Screwball Read online

  Also by Linda Morris

  High Heat

  Screwball

  Linda Morris

  InterMix Books, New York

  AN IMPRINT OF PENGUIN RANDOM HOUSE LLC

  375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014

  SCREWBALL

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Linda Morris.

  Excerpt from High Heat copyright © 2015 by Linda Morris.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19473-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / September 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Penguin Random House is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Also by Linda Morris

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Excerpt from High Heat

  About the Author

  Prologue

  When had St. Petersburg nightclubs gotten so decadent? Willow Bourne hadn’t gotten out enough lately to know. Since The Breakup, she hadn’t felt much like doing anything.

  “Where did you find out about this place?” She leaned in, nearly yelling to her friend Kendra.

  A goateed hipster DJ in a fedora spun turntables in a booth suspended over the packed dance floor, nodding in rhythm to the music. Lasers pulsed, illuminating the bodies on the dance floor.

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Kendra had to shout to be heard over the music. “My boss brings sponsors here all the time.”

  Kendra Phillips worked in public relations for the local pro football team, the St. Petersburg Invaders. The two of them had become good friends over the years, as Willow covered the Invaders for the local TV station.

  “Come on. My treat.” Kendra squeezed her hand. “You need a pick-me-up.”

  “Not sure a twelve-dollar cocktail is going to solve my problems, but thanks for the thought.”

  “Come on, hon. Give yourself a chance to cheer up.” Kendra led the way through the crowd.

  The two women got plenty of looks as they moved through the nightclub. Usually, leers from guys she didn’t know creeped Willow out, but not tonight. Tonight, they were a boost to her badly battered ego.

  They entered a long hallway with large leather-lined booths separated by wispy white curtains. Crimson velvet wallpaper lit with colored lights made for a trippy effect.

  “We’re in the booth at the end,” Kendra said.

  The two slid into the booth and Willow scanned the drink menu. “Ten bucks for something called a Sazerac?” She couldn’t afford this place. Not that she could afford any place, considering that she had lost her job and was living on savings, unemployment checks, and an occasional assist from her parents. Whee! She was twenty-five and on top of the world.

  “Don’t get it. It tastes like lighter fluid with sugar in it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Duly noted.”

  A loud yell from the booth across the hall caught her attention. A raucous group of guys, young and mostly good-looking, was flirting with their waitress. Without meaning to, Willow caught the gaze of one of the guys: Quiet. A little older than the rest. An island of intensity amid the liquored-up party people.

  He has nice eyes.

  She didn’t want to notice anything about a guy right now, but his eyes asked to be admired. They were equal parts gray and blue, bearing an expression she recognized because her face had worn it so often recently. The stranger wore the look of someone trying to hide something—but what? Sadness? No, more like discontent. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

  She ordered a beer and drank half of it before she had the courage to let her eyes wander in the man’s direction again.

  He was still watching her.

  Her stomach tightened, but she couldn’t have said whether from excitement or unease. She raised a brow, determined not to look away this time. His lips curved, and the sight took her breath away. He didn’t smile easily, she could tell. It looked like a reluctant one at best, but it lightened the shadow in his eyes.

  The easy feeling lasted until he rose and walked toward her. Her pulse erupted.

  Get ahold of yourself. He’s a guy in a bar. What’s he going to do to you?

  He walked right up, never glancing at Kendra, only at her.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Her voice came out calmer than she felt, thank God.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  A standard line she’d heard a hundred times. So why did it send a shiver of anticipation down the back of her neck when he said it?

  She gestured to her beer. “Got one already.”

  “I see.” He nodded, not letting that half-quirk of a smile disappear. “Then, in that case, I have no choice but to ask you to dance.”

  She shot an apologetic glance at Kendra, who beamed and shooed her off. Willow slipped her hand into his and followed his broad shoulders through the VIP area and back to the dance floor.

  “My name’s Paul.”

  “Willow.”

  “Willow,” he repeated.

  She liked the way her name sounded on his lips.

  “It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

  Another phrase she’d heard before, but he made it sound new.

  “Thanks.” She’d barely spoken to him, only exchanged a few words, but already she felt connected to him in a way that scared her a little. She’d only recently ended a train wreck of a relationship. The last thing she wanted to do was embark on another.

  This is not a relationship. It’s a dance.

  On the dance floor, the DJ segued into a new track, and they started to sway. Paul moved with an athlete’s grace, quick and sure, his body falling into an easy rhythm. Strobe lights flickered across the white of his crisp Oxford, emphasizing the breadth of his wide shoulders. The music pounded a rhythm she couldn’t possibly miss, and she let her body move, not worrying about anything for once.

  Their bodies brushed against each other, pushed together by other dancers or perhaps pulled together by their natural attraction. She didn’t mind.

  Hell, she loved the contact. The strength of his biceps under his sleeves or the brush of his leg against hers made her skin heat. The man and the moment were putting her in a trance, and she liked it. A week ago, she’d thought her interest in men was gone, but suddenly it had come roaring back to life, and it felt good. The sensation made her giddy, eager to embrace this man and every good feel
ing he could bring her. It was such a relief from the endless worry and recrimination her life had become since her relationship with Tony had fallen apart and taken her job down with it. Not just my job, Willow told herself. My career. Her self-confidence. Her future.

  She pushed it out of her mind and let her eyes wander down Paul’s body, noting the way his jeans fit his slim hips and muscled thighs. He caught her gaze and smiled slightly, that reluctant little grin that he seemed to give without really wanting to.

  The song ended and he leaned in, his lips warm against her ear. “Want to find somewhere quiet where we can talk?”

  “I don’t want to leave my friend alone.”

  “Something tells me she wouldn’t mind. She seemed pleased you were dancing with me.”

  True. “Let me text her and tell her where I’m going.” She pulled out her cell phone and fired off a quick text to Kendra. “I let her know we won’t be long.”

  In a few seconds, her phone buzzed. “Take your time, girl. He’s a hottie. Don’t worry. I found one for me too.”

  Of course she had. Kendra’s combination of looks and an easy smile drew guys like honey. And she was so sweet, Willow couldn’t even hate her for it.

  “I’ll be right back,” Willow texted to her friend, who didn’t respond. She had obviously found someone to keep her entertained.

  “Ready.” She smiled and slipped her phone back into her purse.

  Paul gave her a half smile and took her by the hand, leading her through the packed floor and down a narrow hallway in the back to an exit.

  Outside, the fresh, salt-scented air swept away the scents of alcohol and perfume that dominated the club. The stars punched holes in the midnight-black sky, and boats on the horizon flickered with red and white lights.

  “Want to walk on the beach?”

  “Okay.” A small gate on the other side of the patio led directly to the sand. Paul opened the gate and stepped aside to let her pass, a nice gesture—the kind she wasn’t used to getting from men very often.

  The sand shifted under her heels, twisting and turning her ankles with every step. Slipping off her shoes to go barefoot in her dress seemed like the most natural thing in the world, as did sliding her free hand into the strong warmth of Paul’s.

  “Want me to carry those?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He took her strappy heels in hand and pulled her a little closer, until her shoulder brushed against his. She let her cheek rest briefly against the upper part of his arm, savoring his clean scent. In the distance, the lights of a dozen bars and condos shone bright, enabling them to see well enough to avoid the occasional piece of driftwood or a child’s forgotten sand bucket. Well ahead, a wood and concrete fishing pier stretched into the ocean like a black gash, dotted with lights illuminating a few late-night stargazers.

  “Walk to the pier? We can look out over the water.”

  “Sure.” They headed off at a slow ramble, by mutual yet unspoken agreement. “So, Paul. What do you do?” Willow asked. “No, wait! Let me guess. Let me see. You’re in pretty good shape, and you were with a bunch of guys who were too. You a jock?”

  His brows shot up.

  Bingo.

  “Lucky guess,” he scoffed.

  She smirked. “No such thing as luck. I’m good.”

  They passed under a light, and his face was illuminated. He was beautiful, with high cheekbones and a chiseled mouth. Only the messy swirl of his short, dark blond hair and a day’s worth of stubble—and those storm-dark eyes—saved him from being pretty.

  “If you’re so good—and I’m not confirming I am a jock, by the way—what sport do I play?”

  She rolled her eyes. He’d as good as confirmed her guess, so no going back now.

  “Hmmm. Definitely not football. You don’t have the bulk, and you’re too smart.”

  “You can tell my intelligence from one dance and a little conversation?”

  Her grin widened. “You used several multi-syllable words, as I recall, so that rules out football player.”

  He shook his head. “What a stereotype. So tell me. What I do play, Madame Willow?”

  She let her gaze run down his taut arm. “Not basketball, because you don’t have that spent-the-whole-year-in-the-gym pallor that basketball players have. I’m guessing either baseball or soccer.”

  “I played some baseball in college,” he admitted. “How about you?”

  “I never played baseball in college,” she said with a smirk.

  “Very funny. No, I mean what do you do?”

  “You think my guesses are luck, huh? Why don’t you try it? Tell me what I do for a living.”

  He shook his head. “I never claimed to have psychic powers.”

  “Neither did I. Just used my powers of observation.” The tingle of half alarm, half attraction she’d experienced when she first noticed him watching her had vanished, replaced by full-throttle desire. She wasn’t alone. She could tell with every gaze, every gesture, every line of his body language that he wanted her too.

  His eyes narrowed. “This is the kind of thing that can get me in trouble. I can envision this going wrong in all kinds of horrible ways.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Chicken. I was a sports reporter for WROV. I cohosted the local weekly show about the Invaders.” She’d seen it as the chance of a lifetime when she’d gotten the job after finishing up her internship, but now, older and wiser, she knew the truth. Nobody had cared about her sports knowledge. If she hadn’t been able to tell a football from a golf ball, she’d still probably have gotten the job.

  She’d been hired as eye candy, plain and simple. Tony, a retired player, was supposed to be the football guy on the program. She’d hated the assumption she brought nothing to the table besides her looks.

  “You said you were a sports reporter. What do you do now?”

  “Ah, I’m kind of between jobs right now.” She couldn’t keep the grim edge from her voice.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  “It’s not important.” She waved her hand dismissively but couldn’t quite suppress a frown.

  He noticed, of course. “TV sports wasn’t what you thought it would be?”

  “No, my boyfriend wasn’t what I thought he’d be.” She immediately wished she could take the flippant words back. Too late. Better now to spill the whole story. “I got involved with a work colleague. Big mistake, which I’ll never make again. He was the color guy on the football show. Tony Raffi.” She waited for him to react to the name, but he didn’t. Odd. He wasn’t exactly a superstar, but Tony had been a backup quarterback for the Invaders for years, and most locals knew him.

  “You got fired for dating a coworker?”

  “Not exactly. Turns out, he had a rich socialite fiancée who found out he was seeing me and raised a stink. They didn’t want a scene, so one of us had to go. He was famous, I wasn’t. Plus, I hadn’t exactly earned a lot of goodwill from my boss. I had a tendency to tell him to forget it when he asked me to dress sexier to appeal to the eighteen–to–thirty-four male demo. Firing me was a lot easier than firing Tony, so that’s what they did.”

  She’d lost her boyfriend, her illusions, and her job in one week.

  “Did you know he had a fiancée?”

  She shook her head. Like she’d ever let herself in for that kind of hot mess on purpose. “No idea. We traveled for the games a lot, so it was easy for him to do, looking back. Back in St. Pete, he was often too ‘busy’ to see me, but that didn’t strike me as odd. He was a local celeb from his playing days, and he said he had a lot of commitments.” Her laugh came out hollow. “I should have known nobody could play in that many celebrity fund-raising golf tournaments.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. He was a liar. Liars fool people all the time. I suggest you work on forgetting about him.”

  “Work on forgetting?” She tipped her head to look at him.

  “Yes. Forget the past, at least for one night.
Live in the moment.” His lips curved slightly. Every time a smile lit his eyes, chasing away the shadows, her heart turned over. “You have to admit, the moment is pretty nice.” He gestured at their surroundings: the starry sky above, and the sandy beach sloping down to the dark, white-capped ocean. Moonlight illuminated the white breakers against a black sea. The scent of sea and salt hung in the humid air.

  “It is pretty nice.”

  “A week ago, I never could have imagined feeling this good,” Paul said.

  The words warmed her, but she only squeezed his hand. He had troubles too, just like she did. “Remember? Forget the past. Don’t think about the future. Only tonight,” she said.

  He stopped without warning and turned to her. “If we’re living in the moment, there’s something I want to do.” He cupped her chin gently, tilting it up.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “This.” He bent slightly to take her mouth in a soft, sensual kiss.

  She leaned in, letting her lips soften and her body melt against his. Her shoes fell into the sand, and his arms moved to hold her, pulling her in so tight she had to shift a bit to breathe.

  “Sorry.” His forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm on her cheek.

  Her hand rose and fell with the motions of his chest and, beneath her palm, his heart kept pace with her own racing beat.

  “Maybe I want this a little too badly.”

  His honesty stripped her bare, removing any doubt she had about him.

  “No more than I do,” she said, and she meant it.

  His hand slipped into her hair, which was blowing gently in the breeze, and she took a moment to be grateful she’d left her reddish locks hanging loose instead of sweeping them up and back.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Shhh,” he whispered, and leaned in again to take her mouth in a demanding kiss that robbed her breath.