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His lips trail down the column of my throat as I hear giggles nearby. Pressing a hand to his chest, I push back and stop him.
“Maybe we should take this somewhere else?”
I don’t know this man. Don’t know if his thoughts have veered down the same path as my own. But if they have, sex in the parking lot of the centennial festival is far from appropriate. Not that I am opposed to parking lot sex. Been there, done that.
But there are too many eyes here. With half the Lake Lavender police force here, the likelihood of getting caught is high. Not to mention the possibility of having our photo taken—semi-naked and gasping—and splashed across the internet.
Wouldn’t that be great for business. No. No, it wouldn’t.
He inches back, his eyes darting between mine. “If you’re okay with that.” His voice is filled with uncertainty. Not at the idea of more, but at the invitation I handed him.
I don’t know him, but I have no reservations. I hold his gaze and nod. “Did you drive here?” He nods. “Follow me.”
He jogs off, jumps in his car and follows me out of the lot.
Every other minute, I peek up at my rearview mirror to make sure this isn’t a dream. That I didn’t just imagine meeting him. That I didn’t dream up this irresistible, sweet guy who is now following me. To my home. For a one-night stand.
No romance. Just fun.
The motto jingles in my head as I park the car and exit. He helps me haul the bags up the stairs and inside. Once they hit the counter, the night turns into a lust-hazed blur. One I will never forget.
CHAPTER1
BRAYDON
“Son, I need more of your magic.”
I peer over the top of my computer as Dad enters, his large frame taking up what little space my office has left. The forty-nine square foot room is swallowed by the massive oak desk and credenza Dad insisted I needed. Half the drawers sit empty, while a quarter house old issues of Washington’s Hidden Gems. And let us not forget, I barely have room to walk around either side of the desk to get to the door.
But the small space houses everything I need to do my job, so I guess that counts for something.
“My magic?”
He narrows his eyes but can’t disguise the smirk on his lips.
Edward Harris. My father. Owner and founder of Washington’s Hidden Gems magazine. Not a great user of words, but always good with people. And one of the best people in my life.
“Yes, son. Magic.” For emphasis, he lifts his hands in front of his face then parts them to shape a rainbow. “Or whatever you want to call it. Whatever magic you found in Lake Lavender; you need to conjure more. That piece has us selling more copies than any previous issue.”
At the mention of Lake Lavender, my body heats. Tingles wrap around my spine… and lower. Flashes of one of the best nights of my life resurface. The Lake Lavender Centennial Town Festival. And her… the striking blonde with a smile I will never forget. Or the night I spent between her sheets.
Quickly as the memory appears, I squash it down.
It was one night. Six months ago. I never got her name. She never got mine. And that is how it will stay.
“Dad, I didn’t conjure up anything,” I say, chuckling. “The town has its own magic. Not me. I just took pictures and wrote a story. Nothing more.”
He plops down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. The only other chair in my office because the door won’t close without a fight if I add another. For a beat, he studies me. Presses a finger to his lips and stares with narrowed eyes. Keeps his lips sealed.
But I know this tactic all too well. I grew up under this tactic. The one where he waits for me to crack under pressure and spill facts left unsaid.Good luck. I’ve had years to master not word vomiting truths to my father. Not because we keep secrets from one another. If it is important, Dad knows. But everyone should have a secret or two. Something no one ever knows about them.
What happened in Lake Lavender… is one secret I refuse to share. With Dad or anyone else.
“Really?”
The single word has an edge. A sharpness that tells me he knows something happened during my journalism trip to the small town a little more than an hour south of Seattle. And the fact I am unwilling to share has him more curious.
“Really,” I answer with a nod.
