by Dana Volney
Alex stood, and Eddie left the chair with the nice older lady manning the volunteer desk before they headed out to the parking garage.
“I’m not trying to be your dad here, but take it from someone who just spent a couple of days in the hospital. Life is too short.”
Words Eddie tried to live by.
Life was short and full of surprises. The way he felt when he was with Hannah wasn’t one of them. He wanted to feel that way again.
• • •
Hannah pulled up a stool at the downtown martini bar on Olive Way. Kate, her friend in the DA’s office, was meeting her for drinks. She’d been up to her eyeballs in paperwork since Redburn’s and his cohort’s arrests.
The one good thing about the paperwork was that it kept her mind off Eddie Dever. Except for when she had to recount everything they did in their undercover work, the way he danced with her, kissed her tenderly then not so tenderly, and how he warmed her from the inside out. She’d left the stuff about their extracurricular activities out of the reports.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender with the tight black shirt had a quick smile.
“Cranberry martini.” Her phone buzzed as she was reaching for cash.
A text from Kate; she was going to be late. Dammit. More time with her own thoughts. Just peachy.
“Can I buy you a drink?” A deep-voiced man sidled up to the bar, way too into her bubble.
With perfect timing, the bartender set her drink down in front of her, and she laid out her ten-dollar bill. He nodded, moving on to the next group down the bar.
“I’m covered, thanks.”
“I’m Tristen.” He stuck his hand out for a shake, and she obliged. Begrudgingly.
“Hannah.” She didn’t want small talk. She didn’t want any talk besides the girl kind. Her self-pity and misery mixed with alcohol would be just fine until Kate arrived. “I’m meeting someone here. They should be here shortly, so ...” She glanced down at the barstool Tristen was hovering next to, hoping he’d get the hint.
“I hate it when people are late. Except for when it gives me an opportunity to meet a pretty woman.”
She smiled with empty meaning. She’d never learned how to properly get out of a situation like this besides just straight up walking away. She sighed. She could down her drink and leave, letting Kate know they’d catch up another night. Or she could sit here and listen to this guy, who was on the verge of talking about himself all night; she could see it in his eager smile. Neither option was appealing, and exhaustion from her last week was making it impossible to make a quick decision.
Then the moment passed, and Tristen took her non-action as his cue to start talking about his booming real estate business in the grand Pacific Northwest. Hannah sipped her martini. And sipped it some more until the last drop was gone.
“A woman so beautiful should never be bored. But even in tedium, your radiance lights up the world.”
A smooth voice from her left flowed around her, wrapping her in warmth. She didn’t attempt to swivel around to look into his green eyes, but she smiled. Her belly tingled, and her heart danced with excitement.
Tristen finally noticed someone else had entered the conversation and shut up, staring at the man behind her.
“What I don’t understand, my Butterfinger, is why you’re all alone in this place.”
Hannah couldn’t resist any longer. She turned in her chair to let her gaze take in his broad chest, the hard body underneath, and his strong arms she wanted around her.
“Excuse me, buddy,” Tristen leaned in closer and said louder than necessary. “The lady and I are having a conversation here.”
“No, you’re not.” Eddie stood, his broad shoulders and wide stance so damn assuming, she loved it. “Talking at someone does not a conversation make. Run along.”
A silent threat passed through Eddie’s eyes. Tristen shook his head, eyed her one last time, and sank back into the crowd as quietly as he’d appeared.
“That’s quite the pickup line for someone who doesn’t claim to have a go-to.” She stood, feeling weird to have to keep looking up at him. Not that she was near his height standing, but the balance was better this way.
“You like that, Twix? It’s not a go-to. It was just for you.” His gaze dropped to her lips as his arms slipped around her waist. “I messed it up, though.”
This was the good stuff. She warmed in his arms, wanting to be held tighter.
“What was it supposed to be?” She trailed her palms up his arms, loving their strength. She wasn’t lonely any longer. In his arms, she was free. There, with him, was where she wanted to be.
He leaned in, grazing their cheeks, and stopped as his bottom lip tickled her earlobe. “Your beauty doesn’t just light up any world,” he whispered. “It lights up mine.”
Hannah smiled. He’d come back for her. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“It means I’m going to let you make it up to me, starting with jelly donuts for breakfast.” He pressed his lips to her; his soft kiss sent a shiver down her spine. She craved him. And it was glorious. Her entire body came alive. Her skin called out to be touched by Eddie, consumed by him.
“I thought you’d let me go.” Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. “I didn’t hear from you.”
“I didn’t hear from you either.” He took a beat. “We aren’t kids, we’re adults. And a good friend recently reminded me that life is too short. Besides, I can’t let go now. Not when you’re the lady I love.”
She smiled, her heart full. “I love you, too.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Crimson Romance and Tara Gelsomino for being such an awesome publisher! You are a fun and accomplished group of people who make the publishing process enjoyable every step of the way. I appreciate your continued support!
To my beloved editor, Julie Sturgeon, OMG OMG number eight! Whaa?! When I started my author journey, I never knew exactly what it would entail, but I’m sure glad you’ve been a part of it from the start. I know I am better because of you. Thank you. (Also, if wrapping my knuckles is wrong, then I don’t want to be wright.)
To Jami Wagner, my fellow critique partner, romance author, and conference buddy. Thank you for continuing to push me. Without your friendship and encouragement, I may have never typed “the end” on this particular novel. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G about this story took gumption. Thankfully, you were able to lend me some of yours.
To my unfailingly supportive family, thank you for championing me, listening to the highs and lows of life, and making me smile. I appreciate you more than I’ll ever be able to put into words. Christopher, thanks for going to a Master Class at a romance convention with me!
Thank you to my friends, family, writing group cohorts, and readers who have and continue to support my dreams. You inspire me every day and are appreciated!
About the Author
Dana Volney lets her imagination roam free in Wyoming, where she writes romances and helps local businesses succeed with her marketing consulting company. Splitting her time between telling sexy, fast-paced suspense stories and sweet holiday romances, she likes to try new adventures in real life whenever she can (which, let’s face it, means tasting all sorts of delicious cuisines). Dana is bold, adventurous, and—by her own admission—good with plants, having kept a dwarf lemon tree alive for six months.
MEET THE AUTHOR, WATCH VIDEOS, AND MORE AT
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Copyright © 2016 by Dana Volney.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance™
an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
57 Littlefield Street
Avon, MA 02322
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-5072-0177-X
ISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0177-0
eISBN 10: 1-5072-0178-8
eISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0178-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © Viorel Sima/123RF
Turn the page for an excerpt from
Paradise Point
Chapter One
Liv Barnette slapped her coral flats onto the standard-issued wooden desk and closed her eyes. Her stomach growled and she moaned. She barely opened her eyelids to spy her coffee cup. Just out of reach. Coffee’s for closers. And I don’t seem to be one of those lately. Her loud sigh turned into a grunt as she stretched to grab the black ceramic cup. She needed food, she needed a new job—hell, she needed a new life or her old one back.
She took a deep breath and pictured thick, blue waves gliding up white sand riddled with shells. The ocean. Soaking up the sun instead of this stupid-ass florescent lighting. She listened, but try as she might, she couldn’t hear rolling waves crashing on the beach. Instead, she heard cars racing past, honking, and a backhoe crunching a parking lot into pieces outside of her downtown San Diego real-estate office window.
“Liv.”
Neil Shiverly’s strong business voice caused her to jump. She whacked her chest with her hand as she regained her balance from the scare.
His near-coal eyes showed no amusement. “Staff meeting. Conference room. Now.”
She swung her feet off her desk. A staff meeting . . . today?
Liv gathered her teal and yellow notebook, straightened her tan pleated skirt and white blouse, and headed for the conference room. The only open seat put her in a Deb-and-Ken sandwich. She did a mental eye roll. Ken Novak, her nemesis and former lover, smiled neatly at her grimace. With his expertly coiffed hair; stellar suits; and no doubt purchased, even tan, he was better suited for a Barbie-esque girl, not Liv.
The smell of rich imported coffee caught her attention. Shit. My coffee. Meetings without coffee in hand sucked. As she rose out of her chair to pour a cup, Neil spoke. Balls. She relaxed back into the leather as if she had been adjusting her skirt. She fixed her eyes in Neil’s general direction and nodded insightfully to seem interested. Extra undivided attention was in order due to her crappy sales stats she had no hope of rescuing. She rapidly tapped her purple-ink pen against her notepad with impatience while her boss passed out the next round of listings, skipping her. The exclusion was fine, it would only give her time to figure out a way to sell the properties she did have and regroup. Being in a slump was for the birds. It was time to buck up and better her numbers or move on. Out of the options in front of her, looking into other jobs had a more appealing ring.
“Liv.” Neil eyed her hand tapping the Bic.
She cleared her throat and retracted her pen and hands to her lap, smiling curtly.
“The last thing is the houseboat,” Neil said.
A low groan rose from the crowd of Realtors.
“I know. I’ve mentioned it before and had no takers, but now it’s a priority.”
Fixing up a houseboat involves the bay. Liv pictured Paradise Point Bay on Coronado Island: topaz water surrounded by a perfectly manicured golf course that led into the San Diego Bay. Her skin warmed at the mere thought. “I’ll do it,” Liv practically yelled, surprising herself. She’d just jumped way ahead of her coffeeless thought process.
Oh crappity crap. I don’t want a project. I want outta this job.
“You really want to take this on?” Neil’s voice mimicked her astonishment.
“Yep.” Liv nodded feverishly. “Yes. I do.” Kind of. Maybe. I could use it as sort of a vacation, right? A two-fer.
Neil stared, seemingly deciding whether or not to breathe again. “That’s it, everyone.”
Her fellow cohorts milled around and she was almost out the door when she heard, “Liv. My office.”
Dammit. She couldn’t talk to Neil about her sudden decision. She needed a minute to get a game plan together. Why in the hell must her brain go on autopilot and screw her in the process?
“I don’t have to tell you that you’ve been in a slump.” Neil was already halfway into his sentence before she sat on the plush chair in his office. “A long slump.” His clean-shaven face didn’t look as attractive in a frown.
“Yeah.” Liv elongated her word. I know I need to get it together, Neil. You don’t need to lecture me.
Adrenaline rushed through her head and flowed down to her toes. She shifted in her chair, ready to start arguing for her career. She opened her mouth to speak, but Neil beat her to it.
“I need the houseboat dealt with, Liv.” Neil’s voice sounded pleading and uneasy, rather than its normal arrogant. “I don’t know if you’re the person to do it. Frankly, I’m not sure you can make it in this business.” He glanced at a stack of papers in front of him. “Your closing rate is very low.”
He didn’t have to tell her. Her empty fridge and cupboards with one jar of peanut butter and some graham crackers were an ever-present reminder.
Her father’s voice echoed in her head. Wingfields get the job done and do it better than everyone else.
She’d never been fired before; never even close. She prided herself on being the kiss-ass at the head of the class showing others how to perform. Her ears began to ring. Quitting and being fired were two very different things.
“You’ve had the same two listings for three months.”
“I know.” Her eyes darted over Neil’s plaques and trophies. “I’ll flip it . . . and sell it . . . no problem.” Could I sound any more unsure? Holy hell, I’m a goner for sure.
What would she do? She had no fallback. Although she could always take her dad up on his offers to come back to work. He offered about every other week.
Her green eyes settled on a picture of her boss and his family on the houseboat in question. Cerulean waters surrounded the smiling bunch. Years had passed since that photo because his kids were grown now. The pit of her stomach started to ache. The houseboat wasn’t in great condition in the photo; who knew the condition now? Neil had been trying to sell it for at least a year with no luck. The knots tangling her digestive system loosened. She’d focus, she’d fix it up, and she’d sell the shit out of it. No problem. After all, she had the familiarity factor with all things boating and Coronado Island, thanks to her grandparents. She really was the best person for the job.
“I’m going to lay it on the line.” Neil interrupted her thoughts. “I’m giving you this simple project. If you fail to fix it up and sell it within thirty days, then you need to find another place of employment.”
“Thirty days?” Liv shrieked more than she’d wanted it to, but shock did that to a person.
“I’ve seen you do more with less. Remember the Walen Meadow project?”
“There’s no way . . . ” She shook her head and wrinkled her face in dismay. “The Walen Meadow project took almost four months to plan and execute.” Although she had rocked that deal and presold all forty lots, even gaining a bonus for using the same contractor for the entire subdivision.
“That’s the deal.” Neil opened his middle desk drawer. “Here’s a credit card for you to charge the rehab to. I expect receipts. Don’t go crazy. It’s parked in slot fourteen out at Coronado Boat Club.” He handed her a set of keys with the credit card.
Liv bit the side of her bottom lip. “Do you already know what needs to be fixed?”
Neil’s head tilted toward the ceiling. “Well . . . ” He looked back down. “Not much. It runs and there’s nothing wrong with the plumbing. It’s basically cosmetic. Your job, your call.” He reached for his vibrating smartphone and nodded her toward the door.
Liv strutted toward her office, choosing not to acknowledge her liveli
hood now depended on the outcome of a houseboat renovation and sale. Challenge accepted, Neil. She had work to do.
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