AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He’s a paying customer.”
“Whoever he is—” Kimber rolled her eyes “—he’ll get over it. What did he expect when he came to a hotel?” Someone in the background called her name.
Kimber looked over her shoulder and said something in Spanish. “All right, Brit, I got to get going, but I want to make sure you’re okay. I know the place is working with a skeleton crew since there’s only one guest booked.”
And here British was, about to interrupt this person’s day. Forcing a smile onto her face, British smoothed back the stray hairs that had come loose. “Thanks, Kimber. I’ll keep you updated.”
With that, the call disconnected and British inhaled the fall air. Finally, the rain had stopped. The last of the hurricane season rains brought in the cooler weather. Somewhere off in the distance someone was building a fire. British imagined a group of kids seated around the campfire, fluffy, fat marshmallows dangling from long branches and twigs, taunting the flames. One of the things British hated about living in an apartment. She couldn’t randomly make a traditional s’more.
Of course, she could head out to the country, to her parents’, for one, but that would end up with everyone fawning all over her. This time of year was difficult. The cooler weather meant hunting season and the memory of losing Christian earlier than she had ever expected. He was born with an enlarged heart, and no one had thought Christian would make it to his first birthday. He’d defied the odds, making it to twenty-three only to have a deer dart out onto County Road 17. British gulped down her bitter sadness. Given Christian’s congenital heart problem, the trauma had been too much. He’d survived the accident long enough to make a final joke about the irony and to assure British he loved her.
British cleared her throat and regained her bearings. She needed to secure the place for the girls. The children she and Christian never had the chance to have.
Bound with confidence from Kimber, British punched in the code to the gates and waltzed down the magnolia-lined path toward the old plantation-style home once owned by the Swayne family, now turned into a boutique hotel. Kenzie Swayne’s—British’s Tiara Squad gal pal—marriage to Ramon Torres right at the end of the summer had brought the home back into the family.
As children, everyone used to hang out here and swim in the lake behind the house. Ah, the memories, British thought to herself. The tires of her bicycle crunched on the fallen thick leaves of the magnolias. A wind howled through the tall trees and a shadow formed over the hotel.
“Time to face the dragons,” she said to herself. British parked her bike on the bottom step before grabbing the brown wicker basket filled with an assortment of cupcakes from the local bakery responsible for the extra curves on her hips. A couple of fall treats like the Cupcakery’s salted caramel pecan, stuffed spice apple, pumpkin swirl latte and the infamous Death-by-Chocolate cupcake always eased loneliness. And British knew that firsthand.
She took a deep breath, headed up the steps and reached for the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She remembered that the skeleton crew might not be working just yet.
Setting the wicker basket at her feet, British peered through one of the glass panels to the side of the red door as she pressed the doorbell. A chime set off across the polished hardwood floors of the lobby. The check-in station stood empty, the green lamp dark. Then she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She looked a mess in her bunched-up sweatshirt. How was she going to ask some stranger if he would mind her girls staying here during his vacation?
Fingers grasping the hem of the material, she pulled it over her head, but the hoodie locked around the thick ponytail at the back of her head. Groaning, she bent over and gave it a tug, slipping on one of the magnolia leaves scattered on the porch with the last breeze. Her left ankle hit the basket and, to catch herself, she stepped forward and walked straight into the door.
“Sonofabitch,” she hissed.
As the door latch clicked from the inside, British’s hands locked in their sleeves. The door opened halfway, revealing a square, masculine jawline of a man. Thing was, it wasn’t just any man. One jet-black brow arched in wonder while his full lips, surrounded by a close black beard, twisted upward with amusement. The muscle in his biceps twitched and emphasized the definition, making him appear as if a sculpted African god. Chiseled from copper and mahogany wood. The door covered half his face and body, but the exposed parts left her something that hadn’t happened in a long time...speechless.
Chapter 2
After a few days of solitude at Magnolia Palace, Donovan welcomed any entertainment, even if it came from a fumbling woman trying to take off her sweatshirt. Donovan bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing in her face now that she realized she had an audience—though he hated to admit to being a little disappointed. The silence he’d allowed had given him the chance to admire the curves of her backside. She wore a pair of black canvas shoes and formfitting, light blue jeans. A lot of faith was put into the band that secured her ponytail of thick, curly brown hair. Donovan noticed her doe-like eyes, round, dark and soft. A basket of food sat by her feet and he realized he must be ogling the chef of the hotel.
Since leaving his condo and Miami altogether, Donovan had taken Amelia’s suggestion and returned to Southwood, Georgia—by himself. He’d come here last summer to judge a beauty pageant. The original plans were meant to take Tracy away to the boutique hotel off the quiet lake. He’d thought if she’d survived a weekend by herself in his condo, she deserved a private trip. Now Donovan knew better—he’d dropped the girl and kept the reservations.
After escorting the MET crew out of his place, Donovan had cooled his anger downstairs while waiting for Tracy to wake up. It took every ounce of his body not to throw them and the mattress out the window. Was he that much of a pushover for Tracy to sleep with someone else? Was he that less of a man that she needed to bring someone into his bed? The whole thing confused him. She was the first to say she loved him.
Tracy came down, clearly startled to find him home earlier than expected. Donovan let Tracy and her friend leave with the sheets off his bed. The incident with Tracy further proved to Donovan that love was not meant for him. This time alone got him to thinking. Maybe the idea of having someone to love him forever did sound promising, but he hated himself for getting his hopes up. It saddened him to know he’d never have what his sisters and brother had. A family.
Ramon Torres had promised that no one else had booked the boutique hotel for the last two weeks of November. Since it was just going to be him, Donovan had tried to insist Ramon give his staff the week off. No one needed to brave this weather just to accommodate him. But he wasn’t going to turn away good food. Not only did this chef have a great behind, she also had impeccable timing. Donovan had just finished the last premade meal she’d packed in the freezer.
Finally adjusted, the chef turned around. Being CFO of a cosmetics conglomerate, Donovan had seen his fair share of beauty. Women threw themselves at him, expecting him to recognize whatever shade of lipstick they wore as one of his company’s. Donovan stayed away from the making of the cosmetics part. He even kept his mouth shut when it came to naming their products. But if he had to ever pick a shade or a name for this color, he’d call it breathtaking. The chef smiled a wide, toothy grin. The shade of her lips was a mixture of peach and rubies and matched the blush of her cheeks. She didn’t belong in the kitchen. She belonged on one of the gold-framed photos hanging on the walls of Ravens Cosmetics. Donovan cleared his throat.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” Donovan thanked God for the bass in his voice not failing him, considering the erection now threatening to rip the fabric of his blue mesh shorts, so much so that he thought he’d taken a trip down puberty lane. “Come on in. The kitchen is this way.” Donovan opened the door farther and shook his head. “What am I talking about? You know where the kitchen is.”
The woman’s manicured brows rose but she didn’t say anything. Instead she breezed by him, leaving him in the scent of sweet honey. Once inside, Donovan closed the door, his hand still on the crystal knob, preparing himself for the wince most women made when they saw his face.
“The kitchen?” she asked after turning, not batting a long lash but not moving, either. “You expect me to make you something?”
“Well, I know I told Ramon to let the staff go while I’m here. You all don’t have to fret over me,” said Donovan, “but the premade plates you made were so good and gone as of this morning.”
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake...” she began.
“My bad.” Donovan chuckled out of nervousness. Why was he nervous? “I thought the dishes were for me. I ate them all. And I could eat a horse right about now.” A frozen look of horror flashed across her pretty face. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can go upstairs so you can cook,” added Donovan. “I’ve just been up here for a few days with no one to talk to. I was getting a little stir-crazy.”
“Oh.” She relaxed her shoulders, giving Donovan a chance to recognize the band moniker on her shirt: New Edition. He’d attended the concert tour named on that shirt, filled out by full breasts. “You’re hungry.”
