by Caine, Candy
“Thank you for coming tonight, Carla. You were a hit at our table,” Richard said.
“I wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for asking me,” Carla said and went to kiss his cheek.
Only, at that moment, Richard turned to say something to her and their lips met. A spark of electricity arced straight through her. Her brain was screaming for her to break away from him while her heart lusted for more.
“Carla,” Richard breathed. Then suddenly his lips were on hers again, fervently…
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Struggling through an unhappy relationship, Carla Millhouse decides on a makeover—of herself and her life. She joins a gym to lose weight, buys a sexy wardrobe and changes her hair. But even though she is focused on trying to save her relationship, she finds herself gradually becoming intrigued by her hunky, green-eyed gym buddy, Richard. Especially when she starts having torrid, sexy dreams about him.
Trying to put a devastating broken engagement behind him, high powered attorney, Richard Klein, is definitely not in the market for a relationship. Then he begins having hot fantasies about his dusky, voluptuous friend, Carla—-but she belongs to someone else. And in Richard’s book, it’s against the rules to poach. But after one explosive, passionate evening together, he sets out to change the rules…
ALSO BY CANDY CAINE
Christmas with A Stranger
Because of You
Dangerous Attraction
Forever Yours
Heated Pleasures
It’s Love That Really Counts
Love With A Younger Man
Never is Not Forever
PRAISE FOR CANDY CAINE
For Your Love
“What would you do and how far would you go for love? With great wit, twists and turns, a cast of well-crafted characters you’ll want to cheer for, (and some you won’t), Candy Caine’s delightful story asks and answers this age-old question.”
—Niambi Brown Davis, Author of Sanctuary
For Your Love
“A sexy, fabulous read. I couldn’t put it down. I was disappointed that the book ended when it did. I could have read on.”
—Bertrice Small, Best-selling author of Skye O’Malley
CANDY CAINE
For Your Love
Arrow Publications, LLC
Copyright © 2014 Candy Caine. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of Arrow Publications.
ISBN: 978-1-934675-58-8
Originally published as The Reconstruction of Carla Millhouse, ISBN: 978-1-934675-46-5.
Arrow Publications, LLC
20411 Sawgrass Drive
Montgomery Village, MD 20886
USA
[email protected]
www.arrowpub.com
www.myromancestory.com
All names, characters and incidents featured in this publication are imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is coincidental. They are not inspired even distantly by any individual or incident known or unknown to the author.
Author recognizes that all trademarked items mentioned in the book belong to the trademark holders of said items.
Prologue
“Where did you tell Orson you were tonight?” Martin Millhouse asked Heather Hemmings as he kissed the hollow of her slender neck.
“Dinner and a movie with an old friend,” she replied in her low silvery voice and giggled. She slowly ran a long, red manicured, nail along Martin’s back sending chills cascading down his spine.
“Hmm,” he said.
She shook her long, thick mane of honey-blonde hair. “What? Did you think I told him that I was meeting you here at the Fairfield Inn?”
A plane took off from the nearby Scottsdale Airport and the noise momentarily stopped their conversation. Though it was a municipal airport, it still had quite a bit of traffic.
“No! Of course not,” Martin answered as her hand dropped lower, causing his heart to thunder. Martin thought about the power she had over him that drove him crazy enough to risk his very livelihood, not to mention his marriage. He was certain that if Hemmings knew he was sleeping with his wife he’d lose more than just his job. His boss hadn’t become the automobile dealer giant by forgiving and forgetting. Many lesser men still bore the mark of Hemmings’ size 10s.
And yet, the more he tried to resist Heather, the more of a hold she had on him. Those pouting, full and rounded, red lips, electric blue eyes that could melt ice, long, thick, silky golden hair and a body that rivaled any calendar girl kept him coming back.
Martin had once heard that when you cheat on your wife, the first time is always the hardest. Perhaps, that’s why getting mixed up with Heather had been so easy.
She hadn’t been his first.
Sweet Carla seemed so content to stay home and write. Besides that, she’d let herself go, while he’d maintained his buff physique. Along with his classic good looks, full head of blond hair, and deep blue eyes, he’d found it exciting to attract the attention of a whole new crop of women.
Then, when Hemmings introduced him to his new trophy wife, a gorgeous creature half his age, the rest was, as they say, history. And so were his straying thoughts as Heather’s inviting mouth covered his.
Heather’s lips should come with a warning. Like a lethal weapon, her kiss intoxicated him as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He felt her fingers snake their way through his hair as she closed the gap between their bodies. The very touch of her soft skin on his acted like a wakeup call to every nerve ending in his body. This feeling intensified as she worked her way slowly down his body planting tiny kisses. His spasmodic breathing interrupted the quiet of the hotel room. He knew her ultimate destination and the anticipation added to his excitement. As her mouth slid down and sucked on his penis, all he saw and felt was Heather.
Chapter One
Carla Millhouse placed her menu on the white, linen tablecloth and looked around at the tasteful décor of the newly renovated BLT Steak and Bar Restaurant. “Nice place; glad I came,” Carla said to her friend seated before her.
“Me, too, and the view of Camelback Mountain is simply priceless.” Lynne Daniels replied referring to the impressive Scottsdale landmark. “We needed a change from our usual haunts. Besides, it seemed like the only way to get to see you.”
“Sorry. I’ve been preoccupied…lately.”
“You don’t say. Wanna tell me what’s been so important that you can’t find five minutes to pick up the phone and call me?”
Carla looked down at her hands and bit her bottom lip.
“The last time I heard from you was the July 4th weekend. That was over a month ago. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on!” Carla replied a little too loudly and forcefully enough to emulate Lady Macbeth.
An elderly couple sitting at a nearby table turned to look at her. Damn busybodies. Carla narrowed her eyes and glared at them, before turning back to Lynne and repeated in a quieter voice, “Everything’s fine.” However, she wrung her hands in her lap under the table.
Lynne, unaware of her friend’s hand wringing, did notice that small twitch in her right eye indicating that Carla was nervous or worse, lying. She was also fighting back tears. Lynne knew that if she kept insisting on some answers, eventually her friend would crack and divulge what was so obviously distressing her. Best friends forever, they rarely kept secrets from one another.
“Okay are you going to tell me or do I have to beat it out of you?”
“Honestly, Lynne, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s just perfect in Carlaland. The sun is shining—”
“You’re not reading to me from one of your child
ren’s books. And from what I can see, it’s about to start raining any minute in Carlaland.”
Carla blinked a couple of times to disperse the tears welling in her large, soft-brown eyes and took a deep breath. “All right. You win. I think Martin is having an affair.”
About to take a sip of water, Lynne nearly dropped the glass. “Why would you even think that?”
“Well aside from the fact he now works late four out of six days a week and just comes home to sleep, he’s been kind of…distant lately.” Carla squirmed in her chair. In fact, Martin hadn’t touched her in months.
“Is there any possibility that you could be mistaken?”
Carla pressed her lips together tightly. “Umm, did I mention I also found a hotel room receipt in the pocket of one of the suits he asked me to take to the cleaners?”
Lynne sat in stunned silence for a few seconds. Then her almond-shaped hazel eyes flashed. “Unbelievable! Have you said anything to him yet?”
“No.”
“If he were my husband, by now I would have threatened every inch of his life with a butcher knife.” Lynne’s café-au-lait complexion flushed with anger.
Had Carla not been so upset, the image of her petite, pixie-like girlfriend wielding a large butcher knife would have made her laugh. Instead she muttered, “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.”
“Yeah, me neither. What happened to the guy who used to worship the ground you walk on?”
Carla shrugged. “Repaved the road and drove off.”
“Be serious, Carla. This is your life, not some kid’s story.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Carla said as the steak knife she was nervously fiddling with went sailing out of her grasp and landed handle up in the wooden floor almost pinning the foot of the approaching waiter.
The waiter seemed not to be amused at narrowly missing being skewered as he bent down to extract the knife from the wood. A tall man with a fringe of dark-brown hair circling his large, melon-shaped head, he reminded Carla of Bert from Sesame Street and she fought to suppress a giggle. She got control of herself and ordered a turkey club sandwich and iced tea. Lately food had become her only excitement. Lynne ordered the same and the now wary man scribbled her order into his pad and sped off to the safety of the kitchen.
“What do you think caused things to change between you and Martin?” Lynne asked.
“Fifty pounds and ten years,” Carla said, remembering how she looked in the mirror as she was dressing that morning. The sight of her double-D boobs and over-sized love handles nearly made her sick. Reduced to wearing clothing with lots of elastic, she had abandoned most of the clothes in her closet, favoring easy-fitting sweat suits.
“In that case, why don’t you turn back the clock?”
Carla looked at Lynne incredulously. “No one can do that.”
“True, but you can go back to a happier time in your marriage.”
Carla stopped fidgeting and looked up at Lynne.
“You’ve got to take charge of your life. No matter what, you’re still the same woman Martin had fallen in love with.”
“How do you know I wasn’t replaced with a clone?”
“Carla, be serious.”
“I can’t. It’ll hurt worse.”
“And if you lose Martin to another woman? How do you think you’ll feel then?” Lynne pressed gently.
Carla turned away to gather her thoughts. A few beats later, as if a strong wind had blown away all the clouds of self-doubt, the answer came to her. She knew Lynne was right and exactly what had to be done. She wasn’t going to play the hurt, abandoned woman and throw Martin out, placing her entire future in the hands of some expensive divorce lawyer. Or worse, wait until he tossed her out on her now very ample ass. If Martin had loved her once upon a time, she’d have to return to that time. Of course, she couldn’t time travel, but she could repair the damage that time had wrought. She’d lose all the extra weight and get her body back into shape. By prowling around, Martin was hardly ever home. She’d have all the time and space she’d need in order to accomplish this goal.
“What would I do without you, Lynne?”
“Babe, that’s what friends are for,” Lynne said grinning. Verbally patting herself on the back.
“Seriously, I’m definitely going to need your help here. Losing fifty pounds of extra baggage isn’t going to be easy. You can’t just leave it at the airport or train station.”
“The only thing easy about weight is how you put it on, but no worry.”
“Whadya mean ‘no worry’?”
“We’ll get you a personal trainer.”
“What for? I’m not getting in the ring with Rocky. All I want to do is lose weight.”
“A personal trainer will show you the best way to do just that and how to keep it off. I’ll introduce you to mine,” Lynne said.
“You have a personal trainer?” And how did I not know this? Carla wondered.
“Uh-huh. He was a birthday gift from my roommate, Melanie. I learned a great deal from him and still go for workouts from time to time.”
Carla recalled how fabulous Lynne’s slim but shapely figure looked in her tailored, black suit as she greeted her in the restaurant parking lot. Lynne looked a helluva lot better at thirty-two than she did. And Lynne wore sweat suits to workout in—not to hide her figure. If she could end up with a figure like her friend’s, Martin’s head would spin around faster than Linda Blair’s character in The Exorcist movie. Maybe there was something to this personal training thing.
“Once you get the weight control under your belt—”
“Assuming I’ll be able to wear one again.”
“I’m ignoring that negativism,” Lynne said putting a manicured finger in each ear for emphasis. “Once the weight is taken care of, then we’ll tackle everything else,” she continued, glancing pointedly at Carla’s frumpy, elastic-waisted, knit slacks and baggy cotton top. “I’ll just bet you can’t even remember the last time you had any of your nails done, much less a wax.”
The way Lynne was looking at her, made Carla’s toes curl in her worn sandals. “Everything else,” Carla repeated. “This sounds like a major overhaul—almost as if you intend to reconstruct me.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I hadn’t realized that I’d let myself slip down the drain that far,” she said as more tears escaped.
Lynne reached across the table and patted Carla’s hand. “No, you didn’t self-destruct, but there is a great deal of work that needs to be done.”
“I’ll never do it.” Carla shook her head, lips pursed.
“Remember, no defeatist’s attitude is allowed. We’re going to make you better than you ever were.”
“Yeah, a new improved model,” Carla said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “hopefully with a better warranty.”
Lynne shook her head. “Are you going to be serious about this or not?”
Carla stopped sniveling and asked, “Do you honestly think that any of this is possible?”
“Of course.” Suddenly an impish grin spread across her petite friend’s face.
“What?”
“Have you ever thought of becoming a blonde?” Lynne asked, patting her own sleek black hair. With the bangs and her slanted hazel eyes and pretty ears, she looked elfin.
“No. What are you thinking?”
“When I’m through with you, Carla, you’re going to be the hottest black woman in the valley and Martin is going to be on his knees begging you to forgive him,” Lynne said, grinning impishly.
“This is not going to be easy.”
“Uh-huh. Nothing important ever is.”
“You know how hard it is to get me to do the same thing twice, right?” Carla said hesitantly.
“Yeah, and your point is?”
“How are you going to keep me on track? There’s no yellow brick road for me to follow.”
Lynne rolled her eyes at Carla’s reference to The Wizard of Oz. “Look at it this way. If you get derailed, you’ll only b
e hurting yourself. Just think of the satisfaction you’ll get by winning your husband back from some young bimbo.”
Carla took a bite of her sandwich. “And on that note, when do we get started?”
Chapter Two
Normally, as Orson Hemmings drove home to Fountain Hills, one of the most exclusive towns in the valley, he enjoyed the view of Red Mountain standing high above the McDowell Mountain range as its red sandstone was transformed by the Arizona sunset into a fiery orange and rust color. That evening he didn’t notice. Preoccupied, he turned onto N. Fountain Hills Blvd and then took a right onto N. Sherwood Drive before turning into the paved driveway of a sprawling, split level Spanish-style, stucco and brick house overlooking one of the two golf courses in the planned community.
He noticed that the gardener had added a new flowering cactus to the terraced area on the left of the steps leading to the massive wooden doors. Nodding his approval, he pressed the automatic garage door opener on the car visor and pulled his Mercedes sedan into his five-car garage. Heather’s car was gone. This was the second night this week that his charming wife was missing in action. He got out of his car and slammed the door. His anger heated his thick neck and he felt his silk Armani shirt cling to his broad back. Jesus, it was hot.
Walking into the den, he heard a low growl as a pink blur catapulted across the room from the imported, Italian leather couch and attached itself to his leg. It was Heather’s crazy miniature poodle, Lovey. Every single time he came home whenever Heather was out, that insane dog, acting as if he was a home invader, would attack him.
“Grrr!” came from the coiffured ball of fluff as he tried to shake it off his leg. The damn thing was firmly clamped on as if his leg were a doggy treat. He’d kill that infernal animal if she ruined another imported silk suit. After a few failed attempts, Hemmings managed to swing his leg with enough force to send the dog streaking across the room like a guided missile. He heard a loud smack followed by an ear-piercing whelp and then, finally, blissful silence. With any luck, he thought, the nuisance was dead. He hated animals—especially that emasculated poor excuse for a dog. He sorely regretted his stupid decision to allow Heather to bring that thing into his house.