For Love of Lacey

Book 2: Holland Winter

by Sandra Chastain

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Get ready to fall for Sandra Chastain’s classic romance set in an irresistible world of Southern sparkle and sizzle.
 
The last time Lacey Lee Wilcox saw straight-laced corporate type Tyler Winter, he was wearing a permanent scowl with his perfectly tailored suit. So when he shows up at her best friend’s bohemian wedding, Lacey takes it upon herself to keep the cynical exec out of the way. But underneath the pinstripes, Lacey finds an old soul—not to mention an incredible body—and what was supposed to be a vexing day turns into a wild time that leaves Lacey wanting more.
 
Lacey’s taste for adventure stirs something in Tyler he wasn’t sure he still possessed. It’s something that worries him just a little—after all, he hasn’t become Atlanta’s most successful real-estate mogul by letting loose. But maybe, just maybe, there is such a thing as working too hard . . . and there’s no one Tyler would rather play hooky with than lovely Lacey.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from other Loveswept titles.

Release date: October 14, 2013

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 192

Sample

One
 
“Please, Lacey Lee?” the bride asked. Her wedding dress rustled as she slipped into the kitchen where Lacey was putting finishing touches on a tray of finger sandwiches. “Be nice to Tyler. Believe it or not, underneath that disciplined exterior, my ex-husband is a sweet, sensitive man. I want him to feel welcome at my wedding and have a nice time.”
 
Puzzled, Lacey turned periwinkle-blue eyes on her best friend. “Do you think he’ll make trouble?”
 
“Of course not. For the past two years we’ve acted like we’re sister and brother, not ex-spouses. Besides, he and Matt have become friends.”
 
“If you say so,” Lacey agreed skeptically, not entirely certain that she believed Callie’s claim. But she nodded and gave Callie a warm hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll give the man the full brunt of my good-old-girl charm.” She paused, her impish face lighting up with a mischievous smile. “If I can remember what he looks like,” Lacey fibbed.
 
A small tingle ran down her spine. She’d never forget. She’d seen Tyler the second he’d walked into the house thirty minutes earlier. Lacey couldn’t stop staring at the man. They’d met before, but only briefly, a couple of years ago. She didn’t recall him looking the way he looked today—fantastic, in a three-piece suit.
 
And she didn’t recall him staring back at her the way he had today, returning her shocked scrutiny with definite interest. He reminded her of a modern-day Dracula—dangerous, but irresistible. She’d tried to ignore him as she’d chatted with other guests, but she’d remained very conscious of his gaze. Every time she glanced up, his calm, honey-colored eyes were riveted disarmingly on her.
 
Since she was in Atlanta and, to boot, she was a Southern girl born and bred, Lacey Virginia Lee Wilcox—Lacey Lee to her friends—wryly decided that Tyler was doing a terrific imitation of the charming Mr. Rhett Butler. She only wished she had a fan to hide behind.
 
“Tyler’s changed,” Callie said. “He’s more relaxed in his old age.”
 
Lacey sighed. “I’ll be twenty-five next week. Don’t say anything to me about getting older.” She paused, thinking. “The last time I saw Tyler he was scowling at me for letting you sell me your van for fifty dollars. After two years, that’s what I remember of him—his patronizing smile. He was itching to call me a … a hippy … or a gypsy … something unpleasant, I wasn’t sure what.”
 
“Well, you were wearing a man’s hat, pink wrap-around sunglasses, overalls, and a Save the Whales T-shirt, as I recall. It isn’t my fault you two haven’t met since. I’ve tried over and over to get you together.” Callie Carmichael pushed a strand of curly brunette hair back into place as she rustled to the kitchen door and peered out into the cavernous living room that had been converted into a floral chapel for her and Matt’s wedding. “Oh, dear. You’re right. He’s frowning. I think he’s looking for somebody.”
 
Lacey questioned her old friend’s casual attitude and apparent lack of concern, and she felt compelled to say something. “Are you sure that inviting him to your wedding was a good idea? You may feel your first marriage was over a long time ago, but are you certain he does?”
 
“Lacey Lee, Tyler and I were college kids when we got married. We outgrew each other. He isn’t in love with me anymore, and I’m not in love with him. Matt understands the situation, and he wanted to invite Tyler today. Tyler even volunteered to help us make our getaway. Promise not to tell a soul?” she asked, not waiting for a response. “We aren’t driving Matt’s Corvette on the honeymoon. He’s letting everybody decorate it, but we’re driving my Fiesta.”
 
“You’re going to take the classic? Ruby?” Lacey didn’t feel odd about calling the car by the name Callie had given it. Callie named everything—cars, potted plants, farm animals, everything. She’d probably chosen names already for the baby she was carrying. “I wondered about that.”
 
Callie nodded. “Of course. Ruby’s hidden. We’ll leave in Matt’s Corvette, then switch it for Ruby.” Callie glanced out the door and back at Lacey. “And … eh … Lacey, there’s another little favor I’d like to ask of you.”
 
Lacey chanced a quick look into the room filled with guests. She could see Tyler working his way through the mass of people, smiling, chatting, and all the while scanning the crowded hall. “I’m afraid to ask. Does the favor have anything to do with Tyler Winter?”
 
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Callie made an elaborate pretense of checking her refreshment table one last time. “We—Matt and I—would appreciate it if you would drive Tyler up to retrieve the Corvette. Then Tyler will drive it to Matt’s house.” She smiled beatifically. “I mean, my house. Tyler’s sports car is already there.”
 
“Why me?” Lacey was certain that Tyler wouldn’t be interested in riding in her lavender van any more than she was interested in driving him in it.
 
“Because we don’t want any of Matt’s old buddies to know where we’re going. You know how men are at weddings.”
 
“All right,” Lacey agreed, trying to appear nonchalant, but she couldn’t help worrying. “From here Tyler still seems awfully intense to me.”
 
“You know,” Callie speculated, “you may be right. He does seem wound up about something. Maybe you could take him under your wing and entertain him. I’d rather the other guests didn’t feel uneasy about his being here.”
 
Lacey gulped. Callie didn’t know what she was asking. To Callie he might be like a brother, but to Lacey, the last thing she wanted to do was tempt him. Why, he wasn’t even her type. She liked artists and musicians—sensitive, sloe-eyed men who valued serendipitous pursuits and spiritual enlightenment above all else. Tyler was in real estate—big time real estate. She wasn’t certain exactly what he did, but she knew it involved prestige, money, and power. Nothing serendipitous.
 
They had about as much in common as Prince Charles and Madonna. Lacey straightened her shoulders. Callie was her best friend and this was her wedding day, and if Callie wanted her to play nursemaid and chauffeur to an intense, conservative establishment-type guy, she would.
 
“Sure, Callie,” she chirped. “You just get to the ‘I do’-ing. I’ll wrap Tyler around my little finger.”
 
“Marvelous.”
 
Lacey watched as Callie smothered a smile of victory and hurried out before there could be any further discussion of the great car switch.
 
Lacey followed her down a long, elegant hallway and stopped to glance at herself in an ornate mirror. Turn on the charm, she told herself. You can do it. She happened to like her carrot-colored hair. She particularly liked its naturally curly look, not because it was stylish, but because it suited her. Honesty and simplicity were things she strived for in every aspect of her life.
 
Her recycled lavender peasant dress with its laced-up bodice and crocheted trim was strapless and more revealing than she was used to, but she’d loved it the moment she’d seen it in the Nearly New Shop in Atlanta’s funky midtown district. Wearing it at this June wedding, with gardenias in her hair, she felt beautiful.
 
While she was trying to think of lightweight subjects to discuss with Tyler Winter, Lacey moved to the back of the Carmichael living room and found a spot near a large potted ficus tree. She craned her head and looked for him. He was taller than most of the male guests, and she immediately found him in the crowd.
 
He had a lean masculine build that hinted at strength and an inborn grace. Even across the room, the results of an obviously carefully planned exercise program were evident—a well-filled-out suit and a subdued but healthy suntan. Tyler might not be brawny, but he was most definitely macho, Lacey decided.
 
Strands of premature gray frosted his warm brown hair, giving him the look of a mature Esquire model—the rising executive with a bright, materialistic future, she thought grimly. If his sharply creased navy-blue suit hadn’t whispered business, finance, boardroom, he could have been mistaken for a successful athlete—an Olympic distance runner, perhaps. His dark brows were drawn into a straight line now as he scanned the room, still searching for someone. Who? Lacey gasped. Her?
 
He caught her gaze before she could pretend that her examination of him was an accident. To her surprise he smiled, a lazy, aware smile that said he knew she’d been watching him. With that smile his whole face changed, and she wondered why she’d compared him to Dracula. Pierce Brosnan came to mind as Tyler’s left eyebrow arched in a devilish manner.
 
Suddenly he moved. She’d better think fast because he was heading straight toward her. Surely he wasn’t still angry about the van, she thought desperately. Callie had only notified him that she was selling it because she’d never had the title transferred to her. If Lacey hadn’t promised Callie that she’d look after Tyler, she’d have turned and made a quick exit out the nearby patio door.
 
“Good afternoon, Lacey. Nice to see you again. You’re looking … different. No overalls. No sunglasses. No whales.” He brushed back an errant strand of dark hair that had draped seductively over his quirked eyebrow.