Win My Love
Love’s Second Chance Book 3
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Scott
Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
For more information, contact author Scarlett Scott.
www.scarsco.com
Wynne Carter’s one-night-stand with Hollywood bad boy Derek Shaw resulted in life-changing consequences in the form of her precious daughter. Years later, she isn’t prepared to face him or his questions when he returns to her small town seeking answers.
With his acting career on hiatus thanks to his wild past, discovering he has a daughter is reason enough for Derek to stick around. Spending timing with her mom isn’t too shabby either, and soon he can’t keep Wynne or her long legs off his mind.
Wynne knows a man like Derek is made for sin, not happily-ever-afters, but resisting him proves pretty darn impossible. For a while, it looks as if the unlikely pairing of the single mom and the heartthrob might make it after all. Until Hollywood wants its leading man back, and their new relationship threatens to fall apart forever.
For my grandmother Sarah,
a wonderful woman I never got to meet.
His best friend’s wedding started in half an hour, and the flowers were late.
Derek wanted everything to go well for Logan and Claire. It was their day, and he’d be damned if he’d let something as stupid as flowers ruin it for them. Which was why he was jogging down a little street in Atlantic, Maryland, in the middle of winter, looking for a flower shop.
He wasn’t certain of its precise location, but he was on a mission to find the flowers or else. Minutes before, Claire’s matron of honor had appeared in Logan’s room at the hotel, out of breath and flustered, asking if anyone had seen the bouquets. They’d been ordered at a local florist, she’d explained, and could Derek please go to the shop and see what the delay was? It was just down the street somewhere. Somewhere being the operative word.
Derek was familiar enough with the quaint historic town. He’d filmed a rom-com there several years before and had liked it so much that he and Logan had returned for yearly get-togethers. A convenient meeting place out of the public’s ever-growing gaze, Atlantic presented a way for them to shed their busy lives and a way for Derek to escape the flashbulbs. But they didn’t exactly spend their time hanging out with the local florist.
Just when he was about to give up and go back to the hotel without the flowers, Derek spotted a two-story Victorian tucked into a corner with a black sign outside that read Wynne’s Flowers. He ducked inside the shop to the music of twin bells tinkling overhead. Warm air hit his frozen face. Small and cozy, the place had intricate floral arrangements on display and a walk-in refrigerated case to the left. A bunch of bouquets inside a box on the counter attracted his attention.
Feeling like an intruder for walking into the seemingly abandoned shop, he headed for the silver bell by the cash register. He tapped it three times, the noise echoing in the silence.
“Hello? Anybody here?”
He heard a muffled noise overhead, then the distinctive sound of a female voice.
“Hello?” He walked to the back room where a narrow staircase presumably led to the second floor. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll be with you in a moment!” The voice trickled down to him again, this time harried and irritated.
Derek saw the shoes first, black and narrow with high, spiky heels. Then, the ankles that belonged to lean calves and mouthwatering thighs. He decided the owner of the beautiful legs couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous—life just didn’t work out that way unless you were in an LA club surrounded by tucked, nipped, injected, and buffed Hollywood socialites. She probably had a mustache and looked like a man.
As more of her thighs came into view, he wondered if she was even wearing clothing until the hemline of a black dress finally appeared, followed by a curved waist and a set of truly impressive breasts.
And just like that, she appeared as a whole woman rather than a collection of parts. Derek lost his breath for a minute, an odd reaction since he’d seen many beautiful women before. Hollywood teemed with some of the most alluring women in the world. So why did he feel as if he’d been punched in the gut?
She didn’t have a mustache after all. No doubt about it, she was incredibly hot, though in an unconventional way, from her curly red hair to her lush lips. She was also looking at him with what was, undeniably, horror. Derek was accustomed to any number of reactions when people recognized him, but horror had never been one of them. Until now. She stopped dead, watching him with wide green eyes.
His reason for coming to her shop in the first place returned to him like a kick in the ass. He stepped forward. “I’m here to pick up the flowers for the Monroe wedding.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture and glared at him. “I was on my way to deliver them.”
Not exactly going to win a personality award any time soon, was she? It figured. “I can save you the trip.” He pointed to the roses on the counter. “Are those the ones?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Take them and go, then.”
Derek backtracked into the shop, aware time ticked, but somehow reluctant to leave. There was something oddly familiar about her.
“Have we met before?” He glanced back at her, still curious about her reaction to him. If they had met during filming, that would explain it. He’d been a different man before rehab. God knew he’d been wasted three-quarters of the time back then.
She had begun following him into the shop but stopped in her tracks. “No. Of course we haven’t.”
Somehow, her words lacked the vehemence of truth. He studied her. “Are you sure we didn’t meet before? You seem familiar.”
“We never met.” She gave him a tight smile. “Would you like me to drive the flowers to the hotel?”
It was a veiled get lost if he’d ever heard one. Derek picked up the flowers and was about to leave when a child’s voice stopped him.
“Mama?”
A little girl in a pink-tulle princess dress clomped into the room wearing plastic shoes with glittery purple heels that looked two sizes too big. He judged her to be about four years old. When she looked up at him from beneath a mop of blonde ringlets, something happened inside him. He felt as if he were the Grinch facing Cindy Lou Who. Blue eyes as vivid as his stared back at him, and the same sense of familiarity hit him.
He’d never been around kids much, never wanted to bother. With his lifestyle, there’d been no room or time. But there was something about this cute kid in her dress-up finery that reminded him of what he’d been missing in his endless quest for the next party.
“You’re all dressed up nice.” She wrinkled her nose. “Wanna be my prince?”
“Paige, why don’t you go back upstairs?” The woman’s tone was stern as she took the girl by the shoulders and spun her around as if Derek had
the bubonic plague.
“But Mama—”
“No buts,” ordered her mother. “Upstairs. Now.”
As Paige disappeared into the back room, the woman turned to him. “I wasn’t expecting to have my daughter today. She’s the reason I was late with the flowers. Could you please express my apologies to the bride and groom?”
“Yes.” Derek nodded. A niggling sensation still ate away at him. There was something he was missing. But what?
He flicked a glance at his watch. It was half past two and the wedding was set to start in fifteen minutes. He had to get the flowers back to Claire.
“Thanks for your help,” he offered.
The smile she gave him was insincere. “Have a nice day.”
She might as well have said, Go to hell, buddy.
With shaking hands, Wynne flipped over the sign on her storefront to read, Sorry, we’re closed and locked the door. She hadn’t expected to see Derek Shaw anywhere other than on a gossip magazine at the grocery store checkout. But she couldn’t let his presence in town rattle her. She wouldn’t let it interfere in her life.
“Paige,” she called, as she headed upstairs to the apartment they shared above the flower shop. “Where are you?”
“In here, Mama.” Her daughter’s voice came from the bathroom.
Paige was in the midst of applying sheer pink lip gloss to her cheeks. Purple eye shadow shimmered above and below her eyes. Trying not to laugh, Wynne bent down and rubbed some stray gloss from Paige’s chin.
“Do I look like a princess now?” Paige watched her with an expectant expression.
“You always look like a princess. But you’re going to be a sticky mess.” She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her daughter’s shiny cheeks.
“Is my daddy a prince?” She scrunched up her nose in deep thought.
Wynne sucked in a breath. Recently, Paige had begun asking more and more questions about her father. She disliked lying to her daughter—or evading the truth, as she preferred to think of it. But try telling a four-year-old that her daddy is an immoral drunk who can’t even remember her mama’s face.
“No, your daddy isn’t a prince.” She rearranged Paige’s blonde curls, stalling for time. “Your daddy is very busy.”
“Yep.” Paige nodded. “And he lives in Californium.”
“It’s California,” Wynne corrected, giving her cheek a tender pat. “And yes, he does. I don’t think there are any princes in California.” Lots of toads, though, and her daddy certainly fit into that category.
“But don’t he ever wanna come and visit me, Mama?”
“Doesn’t.” Wynne paused, feeling like a worm. She hated the untenable position of keeping secrets. She didn’t know whether or not Paige’s father would want to visit, but she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to decide. “Your daddy…he’s not…he would come to visit you if he could.”
“Why can’t he?”
Oh God. Why did four-year-olds have to be so inquisitive?
“Because his job makes him very busy,” she responded, biting her lip.
“What job does he got?” Paige’s interest had been piqued.
Wynne recognized the gleam in her daughter’s blue eyes all too well. Rather than relying on more prevarication, she opted for the truth. “Have, sweet pea. What job does he have.” She hesitated. “He’s an actor.”
“What’s that?”
She suppressed the urge to groan at the endless barrage of questions. “It means he’s in the movies.”
The revelation brightened Paige’s face. “Like Cinderella?”
“Yes, like Cinderella.” Her eyes went to the assorted makeup pieces strewn across the bathroom counter. “Paige, what did I tell you about wearing my makeup?”
“Hmm.” Paige pursed her lips and tapped her chin.
“I think I told you that you need to ask me first, didn’t I?” She tickled Paige’s sides.
A precious, bubbly giggle spilled from her daughter’s lips. Wynne lived for that sound.
“Maybe.” Paige’s voice dissolved into a string of giggles. “Mama!”
“I’m going to tickle you into behaving.” She lifted her up, hugging her wispy frame. “What should we do together tonight?”
“Can we go to the hotel for dinner?”
Every Saturday night was Girls’ Night Out for Paige and Wynne. Though she had only recently begun dating again, she always put her daughter’s needs first. She had all she needed in her aspiring princess. Paige’s favorite place in town was the Grand Hotel’s Seaside Café, a semiformal restaurant that was pricier than Wynne’s wallet liked. But Paige loved getting decked out in a princess dress and fancy shoes to eat dinner, and Wynne couldn’t deny her. Even if beach tourists who popped into town for antiquing and gourmet dining gave them strange looks.
“There’s a wedding there today, so we may not be able to get in,” Wynne told her, not wanting to chance another encounter with Derek Shaw.
Paige’s face fell. “Oh.”
Guilt seeped through her. She hated to disappoint her daughter, and since receptions were ordinarily held in the hotel’s ballroom, she supposed the chances of her crossing Derek’s path again were minimal. Almost impossible. What could it hurt?
“We’ll try it first and see if they have openings.” She pressed noisy kisses to Paige’s neck until she squealed.
“Ick, Mama! No more kisses,” she pleaded, giggling.
“Okay.” Wynne relented, smiling as she set Paige back down on her glittery purple princess shoes. “How about if we clean up your bedroom now?”
“Mama.” There was no mistaking the disgust in Paige’s tone. “I don’t got a messy room.”
“We must be looking at different rooms, then.” Wynne feigned thought. “Is there a room in this house I don’t know about? Or is there another girl with princess dolls all over her bedroom?”
Paige giggled. “Do I get a dollar if I help?”
“You might even get two dollars,” Wynne told her, grabbing her hand. “Now let’s get going. If we don’t start on that room of yours, we’ll never make it to dinner on time.”
The cold air slashed at her cheeks as Wynne left the Seaside Café and ventured into the chill January air. She stopped Paige to make sure she was properly buttoned and covered up. After adjusting the striped scarf around her daughter’s neck, she tugged the matching hat down over her ears. “You’re lucky we live so close, or I never would have let you wear that dress in this weather. Are you warm enough?”
“Yep.” Paige nodded, her head bobbing. “I’ll never be too cold for princess dresses, Mama.”
Laughing, Wynne took her daughter’s mitten-clad hand in hers. “You might change your mind some day.”
“Huh-uh,” Paige stated with the assurance of a four-year-old as she skipped along the sidewalk.
Wynne wished she could be as happy and carefree. It must be refreshing to have no concerns more pressing than what princess dress to wear for the day.
Just then, in the dim street lights, she noticed a tall, broad figure coming their way. She was instantly on guard. Atlantic was a very safe, close-knit small town. But when it came to Paige, Wynne never took any chances. She held her daughter’s hand tighter and tried to get her to cross to the opposite side of the street.
“Come on, sweet pea,” she said, attempting to maintain a calm, undisturbed tone she didn’t quite feel.
“Wait, Mama!” Paige protested. “Look!” She pointed at the figure heading in their direction.
“It’s not polite to point.” She gave her a gentle but firm tug. “Come with me.”
“But it’s the prince!” Paige proclaimed, her childish voice echoing along the empty street.
Derek Shaw.
She should have known that masculine stride. The buttery streetlight fell across his face as he reached them, bathing him in a golden glow. He looked even more like a prince tonight, Wynne thought, in the crisp black tux that had convinced Paige he was royalty. He e
xuded a raw sexual energy that had been absent earlier, and to her utter shame she wasn’t entirely immune. He looked almost dangerous.
Paige broke the silence first. “Hello, Mr. Prince.” She was always serious about her world of make believe. “How’re you?”
“Hello, princess.” He dropped to his knees so he was on Paige’s level. “You’re exactly who I wanted to see.”
Wynne’s breath froze in her chest, and it had nothing to do with the subzero January night.
Paige was blissfully unaware of her mother’s alarm. “I am?” She did a happy jump, her shoes clacking on the pavement.
“Yes.” He looked up at Wynne, his eyes unreadable. His face lost the expression of almost boyish innocence it had when he spoke to Paige, hardening again. “Can I walk you somewhere?”
“No.” She took care to keep her voice cool. The less contact Paige had with this man, the better.
“Oh, Mama, please?” Paige turned and looked up at her, her big blue eyes pleading. Those blue eyes were the same as the eyes Derek Shaw currently had trained on her.
“I’d really like to speak with you,” Derek said, his tone pressing.
“I want the prince to walk us home.” Paige clapped her hands together and bounced up and down to emphasize her demand.
Wynne frowned down at her. “He’s not a prince.”
Her daughter actually rolled her eyes—yes, rolled them—at her. “I know, but he looks like one.”
“Fine.” Wynne relented, beginning to appreciate that she fought a losing battle. Paige was as stubborn as a teenager when she wanted to be. “He can walk with us to our door.” She leveled a glare at him.
He nodded and rose, taking up position on the other side of Paige. “Thank you.”
“Yay,” Paige chirped as the three of them began moving forward. “He got on such a nice outfit, Mama. Can’t he come in and play dress-up when we get home?”
“He has,” she corrected. “And no. I’m sure he’s much too busy to play dress-up.”
“You mean he’s busy like my daddy?” Paige’s voice was all innocence.
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