Designed for Love (Texas Nights)
Read Designed for Love (Texas Nights) Online
Authors: Kelsey Browning
Designed for Love
By Kelsey Browning
Book four of Texas Nights
Ashton Davenport:
Hot blonde.
Old Money.
Off-limits.
That’s how Mac McLaughlin sees her, anyway. And now that he’s enduring a temporary self-imposed exile in tiny Shelbyville, Texas, he’s seeing her way too often. Mac only wants to succeed as the contractor for the Lily Lake development in order to rebuild his reputation and return to Dallas, pronto. A sexy distraction like Ashton was not in the plans.
Mac McLaughlin:
Hot builder.
Cash poor.
Hands-on.
Ashton kissed her trust fund goodbye and left her life as a society princess to prove she could make it on her own. Developing Lily Lake is her big chance, but it’s hard to stay focused working side-by-side with bossy, rough-around-the-edges Mac. Especially when he pulls off his shirt.
When the discovery of an endangered species derails the project, Mac can’t afford to stick around for a stalled job. His and Ashton’s explosive chemistry aside, he’s outta there...unless she can convince him that they just might be able to build something together.
87,000 words
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the November 2014 edition of the Dear Reader letter. This month, Carina Press and I share an anniversary: five years since we joined Harlequin! Harlequin has been an amazing home for both of us, showing support, enthusiasm and offering a team environment for both the business and for authors. I’m thrilled to have seen Carina Press and our authors grow to great success in sales, reviews, careers and awards in the five years since we opened our doors, and we believe things can only get better from here.
In honor of the holiday season, two authors bring us holiday novellas. First, in Shannon Stacey’s contemporary romance,
Her Holiday Man
, two people, both wounded by love in the past, are brought together by a widow, a child’s joy, and the spirit of Christmas. Later in the month, star-crossed lovers Gabe and Cat meet again at Christmas after five years apart—just a week before she’s set to marry another man, in the historical romance
A
Christmas Reunion
by Susanna Fraser.
Lauren Dane is back with the third installment in her urban fantasy series, and this one is more romantic than ever! Don’t miss Rowan and Clive in
Blade on the Hunt
.
As a follow-up to his incredibly popular romantic suspense
Fair Game
, male/male romance author Josh Lanyon brings us
Fair Play
, in which ex-FBI agent Elliot Mills must figure out who is willing to kill to keep his former ’60s radical father’s memoirs from being published.
In
Tempting the Player
by Kat Latham, a rugby player’s extreme fear of flying keeps his career from taking off—until a sexy pilot tempts him into her cockpit to help him overcome his phobia...of planes and commitment. Joining Kat in returning with a contemporary romance is Stacy Gail with
Where There’s a Will
, the much-anticipated story of Coe, who won reader’s hearts in
Starting from Scratch
. This is one hero who will steal your heart, all because of the milk!
Designed for Love
by Kelsey Browning is also in our contemporary romance lineup in November. A former Houston socialite is out to prove she’s more than a blonde bobblehead by managing a huge construction project. When an environmentalist mucks up Ashton’s plans, she must rely on the blue-collar contractor who can either help her build her dreams or crush them.
Last, but not least, of the fantastic contemporary romances is male/male romance
In the Fire
, the second part of the In the Kitchen duology by Nikka Michaels and Eileen Griffin. After spending the last eight years apart, chefs Ethan Martin and Jamie Lassiter have to decide whether to face the fire to get what they want or live a lifetime apart. Don’t miss the chemistry and emotional angst between Ethan and Jamie in this explosive duology.
Two murders in two mansions in two weeks—what’s going on in Naples’ most glamorous neighborhood? For cozy mystery fans, Jean Harrington’s Murders by Design series should not be missed. Pick up her newest release,
The Design Is Murder
, or catch up with
Designed for Death
,
The Monet Murders
,
Killer Kitchens
and
Rooms to Die For
.
This month we’re thrilled to welcome Edie Harris to our publishing team with Blood Money, her romantic suspense series that follows the lives and loves of a family of spies. In
Blamed
,
A
Blood Money Novel
, we meet the first of the siblings. Beth Faraday, a former assassin who wants nothing more than to stay retired, finds her new life turning anything but normal when sexy British spy and ghost from her past Raleigh Vick shows up in Chicago, determined to protect her from the bounty that’s been placed on her head.
Coming in December: Leah Braemel caps off her sexy cowboy romance trilogy, new author Caroline Kimberly is back with her sophomore historical romance, Michele Mannon concludes her knock-out MMA trilogy, and so much more!
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press (Five years and counting!!)
Dedication
To Debbie, the only cousin who ever dropped me on my head. Guess it worked because lots of crazy stuff comes out of there now. Please come to Georgia and see me soon. (Insert guilt here.)
Acknowledgments
Every time, these are hard, not because I have no one to thank, but because I have so many people to thank, and I’m pretty sure I always do a half-assed job of it.
To my husband, thanks for the millions of ways you take care of me—from filling up my car with gas to making a run for wine to cooking dinner. I couldn’t entertain anyone if you didn’t keep my world spinning on its axis.
A big old Texas gal hug to the Dangerous Darlings, street team extraordinaire. Mere words are too lame to show appreciation for all you do. Hopefully, I can just keep giving back to you in free typos.
Thank you bunches and bunches to Amy Remus. I’ll keep drawling for you on a regular basis if you’ll keep keeping me in line on a regular basis.
To my plotting brain trust—Adrienne Giordano, Tracey Devlyn and Theresa Stevens—what a weekend that was in Nashville when this book was born. Good music, good food, good company and damn good ideas. I owe y’all more than I can say. Hopefully, you enjoy this story now as much as we did then.
A huge shout-out to my other writer-pal gals, Nancy Naigle and Jamie Farrell. Y’all know my issues, keep me calm when needed, and love me anyway. You’re both priceless.
A full-frontal hug to Todd Puckett for brokering the info on concrete and the many ways to screw up a job site. Expect a visit in South Africa from your favorite romance writer.
To the sweet butcher at The Fresh Market in Athens, thanks for not thinking I was crazy when I called and asked about a dog running through your meat counter.
As the Texas Nights series comes to a conclusion, I want to thank the Carina Press team for believing in this series and giving it a home. I’ll be forever grateful.
Deb Nemeth, super-editor, would you like diamonds or an all-expense-paid trip to Tahiti? I’m pretty sure you deserve both. Thanks for letting me do crazy stuff and for believing I can always get the book where it needs to go even if it takes a little while. The Texas Nights crew and I owe lots to you.
And last, a huge I lurve you to Smarty Boy. Thanks for understanding you’re not ready to read this series yet. Stick with The Granny Series for now, and you’ll know when the time is right.
Contents
Chapter One
Ashton sidled up to the Piggly Wiggly’s bulletin board, pretending interest in the announcements about the past Miss Cherry Tomato pageant and a litter of free Australian shepherd-beagle mixes. But from the corner of her eye, she was scanning the grocery store’s four-page sale flyer. Something called Kibble Kare was on sale.
The tightness in her chest eased slightly, and she unzipped the mesh door to her shih-poo’s carrying case, perched in the seat of a wobbly grocery basket. The darn thing rolled to the right with a
clunk-clunk
of its worn wheels. Surely these carts drove other people crazy too. Then again, folks in Shelbyville, Texas, probably cared more about stocking up on reasonably priced groceries.
Stocking up wasn’t in her plan today. She’d be lucky to get Napoleon a week’s worth of Kibble Kare. He stuck his furry, champagne-colored snout out of his carrier and sniffed the air.
“No, sir. You stay inside or I’ll have to zip you back up.” When the rumor had spread around the small town that Napoleon was a seeing-eye dog, the grocery store’s manager allowed her to bring him inside, however reluctantly. Even though Ashton wore dark sunglasses each time she came in, he still shot her suspicious looks.
Napoleon whined and plopped down on his butt. Doggie-style pouting.
“Good, sweetie.” She wheeled through the produce section. Jessup, who’d served as her family’s butler since Ashton was a girl, would be so proud of her. Before she’d left her wealthy lifestyle in Houston, she’d never been inside a grocery store. And now she knew strawberries were a good deal at two pints for three bucks. She picked through the containers at the back of the case and selected one. Then she headed for the dairy section and studied the wall of yogurt. Her favorite was a European import with a tiny container of honey attached, but it was twice the price of the store brand. Her fingers itched to toss the good stuff into her basket, but she settled for a generic French vanilla and a lemon custard. Two breakfasts for the price of one.
What she wouldn’t give for one of Jessup’s post-party brunches. What she wouldn’t give for Jessup to come work for her. But if she couldn’t afford food, she sure couldn’t afford to pay Jessup.
She headed for the other side of the store where she thought the dog food was located. On her way, she passed the meat counter and the cute young butcher called out, “Hey there, Miz Davenport. You and the ankle biter want the regular today? I’ve got a nice filet with his name all over it.”
Napoleon let out a soft
woof
, telling her exactly what he thought of that idea. Definitely a yes.
“Hush,” she told her dog. “Thanks, Miguel, but I’ve decided it’s time to change Napoleon’s food a bit. His raw diet has been upsetting his stomach lately.”
Miguel pushed his hairnet back and scratched the line the elastic left on his forehead. “Really? I read something the other day that dogs are getting too far from their wolf roots, eating all that corn and filler and stuff.”
Ashton’s stomach cramped at the thought of garbage going into her baby’s tummy. Napoleon was used to the very best money could buy. Only problem was she no longer had the money for the very best. When she’d told her parents she was giving up her trust fund, she hadn’t fully considered what that might mean to Napoleon’s standard of living.
He
hadn’t walked away from millions. Why should he suffer?
She forced a smile. He’d have to suck it up because, otherwise, she’d end up in the Crockett County jail for shoplifting from the meat counter. God, how did people live like this? Hand to mouth. Or in her case, paw to snout. “Don’t worry. I’m ordering a specialty food online. Lots of vitamins and minerals. No fillers.”
“Let me know how that works out for you. Maybe I’ll switch my dog too.”
Shoot, now she had to take a detour down aisle 13 because she couldn’t beeline for the pet-food section after telling Miguel that whopper. But when she took a right, she almost turned around and headed the other way. Because there stood Mac McLaughlin studying the canned chili with the intensity of a man making a life-changing decision.
A frown pulled at his mouth, surrounded by a stubble-length goatee, and he rubbed his hand up the back of his neck to ruffle his hair—a blend of raw umber and burnt sienna—into a little ducktail. And that hand was just so...big.
So rough.
So unlike the hands Ashton had ever had on her before. A shiver rippled over her shoulders. The men in her past had visited the manicurist as much as or more than she had. And that was saying something.
Mac wore what she’d come to think of as his uniform—work boots, well-washed jeans, and a plaid snap shirt rolled up to his forearms. Of course, the shirt he wore now was buttoned, but she’d seen him stripped down to a tight T-shirt while renovating her friend’s lingerie store. The man had biceps that should be immortalized in bronze. Or granite.
As a guy in the construction trade, dig-in-and-get-dirty was a way of life for him. And even though she’d left Houston to strike out on her own, she and Mac had about as much in common as a Hepplewhite chair and a Modani table. But anytime she was near him, her body reacted as if he’d rubbed her skin with fine-grade sandpaper. Sensitive and a little tingly.
Napoleon poked his head from his bag, homed in on Mac and woofed. There went her opportunity to back away in stealth. Mac turned toward her, and his hands immediately bracketed his hips. A standard posture when he was around her. Why she annoyed him so much, she wasn’t sure. But the fact that she annoyed him annoyed her.
Mac nodded toward Napoleon. “They let you bring that thing in here?”
“First off, Napoleon is not a thing. He’s a he.” She pushed her basket forward and pretended to consider kidney versus lima beans. “And second, he likes to pick out his own food.”
“He point at it with his paw?”
To hell with the beans. She’d come down this aisle to get to the Kibble Kare, so she rounded Mac without meeting his gaze. Told herself that sideswiping his aisle-blocking elbow with her cart was purely an accident. But her silent treatment didn’t last, and she blurted, “What do you have against dogs?”
One side of Mac’s mouth twitched up, and the compulsion to take a little nip out of it sent Ashton’s earlier shiver cruising down her breasts and into her belly.
“Don’t have a damn thing against
dogs.
That—” he pointed at Napoleon pistol-style, “—is not a dog. He’s what my mom would call a geegaw.”
Napoleon was so much more than a knickknack. He was her friend. The one friend who’d been with her through all her ups and downs. Lately, they were heavy on the downs. “He may be small, but he’s a real dog.”
“Real dogs do stuff. They don’t lay around on pink pillows eating caviar.”
Napoleon’s pillow was blue, and caviar had been off his menu since her bank account went belly-up. “What kind of stuff?”
“Hunt, retrieve, fetch.”
“Napoleon can fetch.”
“What—his hair bows?”
Ashton clutched the shopping basket handle, her knuckles aching from the pressure. She shouldn’t be remotely attracted to a man who didn’t like her dog. Common wisdom said that dogs were able to sense people with good intentions. Needless to say, Napoleon had never cared for Mac. “Ha-ha. He’s actually quite good with balls and other toys.”
“He ever bring you a duck or a dead rat?”
Her lips drew back. “Ugh. No.”
Mac strolled closer, making the little gleam in his green eyes apparent. The man was enjoying this. Who knew it took so little to entertain him? “Real dogs bring you dead stuff to show their affection.”
And, God, couldn’t she use a little affection these days? Preferably from a tall, broad-shouldered Paul Bunyan of a man. Curling up with Napoleon was wonderful, but it was a little hard for him to hug her. Probably just as well because an affectionate hug might shatter her world right now. “Remind me, what’s
your
dog’s name?”
Those eyes narrowed marginally. “I don’t have a dog.”
Ashton curved her lips into her best bless-your-heart socialite smile. “You know, it’s considered impolite to give parenting advice when you’re not a parent. The same applies to pets. If you don’t have one of your own, then you have no business criticizing those of us who do.”
“Even if they...” He hitched his chin at a place over her right shoulder.
“Even if they what?” Maybe her tone was a bit of a screech. This man would have the same impact on a nun who’d taken a vow of silence. Hell, he’d probably blow a nun’s vow of celibacy too.
Mac’s lips pinched together in a clear attempt to hold in a laugh. “Even if they’re runaways?”
“What do you mean—” She glanced down at her cart. The carrier was still there, but the top was slightly concave because there was no dog inside. “Napoleon?” Whirling around, she caught sight of one furry foot as he rounded the endcap filled with generic macaroni and cheese. Her stomach let out a feral growl at the thought of pasta covered with pseudo-cheddar. “The manager will kill us both,” she muttered as she took off down the aisle.
Her spike-heeled booties slipped and slid as she made a sharp left at the end of the aisle. She tried to get traction, but Italian leather wasn’t known for its tractor-pull abilities. God knew she probably looked like a cartoon character as her legs windmilled and flew out from under her. Pain arrowed from her tailbone up her spine to reverberate through her brain. She rolled to her hands and knees, but before she could pull herself up, Mac was there, his warm palm wrapping around her elbow and yanking her up. Damned man didn’t say a word or ask if she’d broken anything, just kept jogging in Napoleon’s direction.
Rubbing her abused butt, she limped along behind him. Mac cut sharply to his left and headed down the coffee aisle. Oh no, Napoleon did love his French roast.
When she found them, Mac and Napoleon were engaged in a Mexican standoff. Mac with his hands back on his hips. Napoleon with a bag of coffee beans in his mouth, the best brand the Piggly Wiggly carried, in fact.
“Drop it,” Mac growled, and Napoleon backed up several steps. Well, that tone of voice certainly wouldn’t work. “I mean it, dog. Drop it.”
“He doesn’t know—”
Mac glanced over his shoulder at her, and Napoleon took that as his opportunity to make a break for it. In his wake, he left a trail of coffee beans that looked like little poop pellets. Ashton slapped a hand over her mouth to trap the laughter trying to escape. So not the right time. Especially with Mac glaring at her, then glaring at the other end of the aisle where Napoleon had disappeared again. “You think this is funny?”
“No, I have this problem. You know, sometimes bursting out in completely inappropriate chuckles.”
Was that a quirk on the right side of Mac’s mouth? Ashton peered closer. Hmm...maybe it was an involuntary muscle tic.
“Yeeah!” A woman’s scream came from a few rows over. “Holy God in heaven, keep that animal away from me. I don’t like dogs. That thing is dirty and slobbering and vicious.”
Wait a minute. Now that was downright ridiculous. Napoleon just had a bath, had excellent oral hygiene and was the sweetest animal on the planet. Ashton took off with Mac right behind her. She skittered across the coffee beans, but kept her balance with Mac’s help this time. Maybe his grip was a little tight, but his palm was warm and big, and she wanted to feel it against her—okay, so not the time for that either.
They found Napoleon two rows over, half-empty coffee bag still clamped in his jaws, tail wagging as though he’d just found the universe’s biggest bone. Hopefully that wasn’t the way he saw the woman he had backed against the feminine products. She reached around behind her blindly, grabbed a package of maxi pads. Using it as her cattle prod, she tried to shove Napoleon away from her feet. “Shoo, you mongrel.”
Napoleon, of course, thought she was playing a game. So he dropped the coffee like a bad date and clamped down on the package. Shook his head back and forth, whacking himself in the head with the maxi pads.
“Yeeah! Demon dog. Somebody get animal control in here.”
“Ma’am.” Mac’s voice was deep and soothing and sent both a bolt of awareness and a stream of calm through Ashton. “He’s harmless. He’s just excited. If you’ll just back away, everything will be fine.”
The woman glanced at Mac, her wide eyes gleaming white. She scooched a few inches to the right, her back still against the shelves. “This your dog?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mac answered. “Just keep coming this way.”
Another few scooching inches. “I’ve got a lawyer.”
Ashton’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t afford to get sued. Ironic since that was exactly what she’d done to Roxanne Eberly not long ago.
Mac, on the other hand, smiled. And that? It popped Ashton right in the heart.
That smile hinted at the little boy he’d probably once been. The kind who shoved frogs down girls’ shirts and shot out windows with BB guns. The kind who got away with all his mischief because of the way his lips tilted up slightly higher on the right side. The kind who made a girl want to shove that baseball cap off his head, run her fingers through his dark hair and...
Stop it.
So she was a little affected. So what? The man had a freaking fatal smile. No wonder he guarded it like a national treasure. Otherwise, it would have old ladies dropping their purses and young women dropping their panties.
“I’m sure you do, ma’am. But this lil’ ole dog?” Mac lowered his voice, and both Ashton and the woman leaned in to him. “He’s just a big ole coward.” He cocked a hip, got comfortable. As if he was just standing in the aisle shooting the shit with a friend. He sighed, deep and gusty. “It’s embarrassing really. He’s supposed to be a guard dog and—”
The woman pointed to Napoleon, who was steadily pulling the wings off a dozen maxi pads. “
He’s
a guard dog?”
Mac’s smile turned sheepish. “So you see the problem. He’s pretty much good for nothing. But my—” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Ashton, “—girlfriend just had to have him.”
Girlfriend?
“And you know how that is.”
By this time, the lady was nodding at Mac as though entranced. Ashton hunkered down and duck-walked toward Napoleon. But with her every waddle, he danced back.
