Just
the Way You Are
By: Beverly Barton
Releasing Jan 27th, 2015
Zebra Books
The South sizzles in New York Times
bestselling author Beverly Barton’s sultry tale of a woman torn between two
brothers…
Mary
Beth Caine has always been the good girl in her small Mississippi town. But
when a big, protective, shamelessly sexy stranger offers to console her on the
night of her disastrous engagement party, Mary Beth lets him—only to discover
that Parr Weston also happens to be the older brother of her fiancé, Bobby Joe.
Parr
left Mississippi after years spent holding his family together. Now that he’s
back, he can’t steal Bobby Joe’s woman, and he sure can’t offer Mary Beth the
tidy happily-ever-after she deserves. But everything about the petite beauty—from
her flame-gold hair to her artless sensuality—makes him crave her more. Love or
lust, right or wrong, all he knows is that nothing has ever felt like this
before, and walking away will be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do…
“Right.
But there is a question I’d like to ask.”
“Go
ahead. You can say anything you like. This night couldn’t get any weirder.”
“What
if I said that I needed you?”
Her
lips parted with evident surprise. “Huh? You need me?”
Her
startled gaze met his. Parr wished there was a surefire way to get her to
understand what was on his mind. But he couldn’t quite define it himself.
“I
think I do.”
“Really,”
she said, her voice laced with wry amusement.
“The love of my life, whom I thought I knew,
doesn’t need me at all, and a total stranger apparently does.”
“It
was just a question. I’m not sure what I meant by it.”
“That
makes two of us. Just the two of us.” She surveyed him warily.
Parr
nodded. Just the two of us. He liked the sound of that. Maybe he hadn’t
overstepped the bounds of propriety or whatever rules were in effect when
rescuing a damsel in distress.
“I
guess—well, it seemed to me you needed a kiss, that was all.”
“Is
that something you do often? Find an unhappy woman and plant one on her?”
“No.
And it wasn’t like I was looking for you.”
That
tiny dimple appeared above her slight—very slight—smile. Nonetheless, Parr had
a feeling she was taking him seriously, for reasons known only to herself.
Maybe she was just used to men throwing themselves at her feet.
Which
was all the more reason not to let her walk away. But she honestly didn’t seem
outraged by his impulsively romantic gesture and she certainly didn’t seem
scared of him.
So
far, so good. But where did they go from here?
She
put her fingertips to her temples and rubbed. “I think I need something to
eat,” she said. “I feel a little dizzy.”
“Good
idea.” He looked around for a waiter, not seeing a single one in the thickening
crush of people. The place was jammed and the music cranked up to deafening
levels. “There has to be a menu around here somewhere. I’ll grab one. Be right
back.” He stopped for a second after he got up. “What’s your name? You never
did say.”
“No.
I didn’t. Just get a menu. Please.”
Exchanging
vital information like that would just have to wait. She was grateful for a few
moments alone, which she desperately needed, to think about just what the hell
she was doing here. With him.
Whatever
his name was.
Mary
Beth sipped her Coke, which had lost most of its fizz, and watched him shoulder
through the crowd.
He
had to turn around once to get past an entwined couple who’d just set down
their cocktails to smooch and cuddle, generating the usual friendly advice to
get a room.
None
of her business. She just hoped other hearts weren’t being broken.
The
look on his craggy, masculine face as he eased by the oblivious pair was
priceless, though.
He
wasn’t really handsome. More like rugged. The waitress he asked for a menu
perked up when she handed him one, obviously just as attracted to his
jewel-brown eyes. Even from this distance, his eyes
sparkled
with devilment. She felt a tiny pang of jealousy that she instantly dismissed.
But
he didn’t seem interested in the waitress once he had scored a menu. Good. She
kept on studying him as he got closer, which was taking a while.
His
features were too roughly hewn, his nose too hawkish for him to be considered
classically goodlooking. He was a real man in every sense of the word, hard,
tough, maybe even a little too masculine.
If
there was such a thing, she couldn’t help thinking.
The
revolving spotlights that pierced the dim atmosphere of the lounge touched his
hair now and then, making it gleam darkly. She wouldn’t mind doing the same
thing. That thick sable hair looked extremely touchable. She suppressed a smile
of admiration when several guys stepped aside, consciously or unconsciously
ceding their turf to him. He was big, so very big. The kind of man who looked
as if he could carry the burdens of the world on those massive shoulders.
And
he’d been bold enough to say he needed her.
Hmm.
Although it was possible that it was a pickup line, it actually hadn’t sounded
like one. More like a statement of fact.
But
she was in no condition to judge accurately after the devastating discovery in
suite 5-C. Or rather, in the storage closet next to suite 5-C. She had knocked
on the door by mistake and heard a low-voiced yes at almost the same moment.
And she’d opened the door.
Her
fingers tightened on her cold, empty glass. All she could think was payback
time. Someone richly deserved it. She couldn’t figure out how, exactly, not
just yet. But she would.
The
man who needed her had stopped to talk to a pal. He didn’t nod in her direction
or give any indication that they were together, for which she was grateful.
She
was still somewhat numb, basically unable to form a coherent thought. Or maybe
stunned was a better word. The intensity of her attraction to this wellbuilt
stranger was affecting her ability to reason, on top of everything else.
Raw
emotion was no balm for her hurting heart.
Unless
she was just experiencing a powerful physical reaction and nothing more.
She
did want him that way. The feeling was new and wild. She’d never wanted a man
just physically before in her whole life.
At
the moment, he seemed to be unable to extricate himself from an unwanted
conversation. He finally did manage a reassuring glance at her over his
friend’s shoulder. He was coming back.
He
cared. Good enough. If this encounter lasted a grand total of an hour, start to
finish, he still cared enough to treat her right.
Mary
Beth was all about doing right, first and foremost. Above all, she believed
that you took care of your family and loved them best. Next to that was her
work. She genuinely cared for the young students who came to talk to her in
confidence. As a school social worker, she knew a lot about life that she
hadn’t personally experienced.
She
had convinced herself that she loved her fiancé and that she was ready to take
the huge step of starting a family of her own. At least she was sure she hadn’t
accepted his proposal for any of the wrong reasons. She didn’t need him to be
financially secure. She didn’t have to have a man around the house just
because
she’d been so close—and still was—to her widowed father, Harold Caine.
No.
She’d gotten engaged because it was the logical next step in her orderly life,
a perfectly reasonable idea that had shattered into a million pieces when, by
mistake, she opened the closet door next to the suite the guys had used to
change into formal wear.
In
seconds, her whole damn life had changed. There was no going back.
If
one of her girlfriends should dare to tell her to get over herself, that men
were just teenage boys at heart who could be expected to fool around one last
time before they got dragged down the aisle—well, so much for that friendship.
Mary Beth drew the line at cheating.
Though
this was the first time she’d been cheated on. She amended the thought. This
was the first time she knew for sure she’d been cheated on. It felt horrible.
Any
woman so lacking in self-respect that she put up with crap like that even once
would be doomed to a lifetime of it.
No
way. Not her. But she had no Plan B. And now here she was in a noisy lounge
staring at a man who made her feel like she actually mattered. And feeling
flummoxed.
He’d
come to her aid instantly. And held her as if he knew what had just happened
when he didn’t know a thing. Tried to help. Been a gentleman the entire time,
including that funny, old-fashioned kiss. She’d felt like a lady.
In
that roughly tender voice, he’d claimed out of nowhere that he’d needed her and
seemed as surprised by his confession as she had been.
It
was impossible to tell why or how it had all happened so fast, but she still
wanted him to hold her, to caress her, to love her. By all rights she should be
afraid of him, but she just wasn’t. Her barely restrained desire ought to have
been a warning not to get involved, but she didn’t hear any alarm bells.
Mary
Beth didn’t think anyone had ever really needed her, not even her lovingly
protective father. Being a widower with a growing child who was only four years
old when he’d had to learn to do for himself after his wife’s death in
childbirth, Howard Caine had become a very independent man who did it all,
including cooking and cleaning.
It
was only natural that his daughter grew up to be a strong, independent woman
taking care of herself too. She had a BA and a master’s in social work, and a
career she loved. She invested her own money and had been saving for a house
even before she met her soon-to-be-former fiancé, that rat bastard. Life skills
were par for the course: she could change a tire, and she could even hem a
dishcloth, although she never did, considering that the dollar store sold
perfectly good dishcloths every day of the week for ninety-nine cents plus tax.
But
more than anything she wanted a real family of her own, and especially a
mother-in-law who could substitute for the mother she’d lost.
She’d
been so sure that her fiancé and his wonderful mother would help make her
dreams a reality. There was plenty of family on his side—he was always after
her to check out zillions of photos online, what with all the cousins and a big
brother who lived out of state but was still the head of the family somehow.
Mary
Beth had never gotten around to it. Social media wasn’t her thing and she
didn’t even have a Facebook page. After long hours on the job, solving problems
right and left for so many people, she wasn’t interested in posting and instant
messaging or photos of what anyone’d had for lunch and carefully posed selfie
shots.
Outside
of meeting a few individuals at various get-togethers, she really didn’t know
much about the family she’d wanted so much to be part of. Perhaps she had
instinctively been aware even then that reality would never live up to her
girlish fantasies. After tonight, she realized that her unfaithful boyfriend
was hardly the man of her dreams.
There
was no doubt whatsoever in her mind that he had secretly reconnected with his
former flame on some damn Web site designed for people who wanted to do things
like that. She didn’t spend a lot of time online but she had a general idea of
what was out there.
Betrayal
was just a click away.
Lesson
learned. She wouldn’t be so naive next time.
Beverly Barton was an award-winning, New York Times
bestselling author of more than fifty novels, including Silent Killer, Cold
Hearted, The Murder Game and Close Enough To Kill. Readers can visit her
website at www.beverlybarton.com
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