by Ally Crew
OPEN DOORS
Instalove Hearts Book 2
ALLY CREW
BRYNN HALE
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Copyright © 2020 by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale
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This story was co-written by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale. Brynn writes sweet, steamy instalove with bad boys, cowboys, firemen, military guys and more with heart and all the feelings.
She can be found at: Amazon Brynn Hale
Contents
OPEN DOORS- Instalove Hearts Book 2
1. Dani
2. Mason
3. Dani
4. Mason
5. Dani
6. Mason
7. Dani
8. Mason
9. Dani
10. Mason
Epilogue
Miso Soup
Sneak Peak of SHOW TIME-Instalove Hearts 3
Also by Ally Crew
Also by Brynn Hale
OPEN DOORS- Instalove Hearts Book 2
♥Meeting the man who loved her mother from afar twenty years ago isn’t her biggest problem. Falling in love with him is.♥
Dani
What is happening? My plan is working…and it shouldn’t have!
I’m inside of Mason Kenmore’s apartment pretending to be cleaning crew.
He knows I’m not, but he lets me continue my charade.
I need to get close to the man who wrote this on the back of a photo: I’ll always be here for you, Lily. Whatever you need. Yours, Mason
Lily’s my mom who just passed away and when she did, she left me and my twin brothers to pay for a mortgage and the mortgage company won’t wait.
I need to know, Will Mason’s generosity and friendship extend to me?
But in the course of a few hours, I find out he can explain the secrets of the past…and maybe the desires of my future.
I can’t take his money now. It kills me, but I’ll have to close the door on what we could’ve been.
Mason
She’s the spitting image of her mother…and it takes my breath—and my heart—away.
I know she’s not my cleaning company. She arrived with no sign of supplies to go along with the rest of her comical but libido-pumping costume.
But I’ve got to meet her.
And after I do, I know that Lily’s talking to me from the grave. The thought I never got to say goodbye kills me, but I’ll do anything to help this fresh-eyed young woman.
When Dani finds out the pain I’ve been holding inside, sworn to secrecy by her mother, will she be able to see it was the only way I thought I could save them all or will she revert to the mistrust her abandoning father instilled in her?
The door is open and this time, I’m not closing it until she’s mine.
What you must know: This fast and steamy read contains over-the-top proclamations, instalove magnetism, and sweet moments between a curvy woman and a pained but ultimately loving man.
1
Dani
Using a palm to shield myself from the glare of the sun, I roll my gaze up the behemoth building and release a sigh that can probably be heard around the world.
I would’ve felt dreadfully small, even if I was standing in front of a two-floor townhouse. But now that I’m staring at a monster structure—with swanky facets of metal, glass and stone resembling a 3D Picasso model—it’s making me feel absolutely tiny, in the crappiest way.
Homelessness tends to do that to one’s pride. Ouch. Even thinking about my situation causes a pain in my body that I can’t tell where it’s at, but it’s just constantly there—a reminder.
My fingers slip into my pocket and pluck out a picture. The photo and its cryptic scribbled message found when foraging through her belongings. There are spider-crinkles on one of its bent corners, and a message scribbled in ink on its matte-white back. The photograph is a rare snapshot from the past, and at least fifteen years old, since it has dad posing beside mom.
The best mom any girl could ever want for.
A heavy film of emotion glazes over my pupils as my attention settles on her young smile. It’s been a month, and the pangs of grief are still overwhelming. Especially since I can feel her memories thinning into the distance, like beautiful dreams, while I’m stuck here, facing an ugly reality, alone.
Life is a bitch.
Dad left mom over an infidelity scandal when she was pregnant with my twin brothers. He hasn’t so much as sent us a Christmas card since. Mom was everything for us. With her gone, we’re now close to having nothing. Literally. Apparently, the mortgage company wouldn’t grant us leeway if an installment is missed—not even for a month. So, for a 21-year-old grieving orphan, with two siblings to care for, faced with the looming foreclosure of their only home—what’s the only way “out”?
A miracle.
“Exactly!” I say to myself and make a man walking by jump.
I’m hoping for a miracle.
My stares drift from the smiling faces of Mom and Dad over to the third person on the extreme right. An attractive man, of about dad’s age.
As I’m about to put it away, my attention hovers over his halting features. Framing his square face is tousled copper colored hair with a few fiery streaks of red. In contrast, his eyes are a sparkling cool blue. His features are not typically sharp. But they flaunt the smart calculatedly calm glint of a successful businessman. It gives him the aura of a man who’d be just as comfortable dealing with sleazy investors as he would be with top brass entrepreneurs.
The stirrings in my chest evolve into a flutter.
“Fourth time.”
Bizarre. It’s the fourth darned time I’ve glimpsed at him since I found the photo, and all four times I’ve ended up with this weird sensation in my chest.
Who reacts that way over a decade-old picture of a stranger?
I flip the picture over.
On the back, in neat cursive script, a message reads: I’ll always be here for you, Lily. Whatever you need. Yours, Mason
“Mason Kenmore.” Since Mom never mentioned him, I had to do my own research. It turns out he’s a self-made property magnate, with a multi-billion dollar portfolio of fancy properties and condos under his belt. Like the one I’m currently standing in front of. While I don’t know how he knows mom, I can only hope Mason Kenmore’s promise of “will always be here for you” extends to Lily’s children too.
Armed with an ounce of hope, here I stand at his doorstep, resorting to a few desperate measures to try my luck. After having been told by his secretary that I would have to wait two weeks for an appointment at his workplace, it seemed I’d have a better chance at catching up with him at his condo. Last I checked—and from watching from across the street at the coffeeshop—he lives alone and uses a weekly professional cleaning service.
So, I’ve decided to fast-track my way into meeting with him, by posing as a cleaner. Nope, it is not a brilliant plan. It is a frantic one.
And that’s not even the worst of it. Since I don’t own a maid’s costume and have very little mone
y to spare, I shopped at an outlet that offers customers a super-deal on costumes. Sadly, I discovered too late that they offer the worst-deal on fitting too. And I’ve had to squeeze all hundred-sixty-five pounds of my generous ass-and-boobs into its form-fitting cut. Which explains the inappropriately short-n-tight attire that my trench coat is hiding.
God, what am I doing? Shush Dani. All’s fair in love…in war…and in saving your childhood home!
I hold my chin up and walk up to the door.
I’m about to step in, to greet the doorman, when the wrong side of my right heel strikes the short entrance step and I nearly trip overA brisk wind blows past and my coat flaps up to reveal the costume beneath it.
The doorman’s brows shoot right up to his hairline, revealing his opinion of my skimpy attire.
I quickly clinch the edges of my coat together, and glance at the name on his security badge. “Fred?” I flash him a sheepish smile, “I’m here to clean Mr. Kenmore’s place.”
“Ok. Wait here, please…” He rubs the tip of his nose and then steps aside to make a call. At some point, I hear a whisper that sounds like “Mr. Kenmore” and “someone to see you.”
Crap. The security here’s tighter than I thought it’d be, and the possibility of me not getting caught is looking woefully slimmer.
Miracle…I need you.
2
Mason
The sound of the buzzing intercom brings my fingers to a pause. I give the client engagement letter I’d been typing up a quick once-over, before pitching a hurried stare at the box on the desk as it rings again. Since I’m not expecting visitors, it has to be the delivery of the newly-designed business cards I’d placed an order for this morning. I pick up the handset and tuck it into the crook of my neck while I continue finishing up the unfinished sentence.
“Hello Mr. Kenmore,” the doorman greets me from the other end.
“Hey Fred.” I sense a chirpy trill in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Did you order something, Mr. Kenmore?”
“Yes… I did.”
He pauses, as if reining in a grin. “A stripper?”
What?
I’m zapped out of my work-mode. Is this a prank? “Not that I recall, Fred.” I smirk.
His voice quiets to a whisper. “Ummm…there’s this girl here. She says she’s here to…ahem…clean for you?” He mumbles, “Look in your camera.”
Curious, I lean over for a peek of the 7inch screen on the home-security system and the smirk on my lips steadily dissolves.
Wait a fucking minute…
A hot gasp leaves my throat. I kick back my chair and stand to lean over for a closer look. The angle of her image onscreen is not the clearest. However, it’s enough to be able to recognize the sensuous woman on the other side. Waves of walnut locks coil over her emerald eyes, spilling down to her waist, accentuating her well-rounded hips. Apart from the pink gloss on her full lips, she’s hardly applied any makeup, revealing milky beige skin with a naturally blush that flares up when she’s anxious. Like it has now. The healthy tan on her skin is from her dad. But, everything else is Lily. The unique shade of dark brown with caramel streaks. The tilt of those almond-shaped eyes. Even the manner with which she restlessly bats her lashes while waiting around, is Lily. Fuck. I sit back, feeling an unfamiliar sweet-n-sudden clinch in my chest.
Danielle Reynolds?
But what is she doing here?
I search my mind. How long has it been? Thirteen years? Fourteen? One look at her womanly-curves, and it seems about right. I have vivid memories of Dani as a child. Bright and full of life. I would throw her up in the air and catch her before she’d fall, and the antics would send her keeling over with laughter, every single time.
I run a few flustered fingers through my scalp. Those flashes of memories make the kind of heat coursing in my veins wrong—in so many ways. But that reminder doesn’t seem to stop the heat from rushing down my stomach to my groin. The throbbing that follows is a fresh reminder of my masculinity. Then again, she’s a woman now. And that is what my body is responding to.
“Mr. Kenmore, are you there?”
“Yes…” I let out a dry laugh. “I’m here. Send her up.”
His tone dips into a concerned murmur. “Are you sure, Mr. Kenmore? We’ve had reports of a burglary in the building last month. This could be a set-up.”
A set up? Of course, it’s a fucking set-up. She’s pretending to be the house cleaner at my residence, with no sign of cleaning supplies to go along with the rest of her getup. But I’ve got to meet her. And I suspect this is going to be a very interesting “meeting.”
“You heard me. Send her up.”
Hanging up the receiver, I close the laptop. The client can wait. Then I head for the door, picking up on the echo of a pair of block-heels in the corridors.
Shortly, a gentle knock follows.
I wait for the second knock before I open the door, wearing an air of nonchalance as I do it.
In the flesh she’s every inch as enticing as she appeared through the monitor. And more! I’ve always liked my woman curvy. But, going by how sultry my breaths have gotten, I don’t know of any curvy woman I’ve wanted as much as I want her and want her now.
I lean against the doorframe, while my gaze rakes over her figure, lingering for a few extra moments on the silky cleft peeping out of the top coat button. I scrape my thumb along my chin, imagining my gruff stubble would love to brush up against that luscious silk. And if it’s so luscious to the touch, I can tell it must taste tantalizingly sweet when I sink my lips in too.
Fuck! Get a grip, Kenmore.
I purse my lips that’ve gone all dry from the heat.
Thankfully, experience allows me to drop a veneer of unaffected calmness over my face, but my body is another problem. The poor girl would be left mortified if she had any clue how steamy my imagination has been getting.
I’ve always had better impulse-control. Nothing’s working now though, my body misbehaving miles beyond my general sense of discipline. Worse, the more I try to stem the tide of desire, the more I can feel myself being turned on.
“Yes?” I wait for her to speak up.
3
Dani
“Hello, Mr. Kenmore,” I swallow hard by the end of my greeting, the jitters jumping in my throat. I’m completely stunned. Here I am, facing the man in the photo. Rather, a more handsome version of him. The plush cheeks are now a taut whiskered jawline. There’s a faint line or two between his brows where there were none, and a few perfect strands of grey along his fiery red locks. My gaze follows his body as he angles himself against the doorframe. The tall frame behind that polo shirt and tailored pair of trousers is fit as fit can be. Not in a bulked-body builder kind of way. But in a toned-athlete kind of way. Some people age nicely. Mason Kenmore, it seems, ages sexily.
An unexpected chill runs down my spine, cutting short the thoughts. Whoa…that was intense.
I’d imagined that my first thought when I met the real-estate tycoon would be about houses—either about mortgaging mine or about scrubbing and polishing his. I hadn’t expected I would be admiring the finer attributes of his features.
“Go on…”
His husky voice snaps me out of my silence, and I pry my attention away from him. “I’m…I’m here to clean your condo.” I bite my bottom lip to keep my mouth still. But when a singular eyebrow peaks, I add, “I was sent by the agency.”
“Oh, really?” he points at the purse hanging by my waist. “I presume that’s where you’ve kept your cleaning supplies, then?”
I pitch a quick glance at my purse. Shit. The cleaning supplies! Good thing I don’t plan on pursuing a career in crime—I’d make the worst undercover officer.
“Actually…” I pull up a forced smile, but keep my eyes lowered. “I’m new. I was running a little late, so I came straight here from home.”
I feel it’s a plausible excuse, but it takes him a whole minute to respond, and that tells
me he’s not convinced. I decide to take a chance and look up, right into his crystal blue eyes, to figure out what’s going on. Big mistake. The wry glint in them sends my gaze scurrying away.
“Come in…” he finally announces, stepping aside.
As I walk in, I’m blown away by the grandeur of the apartment. I could fit my family home in here three times over—and there’d still be extra space for an indoor pool. The living room is airy and open floor plan with ceiling-to-floor windows and trendy décor. To the right, is a large matte-finished kitchen that seamlessly opens up to the dining area, which then circles back into an entertainment space. Typical of a bachelor pad, greys and browns dominate the color scheme. But, there’s a surprising hint of mulberry and soft furnishings in it too, indicating of a guy who doesn’t follow the norm. A brief peep in the washroom and the bachelor theme continues. I notice the empty closets and counters and my heart skips a few happy beats
Hmmm…not even a weekend girlfriend.
A second later, I’m questioning that reaction, and come to the conclusion that it makes no sense. “Should I begin with the kitchen?” I pause, “Or the living room?”
“Take your pick…” He shrugs. “Where would you like to begin, Miss?”
Where would I like to begin?
I watch his face with a tightening knot in my low belly. Did he mean what I think he meant? However, his even expressions give nothing away and I brush my doubts off.
“I’ll begin with dusting…I think.” The kitchen’s spotless. Dusting the lounge is the next ideal alternative—which, in all fairness, is spotless too. But I’ve got to start somewhere.