Crossing the Line Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Flaming Hearts Press LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-952101-59-5

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. A Happy Accident

  2. The Party Must Go On

  3. Who’s That Guy?

  4. A Walk to Remember

  5. No Stopping Us

  6. Pillow Talk

  7. A Night Over

  8. Surprise, Surprise

  9. More of Her

  10. Us Against Them

  11. Let’s Make a Deal

  12. Girl Talk

  13. Brother to Brother

  14. A Double Surprise

  15. Just My Luck

  16. Nipping at My Heels

  17. A Night to Remember

  18. Skinny-Dipping

  19. Temptation

  20. Girl Code

  21. Mr. Exciting

  22. Playing with Fire

  23. The Ticking Clock

  24. Caught

  25. Turning Points

  26. On Paper

  27. The Aftermath

  28. Date Night

  29. Everything Good

  30. Who Is Garnet?

  31. A Pearl of a Surprise

  32. Answers

  33. Put Love First

  34. Wheeling and Dealing

  35. Epilogue

  36. TRM

  A Happy Accident

  PAISLEY GROVE

  “It’s you.” Those words escape past my lips in a whisper.

  I’m trapped in his gaze. I can hardly believe I’m looking at Hercules Lord. His eyes haven’t changed at all since I last saw him. They still have the sort of depth that’s able to see straight into my soul—and they are very, very, very seductive.

  How long has it been? Seven, eight years? Something in between? The last time we gaped at each other this way comes back in a rushed memory. We were in Boston. First, we were at a New Year’s Eve party, and then we went to his place.

  “PG,” Hercules says, savoring each letter.

  My face is suddenly flushed with warmth as I’m only barely able to say, “Hi.” I clear my throat, determined to sound less flustered the next time I speak.

  “Hello. What a…” His words hang in the air, gently wafting over me for a few moments. “Pleasant surprise.”

  “So, the two of you know each other?” my new friend Lake Carlton asks. I almost forgot that Hercules and I aren’t alone.

  It’s hard to rip my concentration away from his extraordinarily handsome face. Trimmed stubble layer his dimpled chin and sharp jawline. His dark eyebrows are neat, teeth white and he still has good skin. And a delicious freshly laundered scent rises from his tailored shirt. From high school to college to now, age has been so good to him.

  I’m finally able to focus on Lake, who looks quite stunning tonight. She’s wearing a silky white halter dress that displays her bare shoulders, which appear as supple as soft cotton balls under the warm lights of the chic venue. And her dark chin-length wavy hair complements her graceful swan’s neck.

  I arrived at Lake and “Kirkie’s” engagement party moments ago, and when I finally located her, she was conversing with a tall, well-built Adonis of a man. At first, I admired the guy from behind, planning to wait until their conversation ended before approaching. But something about him led me to close the distance between us right then and there. Then I saw his face. My instincts had served me well. I did know the sexy stranger with the alluring rear view. I knew him very well.

  Something suddenly dawns on me, and I slap a hand over my rapidly beating heart. “Wait. Is Hercules Kirkie?” I ask Lake.

  Hercules crunches his eyebrows. “What’s a Kirkie?”

  Gosh, he’s so beautiful when he makes that face.

  “No, no, no,” Lake says, shaking her head with each denial. She puts her long fingers on Hercules’s fit bicep. “Mason is Kirkie.”

  Hercules’s confused expression intensifies. “Mason is Kirkie?”

  Lake presses a hand next to her mouth as if she’s about to tell him a secret. “It’s what I call him when he’s not around.”

  “Ah…” Hercules says, laughing as his head tips back.

  I can barely focus on Lake when she tells me that Hercules is Mason’s—Kirkie’s—best man, best friend, and boss. One thing’s for certain: I dodged a bullet. I wouldn’t know what to do or how to feel if Lake introduced the man I’ve always had an epic crush on as her fiancé. I probably would’ve fainted or something.

  “So really, how do the two of you know each other?” Lake’s pointed finger shifts between Hercules and me like a windshield wiper.

  “High school,” we say at the same time.

  I beam at him and he at me. My face is warm and has probably turned a dusty rose by now. I’m embarrassed about that. I want to appear like someone who doesn’t go all schoolgirl crush in the presence of the man she’s never been able to get out of her system. I’m darn near thirty. I should be better at interacting with him by now.

  Wearing my best, most confident smile, I add, “Well, we met in high school, but we last saw each other my final year in college.”

  Hercules winks at me. “Yes. That’s our story.”

  Lake’s slow smile builds as she watches us as though Hercules and I are rare creatures that she must learn absolutely everything about. “Then you have a story?”

  “What?” I croak. My head is spinning.

  “You have a story. Does that mean the two of you were involved at some point?”

  Hercules folds his hard arms high on his broad chest. “Clarify ‘involved’?”

  Tapering an eye suspiciously, Lake says, “You fully know good and well what I mean by ‘involved,’ Hercules. Stop stalling.”

  Hercules flashes his trademark sexy, lopsided grin, one that I remember so well. “We’re old friends, Lake.”

  Lake posts her amused expression on me as though she’s seeking corroboration. I’m so lost for words and too flustered to respond to the look on her face.

  The truth is, we weren’t always friends. We were both students at Dorset Meacham Academy, a private high school on the Upper East Side. Before the start of my senior year, I still lived in California, but after my grandfather died, my mom and dad relocated to Manhattan, and I had to go with them. And although I had nearly worshipped Hercules from the moment I laid eyes on him, we didn’t really say more than “hi” or “thanks” to each other until one fateful Monday afternoon when he showed up late to our fifth-period computer-programming class.

  Minutes before he arrived, Mr. Northam had asked us to pair up for the next assignment. As usual, I ended up without a partner even though my classmates knew teaming up with me was a guaranteed A-plus. The entire school knew I was a computer-coding genius. While Mr. Northam pondered which duo needed a third person, Hercules gusted into the classroom and plopped down in his regular seat.

  “Aha, you two,” Mr. Northam said, peering at us over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. “Problem solved.”

  But the problem wasn’t solved. Everyone knew that our families, the Lords and the Groves, were enemies. As a matter of fact, I’d heard plenty enough times that Dorset Meacham Academy—DMA—was Lord country. Even though Hercules and I never showed any overt disdain for each other, the rule was set long before he or I arrived. Before us, his brother Orion and my cousin Lynx had fought tirelessly to dominate DMA’s hallowed halls and win social dominance for one family and ruin f
or the other. Orion had been the victor, leaving Lynx—and then me—hopelessly trying to figure out how to survive DMA’s jagged, Lord-polluted terrain.

  Lake is still waiting for me to confirm Hercules’s claim.

  “Yes, we are old friends, I say to keep the explanation of our complicated history simple.

  He and I stare at each other with conspiratorial grins.

  Lake starts to say something but thankfully Hercules quickly turns to her and says, “But wait a minute. Does Mason know you call him as Kirkie when he’s not looking?”

  “Oh no, you called me that name in public, babe?” A tall, dark, and very handsome man slips into our circle of three, positioning himself between Hercules and Lake. Once he’s in place, he curls an arm around Lake’s narrow waist.

  Lake giggles as she kisses her fiancé and then asks where has he been. She and Mason are a striking couple. He has a charming quality. And ever since we met, she’s proven to me that she just might be the happiest woman on earth. She’s always smiling, content, and looking on the bright side of stressful situations.

  “Your cousin’s a pill,” he says, complaining wearily.

  Lake’s grunt expresses that she understands his tone.

  But I’m back to gazing into Hercules’s eyes as Lake introduces me to her fiancé. My chest rises high as I inhale deeply and then retracts with deliberate control as I release my breath. I’ll admit that, momentarily, I am completely under Hercules Lord’s spell.

  “Whoa, is she—are you—the Paisley Grove?” Mason asks.

  I’m on the verge of turning to get a look at the expression behind the way Mason asked that question, but I’m unable to take my eyes off the gorgeous woman who links arms with the man of my dreams. She’s wearing a silver body-con dress that’s so short and with a neckline so deep that it leaves nothing to the imagination.

  She holds Hercules tighter. That one possessive act makes me focus on how Hercules’s crisp black shirt clings to his perfect, not overly muscular but very strong bicep. I also notice how delicate her feminine arms appear next to his.

  When my gaze finds its way to her face, her eyes are grinning deviously at me, but her lips are not. That’s when realization slams into me like a tsunami. Holy moly—this woman has just come out of nowhere to claim the man of my dreams.

  The Party Must Go On

  PAISLEY GROVE

  “Here you are,” the model-like woman croons in a high-pitched, sultry voice that sounds practiced.

  She’s definitely a sight for sore eyes—I’ll admit that. I’ll also admit that her presence makes me feel inadequate. I grace her with a welcoming smile. She doesn’t smile back though. Her eyes merely pass over me as though I’m of no concern to her. She’s not friendly I see. It’s sort of disappointing that Hercules would choose such an ice queen. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. The version of Hercules that I had desired for far longer than I should've is way too discerning to be with a stuck-up person like Lauren.

  “Then you are Paisley Grove, Max Grove’s sister?” Mason asks again.

  When I look at Mason, it’s as if I’m seeing right through him. I’m very not present for this moment. I feel as if I’m being rude. Or maybe it’s he who is being rude. I can’t make that determination at the moment. I’m too out of sorts.

  “Yes, I am,” I say.

  Mason tosses a stunned look at Lake and then at Hercules. I’m sure he knows all about our family feud since he’s Hercules’s best friend. It seems like he’s not happy to meet me or see me at his party. My insides cringe. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since stepping onto the grounds of Lord country back in high school.

  “You have a great turnout for a Thursday night,” Hercules’s date says to Lake, who passes a glance around the room as she agrees.

  I turn to locate the hallway that leads to the elevators. I should leave soon.

  “Oh, by the way, Lauren,” Lake says, gripping my forearm as if she can sense that I want to escape her party. “This is my friend Paisley.” Lake raises her eyebrows at Mason as if she’s warning him to be nice to me.

  Lauren presses her overly red lips together and grunts dismissively as she clings tighter to Hercules. That is her not-so-subtle way of letting me know that she’s not going to shake hands.

  Hercules folds his arms over his broad chest, effortlessly freeing himself from Lauren’s straitjacket-like hold. “So, how did the two of you become friends?” he says as his amused gaze bounces between Lake and me.

  Lake recounts the moment that we became fast besties. She was my last interview of the day. I was hiring an artist to design all the signage and branding for our company’s annual Endow the World with Technology benefit. All morning, Max, my older brother and CEO of GIT—Grove Industrial Technologies—a title he shares with my uncle, Leo Grove, had been riding me for one reason or another. He hates that I’m working in PR and not product development. That’s why he consistently makes my job hard, always sending me emails about what I’ve done wrong, what I missed, and what—as the public relations director—I should know. It was because of his badgering that I could hardly focus during Lake’s interview.

  Then she abruptly stood and said, “I’ve got a feeling you need to get the hell out of this office. Am I right?”

  I looked at her, shocked that she had done something that was so unusual. I thought she was bold. My default reply would’ve been to say that I was fine. But I wasn’t fine. The walls of my office felt as though they had been caving in on me all morning. So, instead of smiling politely and then getting on with the interview, I nodded.

  “Okay, then,” she said, pointing her head toward the way out. “Let’s make a break for it.”

  We walked and talked and shopped. Lake led me into stores that I never knew existed. I bought trinkets. We perused galleries for artwork, where she showed me some of her pieces. I even bought two oil paintings of hers, abstracts that I found emotionally moving. One is hanging in my office. Max was enthralled by the other painting, so I gave it to him. The time we spent together went by so fast. When we parted, I told her she had the job, and we exchanged phone numbers. Since then, every day that we’re not working together, we’re on the phone talking to each other.

  “Our conversations are endless, don’t you think?” she asks me.

  My smile is large and happy. “I think so.”

  The way Hercules grins at me makes me blush. It’s as if Lake and my strong connection moves him.

  “I even know her favorite color,” Lake says.

  I chuckle because Lake’s on a roll, being her charming self. “And I know yours.”

  She says “Black” at the same time that I say “Yellow.”

  Hercules’s appraising eyes dip down and rise back up my body. “I would’ve guessed red,” he whispers.

  I quickly look down at my cousin Treasure’s formfitting and fairly sexy red cocktail dress that I’m wearing. Should I admit that it doesn’t belong to me?

  Hercules’s lips part as if he’s about to say something else, but a bossy voice comes over the loudspeaker, demanding that the happy couple come to the front immediately, right now.

  “That’s my cousin, Amy,” Lake says in my ear and rolls her eyes. “I’ve been forced to make her my maid of honor.”

  Lake raises her eyebrows at Mason, and they walk off together, heading toward the big windows where a microphone stand is set up. As they split the crowd, people clap.

  I’m hiding my panic, realizing Lake and Mason have left me alone with Hercules and Lauren. I close my eyes for a few seconds, bracing myself, before turning to face them. And right on cue, Lauren wraps herself around Hercules’s arm yet again, showing me that he belongs to her.

  I’m trying to smile, but I don’t succeed. “Excuse me,” I say, and as fast as my feet will carry me without running, I move away from the happy couple. Or maybe they aren’t so happy. I can’t figure it out.

  The faster I walk away from them, though, the more re
lieved I feel. I glance over each shoulder and then sigh with relief. Good job, Pais. You have allowed yourself to become lost in the crowd.

  I must force myself to forget that Hercules is here tonight. He has a date, Paisley. If I can remember that, repeat it until it sinks in, then he will have no power over me.

  About two hours later, the festivities are in full swing. Cocktails are flowing from the free bar, and jovial conversations bounce around the room like a volleyball. One thing’s for sure—New Yorkers sure do know how to party. After Mason and Lake made speeches declaring their love for each other, the music began. The couple of honor started dancing, and more and more people joined them on the wooden dance floor that had been set up in front of the enormous picture windows.

  Watching bodies dance with the lit city in the background has an artistic appeal. I’m certain Lake arranged the scene that way on purpose. It’s such an artistic thing to do.

  I’ve plopped myself on a stool at one of the high, round tables lining the perimeter of the venue. I’m still trying to stay away from Hercules. I don’t want to even catch a glance of him and Lauren together. The sight of them standing close while she whispers sweet nothings in his ear doesn’t make me feel so swell.

  Every now and then, a guy takes a seat next to me and asks if I want to dance. I graciously decline. It’s not that I don’t want to get in the mix and have a good time. I just don’t want to be seen. I’m hiding.

  So far, Hercules and Lauren haven’t hit the dance floor. But I must admit it would be nice to see if Hercules has any good moves. I bet he’s a sexy dancer. It’s the way he walks and all his gestures—he’s masculine but graceful. Very sensuous.