Authors: Christi Barth
A Fine Romance
A Fine Romance
By Christi Barth
Book
two
of
Aisle
Bound
They say you form your first impression of someone within thirty seconds of meeting them. Or, in Mira Parrish’s case, within thirty
minutes
of
not
meeting them, when said person is supposed to pick you up from the airport and never shows. This is not a perfect start to her new life. Her friend Ivy is depending on her to run a new romance store, and Mira can’t afford to let her down.
Sam Lyons should probably apologize. But every time he sees Mira—which is often, since his family owns the bakery next to her shop—he can’t resist antagonizing her. There’s something about the sexy, straitlaced woman that drives him crazy. He can’t get involved, though. He has too much baggage to be any good in a serious relationship.
Despite his teasing attitude, Mira finds Sam too sweet to resist. (His hot body
may
be a factor.) But if there’s going to be anything permanent between them, they’ll need to let go of their pasts and look to the future...
99,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s a known truth among the people who have to nag me to meet the deadline on these letters that I get writer’s block when I sit down to write them. I’m always excited to tell you about what’s in store for the month, but I often get stuck figuring out how to start it off. So these letters are always late (sorry, people in production!). I had particularly bad writer’s block this month, so I was especially impressed when I realized that this March, all of the authors with books releasing at Carina Press have written multiple books, and many of them have long careers in writing. How do these authors do it, writing multiple books a year, for years, creating new worlds, new characters and unique stories? It’s amazing to me, even after ten years in this industry, that there are people with this gift. And I’ll admit it, I’m a little jealous they have that gift. But I’m thrilled to introduce you to the books releasing this month from these incredible authors.
I know it’s a little past Valentine’s Day, but it’s
always
time for chocolate and romance, and Christi Barth brings us both in
A
Fine
Romance
, the second contemporary romance in her Aisle Bound series. And if you missed the first book,
Planning
for
Love
, make sure to grab that as well!
We have six! other authors joining Christi with sequels. Lynda Aicher heats up the pages with an emotionally gripping, smokin’ hot BDSM romance,
Bonds
of
Need
. Dee Carney also offers up lust and love in one package in her erotic paranormal romance sequel,
Hunger
Awakened
.
Veteran author Vivi Anna brings us
The
League
of
Illusion
:
Prophecy
, a steampunk romance with an illusionist, a hunt for a missing brother, an incomplete map and a psychic! Relative newcomer Nicole Luiken follows up her debut fantasy romance,
Gate
to
Kandrith
, with the second in this duology and the conclusion to the story,
Soul
of
Kandrith
.
R.L. Naquin offers the sequel to
Monster
in
My
Closet
, her debut novel. In
Pooka
in
My
Pantry
, empath Zoey Donovan is marked for pickup by Death. But when she refuses to die on schedule, she has a to-die-for reaper to deal with. And watch the battle of wills between a female gunship pilot and a combat controller hero in romantic suspense
Tactical
Strike
by Kaylea Cross. Kaylea’s first book in this series,
Deadly
Descent
, remains one of Carina Press readers’ favorite romantic suspenses!
Alyssa Everett follows up her debut offering,
Ruined
by
Rumor
, with a new historical romance, though it’s not a sequel. In
Lord
of
Secrets
, he’s her new husband...and he’s strangely reluctant to consummate the marriage. What secrets are keeping them apart, and keeping him from her bed? If you like your historical romance with a paranormal twist, returning author Laura Navarre brings us
Magick
by
Moonrise
, which combines Tudor England with the Faerie kingdom of Camelot. When the two worlds collide, can a fallen angel’s passion for an innocent Faerie princess save both realms from destruction?
Carina Press authors W. Soliman and Cindy Spencer Pape both return with installments in their ongoing series. In
Lethal
Business
, W. Soliman brings us back to The Hunter Files with another Charlie Hunter mystery, where Charlie must answer the question: “Why kill the survivors of a sinking ship?” And Cindy Spencer Pape continues her popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with
Cards
&
Caravans
. Knight of the Round Table Connor MacKay has met his match in fortune-teller Belinda Danvers.
Last, this month we welcome to Carina Press contemporary romance author Kate Davies with the first in her Girls Most Likely to... trilogy,
Most
Likely
to
Succeed
. Though Kate is new to Carina, she and I have worked together as author/editor for years, and I’m happy to have her writing for Carina Press. I hope you enjoy Kate’s charming contemporary voice as much as I do.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For my beloved husband, who after fifteen glorious years of marriage, still romances me every single day.
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to all the MRW Scribblers for pushing me to be a better writer. Thanks to Lea Nolan, Eliza Knight, Joya Fields and Stephanie Draven for performing the critical beta reads. I owe you one, ladies!
Immense gratitude for Angela James and her sage wisdom. She keeps me out of potential litigation, reminds me that the hero’s motivation can’t remain a secret in my head but must make it onto the page, and champions my books at every turn.
Contents
Chapter One
So far, Chicago sucked. Thanks to her parents’ wanderlust (aka their addiction to hedonistic parties that required passport stamps for entry), Mira Parrish had seen much of the world in her twenty-nine years. A slide show of exotic locations flashed through her mind. Topless parties on yachts under Monte Carlo’s blazing sun...which left her with horrid memories of her mother’s uncovered breasts bouncing around. Annual beach parties in Brazil’s sweltering heat...which left her with even more horrid memories of her father in a thong. Ski-boots-and-sun-tan spring parties in Switzerland’s melting snow. Well, that one was a good memory of Yves, a Nordic god who gave Mira an excuse to avoid the slopes. Yves preferred to focus his attention on the moguls
beneath
her sweaters.
Familiar with almost every corner of the globe, and its peculiarities of inclement weather, Mira knew very well that Chicago didn’t have monsoons. Yet here she was, drenched beyond belief, smack in the middle of a humid downpour violent enough to be quantified as nothing else but a monsoon. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Fate import India’s worst weather here, to the middle of the United States? Mira bit her lip. Clearly this Biblical rain was an omen. A dire warning she’d made an epic mistake with her brand-new life direction.
Shifting her aching shoulder so her three bags didn’t slip any farther down her arm, she rang the bell on the tall, brick triplex. While waiting, Mira did a quick assessment. Her shoulder-length brown hair hung in wet, ropy strands down her back. Blisters piggybacked upon throbbing blisters caused by her sodden navy pumps. The blue pants she’d chosen specifically to endure the chill of an airplane clung to her thighs like a second skin. Brown streaks slashed across her white top from the river of muddy water a bus sprayed over her at the corner. Mira gritted her teeth. Always mindful of first impressions, she wished she didn’t have to meet her new roommate while looking like a flood victim.
The front door swung open to reveal a smiling woman in a daisy dotted tank top and shorts. “Hi, I’m Daphne Lovell. You must be—wow, a freaking mess. You poor thing! What happened to you?” A blond ponytail whipped over Daphne’s shoulder as she grabbed for Mira’s matching green brocade (and soaked through) suitcases.
“Nice to meet you.” Mira jerked her chin toward the fast-flowing river at the edge of the curb. “Your weather caught me by surprise. Does it monsoon often here in August?”
“Nope. Just today. Maybe you imported the bad weather from Vermont.” Daphne snickered as she climbed the flight of narrow, wooden stairs.
Probably. It made sense to blame the recipient of an omen for the omen’s wrath. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Welcome to your new home sweet home.” Kicking open the door with her foot, Daphne dropped the suitcases by the door and ushered her inside. Mira stopped only a few steps in, not wanting to drip on anything.
“I’m so grateful you’re letting me stay here, Daphne. I know we’ve got Ivy as a mutual friend, but the bottom line is that you’ve never met me. Taking on a roommate sight unseen is a huge leap of faith on your part.” Not to mention her own. But Mira couldn’t afford to live in a hotel for the next who knew how long.
Her all-consuming new job wouldn’t leave any time to search for an apartment for at least six months. And searching for a good roommate could be more difficult—and scarier—than searching for a boyfriend. Mira hoped that Daphne didn’t have any weird quirks, such as sleepwalking naked (like her sophomore-year roommate) or only washing dishes at the full moon (her officially pagan roommate in Boston tied everything to cycles of the moon, from cleaning to job hunting. Mira discovered the hard way rent didn’t come in reliably when someone only answered help wanted ads four days a month to coincide with each quarter rise of the moon).
Daphne hurried down the hall, voice raised. “You’re one of Ivy’s closest friends. That makes you a safe bet. I figure she’d have mentioned at some point in the past few years any huge character flaws. Like if you were an alcoholic ax-murderer.”
That teased a smile out of her. Apparently Daphne set a low bar for roommate qualifications. “I’m not.”
“Glad we’ve cleared that up. Anyway, taking you in isn’t a completely selfless act. Now that Ivy’s moved out to live in connubial bliss with Ben, her empty room certainly isn’t bringing in any rent. And I like having company around the place. If I don’t have someone to talk to, I’ll start having conversations with my flowers. Word of my craziness would spread. Small children would run away in fear.” She reappeared with a fluffy purple bath sheet. “Dry off and get your bearings,” she ordered. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“Thanks.” The towel blotted the worst of the drips from her hair, but Mira’s clothes still clung to her in wet bunches. She craved a hot shower, but didn’t want to appear unfriendly. Ten minutes of getting-to-know-you chitchat, one drink, and then she’d be able to politely excuse herself to change. Until then, she took stock of her new home.
Close-up photographs of individual flowers dotted the pale lavender walls. Extra-wide chairs covered in a watercolory print of lilac sprays looked super comfortable for reading away an afternoon. Not that Mira anticipated much free time in the next few months. Her new position as manager of A Fine Romance required her to put together a romance store from nothing and get it up and running in less than two months. While she thrived under pressure, the next few weeks would be brutal in terms of both time and energy.
A deep purple velvet sofa dominated the living room. Probably chosen for its make-out potential, it was more than long enough for a tall man to stretch out full length. Although Mira in no way anticipated any of that type of action in the foreseeable future, she loved the dramatic flair it brought to the room. The sorry state of her clothes made her bypass the comfort of the couch and wander straight to the fireplace. Flanked by built-in bookcases, the wide white mantel held a whimsically mismatched collection of picture frames.
“Here you go. I made you a Dark and Stormy. It seemed fitting, given the weather.” Daphne handed over a tall glass, already frosted down the sides with condensation.
Mira took a sip. The mellow kick of the rum soothed, while the ginger beer’s bite cut straight through her exhaustion. “Yum. I think you just turned my whole day around.”
“I thought you were supposed to land a couple of hours ago. Was your plane late?”
She savored another smooth sip before answering. “No, the plane was on time. Everything went downhill after we landed. The man Ivy said would pick me up and bring me here—”
“Sam? Sam Lyons?” Daphne frowned.
At this point in her difficult afternoon, his very name skittered sharp prongs of anger across her temples. “He never showed up.”
Daphne waved a hand, cutting her off. “Wait. Ivy texted him a reminder. Sam promised us that he’d take care of getting you home. Are you sure you didn’t miss him?”
“Well, I waited for an hour on the curb. Even went back inside the airport and had him paged, in case I was waiting in the wrong place. The only phone numbers I had were for you and Ivy, and I knew you were still working today’s wedding.” In a perfect world, Mira wouldn’t have scheduled her arrival in the middle of her friend’s workday. But as a wedding planner, Ivy worked crazy hours all weekend, and Mira wanted to be able to start her new job bright and early Monday morning.
“Crap, we should’ve given you Sam’s number, too. I’m so sorry about that.” Daphne bit her lip. “Ivy and I felt awful that we couldn’t meet you at the airport ourselves, but there was no way to leave the wedding early. This is Aisle Bound’s busiest season. I did the flowers for all four of Ivy’s weddings this weekend. This afternoon’s was the worst because of the crazy-heavy candelabras the last bride rented from us for the centerpieces. Who needs candles at a Sunday-afternoon wedding in August? I thought we’d never be able to pick them up and get out of there.”
No matter how miserable she felt, Mira knew she couldn’t lay a guilt trip on this friendly woman who’d opened her home to a complete stranger. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault this Sam guy forgot about me.” His name fell from her lips like a curse.
“He’d better have a damn good excuse, or I’ll rip him a new one,” Daphne said with a scowl.
Mira certainly wouldn’t object. The only person she knew in this city of eight million people was her grad school roommate, Ivy. A fresh start meant being open and friendly to everyone, because literally anyone could be a new best friend or a business contact. However, she pretty much wanted to do something to the no-show Mr. Lyons. Maybe go all old-school and toss a drink in his face.
“I don’t really know my way around Chicago. I’ve only visited for a few nights, and that was years ago.” The easiest solution, that of a taxi all the way into the city from O’Hare, got crossed off her list immediately. It would’ve cost precious dollars Mira wouldn’t have until she cashed her last, meager paycheck. “But Ivy mentioned your apartment was only two blocks from the El. I figured I’d deal with being stranded like a real Chicago native and use the transit system.” Except for not thinking through the fact that El stood for elevated. Halfway down its two flights of rickety wooden stairs she slipped in a puddle. Of course she dropped all her luggage, which magically landed in more puddles. Five minutes later, a bus sprayed her with filthy, disgusting street water right at the corner. “It’s...different than the subway in Boston.”
“You poor thing.” A knock sounded on the front door. Daphne set her drink on the coffee table, then shuffled off in fuzzy slippers sporting the head of Disney’s Beast. She cracked the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
A pleasant baritone voice answered. “Geez, why the attitude? I come bearing gifts. Mom played around with the special blend Ivy sent over and made these chai tea scones. You know, for that high tea reception in October? She wanted Ivy to taste them while they’re fresh. Bestow her seal of approval.”
“
Ivy
moved out yesterday, you moron.
Ivy
doesn’t live here anymore, Sam.” Daphne threw the door open all the way and jerked her thumb at Mira. “She does.”
Sam? So this was the guy who forgot about her. The first thing Mira saw was a shock of jet-black hair. Thick eyebrows slashed across his forehead above electric blue eyes which squinted at her. Late-afternoon scruff covered his strong, square jaw. If she wasn’t so royally pissed, she’d probably rate him as off-the-charts sexy. But looks weren’t everything.
“Geez, Daph, why didn’t you tell me about your gorgeous new roommate? Or did Gib already call dibs?” Sam closed the door and shifted his box of scones from one hand to the other. “I’m Sam Lyons. And wow, you’re soaked through. Get caught in the rain?” He picked up the towel she’d discarded on top of her luggage pile and held it out to her.
“Not exactly. A thoughtless jerk left me stuck in the rain, to be precise.” When no comprehension lit his eyes, she continued. “At O’Hare. Where he was supposed to pick me up over two hours ago.” Her eighth grade etiquette teacher, Miss Duvalier, would be disappointed if she could hear her favorite student railing at a stranger so rudely. Mira knew her inner whiny bitch had taken over. She also knew she’d regret the harsh words later. But looking at her ruined luggage, which she could in no way afford to replace, she didn’t care.
“Oh.” He blinked twice, with lashes so long and thick it’d take her four coats of mascara to replicate. “Oh! You’re Ivy’s friend. Mira, right? Great to finally meet you. Guess Ivy’s the one I should poke about hiding her gorgeous friends from me.”
Too little recognition, way too late. “So you’re able to remember my name, but not your promise to pick me up?”
When she made no move to take the towel, he dropped his outstretched hand. Looked down at the growing puddle on the floor. Scrunched his face into a pained grimace. “Shit. No wonder you’re drenched. Sorry about that. I planned to go get you. Ivy reminded me a dozen times. Here, let me help.” Sam squeezed the towel around the ends of her hair. His closeness made Mira super aware of the wide breadth of his shoulders. But an awesome set of pecs didn’t make up for how utterly alone she’d felt, standing on the curb of the second-busiest airport in the world.
No, his weak apology didn’t even approach the realm of good enough. Or maybe she was overly sensitive from exhaustion, and he was a handy place to vent the frustrations of her day. Either way, she needed to hear more. “But?” she prompted, wondering if he’d work up at least a shred of a decent excuse.
Sam put down the towel after a final pat at her neck. “But then my mom called. She was shopping downtown when the storm started. So of course I had to go get her. You know what? Let me set you up with a scone. You’ll feel better after you try one. Just ask Daph.” He ambled into the kitchen, as though the conversation had come to a logical conclusion. Clearly at home, he pulled a plate out of the cupboard and set it on the wide counter. Methodically, he began transferring the scones out of the box.
Mira rushed after him, hitching herself onto a stool on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t believe he was trying to justify his behavior. Pathetic that he used his mother as an excuse instead of just owning up to his mistake. Even if his well-muscled forearms, covered with a fine layer of dark hair, emitted an almost magnetic pull to her own fingers. The need to caress him from wrist to elbow, to fruitlessly attempt to wrap her hands around that thick masculinity, pulsed deep inside her. Instead, she fisted her hands on her hips. “So?”
“God, Sam,” Daphne exclaimed, “you’re thirty-one, not eleven. Don’t hide behind your mother’s apron strings.” She perched on the stool next to Mira’s.
“I’m not hiding. I’m responsible for her. There’s a difference.” The scone in his hand was reduced to crumbs as he curled his fingers tight. Interesting. Clearly she and Daphne had hit a nerve. “You know she’s not well. Her bone scan results only came back last week.” His voice deepened, head swinging side to side. A frown almost pulled his eyebrows into a single slash of dark worry across his forehead.