Lone Star Lovers

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#uabe5f72d-6942-5069-a507-4b21679a60ea)

Texas in the springtime was a sight to behold. The Dallas sunshine warmed the patio of Hip Stir, where Penelope Brand sat across from her most recent client. Blue cloudless skies stretched over the glass-and-steel city buildings, practically begging the city-dwellers to take a deep breath. Given that nearly every table was full, it appeared that most of downtown had obeyed.

Pen adjusted her sunglasses before carefully lifting her filled-to-the-brim café au lait. The mug’s contents wobbled but she made that first sip to her lips rather than to her lap. Which was a relief since Pen always wore white. Today she’d chosen her favorite white jacket with black silk piping over a vibrant pink cami. Her pants were white to match, slim-fitting and ended in a pair of black five-inch stilettos.

White was her power color. Pen’s clients came to her for crisis control—sometimes for a completely fresh start. As their public relations maven, a crisp, clean do-over had become Pen’s specialty.

She’d started her business in the Midwest. Until last year, the Chicago elite had trusted her with their bank accounts, their marriages and their hard-won reputations. When her own reputation took a header, Pen was forced to regroup. That unfortunate circumstance was rapidly gaining ground as her “past.” The woman sitting across from her now had laid the foundation for Penelope’s future.

“I can’t thank you enough.” Stefanie Ferguson shook her head, tossing her dark blond ponytail to the side. “Though I suppose I should thank my stupid brother for the introduction.” She lifted her espresso and rolled her eyes.

Pen smothered a smile. Stefanie’s stupid brother was none other than the well-loved mayor of Dallas, and he’d called on Penelope’s services to help his younger sister out of a mess that could mar his reputation.

Stef didn’t share her brother’s reverent love for politics and being careful in the public eye. She flew by the seat of her skinny jeans, the most recent flight landing her in the arms of one of the mayor’s most critical opponents, Blake Eastwood.

Blake’s development company wanted to break ground for a new civic center that Mayor Ferguson opposed. Critics argued that the mayor was biased, given the civic center was to be built near his family’s oil wells, but the mayor’s supporters argued the unneeded new-build would be a waste of city funds.

Either way, the photograph of Stefanie exiting a hotel, her arm wrapped around Blake’s while they both wore wrinkled clothing and sexually satisfied smiles, had caused some unwanted media attention.

The mayor had hired Brand Consulting to smooth out the wrinkles of what could have turned into a PR nightmare. Penelope had done her job and done it well. One week after the snafu, and the media had already moved on to gossiping about someone else.

All in a day’s work.

“You’re coming to the party tonight, right?” Stef asked. “I’m looking forward to you being there so I have a girl to talk to.”

Stef was younger than Pen by four years, but Pen could easily become close friends with her. Stef was smart, savvy and, while she was a tad too honest for her brother’s taste, Pen welcomed that sort of frankness. Too bad a friendship with Stefanie broke Pen’s most recently adopted rule: never become personally involved with a client.

That included an intimate friendship with the blonde across from her.

A pang of regret faded and faded fast as Pen remembered why she’d had to ink the rule in the first place. Her ex in Chicago had tanked her reputation, cashed her checks and forced her to journey to her own fresh start.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Pen answered with a smile. Because yes, she wasn’t going to become besties with Stefanie Ferguson, but neither would she turn down a coveted invitation to the mayor’s birthday party.

Those who gained entry to the mayor’s annual soiree, held at his private gated mansion, were the envy of the city. Pen had worked with billionaires, local celebrities and sports stars in her professional past, but she’d never worked directly with a civil servant. Attending the most sought-after party of the year was as good as a gold star on her résumé.

Pen picked up the tab for her client and said her goodbyes to Stefanie before walking two blocks back to her office.

Thank God for the mayor’s troublemaking sister.

Stepping in at the pleasure of Mayor Chase Ferguson might have been the best decision Pen had made since moving to Dallas. Her heart thudded heavily against her breastbone as she thought about what this could mean for her growing PR firm—and for her future as an entrepreneur. There were going to be many, many people at this party who would eventually require her services. The world of politics teemed with scandal.

After finishing her work for the day, she locked the glass door on her tenth-floor suite and drew the blinds. In her private bathroom, Pen spritzed on a dash of floral perfume and brushed her teeth, swapping out her suit for the white dress she’d chosen to wear to the mayor’s party. She’d brought it with her to work since her apartment was on the other side of town and the mayor’s mansion was closer to her office.

She smoothed her palms down the skirt and checked the back view in the full-length mirror on the door. Not bad at all. After way too much vacillating this morning, she’d opted for hair down versus hair up. Soft waves fell around her shoulders and the color of her pale blue eyes popped beneath a veil of black-mascaraed lashes and smoky, silver-blue shadow.

The dress was doing her several favors, hugging her hips and her derriere in a way that wasn’t inappropriate, but showcased her daily efforts at the gym.

I couldn’t let you leave without pointing out how well you wear that dress.

Shivers tracked down her arms and she rubbed away the gooseflesh as the silken voice from two weeks ago wound around her brain.

Pen had moved to Dallas thinking she’d sworn off men forever, but after nearly a year of working nonstop to rebuild her business, she’d admitted she was lonely. She’d been at a swanky jazz club enjoying her martini when yet another man had approached to try his luck.

This one had been a tall, muscled, delicious male specimen with a confident walk and a paralyzing green stare that held her fastened in place. He’d introduced himself as “Just Zach,” and then asked to sit. She’d surprised herself by saying yes.

Over a drink, she learned they’d crossed paths once before—at a party in Chicago. They knew the same billionaire family who owned Crane Hotels, though she’d never imagined running into Zach again anywhere other than Chicago.

She also never imagined she’d ask him to come home with her...but she did. When one drink led to another, Penelope let him lead her out of the club.

What a night it’d been.

His kisses had seared, branding her his for those stolen few hours. Hotter than his mouth were the acres of golden muscles, and she’d reveled in smoothing her palms over his bulging pecs and the bumps of his abs. Zach had a great ass, a better smile, and when he left in the morning, he’d even kissed her goodbye.

Stay in bed and recover, Penelope Brand.

A dimple had punctuated one of his cheeks, and her laugh had eased into a soft hum as she’d watched Zach’s silhouetted masculine form dress in the sunlight pressing through her white bedroom curtains.

Sigh.

It had been the perfect night, curing her of her loneliness and adding a much-needed spring in her step. Pen had felt like she could take over the damn world. Amazing what a few earth-shattering orgasms could do for a girl’s morale.

She was still smiling at that memory of “Just Zach” from Chicago when she climbed behind the wheel of her Audi and started toward her destination. One night with Zach had been fun, but Pen wasn’t foolish enough to believe it could have been more. As the daughter of entrepreneurs, success had been ingrained in Pen’s mind from an early age. She’d taken her eye off the prize in Chicago and look what’d happened.

Never again. At the gates of the mayor’s mansion, Pen presented the shiny black invitation, personalized with her name in an elegant silver script, and smiled down at the slender silver bangle on her left wrist. It had been included with her invitation. Dangling from the bracelet was a letter F, and she’d bet her new shoes that the diamond set in the charm was a real one. Every first-time attendee received a gift from the mayor.

The security guard waved her through and she smiled in triumph. She was in. The world of politics was ripe with men and women who might need to hire her firm in the future, and she would make sure every guest knew her name by the end of the evening.

Pen passed her car keys to the valet and walked the cobblestone path to the mayor’s mansion. The grounds were elegant, lined with tall, slender shrubberies and short, boxed hedges. Fragrant, colorful flowers were in full bloom thanks to an early spring. Looming oaks that’d been there since the Ferguson family earned their first dollar in Dallas, ushered her in.

Inside, she checked her wrap and tucked her clutch under her arm. When her turn came, an attendant walked her to the mayor for a proper introduction.