His Good Girl

by Dinah McLeod

  His Good Girl

  Old-Fashioned Husbands, Book Three

  By

  Dinah McLeod

  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and Dinah McLeod

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  McLeod, Dinah

  His Good Girl

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-917-6

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About Dinah McLeod

  Ebook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  About Blushing Books

  Prologue

  Kevin

  "Just one for dinner tonight, sir, or are you waiting for someone?" the waitress asked.

  I gave her a brief smile. She'd been hovering for the last five minutes, and I knew she was anxious for me to either order something or leave, so another customer could take my place. "Does it show?" I asked her with an easy grin.

  Her response was a tight-lipped grimace, thrown at me seconds before she began to walk away.

  I didn't let it bother me—I was always the first to arrive for a date. I'd been sitting at the table for about twenty minutes now, checking my watch religiously as I kept my eyes glued to the door. It's amazing how time can slow down when you're waiting. I caught myself tapping the menu on the table—a nervous habit of mine. Not wanting to come off as desperate, I dropped the menu and clasped my hands together, continuing to wait as my leg jiggled underneath the table.

  I was pretty sure that my nervousness could be spotted by any stranger across the street, and no amount of pretending was going to change that. But how was a guy who hadn't been on a date in ten years supposed to act? I couldn't remember dating protocol—and it had to have changed in the last decade, anyway. My sister told me that it had changed drastically, but I was never quite sure if she'd been, in her own way, trying be helpful or just messing with my head. Either way, I didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. Should I be calling her by now? Maybe it was normal to show up fashionably late for a first date, or maybe she'd walked by the window, taken one look at me, and turned right back around. Oh, God. I swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away, but once it had occurred to me, it was hard to forget.

  The last girl I'd asked out on a date had been my college sweetheart. We'd then gone on quite a few more dates before I'd asked her to marry me. In a surprising turn of events, she'd actually said yes. In that moment, I'd been the happiest man alive, and assumed that we'd spend the rest of our lives together. Never had it crossed my mind that, only three years after we'd exchanged our vows, I would find myself on a date once more, wondering how I was ever going to manage to impress another woman. I'd always considered myself damn lucky that Karen seemed to find my dorky quirks endearing. Or, at least she had.

  I checked my watch one more time and marveled that not even three minutes had passed since I'd last looked. Maybe the waiting would have been easier if my subconscious wasn't shouting at me to make a run for it. I wiped my palms on my pant leg and hoped that, when my date arrived, she wouldn't notice the telltale signs of agitated nerves. Or, even better, maybe she'd walk in sporting a few of her own.

  What on earth could be taking her so long? I flagged my waitress down with two raised fingers and ordered a Coke. Maybe the caffeine would help take the edge off. Even though I knew for a fact that a double Scotch on the rocks would be more likely to do the trick, it seemed rude to order without her. Besides, with my luck, she'd show up just as I was draining the glass.

  I definitely wasn't short on was nerves. Not only was this my first date since I'd fallen for the woman who would go on to be my wife, it was also going to be with a woman I'd never met before. Well, not unless you counted exchanging private messages, which I certainly didn't. I'd joined Findasoulmate.com at my mother's incessant urging—in part to silence the nagging and in part because I had to admit I was lonely. After completing my online profile, I'd been shown the profiles of a number of girls and had selected Sarah in an eenie-meeney-miney-mo type fashion. I'd then re-read her short bio time and again before finally summoning up the courage to message her. According to her, she loved dogs—the animal, I assumed, though it very well could have been her choice in men—slapstick comedy, and Chinese. She'd seemed like a nice, normal girl, which was all I was looking for.

  I'd sent her a message introducing myself, but hadn't really expected to hear back. Even so, I'd checked my inbox every twenty-six seconds for the next hour, and scanned my online profile in between, trying to find something that might scare off nice, normal girls. To my surprise, she had not only responded, but she'd seemed to like what she'd read about me, too. We'd chatted back and forth for the last week before I'd finally manned up and asked her out. She didn't seem like the kind of person to just stand someone up without any form of contact, but then again, you can't really see a thing like that through a computer screen, can you?

  I was kicking myself for not having had the foresight to suggest that we exchange pictures before our date, which only added to the unease I was feeling. What if she thought I was hideous? Karen had always told me that I was cute—not that it had been enough to keep her around. What if my date felt the same way? There were plenty of fish in the sea, after all, and most of them had better abs. Personally, I'd always thought my short black hair, black-rimmed glasses and serious brown eyes made me look more like Clark Kent than Superman. There is more to me than meets the eye, but in my experience, girls rarely took the time to find that out for themselves.

  When the door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air and noise from the street, I swiveled my head to look, just as I had the last dozen times. The girl who sauntered in had me salivating in an instant. Her legs were eye-catching: they were long, tanned, and went on for days. My eyes wandered up as my heart pounded as fierce as a drum in my chest. She had gently curving hips, a narrow waist, and a willowy frame. When my gaze ventured to her face, I opened my lips and let out a sigh. She had cute, elfin features, framed by a cascade of golden blonde hair. From where I sat, she was a vision.

  I realized I was staring and looked away, only to have my eyes drawn back a few moments later. I wasn't alone—a quick perusal of my fellow diners showed that every man in the restaurant was shooting her the same furtive glances, agog at the supermodel in the midst of us mere mortals.

  There was no way she was my date. I knew this without having to ask—although it was tempting, as it would have provided an excuse to talk to her, even if for just a moment—because a woman who looked like that would have no need to turn to the Internet for a date. She could have her pick of the room at this very moment.

  I had to stop ogling her. I looked for my wa
itress, annoyed that the very moment I needed her, she was nowhere to be found. Then I heard a throat being delicately cleared behind me. When I turned back around, I saw that Ms. Beautiful had somehow found her way to my table. My first thought was that she was going to ask me where the restroom was.

  Her lips curved in a bewitching, shy smile, revealing a mouth full of perfect, white teeth. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to interrupt you," she said.

  "N-no," I stammered, even more dazzled by her up close. "I mean, it's no problem." God, I was staring again, wasn't I? She was probably used to it. At least, she didn't seem to mind.

  "I was just wondering, I'm uh, supposed to meet someone here," she went on.

  My heart stopped dead in my chest. How I managed to keep breathing was a mystery. It just wasn't possible. "Me, too," I said.

  She smiled again, her green eyes dancing. "Are you Roger?"

  Damn. I would have given anything to have been able to say yes. I wished with every fiber in my being that I was 'Roger', but instead was forced to reluctantly shake my head.

  "Too bad," she said, in a soft, deliciously delicate voice. "I'm Cara, by the way."

  I swallowed, trying to think of something intelligent and witty to say. The best I could come up with was, "My name's Kevin."

  "That's a nice name. Hey, you wouldn't mind if I sit with you, would you? I think I've been stood up."

  I swallowed again, hard this time, already kicking myself for what I was going to say next. "I'd love to, but the thing is, I'm waiting for a date, too."

  "Ah," she drew the word out, making it sound so full of hidden eroticism that I wanted to flip the table and run away with her right then and there. "Well, tell you what. Give it five more minutes, and if your date doesn't show up, what do you say to having a glass of wine with me?"

  "I'd say that you've got yourself a deal." After the words were out of my mouth I marveled that I'd managed to speak at all.

  Cara tinkled a bell of a laugh before walking toward the bar. I wasn't the only one watching her leave. After that, my eyes were practically glued to my watch. And I'm not saying I was praying that my date had indeed stood me up, but if not, it was purely because I was too busy watching the seconds tick by.

  Chapter One

  My mother had recently sent me a card for my birthday that depicted a white porch swing with the saying: 'A Southern woman is strong, independent, doesn't take crap from anybody, and still looks pretty as a picture on a hot summer's day.' I'd shaken my head as I read it, knowing that not even one of those things described me, and wishing with all my heart that it did. Sure enough, when I opened the card, she'd written, 'Maybe not, but I love you anyway!' in her hurried, large scrawl. Unlike my mama, who considered po' boy sandwiches and sugary sweet tea her birthright, I considered my heritage a fact, not a way of life. I was more sugar than hot sauce, reserved rather than outspoken. Family reunions always left me feeling lost and more than a little out of place as I sat in the midst of loudly bellowed opinions and hooted laughter.

  My mother had always rued her luck at having a daughter, her only child, who'd grown up to be the exact opposite of how she'd been raised. Mama, of course, fit the stereotype through and through. I didn't even like the men I was supposed to. A Mississippi man was full of rough-and-tumble, a football-watching, beer-drinking man who knew church on Sundays and Mama's pot roast were two certainties in life, and liked it that way.

  Was it so wrong that I wanted something different, something more for myself? Mama certainly seemed to think so, and she couldn't for the life of her understand it. I'd downright shocked ten years out of her when I'd moved to the city, which was bad enough—on top of the fact that it was an hour and a half away. I'd known before I did it that she would be put out, angry all the way down to her pretty pink toenails, but I'd also known it was something I had to do.

  I'd known for a long time that I wanted a rich, full life and that I wouldn't find it in a backwards, one-horse town. And the moment I walked into the restaurant and laid eyes on Kevin, my blood had begun to hum. My skin had started to tingle and a voice inside of me had whispered that he would be my 'something different'.

  From that very first glass of wine, we hit it off. Considering the fact that we were strangers, there wasn't an awkward moment between us—he was warm and funny and interesting. He was also one of those rare people who make you feel like you've known them your entire life within the first five minutes of meeting. Despite my usual shyness, he somehow managed to make me feel at ease instantly. And it didn't hurt that I felt my heart do a funny little flip every time I looked at him. I'd felt it that first time I'd spotted him sitting in the restaurant, and it only grew stronger as we talked. He had the most amazing brown eyes. They looked like pools of chocolate and crinkled when he smiled, which was often. He had dark brown hair to match, and a long, lean frame that I found irresistibly sexy. In fact, there wasn't a single thing I didn't find sexy on Kevin—from the hair curling on his forehead to even the five o'clock shadow darkening his neck. Normally, I didn't like facial hair on the men I dated, but he was the exception.

  Even though I wasn't normally big on alcohol—I'd seen one too many barbecues turn ugly thanks to a bottle of moonshine—I found myself ordering a second glass of wine just to have a reason to stay. Kevin must have felt the same way because he placed an order for chicken flatbread, which we picked at as we sipped our drinks and talked the night away. I was so entranced that I stayed glued to my chair until the waitress told us, in a voice that was only slightly surly, that they were closing. I'd looked at my watch in shock, and sure enough; three hours had flown by. Looking around the restaurant, I saw that we were the last people to leave, and had somehow managed to keep talking and laughing together even as the crew had begun putting up chairs and mopping the floor.

  Kevin had insisted on walking me to my car, despite my protests that he didn't have to. He'd even offered me his jacket to ward off the fall chill that was in the air, but I'd shaken my head. I doubted I'd be able to hand it back over when the time came, and anyway, my car was only parked a few feet away.

  "Can I see you again?" he'd asked when we'd reached the car, the eagerness in his eyes enough to warm me.

  I nodded, unable to offer anything besides a giddy smile, and I'd pinched myself the entire way home. If this was a dream, just call me Sleeping Beauty, because I didn't want to wake up.

  Kevin was everything I'd ever wanted in a man: mega-cute, funny, smart and a gentleman to boot. It almost seemed too good to be true, a fact that I knew my mama would have exploited right away. Not that I was asking her—what was the point, when I already knew what she'd say?

  No, I was determined not to let anyone spoil this for me, least of all someone ninety minutes and over a hundred miles away, who wouldn't be able to see how perfect he was for me over a telephone line. Kevin and I had made plans for the following evening, and though I normally loved my job as an OB nurse, that day I just couldn't concentrate.

  "Cara, did you check room seven?"

  "Hmm?" I looked up from the notepad I'd been doodling on as my coworker's voice broke into my thoughts.

  "Room seven," she prompted, in a way that told me that this wasn't the first time she'd repeated herself.

  "Oh, um…" I flushed to the roots of my hairline beneath her scrutinizing gaze. "No, Doris. I'm sorry. I'll go right now."

  I began to turn around, ready to hurry toward room seven, when she caught my arm. "Hey, are you feeling all right? I haven't known you ever to be so distracted. Is something the matter?"

  "No," I assured her, unable to stop my smile as I thought about my upcoming date. Nothing was wrong, except that my pulse was racing with hopeful anticipation.

  "Are you sure?" she pressed, narrowing her eyes as she looked at me. "You look flushed."

  "I'm sure," I said, and even though a giggle slid out with the words, she let me go and I went about my work. I can't say that I didn't get lost in my thoughts again, but I tried extra har
d to stay focused.

  Time seemed to all but drag by until I was able to clock out and leave. Usually I was a very cautious driver, but I was just too excited to pay attention to speed limit signs, and my little Accent flew down the highway. When I finally got home, I raced to my bedroom, my heart as light as my feet as I threw open the closet.

  If my life had been a cartoon, I was sure that moths and dust bunnies would have flown at me just then. My closet might as well have been empty for all the potential date outfits I could find. I needed something sexy but demure, something that would knock his socks off, but still maintain a hint of mystery. Why the hell were those dresses never on sale?

  With a sigh, I dug in with both hands, tossing dress after dress, every skirt and blouse, off their hangers and onto the bed. Not a single thing caught my eye. My mother always used to tell me that I didn't have an eye for flair—I'd ignored her every single time, so why were those words floating back to me right now?

  "It's not fair," I moaned aloud. I'd finally met my Prince Charming—at least, I hoped he was—and now I was like freakin' Cinderella before the ball, without the slightest hope of making an impression. I allowed myself another moment or two to wallow in self-pity before pulling myself together. I wasn't going to let one little thing like this get me down! And if Kevin was the type of man who would judge me for what I wore, then he wasn't really the one for me anyway, right? Sure would have been nice to have a pair of high, chunky heels just to cover my bases, though. Men love heels.

  With renewed determination, I began to pluck clothing from the bed on which I'd strewn the entire contents of my closet, and tried on outfit after outfit. I buttoned up a light blue blouse with French cuffs and turned to the mirror, critically assessing my reflection. Tugging on the long lavender skirt I'd put on, I turned slightly to see how it flattered my figure. It looked okay, though I would have preferred something with a little more oomph—my mama would have said it needed more 'hussy shine'.