Only You

by Bonnie Pega

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

A no-nonsense company man and a beautiful small-business owner learn to embrace second chances in this classic romance by Bonnie Pega.
 
Max Shore thrives on routine, but a message from mysterious Love, Inc.—and the silky voice that leaves it—certainly piques his interest. What kind of improper services might such an outfit offer? And what can it possibly want from Shore Efficiency Consultants? Max is in for a delightful surprise: The voice in question is from a petite beauty with the face of an angel and a body made for sin—though Max, still recovering from a nasty divorce, isn’t sure he’s ready for temptation.
 
For all of Caitlin Love’s expertise on thyme and willow bark, her organic herb business needs an organizational overhaul after a run-in with the IRS. But when the stuffy efficiency guru she envisioned turns out to be sexier than expected, Caitlin’s guard goes up. A history of tragedy has made her wary of getting close to someone new. Yet something in Max’s piercing blue eyes compels her to trust him. He’s willing to help Caitlin fight her demons—if only she’s willing to let him.

Release date: May 13, 2014

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 192

Sample

One
 
“Love, Inc.? What on earth is Love, Inc.?”
 
Maximillian Shore pressed his intercom button as he stared at the note in his hand. “Patsy, would you come in here a minute, please?”
 
The very second Patsy poked her head in the doorway, he waved the note in the air. “What is this note you left me? Love, Incorporated?”
 
“I don’t know, boss. I just took the message. I didn’t interrogate her.” Max reflected that as secretaries went, Patsy was a little insolent. However, as sisters went, she was okay. The relationship was easy to spot in their identical brown hair and blue eyes.
 
“Her?” Max asked.
 
“Her. I didn’t catch her name, but she did say she needed to speak with you right away on a matter of some urgency.”
 
“And she didn’t mention what the urgent matter was?”
 
“Nope.” Patsy flashed a teasing grin. “What’s the matter, bro? Got an outstanding bill at our local massage parlor?”
 
“Sure,” Max snapped back. “I spend all my evenings there.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “What makes you think it’s a massage parlor anyway?”
 
“With a name like Love, Incorporated? C’mon. What else could it be?” Patsy gave a saucy smile and went back out to the front desk.
 
What else indeed? Max wondered as he picked up the phone and dialed the number on the note.
 
The female voice that answered was soft and low and made Max think of candlelight, whispered conversations, and satin sheets. “Hello. You have reached Love, Incorporated. No one is in right now, but if you will leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”
 
It made sense to have an answering machine, Max decided. That way, she could weed out undesirables—like vice cops—before having to talk with them. In some lines of business, one couldn’t be too careful. Max didn’t leave a message though. If she wanted to talk to him that much, she could call him back. He resisted redialing the number just so he could hear that voice again.
 
Max glanced at the gold watch on his tanned wrist and stood. Damn, he had promised Jackie he’d meet her at six and it was five after already. She’d have his head for being late. Well, why not? he thought ruefully. She already had everything else. The house, the car, the bank accounts. The shirt off his back.
 
As he shrugged on his jacket, he looked at the note again and muttered, “Love, Incorporated. Interesting name, that.” It would be even more interesting to find out what a massage parlor, or whatever it was, wanted with Shore Efficiency Consultants.
 
Caitlin Alexandra Love couldn’t wait to change clothes. She hated dresses and hose and high heels—especially high heels. She kicked them off, giving a delicate snort. They were certainly not designed for comfort and were more like ancient instruments of torture even though they did make legs look better and women taller.
 
Caitlin knew she was small, topping out at five feet three if she stood on her tiptoes, and possibly, hitting one hundred and five pounds after a heavy meal if she wore her winter coat. However, she didn’t care. She had never cared about being bigger.
 
Except once, she admitted to herself. Only once in her life had she found her small stature to be a disadvantage. She hadn’t been able to fight long enough or hard enough to—
 
Abruptly she switched her thoughts from that disturbing line and tugged on comfortable faded jeans and an equally faded loose red T-shirt.
 
Sighing, Caitlin stooped to pick up the discarded heels and tossed them into the closet. Her feet would never be the same, she mused as she wiggled her aching toes. She hadn’t worn heels in over a year. She wore flats or sneakers everywhere, even to Sunday school. How she hated dressing up—especially to impress IRS auditors. It had worked though. She hadn’t had to pay more than a few hundred dollars. Of course, it could have been her poor, baggy-eyed accountant who saved the day.
 
“Mom? Oh, Mom!”
 
Caitlin opened her bedroom door. “In here, Jordie.” She heard pounding footsteps that sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo and braced herself.
 
A miniature golden-haired whirlwind attacked her with an exuberant embrace. “Mom, Mom, guess what? We played Mrs. Scott’s class at recess in kickball and guess what? We won. I kicked the winning ball and Mrs. Joseph said I was a good player and …”
 
Caitlin looked down affectionately at the small boy who chattered away. She ran a hand over his curly hair, so like her own. The gold-flecked brown eyes were hers, as were the upturned nose and determined jaw. There was nothing of his father in him, thank God.
 
“That’s terrific, Jordie!” Caitlin gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you had such a good time today. Now, do you have any homework?”
 
He grimaced. “Do I have to do it now? Can’t I play first?”
 
“We’re going out to dinner tonight, remember? You need to do your homework now. I have to go to work for a while this afternoon to make some calls. You can do your homework there, if you like.”
 
“Aw, Mom, it’s your day off. How come you gotta go in on your day off?”
 
Caitlin dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry, pal. When you’re the boss, sometimes you just ‘gotta.” ’ When he still didn’t look too happy, she resorted to bribery. “How about some carob granola bars when we get there? I made some just this morning.”
 
At his sudden smile, she smiled back. They had played this scene so many times since school started that it had become routine by now. She bundled Jordie into her ancient van and headed to work.
 
What in the world was he doing here? Max wondered as he maneuvered his car down the narrow streets lined with warehouses on either side. Silverdale wasn’t as big as nearby Charlottesville or Fredericksburg, but it was large enough to have an industrial district. And Love, Inc., sat right smack in the middle of it.
 
Max pulled into a parking lot much in need of repair. The only other vehicle in it was an old battered van with a bumper sticker that said LET US PUT A LITTLE LOVE IN YOUR LIFE. This had to be the place. He’d found the address in the telephone directory the previous night and hadn’t been able to resist driving by to see what kind of business it was. So far, he couldn’t tell.
 
The building was a strange one—a long, low warehouse with arching roofs. Not a very impressive exterior, but perhaps one didn’t need an impressive exterior when one ran a—a what? A massage parlor? An “escort” service? He just couldn’t figure out why it needed so much room. The building encompassed what amounted to a full city block, if not more.
 
Max parked his car a respectable distance from the dilapidated van. After all, there had to be some reason for all its dents and scratches. No sooner had he shut and locked his car door than a small boy appeared.
 
“Wow, nice car, mister. Is that a real phone in there?” he asked, pressing a chocolate-smeared face against the window and peering inside.
 
Max winced. “Yes, it is. Here.” Max held out a clean handkerchief to the boy.
 
“Oh, no, I can’t take this,” the child said immediately. “My mom says I can’t take anything from somebody ’less I know ’em.”
 
“Well, your mother sounds very wise. How about if I introduce myself? I’m Max Shore.”
 
“I’m Jordan.” He offered a grubby hand.
 
Max shook it gravely and said, “Well, Jordan, now that we know each other, maybe you’d like to use my handkerchief to wipe the chocolate from your hands and face.” Max rubbed a smudge from his own hand before giving the cloth to the boy.
 
“Sure, ’cept it’s not chocolate. It’s carob.”
 
“Carob. Okay. Does your mother work here?” Max asked.
 
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir,” Jordan said, handing the dirtied handkerchief back to Max. “She’s makin’ phone calls and stuff today.”
 
“Phone calls?” Did that woman dare make God only knows what kind of phone calls while her child wandered around the streets?
 
“Jordie! Get back in here right now, you scamp. You know you’re not supposed to play out there.”
 
She was an angel, Max thought as he looked up, complete with golden curls and dimples. Well, he amended as his eyes swept over lush curves, maybe not quite an angel. After all, that was the voice. The voice that had haunted his dreams the previous night. A voice guaranteed to make a man long to hear it husky with passion. A voice that ran a massage parlor? Or an escort service? Or a sex-by-phone racket? And what did that voice want with Shore Efficiency Consultants?
 
No time like the present to find out, Max decided, walking over to her and holding out his hand. “Hello, I’m Maximillian Shore from Shore Efficiency Consultants. Max.”
 
Her eyes were the most delicious shade of brown, with gold flecks like sunlight reflecting from a pool of coffee. Her nose tilted the slightest bit at the end and her chin, though determined, was delicate and pointed. Her body was slim but all nicely rounded curves that were evident even underneath frayed jeans and a baggy T-shirt. She was what his grandfather would have called a “pocket Venus.” She was what Max called pure temptation.
 
Caitlin looked from Jordan to a large, tanned hand with reddish-gold hairs glinting on the back of it, and well-manicured fingernails. She glanced at her hand—dainty compared with his—then noticed the dark soil that ringed every fingernail. She quickly placed her dirty hands behind her back like a schoolboy expecting a whack on the palm with a ruler.