An Instant Connection
Insta-Spark #3
Melanie Moreland
Moreland Books, Inc
An Instant Connection by Melanie Moreland
Copyright ©1155685 2018 Moreland Books Inc.
Registration # 1155685
ISBN # 978-1-988610-18-4
All rights reserved
Edited and Proofed by
D. Beck
Lisa Hollett—Silently Correcting Your Grammar
All rights reserved. No part of this 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 copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
For Matthew who always puts me first
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Melanie Moreland
About the Author
Foreword
This story was originally produced as a podcast on Read Me Romance. The ebook version contains extended content not found in the original narration.
Thank you to Alexa Riley and Tessa Bailey for inviting me to write a story for their subscribers. Check out Read Me Romance on Spotify, iTunes, Stitcher and Google Play.
Chapter One
Mandy
The cool, fall air hit me as I exited the tall Toronto skyscraper in the early evening. I breathed in deeply, ignoring the scent of exhaust fumes and the hundreds of people bustling past me, no doubt as anxious to be home as I was at the moment. I needed to get the smell of the stale, building air out of my lungs.
At least I was out of the office and away from my tyrant of a boss. Plus, it was Friday, which meant I had the whole weekend ahead of me. With a heavy sigh, I turned and headed toward the bus station a few blocks away.
Michelle had been on a tear today, worse than usual. HR had confirmed the hire of a new associate at the architectural company I worked for, and he was due to arrive on Monday. Michelle was the head administrative manager of the office, and she ran her department with an iron fist. When she found out a new person would be arriving and his office needed to be ready, she had snagged me and another woman from the temp pool and put us to work. Betty had “fallen ill” by noon, which left me on my own with Michelle, who simply could not be pleased today. It was rare she could be, and it seemed the new hire, Mr. Mackenzie, was particular and liked things a certain way.
The pictures of his work I helped unpack showed his creative, edgy style. His initials on each piece were a bold MM slashed in the corner in thick black ink. There was a box I emptied, under her watchful eye, filled with unique items from around the world. I had set them carefully on the shelves that lined the wall, knowing Mr. Mackenzie would probably move them to a different spot, but thankfully, they were unpacked. Obviously, the man had traveled extensively throughout his career. The way Michelle kept nattering on about him and how lucky the company was to have hired him, I assumed he was well known and admired. He had to be for her to pay that much attention to his office. I was sure the two of them would get along famously the way she was fussing.
When I first started at the company, I had looked forward to learning from Michelle, but once I began to work under her, I changed my mind. She was catty and unpleasant, only polite to her bosses and the managers she catered to daily. To her underlings, she was dismissive, curt, and at times, cutting. I kept my head down, did my work, and unobtrusively sent out as many resumes as I could.
I reached the bus stop, knowing I had already missed the seven o’clock bus, and would have to wait for the next one, which wasn’t for forty-five minutes. It wasn’t a bad place to wait—lots of benches situated around the large area, and it was well lit. Since it was one of the main stops, and most of the city buses came through, it was usually bustling; although, being later on a Friday night, it was fairly quiet.
A woman brushed past me, calling an apology over her shoulder as she rushed for a bus ahead of us that was beginning to close the doors. She waved frantically at the driver, her stuffed messenger bag bouncing off her back as she ran. I noticed how tired she looked as she met my gaze quickly, and without thinking, I lifted my hand to my mouth and whistled.
I was a great whistler, and the sound cut through the night. The driver hesitated, saw the woman, and waited. With a wave, she climbed on the bus, and I fist bumped the air.
“My good deed for the day,” I muttered, made my way over to the bench, and sat down. I bent low, rubbing my calves. I hated high heels, but it was part of the “look” Michelle demanded of all the assistants in the office. I wore the lowest ones I could get away with, so I didn’t face her wrath, but still, by the end of the day, my legs were always sore. All I wanted was to get home, kick off my heels, pour a large glass of wine, and have a soak in the tub.
“That is an impressive set of lips.”
Startled, I looked up, meeting the eyes of a man. He was leaning against the streetlamp, his arms crossed. A bright, coppery mass of curls gleamed under the light. He was tall, his shoulders wide and thick, his coat stretched tight across his torso. He was near enough I could see the color of his eyes. Piercing, brilliant blue irises were set into a face I could only describe as gorgeous. He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered with more copper. His smile was lazy, his lips drawn back, showing off straight, white teeth, one corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other one, giving him a rakish air.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Great whistle.”
“I was trying to get the attention of the bus driver.”
“You got more than that. You got my attention.”
I rolled my eyes, turning slightly on the bench. I was too tired to fend off a flirt—even one as handsome as him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him step closer. “Do you know her?”
I sighed and faced him. I hated to be impolite—even to pushy strangers who couldn’t take a hint. “Pardon me?”
“The woman you helped to make sure she caught her bus. Do you know her?”
“No.”
He rubbed his jaw, seemingly reflective. I tried to ignore his hands, but I couldn’t. I had a thing for hands, and his were incredible. Large, with long, thick fingers that were still elegant, but looked as if they were capable of ripping a phone book in half with ease or caressing my skin with the softest of touches.
I blinked.
Where the hell did that thought come from?
I dug into my purse, searching for my earbuds.
“Do you often help strangers?”
I glanced up, surprised to see the man standing directly in front of me. Close up, he was even better looking. His wild hair hung low on his brow, and his eyebrows were darker, setting off his exceptional blue eyes. There were laugh lines around them, and from the impish grin he sported, I had a feeling he laughed a lot. As if he knew what I was thinking, his grin widened, two deep dimples popping in his cheeks, changing him from attractive to devastatingly handsome.
I blinked again.
What was his question?
“Oh, erm, I guess. She looked tired, and I know what it’s like to miss your b
us and simply want to get home.” I lifted one shoulder. “I was glad to help.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. He sat down a few feet away and pulled out his phone. Feeling strangely disappointed, I went back to digging for my earbuds, thinking I would have to clean out my purse on the weekend. I couldn’t find a thing in it.
“Maybe you need a smaller purse.”
I paused my digging, knowing I had been talking out loud again. Living alone, I did that a lot, although I tried to refrain from doing so out in public.
I glanced over at the man, startled at his close proximity.
Had he moved?
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I replied dismissively, then bent my head.
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
I almost dropped my purse but managed to grab it before it fell from my lap.
“I beg your pardon?”
He chuckled. “You’re exceptionally polite. I like that. I said I would like to take you to dinner.”
“Um, thank you, but no.”
My response didn’t seem to faze him. He lifted one shoulder casually.
“All right.”
He leaned back, crossing his leg over his knee, and draped his arm along the back of the bench. He was near enough I could feel his warmth and smell his expensive cologne. Ocean breezes and citrus filled my nose. I liked it.
“Is it because you don’t know me?”
His words jolted me back to reality. “I’m sorry?”
“Why you won’t have dinner with me—because you don’t know me.”
“Yes, that’s part of it. It’s not advisable to walk off with strangers you meet at a bus stop.”
He nodded. “Good point.”
“You could be a stalker or a serial killer for all I know.”
“I could be. Or a mobster. They’re pretty scary. Trigger happy too from what I’ve seen.”
“Had lots of dealings with mobsters, have you?” I asked sarcastically.
He stared at me. “I watch TV,” he replied haughtily. “I’m aware of how they operate.”
My lips twitched, but I stayed silent.
I moved my hand around, locating my earbuds. “Finally,” I muttered. I slipped them on, plugging them into my phone. I began scrolling through my playlists when one earbud was pulled from my ear.
“Hey!” I gasped.
“I’m not,” he said firmly.
“Not what?” I snatched my bud from his fingers—his long, incredibly sexy fingers.
“A stalker or a serial killer. Even a mobster.”
“I see.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Only because you insist on ignoring me. You make me notice you, then you blow me off.”
I felt the flare of anger. “Listen, buddy. I didn’t try to get your attention. I didn’t even notice you. I was helping someone—that’s all.”
He laid a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “You didn’t notice me? I saw you the instant you came around the corner. When you whistled, I took it as a sign.”
“Well, take this as a sign. Have a nice night.” I turned my back to him and slid my buds into my ears. I hit play blindly, letting the music drown out all the other noise—including him. He was an arrogant ass—good-looking, but insufferable.
A moment later, his phone appeared in front of me. On the screen was a kitten, its paws together as if begging. Forgive me, the caption read.
Damn it. A kitten? This guy was good.
I turned around, noticing he was even closer—right beside me. I yanked out my buds. “Ever heard of personal space?”
“Yes. But you smell good. Really good.”
I resisted the urge to tell him he did too. Instead, I shook my head in exasperation. “Persistent as well, I see.”
“Is that worse than being a serial killer?”
“Right now, yes.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to get you to have dinner with me.”
“Is that right? Fast thinker.”
He nodded, tapping his forehead. “It’s a three-step plan.”
“I see.”
He held up a finger. “One, to get you to talk to me again. I’ve accomplished that. Two, introduce myself so we’re no longer strangers. Then we move on to number three and head to dinner.”
I shook my head, trying not to laugh. He was impossible—and getting more impossible to resist. Every time he smiled, his dimples popped. His eyes crinkled. His expression turned mischievous. He was very sexy.
He held out his hand. “I’m Mitchell. Mitchell Emerson.”
With a slight sigh of resignation, I slid my hand into his. His long fingers curled around my palm, strong yet gentle.
“Amanda Clifford.”
“Lovely to meet you, Amanda. Do your friends call you Mandy?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Now, Mandy, how about dinner?”
“Are you always this persistent?”
“When I want something, yes.”
“Look, Mitchell—”
He interrupted me. “Mitch. My friends call me Mitch.”
I sighed and tried again. “Look, Mitchell, I appreciate the offer, but the bottom line is you’re still a stranger. I don’t know you, or anything about you. I can’t simply go to dinner with you because you asked.”
He tilted his head and studied me. Once again, the light caught his coppery curls, and I had to stop myself from reaching out and seeing if they were as soft as they looked. I had a feeling he’d like that and use it to his advantage.
“That’s the point of a date, I think,” he stated. “To get to know each other.”
“Now it’s a date?”
“It is? Awesome!”
I started to laugh. “Stop twisting my words around. I don’t know you. I am not going out to dinner with you.”
“It’s time to move on to number three of my plan. The big guns.”
“Which is?”
He held out his phone. “References.”
I stared at the screen.
My son Mitchell is a gentleman. He will behave or face my wrath. Enjoy your dinner!
I gaped at him. “Your mother?”
He tapped the screen. “There’s more.”
I glanced down.
My big brother is a pain, but the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet. Text me if you want more deets. 555-123-4567 - Kris
I began to laugh. He tapped the screen again.
Mitch Emerson is an upstanding citizen and one hell of a golfer. That’s really all I can say about him without incriminating myself. Oh, he has great taste in wine. - Sincerely, Joseph Talbot
I looked up, one eyebrow raised.
“My best friend,” he explained. “I can give you all their cell phone numbers or I have my boss on speed dial. He’d vouch for me.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you going to all this trouble?”
His expression turned serious. “I saw you come around the corner and all I could think about was getting to meet you.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Again, why?”
“You want honest?”
“Yes, I like honest.”
“I thought you were the prettiest woman I had ever seen. Then I saw you help that lady, which meant you were also kind. I found your whistle extremely sexy. And I love your legs. They really do it for me. Roll all that together, and I liked the package.” He sucked in a deep breath and paused. “So, Amanda, I was hoping maybe you liked my package and would have dinner with me.”
I burst out laughing at his words. He had the grace to look ashamed, even if his eyes were dancing with mirth.
“Do you, Amanda? Do you like the looks of my package?”
I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to. Persistent, annoying, and sexy as hell. Plus, he thought I was sexy and he liked my legs. Two firsts for me.
“It’s at least worth checking out.”
He leaned forward, g
rinning. “I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”
“Is that so?”
“Is that a yes?”
I gave in. I was hungry, and dinner with a companion sounded nice. “Yes.”
“Can you recommend a good restaurant?” he asked. “I only moved here a few days ago, and I don’t know many places.”
I thought about it for a moment. “There’s an Italian place just down the street.”
“I love pasta.”
“Me too.” I did, and the restaurant was within walking distance. If things went south, I was still close to the bus stop and it was in an area I was familiar with.
He stood and held out his hand. “You just made my night, Mandy.”
I allowed him to pull me from the bench.
I had a feeling he might have just made mine too.
* * *
The streets were busy, people rushing to get to dinner, the theater, or one of the various other events happening in the city on a Friday night. Mitch stayed close, his hand hovering over the small of my back, as we headed toward the restaurant. When I was jostled a couple of times, he cursed low in his throat. Sliding his arm around my waist, he drew me into his side. I gazed up at him, arching one eyebrow.
“To keep you safe,” he said to my unspoken question.
I didn’t argue or move away. Tucked beside him felt…right. His six-foot-plus frame towered over me. I was average height for a woman, but I felt small and safe beside him. His warmth sank into my skin, and every time he pulled me closer as a group passed us, I could smell his incredible scent. I was almost disappointed when we reached the restaurant and he released me.
An Instant Connection: Insta-Spark #3 Page 1