick flip-flop, and then shook her head and laughed. "You crazy person," she chided her sister affectionately. She shifted the cell phone to her "talking" ear, hunching one shoulder to hold it in place, and continued shuffling order forms at the same time. "You must be thinking of someone else’s mother. Our mother doesn't have affairs. She's married to our father. Remember?"
“Yeah, which probably made her think it might be the perfect time to start dating.”
“Cute. Not our mom.”
She started separating pink slips from blue slips and letting the yellow copies flutter toward the wastebasket. She really couldn’t take her sister too seriously. She did tend to chase butterflies off cliffs. Extremes were her normal.
"Listen, Suzi, I'm really busy. The shop's been full of customers all day and I've got a rush order for personalized dinosaur stationery."
Suzi gave a tragic sigh. "Forget the pterodactyls. You’re not paying attention to the issue here. Mom’s got a new interest. I've seen the guy."
Trish sighed. When Suzi got this excited, it was best to let her get it out of her system before she did something rash. "Okay. Tell me all. But make it quick. I’m giving you forty-five seconds. Starting the clock right now, in fact."
Suzi took a bite of a very juicy apple and the crunching sound came across the telephone loud and clear, but that didn’t stop her from talking. "I hadn't seen Mom since she got back from her latest ski trip to Mammoth so I thought I'd stop by her apartment and say ‘hi’."
Her apartment—ouch! That made Trish wince.
Her mother and father had been separated for six months now, but she still couldn't quite believe it was true. The thought of that big old house without her mother, of her father wandering those memory-filled halls all alone.....it tore her heart out.
"So I rang the bell," Suzi continued, "And this man answered." She sighed heavily. "Trish, you wouldn't believe it. I mean, this guy was a hunk. I wish I could find someone this good-looking!"
Trish felt a sharp pain in her heart, but she suppressed it with a shrug. “Maybe she had a leak and she called a plumber.”
“Nope.”
Trish frowned. "Suzi, just because some man was visiting Mom's apartment—"
"'Visiting' is hardly the word for it. Trish." Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "Trish, he had his shirt off."
Trish blinked. Her attention was finally fully focused. She dropped the order forms and bit her lip. There had to be some explanation. "Maybe he... maybe he was, uh… inspecting for bugs...or..."
"Do those types usually take their shirts off at your place?"
"No," she admitted reluctantly, her fingers curling more tightly around the phone, her heart beating just a little faster. "But... what did he say?"
"He said 'hello there' and gave me one of those toothy macho grins to die for and reached for his shirt. Which was on the floor, by the way," she added significantly.
Trish made a face at the far wall. This didn't make sense. Her parents might be separated, but it was a temporary situation. It had to be. They were still definitely very married.
"Where was Mom?"
"Out. At least that was what he said." Suzi sighed. "He has this shaggy dark hair and these wide shoulders…."
Trish’s frown deepened. "I don't get it."
"I told you. She's having an affair."
"No!" Trish rejected that theory out of hand, her heart beating hard at the thought. Suzi’s theory was something she couldn’t accept.
"There's got to be some good explanation."
Suzi's voice took on a new, careful note and all apple chewing ceased. "Trish, I think we're going to have to face facts. Mom has left Dad. This time, she's not going back."
Trish's free hand went to her short, copper-tipped hair, the fingers spiking through it in a gesture of denial. "Don't be silly. Of course she'll go back. She just needs some time."
"Trish, it's been six months. She's never left for more than a few days before. This time it's for real."
"No," Trish said huskily. "No, Suzi, I can't believe that. They are so perfect together. The two of them--they're like two halves of one whole. They're incomplete without each other."
She had to swallow hard to get by the lump that was forming in her throat. "They belong together. It's...it's just not right for them to be apart."
For a moment neither one of them spoke. Trish took a deep breath. She was a big girl now, half way through her twenties, with her own life, her own business to run. She should be able to step aside and be objective about this whole thing.
But somehow she couldn't. The thought of her parents permanently apart shook something fundamental in her. She refused to accept the possibility.
"Trish," Suzi ventured at last. "It's their life. Or lives, I guess I should say. And we really have no right to interfere."
Trish closed her eyes, hurting. "You know what I think?" she said quickly to her sister. "I have a feeling things will change Saturday, at the Spring Regatta. I know they'll both be there." Her voice lightened as she let her dream materialize. "She'll wear something white and filmy and he'll see her across the lawn and start walking toward her."
"Maybe," Suzi said skeptically. "Let's just hope she doesn't bring this guy along. That might put a bit of a crimp in your cheery little scenario."
Trish had to steady herself before speaking again. "Tell me more about this man in Mom's apartment," she said, her voice firm once more, but only with effort.
"What's to tell? He was gorgeous. Not handsome in the classical sense, but sexy, you know? Good body, clean hair, laughing eyes, and a look of….oh, I don't know... kind of the wanderlust sort. Does that make any sense?"
"A worthless charmer."
Suzi laughed with delight. "You got it."
Trish's shoulders sagged. Was her mother really the sort to fall for that type? She would have bet against it. But when you came right down to it, what did she really know about what her moth
er fell for and what she didn’t?
She shook her head. “No, I just can't believe our mother would be having an affair with some stray…”
"Gorgeous,"
"No-account..."
"Hunky."
"Gigolo..."
"Young."
"Young?" Trish swallowed.
"Well, younger than she is."
"How much younger?"
"Mid-thirties."
"Well that proves it. She's—"
"A beautiful, very well-preserved and youthful thinking forty-nine-year-old woman. A woman of style and grace and intelligence who any man over the age of consent would be proud to have on his arm."
Trish's mouth felt very dry. "True," she whispered, dread flowing through her veins. "True."
"You see?" Suzi crunched the apple again. "And as for me, I say more power to her. It's her life."
But she's our mother.
Trish didn't say the words aloud. She was through arguing the point. Suzi didn't seem to understand just how important this was. It was pretty obvious she wasn’t ready to help fight the good fight. Trish was going to be on her own. She squared her shoulders.
"I'm going over there to find out what's going on for myself."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"But what about the pterodactyls?"
"They'll have to go into a holding pattern. I'll call you as soon as I get back."
She hung up the phone and sat still for a moment, gathering her emotional resources. Her cubbyhole of an office was her protected cave from the hustle and bustle of the shop. Order books and product samples spilled from every shelf in cheery disarray. Outside the door she could hear the low hum of voices.
Her shop, Paper Roses, was busy as usual. She'd opened her door two years before to almost instant success. Offering a unique selection of personalized stationery, cards and gift items, along with a staff of artists who decorated anything for a small fee, the shop had become popular with young girls and their mothers, as well. It was an after-school hangout of sorts, a place where mothers met to compare notes and sip a cup of herbal tea or gourmet coffee in the back of the store while their daughters roamed the aisles, oohing and aahing over new purchases, stickers, ribbons, ink pads and rubber stamps. Paper Roses was her life, and she loved it.
But she also loved her family. And she was ready to fight, if need be, to hold it together.
So, I guess it's time to circle the wagons, man the battle stations, call in the cavalry. But how can I do all that all alone? And without weapons?
Taking a deep breath, she said aloud, "And meanwhile, I'm elected to go out on patrol.” With a sigh, she rose and began to do just that.
Laura Carrington's new apartment was high above Destiny Bay’s Old Towne. Decorated in Nuevo-Mediterranean turquoises and pink against warm beige stucco, it looked very "now" and trendy. Everything that Trish's mother had never been until lately.
Trish hesitated when she saw that her mother's car was not in its accustomed spot in the parking area beneath the building. But that didn't necessarily mean that she wasn’t home. The car could be in the shop, or parked around the corner, or any of a number of possibilities. So she scuttled the momentary temptation to use that as an excuse to turn around and go home, steeled herself, and walked in past the still, blue pool, taking the stairs to the second floor.
Everything looked the same, felt the same, sounded the same. Nothing had changed. She began to relax. The whole thing was bound to turn out to be humbug. A sexy man in her mother's apartment! She grinned to herself, already enjoying how her mother would take the joke once she'd told her.
"That Suzi!" her mother would say. "What are we going to do with that girl? She needs her wavelength adjusted or something. Why is it she always sees everything catty-corner from the way the rest of us do?"
Still smiling, Trish rapped sharply on the turquoise door.
"Just a minute," came the reply from inside.
And the grin faded, because the voice was very masculine.
Trish held her breath, her pulse suddenly racing. It was true. There was a man in there where her mother ought to be. The door began to open and she stood very still, eyes wide.
He wasn't particularly tall, only about five inches taller than her five-foot-seven height, but there was a sense of male substance to him, maybe because of the mass of well-developed muscles the open shirt displayed. The shirt was sea green, setting off the tan skin of his chest. The light covering of hair was brown-black and concentrated around the dark nipples. His stone-washed jeans fit low on his hips, exposing his navel and the smooth ridges of muscle stretched taut across the curve of his pelvis. He was barefoot. And utterly gorgeous.
"Can I help you?"
The dark hair was too long and tipped here and there with sun streaks. The dark eyes were laughing as though she were doing something awfully amusing, and the set of his shoulders said, "Playboy!" loud and clear. In one hand was a silver spoon, in the other a pint carton of ice cream. Butter-brickle.
She stared at it. He bent down a bit to get his face back into her line of vision. "Can I help you?" he repeated.
Chapter 2
Confusion poured through Trish. For a fleeting second she understood why Suzi had escaped as quickly as possible. But she couldn't do that. She had to see this through. She met his gaze and frowned, partly with worry, partly just to counter that laughter in his eyes.
"I'm looking for Laura Carrington," she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "Is she here?"
He shook his head. "No. Sorry."
Trish hesitated, then tried to look around him into the apartment. "She does still live here?"
A sudden hope hit her. What if her mother had gone back home and hadn't wanted to tell anyone yet and she'd sublet her place to this…
"Yes, she still lives here," he said, dashing hopes, helter-skelter. "She's just out right now."
Trish gathered all her strength and tried to look fierce, glaring into his casual gaze. "Who, exactly, are you?" she asked.
He grinned and Trish saw right away what Suzi had been talking about. The grin was lopsided and endearing and he scared her all the more by looking so damn adorable.
"My name is Chris Dawson," he said. "I'm sort of a friend of your mother's."
Trish's head snapped up and she searched his eyes. He was smiling and friendly, but she had no intention of being the same. This was serious business as far as she was concerned.
"How did you know she was my mother?" she demanded. "I didn't say so."
"No," he admitted readily enough, seemingly amused by her attitude. "But she's got pictures of both daughters all over the place. I couldn't help but recognize you."
"Oh." All over the place? Trish's spirits sank even further. What was he doing "all over the place" in her mother's apartment?
The laughter had faded and he watched a bit uneasily as the various emotions chased themselves across her face. Apparently he hadn't expected the animosity she was exhibiting. When he glanced into the room, and then back out at her, it was evident to Trish that he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with her.
"Look," he said at last, "she should be back shortly. Do you want to come on in and wait for her?"
No. She wanted to run away as fast as she could—jump into bed and hide under the covers. She hated this.
But she swallowed and set her shoulders. She had to do what had to be done.
"Please," she said.
One masculine eyebrow rose at the tremor in her voice. She saw his reaction and steeled herself, brushing past him into the living room. The hysterical sounds of a game show came from the television. A bottle of beer sat on her mother's rosewood coffee table. She glared at it, a fierce warning against making rings.
The room was decorated in warm colors, but somehow it had the temporary feeling of a motel room. The only personal items Trish saw were the photographs of Laura Carrington's family that she had scattered everywhere--on the bookshe
lves, on the coffee table, hanging on the wall. There was a particularly engaging picture of Trish herself sitting near a window. Her face was tilted up toward the sun and she was laughing.
Trish remembered the occasion. It had been her father's birthday two years before. The whole family had taken the yacht to Catalina for the weekend. The happiness of those days could be seen in Trish's face. She hated to think of what a picture taken today would show.
The man who called himself Chris Dawson closed the door and came in behind her, hesitating only a moment before flopping down onto the couch. "Which one are you?" he asked lightly. "Trish or Suzi?"
She paced from one side of the room to the other. "Trish," she admitted shortly. She glared at him, feeling as though he was someone she had to fight. After all, someone had to defend the family.
"Nice to meet you, Trish."
She waited for some sort of explanation but none was forthcoming. He watched her, obviously knowing what she was after but unwilling to open himself to her just yet. Instead, he took a bite of the ice cream. "Want some?" he offered, gesturing with the spoon.
Trish could barely conceal her shudder. "No, thank you." She stood uncertainly. If only she had a better picture of just exactly what was going on here. She couldn't very well order him to leave, much as she wished she could.
She had to admit something, though. If you were someone who was going to have an affair, this man looked as though central casting might have sent him over for the part. Rough but elegant, sensual but intelligent, he was perfect for anyone who wanted to step inside a fantasy life.
