Lightning Strikes

by Cass Sellars

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Lightning Strikes

  Parker Duncan has sworn off love and forever since she discovered her wife—her ex-wife—cheating on her on their tenth anniversary. Sydney Hyatt doesn’t even do overnight. She attracts women effortlessly, then discards them after an hour or two of mutual pleasure. They meet at a party celebrating Parker’s divorce, and they’re tailor-made for a no-strings encounter. Yet when their paths cross again, lightning strikes, and both women begin to question their life rules in the face of undeniable passion and growing love.

  But demons past and dangers present threaten the lovers, and Parker and Sydney must fight to find new traditions in dark spaces as they cling to the relationship neither of them thought she wanted.

  The first book in the Lightning series.

  Lightning Strikes

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Lightning Strikes

  © 2017 By Cass Sellars. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-957-0

  This Electronic book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,

  New York, USA

  First Edition: March 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Ruth, Radclyffe, and everyone at Bold Strokes who took me through this daunting process and helped me get where the Lightning Series is now. So proud to be here, you are a class act and a most talented organization. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

  To my early and unofficial beta readers Tracy, Janice, Cara, Ashley, and Michelle: Thank you for the reviews and the unwavering encouragement, you can always say, “I read it first!”

  Dedication

  Love and thanks to Dee for believing

  I could do this before I did and for always knowing when I needed support and “quiet time” to finish.

  Chapter One

  Parker Duncan wheeled her briefcase through the courtyard. Glancing past the shiny black toe of her four-inch pumps, she spied some aggressive new weeds pushing between the red bricks. “Yard work,” she snarled with disgust, another unpleasant reminder that the house had become an albatross in so many ways. She couldn’t wait to get rid of it and, by extension, its maintenance, meanings, and memories.

  The three narrow streets of Charleston-style row homes had swallowed up a newly gentrified section of the near-downtown district of Silver Lake, Virginia. When Parker and her wife had purchased their home here, the rock and siding house seemed like an ideal solution. It was just a stone’s throw to the downtown business district, but it had remained immune from the exorbitant prices and HOA fees that came with homes in downtown proper or in nearby DC. They had unexpectedly found themselves swallowed by Volvo station wagons, stuffy politicos, and strollers tethered to skinny jogging soccer moms in haute couture spandex. Straight couples regularly dragged designer dogs name Pooches or Callaway across the tree-lined streets and ignored one another.

  Parker shook her head at the sharp turn down Vanilla Lane her life seemed to have taken. If anyone had told her a mere ten years ago that her grown-up, independent life would smell like bland oatmeal and be dressed in overpriced designer linen, she would have checked the opt-out box and gone in search of…well, she didn’t know what she would have looked for exactly, but this wasn’t it. That was part of the problem, she supposed. She felt as if she had become a cliché, and in many ways she had.

  She dropped her purse onto the cloth seat of her black Audi convertible and pointed it around the corner. Parker glanced at the newly planted For Sale sign in her tiny strip of front yard, a public announcement that her failed marriage to a chronically unfaithful sales executive was driving her out of her home. Although she was relatively happy to be leaving, she hated the stigma of failure.

  As the house and the neighborhood fell away in her rearview mirror, she realized how much she didn’t care about any of it anymore. She pushed the top release button in the black dash and dragged her hair into a clip. Twenty minutes later she backed into her spot outside the Davidson Properties office building. It wasn’t officially her spot, but since she regularly arrived an hour or two before anyone else in the office, everyone considered it hers.

  As usual, Parker was the first person there. She glanced over the modern façade of the three-story office building that she had helped design. As Davidson’s longtime HR director, Parker had been burned out on the hire-fire game and had recently accepted the opportunity to manage the firm’s real estate expansion plan, leaving the day-to-day HR duties to Jenny Foster. The petite blond fireball acted as her second in command while also holding a place as one of her best friends. Over the years Jenny had proven that she could be just as tough as Parker in the boardroom.

  The cool lobby air hit Parker’s face as she swung through the mahogany-paneled front doors. By 6:43 a.m. Parker settled into her chair with a giant mug of hot tea. She stared at the seventeen-inch screen as waves of email dumped into her inbox. Being consumed with packing and separating belongings at home had kept her from her normal weeding of emails that came in throughout the weekend. She processed through them and then sighed at the giant crap her life had taken in the last six months.

  She loved her job, mostly, except when grown adults fought over thermostat settings and radio station selections. She had told more than one overpaid executive to put on their big-kid pants so she could actually do work that didn’t include babysitting entitled morons.

  Her personal life was another sordid story entirely. Dayne Grant had steamrolled into her once quiet orbit more than a decade earlier without an official invite when her best friend of forever, Allen Stevens, and his partner Richard Dailey threw their annual New Year’s Eve gala. The over-the-top party beckoned more than two hundred revelers who flooded their 1896 Victorian home in the historic Silver Square area of downtown. An open bar, trays of fine hors d’oeuvres, and decadent sweets kept the guests entertained as they took in the couple’s decorations and clamored to see and be seen.

  Parker had sequestered herself in the kitchen, happy to avoid the crowds. She knew almost everyone
except Richard’s stuffy advertising cronies, but she didn’t feel compelled to join in the shallow small talk that hummed over holiday music and Dick Clark’s commentary on the TVs. She much preferred relative silence to the melee.

  Allen regularly slipped into the kitchen to attempt to drag her into the fracas. “Come and mingle, you hermit. I didn’t hire you to cater the party, you know.” Allen jokingly stabbed her shoulder with a scolding finger. “People are beginning to accuse me of reenacting Cinderella.”

  “I’ll come in a minute,” Parker promised as he left, not intending a word of it.

  A loud laugh broke through the comparative kitchen calm, settling on Parker. A tall, slim, athletic blonde pushed toward the island with an empty rocks glass and a sigh. She clattered it onto the taupe granite with much more force and noise than necessary announcing the desire for more scotch.

  Parker took inventory of the brash woman before her. She had spiky, short blond hair, and her flawless skin pulled over high cheekbones. Her noticeably expensive tailored black suit draped over her lean frame, and a white linen tee came to a seductive V just under a silver yin-yang charm on a short black silk cord. Her long neck graced up to meet her tan face which was framed by substantial diamond studs, two in each ear. She sported a broad silver cuff on her right wrist, and an expensive Eterna men’s watch graced her left.

  Dayne Grant’s brief self-introduction parlayed into ten minutes of intense flirting. Suddenly and without further discussion, Dayne transported Parker from behind the island and into the crowd. Parker was abruptly unceremoniously swept into an embrace and a slow dance with her.

  Parker had chuckled despite the shock of suddenly being pressed against Dayne’s broad shoulder. After three consecutive songs played around them, Dayne had held Parker tightly to her, whispering breathy compliments in her ear and casually gliding her hands along Parker’s narrow waist. Happy shouts announcing the impending midnight strike had begun to swell around them.

  At the final ball drop, Dayne’s solid arm tightened around Parker’s frame as she was swept up into a heart-stopping kiss. Dayne had covered Parker’s mouth without prelude or permission. The powerful caress had taken Parker’s breath away, her eyes closing involuntarily as she’d wrapped her arms around Dayne’s shoulders pressing her body into Dayne’s unfamiliar muscular torso. When Dayne released Parker, her green eyes flashed. She’d whispered, “Happy New Year, princess.”

  “Happy…New Year,” Parker had stammered.

  *

  Parker regained focus and stared into her mug. Was it really that long ago? That night had somehow lasted eleven years.

  Dayne had set out to win Parker’s heart and had successfully drawn her into her world. Dayne was a sales superwoman with an extravagant downtown penthouse condo and a penchant for getting what she wanted. Dayne had asserted repeatedly, to anyone who would listen, that what she wanted was Parker.

  Ten years later Parker thought that she had been the one to tame the reputed skirt chaser.

  One could argue that the end of their marriage could clearly be found in the beginning. The unfortunate part was that Parker hadn’t thought to look.

  In retrospect, she should have paid more attention when Dayne regularly came home late smelling like scotch and expensive cigars. Perhaps she should have been less surprised on the night of their tenth anniversary when she’d opened the door to discarded clothing strewn across the floor of their living room. She remembered the acute physical pain as she’d focused on the lithe, naked frame of her beautiful wife straddling a twentysomething blonde writhing in the throes of ecstasy. Dayne’s head had whipped toward Parker as the rush of air through the open door had found her naked body.

  Scrambling, Dayne had pulled her hands from the prone woman while she attempted to cover not enough of her with a discarded T-shirt.

  After that evening, Parker had taken refuge with Allen and Richard, and Dayne had made just two attempts to call. Her final communication came in the form of a text message just five hours later. Park, I guess I haven’t been happy for a while. I need more…We became so normal. Sorry I didn’t do this better. Lease is up at the condo, I’ll be out by next week.

  Parker ran a finger over the screen where the saved message from December burned her fingers. A stray tear glanced off the screen as she heard the arrival of the elevator.

  Parker pushed the phone into her top drawer and quickly swiped at her face to dry any remnant tears.

  Jenny Foster marched by, overloaded with a thick file of resumes clutched to her chest and her huge purse dangling from her wrist. “Hey, Park,” she called, blond hair bouncing in her wake.

  Parker saw her stop suddenly at her doorway. She knew Jenny would see her pale, blotchy face forcing a smile that she imagined didn’t reach her eyes. Everyone knew the sale of the house was imminent, and despite Parker’s public protestations to the contrary, she knew Jenny was aware that it felt final and desperate and sad. The end of a decade had been marred at the hands of the egomaniac none of her friends had ever really trusted.

  Jenny and her wife Mackenzie Foster—Mack to just about everyone—had tried desperately to help her through this transition despite their own life challenges. Parker tried not to impose on the couple since Jenny and her detective sergeant wife had experienced profound heartbreak over two failed pregnancies. Parker felt her issues were nothing by comparison.

  Jenny dumped her belongings into a chair and kicked the office door shut. Jenny bent to hug her when Parker’s eyes filled again.

  “This just sucks, Park.”

  Parker’s shoulders trembled against Jenny’s arm. Dammit. Parker rarely gave in to emotion at the office. She left her personal life at home and expected everyone around her to do the same.

  “I just want this to be over,” Parker said quietly. “I want my own space so I can stop reliving it. Stop wondering what she is doing with that girl.” Parker had learned her name was Julie Thomas but she could still only bring herself to call her that girl.

  “You will, soon. Eventually. Out and away from the reminders.”

  Parker’s resolve returned and she squared her shoulders, and Jenny stepped back.

  “What can Mack and I do to help?”

  Parker inhaled deeply and dried her face again. “Let me get this stupid house sold,” she said attempting a grin. “And then you’re on the hook to help me move.”

  “We’re on it.” Jenny laughed as she put her arm loosely around Parker’s shoulders again. “Love you, you know. We all do.” Jenny headed toward the door and looked back at Parker, resuming work mode. “Busy day, girlfriend.”

  Parker’s cell rang again just after ten a.m. It was Allen. She answered in time to hear him say, “It’s about time, honey. Where have you been?”

  “Settle down, Biscuit.” She laughed. Her pet name for him was over fifteen years old, coined when she’d met him searching for his escaped Bichon Frise in their mutual apartment complex. He’d clutched homemade dog biscuits in both hands as he planned to bribe the creature home.

  “The damn place is officially for sale, right? Thank you, universe,” Allen exclaimed. “Let’s find you a bachelorette pad and a loose woman to get you naked and blow your mind.”

  She laughed in spite of the crappy start to her day. “Um, I think loose women got me into this mess, Allen. I’ll settle for a quiet town house where I can take up knitting,” she joked. His exasperated sigh filled her ear.

  “My ass. When that place sells we’re all going out to party. Liberation meets libation,” he chanted too loudly into the phone. “No use in arguing, okay? It’s happening.”

  As she hung up she decided to waste no more time on Dayne Grant than she already had.

  Chapter Two

  Parker was looking over a decade’s worth of boxes and memories when the Realtor called with the good news. The offer for just $3,000 under asking now sat on the coffee table.

  “Tell them we’ll take it.”

  Parker tossed
the phone onto a barrel chair in the living room and kicked off her heels, ready for an evening of wine and real estate listings. Real estate searches had been kind of a guilty pleasure before but had become a necessity now that she had less than thirty days to move.

  “Time to take your life back, Duncan,” she said out loud to the empty room and gulped the heavy red wine.

  Parker scanned the signed contract into an email to Dayne. Done deal. Please sign and email to Ben. Thanks.

  Despite the turmoil Dayne had visited upon her life, Parker thought she would be grateful for this moment of freedom, one day. Maybe.

  She sent a cheery House sold! message to Jenny, Mack, Allen, and Richard.

  Jenny immediately replied. Yay—that was fast.

  Allen replied-all with, Party at the Pride—Friday the 18th. Details to follow…

  Her mother called from New Hampshire for a brief catch-up chat which never involved much more than a review of Parker’s work and the progress of her parents’ home remodel. As Sylvia Duncan prattled on about the prig moving in next door, Parker idly wondered how many times her mother had actually uttered Dayne’s name. She cursorily acknowledged her existence when Parker mentioned her, but her mother had treated Dayne’s departure from the house like one would the relocation of an annoying roommate.

  “How much money did you put in that house? Are you getting it all back or did you give it to her?” Parker struggled to get past thinking that her mother would never ask such a question if Dayne had been her husband instead of her wife.

  “It was equal, Mother.”

  “Well, I just want to be sure you’re getting what you deserve.”

  Parker wondered what hidden meaning resided in the statement and then chided herself for being paranoid.