Lucky 7 Brazen Bachelors Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Caridad Piñeiro

  My eyes burst open and I saw the yellow rope nudging against me, reminding me of danger—only not from falling to the pavement below.

  I pulled away from Paul abruptly, and he studied me through heavy-lidded eyes.

  My heart pounded and my eyes widened. “Why did you do that?”

  “To distract you.” Cupping my face, his thumbs brushed my cheeks, then he leaned his forehead against mine. “Did it work?”

  “Yes,” I said, savoring the feel of his skin against mine.

  Only now I was scared for a whole different reason.

  *

  Later that night, my doorbell rang, and I trudged to the front door in my painting sweats. In the twenty minutes I’d been home, I’d already touched up the white paint on my bathroom cabinets. The whole time I’d been painting, Paul’s kiss kept replaying in my mind.

  Not good.

  Blocking the kiss from my head, I opened the door to find my sister on my front porch. “Mel! What are you doing here?”

  She stepped inside, kicked the door shut behind her, and thrust her cell phone screen in my face. “Is this really you?”

  “Is what really me?” I snatched the phone and stared at the image on the screen. There it was in color. Me. Paul. Attached to the side of the Geoffries hotel. Kissing. The caption under the photo read Radio Love. I gasped. “What the … ?”

  Mel grabbed the phone back, tapped something on the screen, then started reading. “Brian Burnside and Kaitlin Murray find love thanks to local Sacramento radio station. It all began for the couple when Mr. Burnside won Descending for Diabetes tickets from—”

  “Stop!” I pressed my hands to my ears, dropped down onto my living room sofa, and groaned. “How could this happen to me?”

  “Seriously.” Mel sat next me, staring at the picture on her phone. “So not like you to spider down a building and I really didn’t picture Brian Burnside as your type. Is he a good kisser at least?”

  Remembering the feel of Paul’s lips on mine ignited a fire in my belly. “I did not kiss Brian Burnside.”

  Mel glanced from the picture to me. “Um …”

  “The guy in the photo is the bartender from the Geoffries hotel. I can’t believe our kiss is on the Internet.” I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so mortified.”

  “And I’m so confused.”

  I straightened my spine. “Brian won tickets to rappel down the Geoffries hotel but he freaked out and refused to go down.”

  “Yeah, that sounds more like the Brian I met. All talk and no action.” Mel patted my thigh. “So glad this wasn’t Brian, but how did you end up rappelling down with a bartender? One with a fabulous physique, no less. And, uh, how did you two end up in a lip-lock? A bartender doesn’t seem like your type either.”

  Hearing her say Paul wasn’t my type caused a knot to form in my belly and my forehead wrinkled. “Why isn’t he my type?”

  Mel held her palms up. “Don’t get in a tizzy. You seem like you’d go for someone more like—”

  “Paul DeWitt?” I said, cringing at the sound of my ex’s name.

  “Well, yeah.” Mel shrugged. “White-collar businessman. Country club member. Minus the whole cheating part.”

  I leaned back against the couch, pulled one of the decorative couch pillows onto my lap, and threw my hand in the air. “Who knows what my type is? I didn’t even want to date in the first place.”

  “Are you and the bartender dating?”

  “His name is Paul and no.” Although, maybe I could ask him on a date. We had kissed, after all. And the kiss had been amazing.

  Mel rubbed her hand against her temple. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want to date, but you’re going on five dates so Kristen and Ginger will help you paint. And you’re not interested in any of the guys you’re dating, but you kissed the only guy you’re not dating and his name is Paul. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” I said, having a hard time believing the chaos resulting from two dates. All I’d wanted was to make my new home a relaxing oasis.

  “Please tell me the bartender’s last name isn’t DeWitt.”

  I racked my brain. “I have no idea what his last name is. I don’t even know him.”

  Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Mel spread her fingers across her cell phone screen then held it up to show me the zoomed-in photo of Paul kissing me. “Looks like you know part of him up close and personal. Woo-baby, that is hot!”

  Mel was right. The photo was hot. His hands gripping my waist. My hand speared through that thick tousled hair pulling him closer. And our mouths devouring each other… .

  Staring at our personal moment plastered on the Internet made me feel exposed. Like that camera had exposed me to all of Sacramento, which it had. Sigh. “My mom’s going to freak when she sees this.”

  Mel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not if she thinks you’re smooching Brian Burnside.”

  “But I’m not going out with Brian again. Ever.” I squeezed the pillow in my lap. “When we finished rappelling, we landed in the Geoffries’ garden patio—which was free of reporters, thankfully—and Brian was waiting for me so I had to join him for our free four-star dinner.”

  Mel’s brows quirked. “Don’t look for sympathy here. I had mac and cheese tonight.”

  “But I wanted to have dinner with Paul,” I said, finding it hard to believe I’d just admitted that aloud.

  “The new Paul?”

  “Exactly.”

  Mel nodded. “Just making sure.”

  “But I can’t fall for a flirty bartender. I won’t. That would be like begging for a broken heart.” I shook my head. “No, it’s much safer remodeling my house.”

  “Speaking of …” Her face lit up and she reached into her large handbag, “Tada! Happy housewarming.”

  Surprised, I glanced at the rectangular white box in her hands. “For me? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  She handed the box to me and clapped her hands together. “I couldn’t resist.”

  My heart swelled at Mel’s thoughtfulness. I broke the gold seal on the box, and pulled out the sea-foam blue vase I’d admired at the boutique shop in Old Sac. “Mel! I can’t believe you went back for this.”

  “I had to.” She popped up excited, taking the vase with her and placing it onto the dark bookshelf across the room. “I knew it would go perfectly here. See?”

  The sea-foam blue vase looked amazing on the dark wood, and it was complimented further by the black and white Swan Lake Ballet poster I had framed next to the bookshelf. The ballet my dad had taken me to on our first father-daughter visit after he’d moved out.

  I glanced back and forth between the poster and the vase as I realized that if my parents hadn’t divorced—a phantom ache sliced through me thinking back to that time—then I wouldn’t have Melanie for a sister. My eyes welled. Oh the irony of life.

  Mel’s face tensed and she hurried back, then put her hand on mine. “Do you not like the vase anymore?”

  “No, I love it.” My mouth spread into a small smile. “And I love you.”

  She pulled me into a hug. “Right back at you, sis.”

  *

  To text or not to text, that was the question.

  I stared at the square paper napkin containing ten seemingly harmless digits. I’d confessed to Mel that Paul had given me his number. She’d promptly searched the area code online, determined he’s from Southern California, then insisted that I call him tonight.

  Ten digits. One phone. Tough decision.

  I stood and circled the coffee table, eyeing the cell and the square napkin suspiciously. Then I dropped back down on the couch and sank into the cushions.

  What harm could it cause to send one friendly text? The man had rappelled down a building for me so I wouldn’t have to go alone. So romantic!

  Oh, please. I gripped the sides of my hair. It hadn’t been for romance. The guy bartended at the hotel. He’d probably just been looking for an excu
se to ditch work for an hour. Maybe he’d even received brownie points for helping a freaked out customer (moi).

  Then again, maybe not.

  I’d just text him. Yes, I would. One text. To be polite. Even my mom would approve of good manners.

  Before I could change my mind, I whipped up my phone, and typed: Thank you for rappelling down the building with me.

  After I hit send, I gritted my teeth. How lame was that text? I hadn’t even signed my name. He probably won’t know who sent the message and he’ll ignore it. Or delete it. Or—

  Ping! Ping!

  I ran my finger along my screen to find a return message from the ten-digit Southern California phone number: Anytime, Kaitlin.

  Fueled by the zing that zipped through me, I bit my bottom lip and joked back: Anytime? How about now?

  My entire body froze. Had I really just sent that? What if he thought I was serious? That kiss had seriously scrambled my brain and—

  What’s the address?

  Biting my lip, I tapped out: My house is only one-story. And I don’t have rope.

  There. Safe. Close call.

  Ping! Ping!

  Running my finger across my screen, I read: How about I bring over that surplus tile we talked about? See if you like it? I would’ve shown it to you earlier, but you decided to have dinner with your friend.

  Reassuring myself his visit was only for the good of my backyard, I typed out my address and hit send.

  My phone pinged: On my way.

  I dropped the phone like it was on fire. Paul was on his way over. To my house. At night. My heart started pounding in my ears. Freaking out much? Me? Okay, maybe a LOT.

  Since Mel had prodded me to call him, I quickly texted her: You told me to text Paul and now he’s coming over. Help!

  Sitting on my couch, my knees bounced as I waited for my sister’s sage advice.

  After what felt like eons, my cell pinged. I brushed my finger across the screen and read: Don’t panic. You’ll be fine. Just change out of those awful sweats.

  My eyes shot to my outfit and the paint splattered on my tee-shirt and sweatpants. Yikes!

  Thanks. I typed back, then popped up to make a dash to my closet when I heard my cell ping again.

  PS Don’t forget the lip-gloss. Judging from that photo, you’ll need it.

  Quickly, I typed back: He’s just bringing tile over to show me. It’s for the remodel.

  Although I reassured myself this visit was only for the good of my house, I searched through my makeup drawer for my lip-gloss then slid it over my lips.

  Just in case.

  License to Date: Chapter Six

  The wall clock read nine o’clock when my doorbell rang for the second time. Even though it wasn’t a date, just a chance to acquire tile at a discounted price, I’d tried on and discarded multiple outfits until a mountain of clothes sat where my bed should be. I shut my bedroom door to cover the chaos, then hurried to the front door wearing a sleeveless top and black capris.

  I pulled open my front door, then felt an unexpected jolt through my chest when Paul’s mesmerizing eyes stared back at me. “H-Hi.”

  “Hi.” His mouth curved up and he handed me what looked like a very expensive bottle of wine. “For your nightly tradition of wine by your dock.”

  I bit my bottom lip, touched that he’d remembered my favorite routine. “Except I’ve been on hiatus due to dating week.”

  He winked at me. “Maybe it’s time you got back on track.”

  “My life’s perfectly on track.” Not. Everything about Paul had thrown my world completely off track. But his coming over was purely platonic and he’d brought over a bottle of wine so how rude would it be not to offer him some? “Thank you for the wine. Should I get us some glasses?”

  “Sounds good.” He followed me to the kitchen, dropped a small black bag on the counter, then surveyed the kitchen and the living room since it was an open floor plan. “I like your place.”

  “Thanks.” I loved my open floor plan and vaulted ceilings, but my eyes zeroed in on all the work that needed to be done—new light fixtures, hardwood floors that needed refinishing, and especially the exposed walls that needed texturing and paint. “It’ll be even better after this weekend.”

  He smirked. “Right. Free labor.”

  “Exactly.” I opened one of the cupboards, pulled out two wine glasses, then fished in a drawer for the wine opener. “Must be hard living in a hotel. Are you looking for your own place?”

  His face registered a strange look. “I’m comfortable for now.”

  “But it can’t be homey living in a hotel, even one as nice as the Geoffries.” I twisted the screw into the brown cork. “And it must be expensive. I hope they’re giving you an employee discount.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, but must’ve changed his mind because he closed it, waited several seconds, then shrugged. “It’s affordable.”

  His tone suggested he was holding something back, but I didn’t want to pry. Plus, I was having trouble getting the cork to come out so that took all my concentration. I tugged and tugged to no avail.

  “Let me.” Paul eased around the counter and came up behind me. But instead of taking the bottle, he reached around me and placed his hands over mine.

  “I forgot you’re a professional,” I said, barely able to get the words out since I was trying not to hyperventilate from the warmth of his chin against the side of my cheek, and the delicious scent of his spicy aftershave that I wanted to bottle up and keep. “How long have you been bartending?”

  “Not long.” He wiggled the cork out of the bottle with a gentle pop. “What line of work are you in?”

  I made the mistake of glancing up behind me where Paul’s gorgeous blues were intent on mine and our mouths were mere centimeters apart. My stomach flipped and I had the strong urge to press my mouth to his. Instead, I stepped aside. “I’m the H.R. Manager at Woodward Systems Corp downtown.”

  He nodded, then poured the burgundy wine. “H.R. seems like the perfect fit for you.”

  “How so?” I said, curious as to what he thought of me.

  Handing me a glass, he said, “You seem like a woman who follows the rules and likes things in order.” Then the side of his mouth curved upward and an adorable dimple formed. “At least most of the time.”

  Definitely not right now since every part of me wanted to break all my rules, slip my arms around Paul, and pick up where we’d left off in that photo. That would so not be for the remodel. “May I see the tile now?”

  “First show me the area by the dock where you want to use it. So I can make sure we have enough leftover tiles to cover the space.” His eyes glinted mischievously, then he lifted his wine glass up. “To your remodel and making your home exactly the way you want it.”

  I clinked my glass to his. “Thank you.”

  His eyes held mine as he brought his glass to his mouth.

  I watched him as I sipped, remembering how his mouth had felt against mine. A shiver ran through me. No! I would not let myself fall under his spell. Focus, Kaitlin. F.O.C.U.S.

  My mouth curved up into a polite smile. “Shall we go?”

  He smiled back, then lifted the small black bag over his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

  Wine in hand, I strode through my living room to the sliding door, then slipped my toes into my flip-flops. I turned on the backyard lights, then Paul fell in line beside me as we walked across my lawn then down the railroad-tie steps, lit on either side by tiny lampposts. We made our way to the base edge of my property by the river with my beloved—and badly weathered—small wooden table and two Adirondack chairs.

  Bringing Paul to my happy place worried me. I’d always come alone before. What if I lost the magic by sharing it with him? But as soon as I saw the water, the peaceful feeling washed over me. I closed my eyes, savoring the serenity, then turned to find Paul studying me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s definitely special.” He turned t
o check out the area under the dim light of two large lampposts. A splay of rocks reached out toward the calm, glassy river. Bushes and trees scattered along either side of the water. “I can see why you love it here.”

  I smiled, then curled up in an Adirondack, and watched him. “Think there’s enough tile?”

  “Should be plenty.” He made long strides across the perimeter as if taking measurements, then he sat next to me and pulled out a gorgeous, terra-cotta tile from his bag. “I assume you want to cover this entire rectangular area over the dead grass?”

  “That’s the plan.” Turning toward him, I ran my fingers over the smooth, earthy surface. “It’s beautiful and looks expensive. I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford it.”

  “Don’t worry.” He winked. “The hotel gives me a great discount.”

  I set the tile on the small table between us. “Since this week is the last of my dating deal, I’m also on my own for figuring out how to lay tile.”

  He twisted toward me. “I know a contractor who would make you a good deal. Let me look into it.”

  “That’s really nice of you to help me out, Paul.” Yeah, too nice. There had to be something wrong with this guy. “What’s your worst flaw?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “You trying to paint me as a bad guy?”

  “Just trying to figure you out.” Nice. Charming. Handsome. And an amazing kisser. No guy could be this perfect. He was probably like every other man who seemed great at first, then as soon as you dug deeper you found out he’d been dating your sister on the side. “Take your last girlfriend, for example. What was her biggest complaint about you?”

  His grin deepened. “Virna? We’re still friends. Do you want to call and ask her?”

  “No, I don’t want to call Virna.” What kind of name was that, anyway? The only Virna I’d ever heard of was the one who had won an Oscar last year for her role in that blockbuster flick about the domestically abused woman. “You must have done something wrong with Virna. Why else would you two breakup?”

  His face sobered. “She wanted a ring, but I couldn’t marry her. She’s a wonderful person, just not who I saw spending my life with.”