Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1)

by Kris Jayne

  Charming You

  Kris Jayne

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  Next in the Thirsty Hearts Series

  Excerpt from Choosing You

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 by Kris Jayne

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Kris Jayne/Write Shout

  kris@krisjayne.com

  www.krisjayne.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Emma Lysy Design, emmalysydesign.com

  Charming You/ Kris Jayne. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-1-944460-00-6

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to those who sacrificed their time and energy to help make my dream of writing a reality. Thanks to my editor Jennifer Wiers Severino. Thank you to my favorite beta reader and fellow writing camper, Jennifer Rogers. Thank you to all my friends, especially Deanna Combs and Karen Ebner, who supported me by reviewing covers, buying cocktails, and talking me through the craziness of the writing process.

  * * *

  Very special thanks to my late mother, Bettye.

  Chapter One

  September 2014

  Micky Llewellyn cursed her luck a thousand times in the past nine days.

  It started last Wednesday when she was pulled over for speeding, and the cop gave her a ticket for going seventy-three in a sixty-five. Who gets a ticket for going eight miles per hour over the speed limit?

  Her dog ran away on Saturday morning. Ophelia the beagle darted between houses and howled ecstatically at her freedom. A neighbor finally discovered her two hours later digging through some trash and wolfing down questionable food stuffs.

  On Monday, she met her new boss—a slick-haired, sharp-featured man with an overly white smile who used words like "synergy" and scheduled meetings at seven o'clock in the morning.

  She spotted a mouse—or worse, a rat—in her garage, heard a family of birds in her chimney, and possibly broken her toe on the coffee table.

  Plus, her stepmother was coming into town this weekend.

  Micky thought the cold that flattened her two days ago was just an allergic reaction to recent events…and now this.

  Now—on top of everything—her car battery died. She was going to be late to her brother's house for dinner.

  Sweat beaded on her brow. The September temperatures still hovered above eighty, even as the sun faded. Micky looked around the emptying parking garage and pulled her cell phone out of her purse to call the auto club and explain her dilemma.

  "Yes, Ms. Llewellyn. We can have a technician there in forty-five minutes to an hour."

  "No chance they'd get here sooner?" Micky questioned hopefully.

  "Possibly, but at rush hour on a Friday, that's the best we can do."

  It was already after six thirty, and it would take her at least forty-five minutes to drive across Dallas to Pete's house. Being there by seven thirty was way out of the question.

  She ran a fatigued hand through her dark chocolate, shoulder-length waves and then wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She hated to be a kink in her brother's plans.

  Technically, Pete was her half-brother, and her stepmother would no doubt see her tardiness, at best, as a result of chronic irresponsibility and, at worst, as a direct personal attack. Lila Llewellyn-Vanoy didn't believe in bad luck—just bad planning and malicious intent.

  Micky gave up trying to make the woman happy a long time ago. What Lila thought of her didn't matter anymore. But she didn't want to ruin Pete's evening. He planned to introduce his girlfriend to his mother, and it was important. He told Micky that marriage to Clarissa was in his near future, so Micky wanted the evening to go smoothly.

  The thought of being late tensed her shoulders as she slid back behind the wheel of her Toyota Camry. She turned the key again and hoped for signs of life. Nothing. Her sigh evolved into a cough. Though she was finally much better today, remnants of her cold remained.

  She called Pete.

  "Bad news. My car battery died, and I'm going to be late."

  "Shit. How dead is dead?" Micky heard Clarissa Langley, Pete's girlfriend, inquire in the background.

  "I turn the key and hear nothing but clicks and the faint laughter of the gods," Micky quipped. "AAA is on the way. Is your mother there yet?"

  "Not yet," Pete answered before saying something to Clarissa about Micky's car. "She's already checked into the hotel. She wanted to freshen up before coming over." He paused. "She did tell me she'd be here promptly at seven thirty."

  "Of course." Micky coughed. "Where's she staying?"

  "The Crescent."

  "Of course," she said again as she turned her key in vain and prayed for a mini-miracle. A sharp knock on the driver-side window startled her into a loud curse.

  Micky looked up into crisp green eyes framed by the longest, darkest eyelashes she'd ever seen. The chiseled angles of his face mesmerized her until she remembered she was in a downtown parking garage. Alone. Lord only knows what this guy wanted.

  "Who's that?" Pete asked.

  "I don't know. Some man."

  "Do I need to call the police?"

  "Uhhh." She paused and surveyed the man leaning over her car. "I doubt it. Do serial killers wear Hermes ties and look like Cary Grant?"

  "You never know."

  "It's fine," she told her brother. "I'll give you a call when the auto club guy gets here."

  "Sooner if you think you're headed for dismemberment and a crawl space. Or later if he buys you dinner." Micky laughed at Pete's suggestion before he reversed himself. "Scratch that. I need you here."

  "He doesn't look like the crawl space type. And I'll make it at some point."

  They said their goodbyes and hung
up. Without power, she couldn't roll down the window, so she cautiously opened the car door.

  "Hello." The green-eyed man smiled. "Are you having some trouble?"

  "Umm...my car won't start. I've already called the auto club. They're on their way."

  "Oh, well, I'm right here," he turned and pointed to the dark blue Mercedes parked next to her. "I've got jumper cables if you need a start."

  The man tossed his dark blue suit jacket into the passenger seat of his car, removed his expensive silk tie, and began rolling up his sleeves. By now, Micky had climbed out of her car and stood next to him, acutely aware of his height. He had to be at least six foot three. He looked down at her even though she wore three-inch heels that heightened her already tall, five-foot-eight frame.

  He was hot. There was no denying that, and it made Micky immediately suspicious. Not that he meant her harm, but in her experience, good-looking, charming men were often times up to no good.

  Slightly shaggy, dark brown hair fell in his face when he leaned over, framing startling green eyes. His smile was warm and gentle. Micky took note of his lean but muscular body with its broad shoulders and masculine, athletic grace.

  Heat washed over her, and not from the weather. His tan hand extended toward his car, and she wondered what those strong fingers would feel like on her body.

  God, he's a complete stranger. Her throat went dry. She pursed her lips and shook her head like an Etch-a-Sketch to erase the images springing up in her mind.

  "So, do you want a jump start?"

  Her body screamed, "Yes!" But, she managed to pull it together enough to answer about her car.

  "I think I do." Her voice was husky from the surprising rise of desire within her as much as from her previous week's illness. "No harm in trying. If that's not the problem, the AAA guy will figure it out when he gets here."

  He popped his hood, then his trunk, and pulled out an emergency kit much like the one she kept telling herself she should get.

  "I keep telling myself I should get one of those," she confessed, stepping between their cars.

  "You should. I bought them for my mom and my sister."

  "Just the women?"

  He laughed and walked back to the front of his car. "All I have is women."

  "How gallant," Micky replied.

  "I try. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

  "I have a brother," she said. "That's who I was talking to on the phone."

  "Are you close?" he asked, shouting as he opened the hood of his car. Micky climbed into her car to pull the lever by her knee and pop the hood.

  "Yes, actually," she shouted back. "It would have been nice to have a sister."

  Reflecting on her childhood she realized how often she'd felt alone. Micky had gone with her mother after her parents' divorce, which meant leaving Pete as well. She would have loved to have more siblings around while she was growing up. People who understood what she was going through and could share the painful experiences of her parents' divorce and subsequent remarriages.

  "I can see that. I always wanted a brother," her handsome savior said, standing in front of her car and reaching inside for the release hatch to fully raise the hood. He fiddled for several seconds, but couldn't get it open. "Hey, do you know how this thing works?"

  Micky walked up beside him. Her fingers probed under the hood, brushing against his in the small space. He smelled incredible – tangy, salty spice. She found the latch and quickly released it.

  "You just have to know where to push," Micky said, looking up at him.

  She inhaled his scent, and the heat of his strong body next to hers triggered an acute awareness of his proximity. His brilliant, emerald eyes sparked as he looked down at her. Micky wasn't vain, but she knew men often admired her statuesque frame. She avoided his eyes and gazed down, noticing the top button of her blouse had come undone, and she was revealing a bit more cleavage than she intended.

  He grinned at her. "Well, isn't that always how it is." With that, he quickly hooked the cables to each car battery and commanded her to try her key again. She turned the ignition and her car rumbled to life.

  "Fabulous," the sexy stranger exclaimed, leaning over her open car door.

  "Thanks so much...?" Micky trailed off, not knowing his name.

  "Nick." He presented his soiled right hand then withdrew it. "Nick Halden. I work at Winston Stratford."

  Micky recognized the first two names on the long list of partners in the law firm occupying the top four floors of the building. Now she understood how he afforded the Hermes tie.

  "We'll shake hands another time," she responded after a brief pause. "I'm Micky Llewellyn. I work in marketing at Azur, the tech firm on the fifth floor."

  Nick raised his eyebrows. What did he think she did for a living?

  "Pleased to meet you, Micky."

  "I'd better be going. If I leave now, I can be slightly rather than egregiously late." She rolled down the window and closed her car door.

  "Big Friday night plans."

  "Not especially. Just dinner with family."

  "The brother?"

  "Yes. And my stepmother, who is a real stickler for promptness."

  "Lovely." He said with a deep, rich laugh. "Well, I won't keep you, but I will ask you a favor."

  "What's that?" Micky asked.

  "I think you owe me a drink. How about tomorrow?"

  "Owe? That doesn't sound like a favor."

  "A favor in return for services rendered."

  "I can agree to that. But, I don't know about tomorrow. Give me a call on Monday." She lied. As she dug a business card out of her purse, she knew she should have just agreed, but she didn't want to appear too eager or to rush into anything. That had bitten her in the past.

  So what if she'd probably spend the whole weekend working instead of allowing herself the distraction of drinks with a handsome, successful man who looked like sin in a suit? He was probably used to getting whatever woman he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  "I'll definitely call you. It's not every day I get to be the white knight for a beautiful woman."

  Nick gave her a charming smile that quickened her pulse. Suspicion inched up her spine even as the warmth of his gaze invaded her belly. Micky had horrible luck with charmers. The last one made her week from hell seem like a hangnail. She smiled at her well-dressed white knight and backed out of her parking space.

  As she drove off, she couldn't help but take another peek at him in her rearview mirror. Jesus, he's hot.

  Maybe her luck wasn't so bad after all. At least she hoped so.

  Chapter Two

  After calling off the roadside assistance, Micky headed up to the north Dallas suburb where Pete lived with his soon-to-be fiancée. It was nearly eight o'clock when she pulled in front of the two-story brick home because she'd stopped to pick up a bottle of red wine.

  "Hello, hello!" Clarissa greeted with a smile. As Micky walked through the front door, the warm smell of roast hit her.

  "Mmmm. You've been cooking. Sorry I'm late. How are you?" Before Clarissa could answer, a slow southern drawl drifted toward them.

  "Peter says you had car trouble." Lila shook her head. "I suppose that's to be expected. You really ought to get a new car. I don't know how you drive that thing."

  "Hello, Lila." Micky summoned the effort to be polite. That "thing" was a Toyota that was barely five years old. Normally, it was perfectly reliable. "I probably just need a new battery, which I'll take care of tomorrow." Pete appeared behind his mother, saying hello and prompting a change of topic.

  "So, I take it you didn't have to wait for AAA. Hermes tie must have been pretty handy," he quipped.

  Micky laughed, but didn't respond. The image of Nick Halden stuck in her mind—his dazzling smile, sparkling eyes, and tall, hard body. She warmed remembering what it felt like to be next to him. It had been too long since she'd been that close to any man, let alone one as devastatingly handsome as Mr. Halden. She wondered if he would
call her and then promptly chastised herself. What was she twelve?

  "Hermes tie?" Lila's question brought Micky back to reality. "What on earth does that have to do with a car battery?"

  "A man who works in my building gave my car a jump start. I happened to mention to Pete that he was wearing an Hermes tie," Micky explained.

  "That's hardly your usual type. Don't tell me you've snagged a winner this time!" Lila raised her hands to heaven.

  "I know. Will wonders never cease," Micky countered dryly. She had no interest in recounting the sad tales of her recent love life. Even she had to admit she'd kissed a few frogs without exactly fairy tale results.

  Eric. The slime of that relationship still clung to her psyche. He'd had her completely enamored. She remembered all the times she should have had a clue that something wasn't right. The abruptly ended phone conversations. The times when he would get a call or a text message and his entire mood would change. Classic signs. Still, she'd been a fool.

  Before Eric had been Stefan. His stealing jewelry from her house had been the first indication of his drug problem. Psycho Dan and his anger issues preceded Stefan. And before that? Micky didn't care to remember.

  These days, she'd adjusted to a sort of laissez-faire attitude about dating. She didn't have the energy or desire to keep sifting through the bargain bin of men. Plus, her work was becoming more demanding. She longed to change the subject. "Pete, show me the new kitchen."

  Pete took her cue and guided her through his beautifully remodeled kitchen. Old, dingy appliances had given way to shiny stainless steel and laminate countertops to sleek granite. In his hardcore single days, Pete wouldn't have noticed or bothered. The only thing on his countertops had been Styrofoam take-out containers. Clarissa had her brother thoroughly domesticated.

  Now, Pete spoke like an authority about his kitchen's newly-installed advanced features. Her brother wouldn't know anything about convection ovens without his girlfriend, a gourmet chef with her own catering business. Micky smiled.

  She and Pete had both grown up with parents who married, divorced, and remarried with alarming frequency. Micky's mother was on marriage number four. Their father was on marriage number three, as was Pete's mother. Their mothers kept trading up for wealthier, more adoring men, and their father for younger, more adoring women. So cliché, and so frightening for the two children who had the misfortune to be born into their parents' mess.