This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Miranda Liasson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503947092
ISBN-10: 1503947092
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant / SOS CREATIVE LLC
For Debbie, friends forever
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
EPILOGUE
GRANDMA GLORIA’S BETTER THAN SEX CAKE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
Meg Halloran barely managed to squeeze into the ancient elevator at the Grand Victorian Hotel before its heavy metal doors snapped shut. “Sorry!” she called out at the last second to a woman in the lobby whose purse had toppled off her shoulder as Meg had barrelled her way past. She was late for her bridal shop’s most important client, the mayor’s daughter, whose engagement party was being held tonight amid champagne, prime rib, and carefully arranged twinkly lights in the lush old-fashioned gardens of Mirror Lake’s oldest—and only—hotel.
How late, she could only guess. Five minutes? Ten? Maybe it was better that she couldn’t get to her watch. She was weighed down with more baggage than Kim Kardashian on a European tour, with her alteration bag, purse, and three dresses. One of which was a ginormous wedding gown that was as foofy as an 1850’s hoopskirt and weighed a good twenty pounds.. To make things worse, she’d started out the day looking business chic but between the balmy August weather and her heavy load, she’d deteriorated into business sweaty.
Above the clouds of tulle, she could barely make out the scrolly floor numbers atop the door. One quick glance told her the elevator was going exactly nowhere.
Meg aimed her one free appendage, her elbow, at the fourth floor button while teetering on high heels that were a far cry from her usual comfy flats.
Just . . . out of reach.
She was about to throw her body against the button panel when the doors suddenly shuddered open. A pair of men’s fine leather shoes, polished to a spit shine, strode over the purple-toned Oriental rug as a businessman entered and stood near the front. “What floor, miss?” a deep male voice asked.
She startled, her nerves jangling. So much was riding on the Klines’ satisfaction. Priscilla’s daddy was in thick with the bank and her mother sat on the board. In a small town where loan committees could get away with acting on whims and fancy, their vote of confidence for the bank loan that would change her life meant everything.
“Four, please.” Her voice sounded muffled and a bit edgy from behind all her stuff. Okay, she was edgy. Maybe because her business partner, Alex, was pregnant with twins and on bed rest, leaving Meg to shoulder more than the usual responsibilities. Ones that had made her uncharacteristically late.
Or because she dreamed of making Bridal Aisle much more than a drafty old warehouse with pink shag carpeting and paltry inventory. Or because her mother’s rheumatoid arthritis care cost a big chunk out of her paycheck, even with good medical insurance, forcing her to work longer hours. Her mom couldn’t tend to her house like she used to, and Meg longed to have the money to hire out the cleaning and lawn work she currently did herself.
A bigger shop, more customers, more money. A little more time for herself. That was the plan. She wanted that loan. She needed that loan.
Footfalls sounded again as her elevator companion backed up a few steps and settled in against the wall.
She caught a whiff of a crisp, woodsy scent—eau de Italian Billionaire. It accosted her nostrils and channeled exotic places like spice markets in Madagascar that she’d only ever dream of visiting.
Unless she got that loan.
Meg craned her neck to see something besides his feet, which appeared on the large side. Alex, never the bashful wallflower, always said the size of a man’s feet reflected the size of another part of male anatomy. If so, then Mr. Hottie Billionaire was very well equipped, indeed.
He was likely some traveling businessman, passing through town, maybe here for a conference. Probably handsome, too, judging by his expensive taste in shoes and the tapered cut of his pants, his deep voice, and his sex-pheromone-inducing cologne. She’d bet her paycheck he wasn’t going to be tucked in bed later watching RomComs from the nineties and dreaming of a different life.
The elevator doors finally moved to close, but a well-manicured hand suddenly jutted between them, causing them to seize up and shudder.
“Benji-wenji, there you are!” a woman’s excited voice exclaimed. “I thought that was you.”
“Ashley.” The deep baritone held surprise and relief. Maybe pleasure, too. “You made it.”
“Anything for you, baby,” the woman crooned. Meg rolled her eyes. Curiosity made her risk losing her footing as she peered around her armload in time to see a woman in a low-cut, clingy red dress race into the elevator, her strappy four-and-a-half-inch sandals clickity-clacking against the old black-and-white tiled floor.
She was tall, polished, and buxom. All traits Meg was deficient in. Meg particularly noticed the woman’s sleek blonde hair, shiny and controlled, unlike her own coffee-black hair, which refused to be tamed regardless of how much product Brenda from the Curli-Q salon coated it with.
The loud smack of a lipstick-glossed kiss rent the air. “I haven’t seen you in soooo long!”
Great. Now they were smooching. Meanwhile, the Kline women were waiting for her in their undies. Meg tried in vain to shake that visual out of her mind. She cleared her throat, but no one paid any attention.
What was wrong with this elevator? Was it built the same year as the hotel?
“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” the man said.
His voice held a soothing, sexy quality that rolled off his lips as smoothly as butter off steaming pancakes, conjuring classic Clint Eastwood or George Clooney.
And it was vaguely familiar. Wait. More than vaguely familiar. A sudden spark of panic ignited in her chest and burst into flame like a Fourth of July sparkler.
No, couldn’t be. She strained over her load for a glimpse, but no luck. The Benji-wenji she knew—Benjamin, that is—would more likely be wearing scrubs than a suit. An hour away, doing the last year of his Emergency Medicine residency in Hartford. He didn’t have time to dress in expensive suits and waste time in fancy hotels. Definitely not his style.
It was probably just her overactive imagination that tended to conjure images of him way too often. But her fantasies had never turned auditory before.
“You know, Benji—” The woman stopped talking, gave a silly giggle, and whispered something Meg couldn’t make out.
A flush crept up Meg’s neck as she imagined any of a number of
soft, sultry words. She shifted a little closer to the wall, her arms aching under the weight of her load.
The man chuckled, a silly, spontaneous sound that was playful and carefree and promised naughty things like hard-driving, all-night-long sex. It made Meg’s stomach pitch in a way that filled her half with distaste and half with an unexpected longing that pulled deep down in her gut.
Oh, to have someone want you like that. To banter playfully, to have him nip your neck with soft kisses, gather you up in big strong arms . . .
She had to stop reading those romance novels that were piled all through her apartment and hidden under her bed.
Life wasn’t like that. At least, hers wasn’t. Ever since her older brother Patrick had died when she was sixteen and her parents had subsequently divorced, she’d been the one in her family to stomp out fires, take care of emergencies, and soothe everyone’s frayed nerves. The peacekeeper. It was a good trait except it tended to get her stepped on and taken advantage of. But not anymore. Not since she’d vowed to make some changes.
And the Love Boat may not have sailed directly into Mirror Lake Yacht Club so she could board, but it wasn’t too late for her to swim out and catch another one.
Someone from the floors above them must have summoned the elevator, because it finally began its ascent, dragging upward like a sleepy teenager.
The scrolly numbers above the door lit up. Just three more floors.
“The CEO of the hospital will be at dinner tonight, along with two other candidates for the job.” The guy’s tone couldn’t have been more businesslike, but Meg’s heart dropped to her feet, and it wasn’t from the lurching of the elevator. It was him, as sure as the warm, crusty apple blossom with ice cream at the town diner, Pie in the Sky, or PITS as it was affectionately called, was the most magnificent dessert in the world.
She’d loved Ben Rushford ever since he’d untangled her skinny, scraped, and bleeding body from her ruined pretzel of a bicycle when she was ten. They’d been good friends in high school. But in recent years, he’d barely spoken to her. Oh, she saw him around town and sometimes even at Rushford family events, because her two best friends were married to his brothers. But their conversations rarely passed the hi, how ya doin’ stage.
Not that she’d sat around waiting for him, but in spite of her other relationships, his big shining personality and hot smoking body still loomed large in her ill-advised imagination.
Too large.
That was why, as of her recent twenty-sixth birthday, she’d kicked the Ben habit. Vowed to take more risks with her business and her personal life. The same day she’d learned her other best friend, Olivia, was pregnant. Two pregnant best friends, exchanging moony glances with their special men. Along with dozens of radiant faces of the brides she dressed smiling at her all day long. Meg was literally surrounded by love fests every day, and she yearned for her own.
Or at least . . . something. She didn’t need a man to fulfill her. She had a job she loved, friends, and family. But she wanted the opportunity to find her own life. To at least have the chance to try and find a forever kind of love.
She wasn’t ashamed of wanting it. Hadn’t her two best friends already found it? She believed—yes, she did—deep inside her doubting soul that it was possible, even in a town the size of a safety pin with a pool of eligible guys too small to make up a Single-A baseball team. But if she had any hope of meeting Mr. Right, she was going to have to find a minute of her week that wasn’t booked solid.
“Dinner’s at seven.” He sounded relieved, like the date was big and important. Not that she could hear very well over the amplified thunk-thunking of her heart.
“Um, yeah, about that,” Ashley said. Meg swore she heard gum crack. “I just got a call on the way over that U2 is doing a concert at Times Square tonight and they need hot girls for the front row. This guy I know’s got tickets. You know I’d do anything for you, just not tonight.”
Silence. Uh, oh.
“Tonight?” Ben’s voice notched up an octave, which surprised Meg. He rarely showed signs of stress, tending to be lighthearted, carefree, a jokester.
He cleared his throat. “Look, Ashley, I’m a little desperate. The hospital committee is deciding on this job and—”
“You’re a shoo-in, baby. But I have to go. This could be my big break.”
More silence.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice rose way faster than the elevator. “You have no idea how hard it is to break into the modeling business. Every exposure counts.”
Well, she was exposing her boobs pretty nicely, Meg thought, unable to resist another glance. Then, as she rotated her gaze, she saw him. Her breath hitched and she got that same heart-stopping whoosh of heat flooding every inch of her body that made her dizzy and weak-kneed whenever she came within ten feet of him.
And that was only from looking at his back.
He was gorgeously elegant, tall and lean, his suit pants caressing his spectacular ass like a lover’s hand. His dark hair waved a little despite its precisely cut layers, and she noticed as he turned his head that he was still wearing a beard, close-cropped and dangerous.
Blessed with an overabundance of confidence, Ben had propped himself up in his usual pose, with one slim hip leaning jauntily against the nearest wall. But now he stood with feet anchored rigidly to the floor, his big arms crossed and his jaw set in concrete. “Look, I can get you to U2 or another concert any time you like. I just really need a date for this dinner.”
Through a gap in the dress bag plastic, Meg saw the woman’s eyes narrow. “Everything’s always about you, Benjamin Rushford. Well, I have a career, too, and I need to seize my opportunities. Just because you’re a doctor doesn’t make you boss of the universe.”
He gripped her arm, maybe to calm her down. “Boss of the what?” Meg bit her lip to keep from smiling at his utter, total frustration. It was just a little funny. Ben, who’d always had his pick of lovelies, was having difficulty getting a date.
“That’s why we broke up, don’t you remember?” Ashley asked. “It was all about your work.”
“I’m doing my residency, Ashley. I’m sorry the hours are long—”
“It was impossible to have a relationship with you. You hardly ever have time for fun and you’re always half dead from being on call. Remember that one time you fell asleep when we were in the middle of—”
Oh, God. TMI, TMI. Meg squeezed her eyes shut.
Mercifully, the elevator dinged. Floor Two. But to her horror she saw they were somehow back at Lobby level.
Okay, so the elevator really was as old as the hotel. And she hadn’t been paying the least bit of attention to where the hell they were going.
Ashley threw an arm across the door frame and turned to Ben. “I’m getting out. Maybe one day you’ll be able to appreciate that other people have needs, too.”
“Don’t be upset,” he said to her retreating back.
She turned one last time. “Good-bye, Ben. Good luck.”
Meg’s needs were to exit this elevator right now. She prayed Ben would exit, too, chase after that woman, beg her, whatever, but no luck. Heels clacked an angry beat and faded into the distance. It took eons for the doors to close. This time, she was aware of the upward whoosh that left her stomach in her throat as the elevator’s final rise commenced. Just four more floors of staying invisible behind all her stuff and she was home free. Go, elevator, go.
The sound of Ben’s voice made her jump. “I’m sorry for the delay—um-Miss. Can I help you carry some of that stuff?” She pictured him craning his neck to see her face. Her arms had turned into limp rubber bands from all the weight, but she held them steady. No way was she letting her guard down now.
“It—it’s fine and no. No, thanks.” She hoped her voice was distorted by all the dress material in front of her face. He was probably too preoccupied by his date’s rejection to give her a second thought.
When the ding of hitting the fourth floor f
inally sounded, she’d never been so relieved. She waited for him to exit. Footsteps sounded as he crossed the threshold. She was seconds away from being in the clear. It was going to be all right.
Meg stepped forward. Only to notice his hand holding the door open for her.
Behavior like that made him so hard to hate. Embarrassed for him as well as herself, she mumbled thanks and buried her face in the yards of white tulle as she crossed over to safety.
Until her heel caught in the tiny groove between the elevator and the fourth floor.
She tugged. Pulled. There was no budging it. Her heartbeat accelerated to NASCAR speed levels. As a last recourse, she tried to wiggle her foot out of her shoe but it was as stuck as gum on your sole.
A warm hand encased her foot. She clenched her teeth and tried not to startle out of her skin. His long, piano-player fingers touched her ankle and the shock of the unexpected contact made her gasp. Capable hands gently twisted her shoe back and forth as her sexy companion focused all his attention on the problem.
The top of his head bent low, and his thick brown locks made her ache to drag her fingers through them and scrape his scalp in wanton delight. This is how he’d be at work, a voice whispered inside Meg’s head. All competence and complete focus.
That same little devil of a voice wondered if he gave his women the same laser-focused attention when he—well, never mind that. An involuntary shudder wafted over her.
His touch was gentle as it slid carefully over her skin. She could feel the unexpected but very masculine roughness of a callus as he ran his hand over her calf and tugged.
She curled her toes in her shoes and swallowed hard. Dammit, no. How could he still affect her after all these years? If only she weren’t tied to this horrible town. If only she lived somewhere where everyone hadn’t known her from birth, where no one remembered her glasses or her buck teeth or every blushing gaffe she’d ever made.
Like the time when she’d gone with her two best friends to toilet paper Ben’s house during soccer season, and his Grandma Effie, who had helped raise the Rushford kids after their parents had died, had caught them. When she asked just what they thought they were doing, Meg had lied and said she’d lost her contact lens. At midnight on a Friday night in the middle of his tree-lined yard. Right.
This Love of Mine Page 1
