When I Fall in Love (Contemporary Romance) Book 1 (Blue Lake Series)

by Kristin Miller

  She turned, and embraced her friend in a tight hug. “Rachael!”

  “You came! Where’s the hunk you were dragging around today?”

  “Shh,” April said. “Cool it before someone hears you and gets the wrong idea.”

  “When you stopped by the inn you said he was waiting for you out front. I sort of assumed that meant he’d be bringing you here tonight.”

  “He’s going home.” She searched the tables for Grams. “It’s better this way.”

  Rachael stuck out her hip and gave April her classic yeah right smile. “You better practice that speech if you want someone to believe it.”

  April rolled her eyes and took a few steps closer to the bar. “Have you seen my mom?”

  “No, I think she’s still inside.”

  The wine would have to wait.

  Once through the doors of the main building, it took April two whole seconds to spot her mother. They were about the same size with the same color hair and the same pale skin, only tonight her mom was dressed in an off-white satin dress with a beaded train attached to the back.

  “Mom,” April said, catching her breath. “Look at you. You’re lovely.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Her mother enveloped her in a warm hug. “You’re here,” she said, her voice revealing the smile that April couldn’t see. “You’re all here. Now everything’s perfect.”

  “Where’s dad?”

  She shooed her hand in front of her face. “Last I saw he was getting a whiskey from the bar. Have you seen your grandmother?”

  “No, actually,” April said.

  And she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it.

  “Wait until you see what she’s wearing.” Her mother took her by the hand. “She’s—oh, God, there she is. Look.”

  April spun, and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. While everyone else was wearing black, white, or a light shade of blue, Grams was wearing bright, shimmering gold. As in, Elvis gold. The dress dipped in front—not low enough to reveal anything, thank God—and the bottom dragged the floor, covering her feet. Her dyed-dark hair was pulled into a 60’s style beehive and she was wearing enough gold jewelry to make Snoop Dogg give her the nod of doggy-dog approval.

  “She looks…” How best to put it? “…dressed for the Oscars.”

  “No, April,” her mom said, embracing her shoulder, “she looks like the Oscar itself.”

  She was right on the money.

  “April!” Grams said, sashaying to their sides. “So good to see you dear. How do I look?”

  “Show stopping, Grams. Absolutely show stopping.”

  Grams smiled ear to ear as April dragged her into a hug. Her grandma was probably losing her mind, along with her fashion sense, but she was one April’s favorite people. If only she would butt out of her love life…

  “Where’s your date, honey?” Grams looked over her shoulder, searching the crowd. “Where’s Rick? I want to give that cutie-patootie a hug.”

  Crunch time.

  “Grams, I have to tell you something...” She swallowed hard as her grandma’s expression fell. How could she break such a heart of gold that was, um, covered in gold? “…Rick isn’t coming.”

  Her uni-brow formed a serious V. Mom backed away as if Grams was going to throw down. “What do you mean he’s not coming. Why the heavens not?”

  “Because she’s asked me to be her date instead,” Mason said from behind her.

  April’s heart danced as she laid eyes on Mason dressed in a black suit and tie. He held three white roses and extended one to each of the Cassidy women.

  Oh, he was smooth.

  And she was totally intrigued.

  “I’m Constance Cassidy,” Grams said, extending her hand for Mason to kiss the back.

  Smiling, he planted a light kiss on her knuckles and handed her one of the roses. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mason Henry. Congratulations, Mrs. Cassidy,” he said, handing a rose to April’s mother. “This one’s for you.”

  “Well aren’t you sweet?” She winked at April as she said, “You can call me Joyce.”

  “Great to meet you both.”

  He handed April the third rose. “Do you think I could talk to for a second?”

  “The ceremony’s about to start.” She paused. “Can you wait until after, or do you have to go?”

  “Of course he’ll wait.” Grams shoved her arm through his. “In the meantime, I’ve got a job for you, sweetheart,” she said, patting his hand. “You’re going to escort the prettiest lady in this place to her seat.”

  April and her mom laughed, shaking their heads as the ceremony started and a glittering Grams was shown to her seat by a hunky out-of-towner.

  ***

  Mason waited until the ceremony was over and April finished with her daughterly duties before approaching her.

  “How about that dance?” he asked, palming the small of her back.

  She didn’t even flinch from his touch. Instead, she seemed to warm and melt against him. “One dance won’t hurt.”

  He led her to the dance floor as Sugarland’s “Stay” blared over the DJ’s sound system. Wrapping his arms around her waist felt so right that Mason almost forgot he’d met April five days ago. It felt like he’d known her forever. He tugged her tightly against him and spun her in slow circles, amidst her dancing friends and family.

  “Why’d you come back,” she said, nuzzling against him. “You should be on your way down the mountain by now.”

  “I reserved another week at the B&B.”

  “You did?” She pulled back to look at him. “Why? Did the magazine extend your deadline to get the right shot?”

  “No,” he said, twirling her around. She giggled, and then effortlessly fell back into his rhythm. “I told them I had to get approval before sending the shot I really want to use.”

  “Approval?”

  “Yours. Come on, I’ll show you.” Taking her by the hand, Mason guided her to his seat, where he’d set his iPad. He cued up the shots he’d taken this afternoon, and handed it over. “I want to use this one of you at the river.”

  She shook her head as her gaze raked over the picture. “It’s beautiful…I can’t believe that’s me.”

  “I can. That’s what I see when I look at you.”

  It was the shot when she’d glanced over her shoulder at him, the wind toying with her hair and dress. The light had caught her hair and the soft angles of her face perfectly, giving her an angelic appearance. He didn’t have to edit the picture one pixel. It was perfect. Possibly as perfect as the subject.

  “So what do you think?” he asked. “Can I use it?”

  Her dark eyes went wild. “In the magazine? No, I don’t think so. I’m not magazine material.”

  “Sure you are.” Gently, he took the iPad from her and set it down on the table. He glanced around at all the people around them, watching. “Do you think we could go somewhere private and talk?”

  “Grab your camera,” she said, nodding. “You’ll want it where we’re going.”

  She led him around the main building, and through the vineyard on a narrow dirt path that smelled like a luxurious combination of sweet and sour grapes. The trail opened up into a beautiful vista point of the entire valley below. The music from the reception could barely be heard thumping in the distance.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” He took his camera out of his bag, sat on the grassy hillside, knees to his chest, and started clicking. “The light is perfect. Look at the pinks and oranges smudging over the horizon. It’s like someone painted the sky.”

  “See that area down there,” April said, sitting next to him. “Lucy is going to make this entire space part of an amphitheater to attract music acts to the area. We’re sitting where the nosebleeds would be, and down there, where the land gets flat,”—she pointed over his shoulder, brushing him—“would be the front row seating. She’s designing a huge stage to go over there. All of this should be ready next year. Cool, right?”
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  He turned to look at her. She was so close. Kissable close. She didn’t move.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

  Her breath hitched softly. “I won’t stop you.”

  His lips brushed hers in the gentlest of kisses. It was a whisper, a promise. She pulled back, grazed her nose against his, and stared deep into his eyes.

  “You can use the picture if you want,” she said, and seemed to have as much trouble catching her breath as he did. “But I want a copy personally delivered to the café. Signed.”

  “I have a secret,” he whispered against her lips. “That’s not really why I came back. I returned for you.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed. “How long are you staying?”

  “That depends,” he said, kissing her again.

  This time, the kiss was more than a whisper. It tasted like desire, a spark that traveled through him, lighting his blood on fire. His lips pushed hers apart, and when she whimpered into his mouth, he slid his tongue inside. She tasted like champagne and chocolate, of happiness and a wild afternoon spent by the river. She tasted like home, as real and true as any place he’d ever lived and loved. As he started to pull back, she coiled her hands around his neck and lightly raked her nails through the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “Stay,” she said, keeping him close.

  “Does that mean I can take you out tomorrow night?” He held her hand, and then placed it over her heart. “Because I’d really like that.”

  “I would too.” Her lips quirked. “As long as I can fight off my Grams. She’s really taken a liking to you.”

  “What can I say?” He stretched out on his back and crossed his hands behind his head. “I’m kind of a hit with the ladies.”

  She lay next to him, propped up on her elbow.

  “How many ladies?” she asked jokingly. “Exactly how many will I be fighting off for your attention?”

  “None.” He rolled so that he was flush against her, and tunneled his fingers through her waterfall of black hair. He took a mental picture of this moment, of the woman of his dreams lying beside him, her body warm and her face aglow. “There’s no one but you.”

  As she smiled and nuzzled against him, Mason got the feeling there’d be no one but April for years. A lifetime, maybe. But for now, they’d take it one step at a time.

  “I know the feeling,” she whispered. “I finally know the feeling.”

  Continue reading for a sneak peek at the next Blue Lake series full-length novel, featuring innkeeper Rachael McCoy and rock star Cole Turner.

  Historical inn owner Rachael McCoy has one simple rule: Don’t date guests. Ever.

  After having her heart broken by a string of sweet-talking visitors, Rachael has learned her lesson. But when dangerously sexy rock star Cole Turner rolls into town and rents every room in her hotel, she starts to rethink her rule. Cole’s a rumored playboy with a sordid past, yet his touch is sinfully sweet…

  Rock star and self-proclaimed sex god Cole Turner lives by a simple decree: There are no rules in love or rock and roll.

  One week after botching his performance in Houston, Cole needs a quiet place to regain focus. All he wants to do is lay low and nail his two-concert show outside of Blue Lake, though a hot and heavy fling with the seductive innkeeper wouldn’t hurt. But the stubborn little vixen denies his advances, and the more he gets to know her, the more he’s determined to make her his.

  As desire flames into something more intense, will the two unlikely lovers be able to bridge a gap to happy ever after?

  BUY NOW FROM AMAZON

  CRAZY IN LOVE

  Chapter One

  Rachael McCoy had never rented the entire Blue Lake Historical Inn to a single person before. But a rock star like Cole Turner had never come to town, either.

  He was playing at StoneMill Winery Friday and Saturday night, from what she’d heard. She’d also heard he was voted “Rock Vocalist of the Year”, but hadn’t written a single song since he signed his first music contract. He was more of an entertainer than a musician, really—a music industry puppet with a pretty face and a hot body—and willing to sing anything for the right amount of money.

  At least that’s what the Google article said.

  If it was true, she couldn’t fault the guy. After all, the only reason she agreed to leave all the rooms in the inn vacant for the next four days was because he’d offered to pay a hefty sum of cash in exchange for privacy. She was in the middle of a massive inn expansion—the out-building to the east would soon have a few rooms with a separate living room and small kitchen. By letting Mr. Turner rent out the inn, she was making four times as much as she would’ve if the rooms were full of regular paying tenants.

  She stopped vacuuming the throw rug in the main living space and checked the clock.

  Five on the nose.

  Mr. Turner wasn’t scheduled to show up until eight, which gave Rachael plenty of time to stock up the fridge and make sure the rooms were still in order. She drove to SawMill Market just before dark, and picked up some basics that’d make a few solid meals.

  Cole Turner was on everyone’s lips.

  He’s staying at the inn for the next four days, and then driving to Lake Tahoe for a mid-week show at Harrah’s. Will he have extra tickets to the show? Will he be bringing his manager…I hear she’s a woman, a real looker.

  Refusing to get caught up in the gossip, Rachael rushed through the register, loaded up the back of her Rav4, and drove to the inn. She pulled into a tiny driveway on the side and parked near the back door. After she unloaded the groceries, she kicked the door shut, and paused…listening.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Suddenly, the upstairs shower faucet squeaked and water flushed through the pipes.

  The inn was not unfamiliar with light paranormal activity from time to time. No one had ever seen a ghost, but they rattled pipes, tweaked picture frames, and shook beds. This was different. There was a lingering scent on the air—saffron, cedar wood, and something heady—and a leather jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

  Someone was in the house.

  She’d locked up before she went to the store, and Mr. Turner’s manager said he’d call when they were getting close to Blue Lake. No calls. Doors still locked, the way she’d left them.

  Chills gathered at the nape of her neck. Yanking open the cabinet drawer, Rachael grabbed the biggest knife she could find, and gripped it tight.

  “Hello?” she called. “Hellloooo!”

  Footsteps overhead.

  Couldn’t be a thief. Thieves didn’t pass up televisions and radios to shower. Was it a bum? Some drunk on his way home from the brewery who broke into the wrong house?

  It had to be Mr. Turner. He must’ve arrived early. Looking out the front windows, she scanned the drive and sidewalk. No cars. No entourage. No groupies. Didn’t they still follow rock stars around?

  Even though the logical part of her thought Mr. Turner was upstairs, she’d seen enough horror movies to know that under no circumstances should she go check. Being hacked to pieces didn’t sound appealing.

  As she dug around in her purse for her phone, footsteps pounded overhead.

  “Holy fuck!” a man screamed from upstairs. “Cold! It’s fucking ice—cold!”

  Out of instinct, she ran to the first landing and yelled, “You have to let it warm up first!”

  More cursing blared from the direction of the bathroom.

  “Hello?” she called. “Excuse me!”

  “Coldcoldcoldcold.” Someone hopped around over the tile. “What the hell kind of place is this? Rita didn’t say shit about cold showers.”

  Definitely not a thief.

  She trudged up the stairs and stopped when she reached the top.

  “I’m going to kill her!” he hollered.

  Murderer, then.

  “Who’s there?” Her hands slickened with sweat and when she turned the corner into the hallway, the knife slipped from her fingers
. She bent to pick it up, and when she stood upright, a man stood in the middle of the hallway…buck freaking naked. She gasped, averting her gaze, but she’d already seen enough. Rock hard body. Golden skin dripping wet. Hung like a horse.

  Wouldn’t get that sight out of her head for a while.

  “Rachael, I presume?” he said.

  She nodded, shielding her eyes from his manhood. “And you are?”

  “Not here to hurt you. You can put away the knife.”

  Wasn’t that what every killer would say to disarm a woman? She held it up, just in case.

  “Listen,” he said, covering his junk with his hands. “I’ve got a lot of flesh showing and you’re wielding a knife around. Those two don’t mesh. Why don’t you put that away so we can introduce ourselves properly? I’m Cole Turner, your guest for the next few days. I believe you were expecting me.”

  The worry in her mind eased, but her body remained tight. On high alert. “Rachael McCoy.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He held out his hand, exposing himself.

  She yelped, covering her eyes once more. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door.”

  “Robes are for women.”

  She pinched her eyes shut, but images of his soaking wet bod kept flashing through her head. “Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner. I wasn’t expecting you until later, but everything should already be good to go. I’m going to start dinner—it should be sexy in about an hour if you want to meet downstairs in the dining room.”

  “Sexy?”

  She blocked the lower half of his body with her hand and met his honey-brown eyes. They were narrowed. Hungry. Like a predator eyeing its prey.

  “Excuse me?” she said, repressing a shiver.

  “You said dinner should be sexy in an hour.”

  “No, I said it’d be ready.”

  He nodded, smirking. “My mistake.”

  “I can show you around the place, if you’d like,” she said, her face flushing hot, “or you can check it out yourself. There are five bedrooms upstairs, and four downstairs, one bathroom on each level.”