One Hot Second Read online

  One Hot Second

  By Stacy Gail

  Parker Radclyffe is up against a wall. Thorne Mansion, the mysterious Italianate castle she’s come to Texas to restore, isn’t the problem. No matter how intriguing the relic is, it’s merely an ember compared to the blazing magnetism of its owner, Chandler Thorne.

  When his family mansion burned down, Chandler had to watch over a hundred years of proud history go up in smoke. After more than a year, he finally has everything in place to rebuild, including a renowned conservation architect to oversee the restoration. But when he lays eyes on Parker he realizes he’s gotten more than he paid for. Maybe more than he can handle.

  Parker is a military brat who never sits still long enough to get burned. Chandler is her opposite, a man with deep roots and deeper family secrets. It won’t be easy to find the common ground it takes to build a home together, but Chandler is a Thorne in every sense. He plans to stick with Parker until she sees that love is more than worth the risk.

  64,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  August here in North America is one of last-minute frenzy for many of us: fit in as many more days at the beach as possible while it’s still blazing hot, get one final vacation in before school starts, and read as many excellent books as you can before next month’s books arrive. Okay, maybe that last one could be said of every month (at least for me) but with beach time and vacation time does come more reading time, so I find I often get to read more in August than any other month.

  This month, kick off your beach reading with a little contemporary crack romantic suspense from Lisa Marie Rice. I’ve been a fan of her writing for years, and I’ve read everything she’s written, so I was thrilled when she agreed to come write for me at Carina Press, and revive her popular Midnight series in Midnight Vengeance. Longtime fans of Lisa Marie Rice will see a return to her well-known, compulsively readable, alpha-tastic story and characters. Readers new to Lisa Marie Rice can dive in to Midnight Vengeance and discover just what I mean by contemporary crack, compulsively readable and So. Darn. Good!

  Fans of contemporary crack–type reads will find themselves drawn to Heather Long’s Some Like It Deadly, a book everyone on the team found themselves talking about just how much they liked it. As attorney and best friend to a grand duke, Richard Prentiss has dealt with everything from the paparazzi to business moguls, but when he takes an interest in Kate Braddock, his new “personal assistant,” it’s up to her to keep it professional—unbeknownst to him, it’s her job to step in front of the bullet with his name on it.

  New York Times bestselling author Shannon Stacey is back with her final (for now) novel in the Kowalski series. Meet Max: a little bit odd, a little bit obsessive, a whole lot sweet and sexy. He’s ready to find his perfect match, someone he can share his days and nights with. Meet Tori: a little bit flirty, a little bit sassy, a whole lot happy being single. She’s ready for some temporary fun, to help Max get in dating fighting form. What she’s not ready for is to find herself longing to be the person Max spends his time with. After having a front row seat to her parents’ bitter divorce—and bitter after-divorce—she’s determined not to go down that road herself. And Max is determined to be the one to change her mind. Don’t miss Falling for Max—you’ll fall in love with him too.

  If you’re in the mood for more contemporary romance, I urge you to pick up Stacy Gail’s One Hot Second. Stacy has mastered the art of creating a contemporary romance that’s both deeply emotional and offers laugh out loud moments. And for those contemporary readers who love the Upstairs, Downstairs feel of Downton Abbey, you’ll love Tamara Morgan’s contemporary romance When I Fall. After a leaked photo forces rich, privileged media trainwreck Becca Clare to lie low for a few weeks, she puts her trust into the hands of the last man in the world who’s qualified to safeguard it—Jake Montgomery, a profligate playboy whose one ambition in life is to have no ambitions at all.

  Kate Willoughby follows up her dynamite debut contemporary romance release, On the Surface, with Across the Line. Left winger for the NHL San Diego Barracudas, Calder Griffin is hellbent on proving he can be a top six player like his hotshot older brother, but when he meets Becca, he discovers that, like hockey, love demands a lot of hard work and pain, but in the end, it’s worth the fight.

  Fans of paranormal romance will be drawn to Dangerous Calling by A.J. Larrieu. Powerful telekinetic Cass Weatherfield has learned to control her dangerous abilities, but when she faces a terrifying new enemy, she’s forced to embrace the dark side of her powers, with devastating results.

  And for those looking for a little more erotic with their paranormal, Nico Rosso’s Ménage with the Muse should be right up your alley. Two very different demon rockers, Wolfgang the wild drummer and Ethan the solitary guitarist, find their fated Muse at a music festival, and it’s the same woman, Mia, a musician who’s been hurt so many times she’s slow to trust anyone, let alone two satyrs who have drawn her into their world.

  If you love your science fiction with an edge of mystery, The Freezer by Timothy S. Johnston is a chilling whodunit at a claustrophobic and secluded station; a classic murder mystery scenario transformed into an electrifying techno-thriller... It’s a case where the only thing that can prevent the investigator from dying a cold and cruel death is the love of the most remarkable woman he’s ever met.

  Also in the science fiction category, irrepressible heroine Cherry St. Croix is back and returning to fog-choked London to settle her debts once and for all—and to rescue the Menagerie’s wicked ringmaster, whether he wants it or not, in Karina Cooper’s steampunk Engraved.

  As always, don’t forget to visit the awesome collection of romance, mystery, science fiction and fantasy in our backlist including titles from Ava March, Shannon Stacey, and Vivian Arend.

  Coming in September, 2014: Mystery week! I can’t wait for you to get your hands on our “lifestyle Elvis” mystery! Also, the riveting conclusion to Lynda Aicher’s Wicked Play series, romances from Christi Barth, Alison Packard and more!

  Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  Dedication

  To my Dirty Birdie Cathy J., who knows how to put together a raunchy no-tell motel.

  About the Author

  A competitive figure skater from the age of eight, Stacy Gail began writing stories in between events to pass the time. By the age of fourteen, she told her parents she was either going to be a figure skating coach who was also a published romance writer, or a romance writer who was also a skating pro. Now with a day job of playing on the ice with her students, and writing everything from steampunk to cyberpunk, contemporary to paranormal at night, both dreams have come true.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “Wow.” Like a kid in a candy store, Parker Radclyffe t
ried to look everywhere at once as she drove her dusty rental car down Main Street in Bitterthorn, Texas. Outside the driver’s window was an old-fashioned town square, complete with a whitewashed bandstand and a couple of pigeon-decorated statues. But as picturesque as it was, she had eyes only for the collection of buildings around it.

  It was better than she’d imagined.

  Even an amateur could spot where Bitterthorn’s first roots had sprouted. Situated at the square’s northwest corner was the oldest structure in town, a Spanish adobe mission with tiny windows designed to keep the heat out, while the thickness of the clay walls kept it cool within. The simple cross perched atop the flat roof told her it was still used as a church, but the religious symbolism wasn’t what inspired her awe. That one structure, created with nothing more than backbreaking labor and limitless hope, stood as testament that mankind was at its best when it created something meant to last forever.

  That optimism in a strong future flashed like a beacon in every building she saw. It was in the post office and sheriff’s department buildings, which were of the no-frills post-and-beam variety that had sprung up during the days of the Wild West. It was in the arrogant façade of the three-story, early-to-mid-nineteenth-century Federal-style brick building that housed a bank and what she assumed must be the town’s newspaper, the Bitterthorn Herald, according to the ironwork sign above the etched-glass door. It was even in the visually uninspiring commercial structure from the late twentieth century that currently housed a day care. From the 1600s to the present, the people of this little dot on the map had lived here, died here, and hoped future generations would care enough to do the same.

  Holy freakin’ wow.

  Before she got ahead of herself, she parked by of a row of businesses and snagged her smartphone out of a well-worn leather satchel. When her assistant answered by the end of the first ring, she grinned. “You know, Sharon, if everyone was as efficient as you, we’d have those funky flying cars we’ve been waiting around for since the fifties.”

  “I wouldn’t want one. I can barely handle traffic as it is. Did you make it to your hotel yet?”

  “It’s in my near future. I wanted to get the lay of the land first.”

  “Translation, you’re anxious to get to work.”

  Parker laughed. “Bingo, baby. Speaking of work, did you email that high-maintenance marquis dude the new schedule?”

  “Only you would refer to a man from an ancient noble family as a dude.”

  “At least you’re not busting my chops for calling him high maintenance.”

  “I would, if it weren’t so true.” Sharon’s sigh was patient, and Parker could imagine the other woman’s beautiful café au lait face touched with a wry smile and her multitude of thin braids woven into a neat bun. For two years Sharon had kept her on schedule and up-to-date, something Parker could never have managed on her own while hopscotching around the world. “But I have to admit, I’m kind of in the marquis dude’s corner on this one. I still can’t believe you chose to go to a no-name, dust-covered Texas town rather than the Loire Valley. Are there tumbleweeds and cattle meandering in the streets?”

  “You watch too much TV.”

  “What about the heat? It’s supposed to get hot in Texas, right?”

  “If I fry an egg on the hood of my car, I’ll be sure to take a pic and post it.” What she didn’t want to admit, even to herself, was that the car’s digital thermometer was insisting it was well over a hundred degrees in the shade. “What about the San Francisco job? Are we in the clear there, as well?”

  “They’re fine with seeing you in October, because they’re willing to wait for the best.”

  “Aw, you’re so good for my ego.”

  “What I want is to be good for the bottom line, which means I have to make sure you stay on top of your game. Are you still thinking the Texas job is going to take six to eight weeks? Marquis dude’s assistant made it sound like a snot-nosed tantrum could be thrown if you’re not in France sooner rather than later.”

  “You know as well as I do that I wasn’t able to get the name of the original architect for this Texas deal. No name means no blueprints, so I have to go old school on this...this...” After drawing a blank, Parker dragged her tablet out of the satchel and tapped the screen a few times. “This Thorne Mansion project. Man, every time I see the original photos of this building, I want to cry at its loss. Whoever torched this beauty needs to be covered in paper cuts and dipped in lemon juice.”

  “Ow.”

  “What? I think that’s a fitting punishment for killing a building.”

  “If anyone can breathe life back into it, it’s you,” came the chuckling answer. “Now, get out there with the tumbleweeds and make the magic happen.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Parker ended the call, looped the satchel’s long strap over her head and bounded out into the noonday sun, too excited to be rebuffed by the heat. Who cared about a little sunstroke when there was so much to delve into?

  A few wilted-looking people sharing the sidewalk with her stared as she took pictures of whatever caught her eye—an intricately carved cornice here, a Gothic gargoyle there. Parker barely noticed them, too absorbed in cataloguing history in the local architecture. Besides, there was no use in trying to explain what probably seemed like odd behavior. Not only had experience taught her that small-town folks weren’t the most trusting when it came to strangers, but long ago she’d given up the hope of convincing most people just how fascinating their surroundings were. Few cared about the stories that lay right under their noses. History, even when it was their very own, was dead to them.

  As Parker squinted in sunlight that no redhead should be in without SPF 1000, she passed a place called Busy Fingers Craft Store. Her brain filed the structure away as turn-of-last-century. It was situated right next to an awning-shaded, sinfully scented hole-in-the-wall by the name of Pauline’s Praline Sweet Shoppe. She paused to take pictures of a tiny Victorian gingerbread carriage house-turned-business, Monique’s Unique Antiques.

  With every block another decade unfolded, a fact that made her smile even as she photographed detailed scrollwork adorning the antique store’s verandah. Bitterthorn was the kind of town Norman Rockwell had made his coin on. It was where doors were left unlocked, where the worst scandal was nothing bigger than the postman making a special delivery, and where word of that delivery made it from one end of the grapevine to the other in an hour.

  She doubted Bitterthorn’s residents knew how lucky they were.

  The heat at last burned through her bubble of enthusiasm when, without warning, her glance fell on a crumbled, soot-blackened heap. Her heart paused, and the sunburn already stinging her cheeks was forgotten.

  “There you are, beautiful,” she said softly. She drank in the sight of the skeletal, burned-out ruin like a long-lost lover. “Don’t worry. Mama’s here to make it all better.”

  With renewed energy, she crossed the street and scooted around the barricade, fishing out her tablet as she went. This ruin was the reason she’d chosen to immerse herself in a flyspeck of a town during a sizzling Texas summer. From the moment she’d opened a request-of-services email and seen this unbelievable Italianate castle built by a Wild West—era cattle baron, no force on earth could have kept her away. So much history had gone up in smoke, and while she might not be able to bring it back, she could re-create it. With enough research, and her own knowledge of that time, she could make it exactly as it had been. That was her gift.

  With her mouth all but watering at the prospect of where to begin, Parker stumbled to a halt when she heard voices around the rear of the property. Unsure if she was allowed onsite since she hadn’t yet checked in with her new client, she thought it might be best to make a discreet retreat when her ears perked up at her name.

  “...know this Parker Radclyffe,” a woman’s voice came clearly
to Parker’s ears. While the vowels twanged with pure Texas, the tone itself was edged with barbed wire just beginning to rust. An older woman, who seemed to be in the mood to draw blood. “And please do not waste your breath telling me he comes highly recommended. Considering the Thorne family’s history of overindulging in the absolute best of everything, I have no doubt about his credentials. My point is that a project like this should have been handled by someone local.”

  “Local?” With a huff of breath that spoke volumes of straining patience, a man’s silken baritone hummed through the air like a lion’s purr threatening to dive into a growl. “As I recall, you pride yourself in knowing every person in Bitterthorn, correct?”

  “I do know everyone in this town. And they know me, I assure you.”

  Parker rolled her eyes. It was impossible not to.

  “Then tell me, Mayor, why I’m standing here in the blistering heat reminding you that we have no architects in our community.”

  “San Antonio is less than thirty miles away,” came the irritable reply. “You know very well what I mean. Any half-witted architect with a slide rule can slap up a building. Why do we need a so-called specialist in historical restoration?”

  “Because Thorne Mansion wasn’t just any building. Declan Thorne Senior, the founder of this town, built it. The Thorne family lived there. Some of them, like little Addie Thorne, died there. For a century and a half, this building was the center of Bitterthorn.”

  “Yes, dear. But now it’s gone and no one cares.”

  Whoa.

  For a valiant moment Parker struggled to remain indifferent while the flip callousness of the woman’s response dripped like poison in her ears, but it was a lost cause. Before this trash-talking person could snark up another black cloud, she rounded what used to be the southeast corner of Thorne Mansion.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she announced with not even a drop of remorse, while inside the powder keg that was her always-volatile temper began to spark. “I couldn’t help but overhear that last incredibly ignorant remark. You don’t mind if I parachute straight into this little convo, do you? Of course you don’t. Fabulous.”