Flip This Love

Nothing draws a magnate like a steel magnolia…

Harley Cade is back in town—and the former bad boy is downright irresistible now that he’s donned a hard hat and set to work restoring the South's finest homes to their former grandeur. While wealth may have gained Harley entry into high society, it’s going to take a lot more than a fat bank account to win the lovely Laney Tarrington.

Laney isn't open to giving the self-made magnate a second chance—no matter how much she needs him. With her family fortune gone, Laney finally has to stand on her own two feet. The last person she’d ever lean on is Harley, the man who left her behind with nothing more than memories of the passion they once shared….

With the attraction still burning hot between them, Harley isn’t above seduction—or secretly buying Laney’s bankrupted family’s estate. After all, he no longer has to prove himself to anyone, least of all the daughter of Mobile, Alabama’s most prestigious family. But will pride keep Harley from gaining the biggest prize of all—a place in Laney’s heart?

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Coastal Heat series

Going Deep

Flip This Love

Three Little Words

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A Coastal Heat Novel

Maggie Wells

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2015 by Maggie Wells

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First Electronic Edition: April 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-801-8

eISBN-10: 1-60183-801-8

First Print Edition: April 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-803-2

ISBN-10: 1-60183-803-4

Printed in the United States of America

For Bill, who still makes my tummy flip after all these years.

Enormous thanks to my editor, Marci, for helping to make this series a reality. To Martin, Renee, Michelle, and the whole Kensington/Lyrical team, my deepest gratitude for your continued faith in my work. For Sara, Julie, Laurie, Christine, my Michel(l)es, and all those who continue to support and inspire me. You are beyond awesome!

“That’s it. Suck, sugar.”

The husky timbre of Harley’s voice sent shivers down Laney’s spine. One warm hand slid from her shoulder to her back. The tips of his fingers dug into the valley of her spine. His hand could nearly span her waist. Her nipples puckered when he slipped that roving hand into her hair. Oh, how she wished she’d worn it up. She loved the feel of him. Loved being skin to skin with him. She almost wept with relief when he wrapped his big, broad palm around her nape. Heat seeped into the taut muscles of her neck. A thin stream of hot moisture escaped from the corner of her mouth and trickled down her chin.

“Oh, yeah. Suck harder.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words to her. God help her, she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She was weak, a quivering mass of happy, hurt, and oh-please-touch-me-again. But she needed to toughen up. She had to be on her guard. The man was as insidious as the kudzu that crept into her mother’s flower garden.

Laney pulled the spent crawfish shell from her mouth and dropped it onto the butcher paper in front of her. Fingers tangled in her hair and tugged lightly; a tiny lightning bolt of white-hot desire streaked straight through her. She looked up in time to see Harley flash old Mrs. Hillbury a dimpling smile and commandeer the folding chair beside hers.

“Evenin’, Delaney.”

Scrambling to assemble her thoughts, Laney turned away from Harley’s choir-boy-gone-bad grin and searched the crowd. She sure could use a swallow of the cold beers her friend Brooke had gone to fetch for them, but her trusty pal was nowhere to be seen. Of course. Laney was on her own. She ought to be used to it by now. She should be a professional when it came to rebuffing this man’s advances. She only needed to tap into the sass. No better way to keep a man dancing on the string than to let him think he had half a chance. But only half.

The first time Harley Cade asked her out, Laney Tarrington laughed in his face. Then she locked herself in the ladies’ room and did a happy dance. The second time, she mocked him mercilessly. To his face. Perverse thing he was, Harley seemed to enjoy her abuse. So much so that she lay awake into the wee small hours plotting ways to entice him.

The third time he asked her out, Harley gave up any pretense of acting like a gentleman. He leaned in close, and right there, in the middle of the Saints Preserve Us fundraiser for their alma mater, St. Patrick’s Academy, in a voice barely above a whisper, he told her all the things he wanted to do to her. With her. For her.

In graphic detail. In language most Southern men would never consider using with a lady.

She almost cracked. How the hell could any red-blooded American woman resist him? The man was built like some kind of old-time mafia muscle and sported a pair of dimples deep enough to bury a body.

But she had resisted.

She resisted the fourth, fifth, and sixth times, too. The seventh time got her. Lucky number seven. Oh, God, had it been lucky. She took him back to the tiny apartment she kept in her parents’ carriage house and let him have his wicked way with her. Unyielding as she might have been at first, Laney had to admit the man lived up to the hype.

And then the son of a bitch up and left town the next day.

If he thought he could waltz back into town and pick up where they left off… She waved the possibility away like she was batting at a pesky mosquito. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He blinked, all boyish innocence trapped in a bar bouncer’s body. “Why, I live here, sugar.” The dimples winked as he scooted his chair closer. “Did ya miss me?”

Laney hoped the shiver his molasses-thick baritone unleashed wasn’t visible to the naked eye. The moment the thought crystallized, she blinked, trying to strike the word ‘naked’ from her internal dictionary. She definitely needed to dispatch the too-tempting man beside her.

Hell, she’d spent most her life putting men in their place. It was child’s play for her. At least, it should have been. A smart mouth combined with a cool stare had long been her number one, never-fail defense mechanism. It worked like a charm. Except with Harley. For some reason, it always took a little extra moxie to dispense with this particular man.

Arching one eyebrow, she turned enough to catch sight of his eye. Big mistake. Those eyes were the smooth, clear green of old fashioned Coca-Cola bottles. Looking into them made her mouth run dry. She wanted a long, deep drink of this man. Damn good thing her own mama had drilled the art of self-denial into her almost from the cradle.

She could overpower this unseemly desire. She only needed to put her mind to it. And get her heart to stop thumping like a drum line. All the aforementioned physical reactions coalesced into one big pot of want, and judging by the knowing glint in his eyes, she wasn’t hiding a damn thing from him. She knew exactly how to wipe the smile from his face. Pursing her lips, she gave her head a slow, pitying shake.

“Well, they will let anyone into these things, won’t they?”

“It’s a fundraiser, so yes. Anyone with plenty of money in the bank.” His smile widened even as his beautiful eyes narrowed. “So how did you get in, Miss Laney? They decide they needed a little window dressing?”

The jab felt like a slap but she didn’t look away. The Mercy Hospital Mardi Gras fundraiser was one of the most exclusive social events in Mobile. Exclusive
and
expensive. Many a Gulf Shore wannabe dreamed of receiving a gilt-edged invitation to sit in a drafty tent and eat boiled mudbugs, but not many wormed their way in. Most of those had come from solid, upper-middle class families with strong ties to the Mobile business community.

Only one of them boasted about growing up in a one-bedroom apartment in the Southern Comfort housing project. Then again, few of those upwardly-mobile Mobilians had achieved the success Harley Cade had before he turned twenty-five.

“My mother was on the board.” Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table even as she tossed him the tidbit of information. Laney tried not to think about it too much. Comparing how far the man next to her had climbed to her own family’s financial fall made her stomach churn. Pressing a hand to her belly to quell the unease, she twisted in her seat, searching the crowd for Brooke and the damn bottle of Bud she so desperately needed.

She heaved a heavy sigh when she found no beer forthcoming and turned her attention back to her companion. Lord, she wanted his hands on her again. Those big, strong hands that ripped ceilings and tore boards from walls and stroked her so gently she came hard enough to see stars. Then, as if her wish were his command, Harley covered her hand with his.

“I was awful sorry to hear about your mama. She was a real class act.”

The lump of emotion permanently lodged in her chest rose up into her throat. Afraid she couldn’t manage even the smallest ‘thank you,’ she simply nodded and gave him a weak smile.

Apparently it was enough, because Harley returned her nod, retrieved his hand, and plucked an ear of corn from the mishmash of boiled potatoes and shellfish the server had dumped at the center of the paper-lined table. He examined it critically. The cobbette all but disappeared into his large hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he held the morsel pinched between his thumb and middle finger. He added butter and salt to his victim, then sank straight white teeth into the golden kernels. She wet her parched lips, aching to take a bite from the opposite side. Shaking off the urge to go all
Lady and the Tramp
on him, she settled for trying to take a bite out of him. “That’s Brooke’s seat.”

“Not anymore.” Butter trickled down his chin. He wiped it away with his wrist while he chewed but his lips glistened. “I paid her off.”

Laney blinked. “Paid her off? Brooke doesn’t need your money. Her family—”

“I didn’t pay her in money. I’m letting her interview me on Monday.”

The self-important statement should have come off as arrogant, and he could be damn arrogant when he wanted to be, but this time it played out as simple confidence. Simple, sexy, sinful confidence. She couldn’t let him know how much she liked his casual cockiness. Didn’t want to give the man more ammunition than he needed. She was already weakening, and they both knew it.