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Love doesn’t fit any preconceived guidelines
Determined to avoid relationships that will only end in painful breakups, Whitney Talbot makes a checklist of everything she wants in a life partner. Construction worker Lane Martin possesses a few of these traits—especially the tall, dark and devastatingly attractive part. But Lane has unavoidable baggage... He’s divorced, with a teenage son. So why is Whitney still fantasizing about taking their mutual infatuation to the next level?
It takes an accidental encounter at a new condo development to open Lane’s eyes to the possibility of second chances. On a trip to Whitney’s family’s B and B in the Bahamas, their friendship transforms into something richer and much deeper. If only the beautiful kindergarten teacher and aspiring songwriter didn’t have such firm ideas about what makes the perfect husband. Now Lane could lose her to another man...unless Whitney opens her heart to the one thing she left off her list—love.
“So what are you having?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You seem to know what I like.”
“What do you like?”
“I’d like for my date to be on time. And in the future, if he’s going to be late, I’d like for him to call or text to let me know.”
“So you’re saying there will be another date. Or should I say, future dates?”
“Let’s get through this one first.” She smiled at him.
It was easy to be with him, she noted. Some dates were so strained, uncomfortable.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“I’ll have the fire hot wings,” she said.
“Can you handle the fire hot wings?” he asked with a huge grin.
She peeked over the top of the menu. Took note of how handsome he was—dark face, silky, smooth skin. Perfectly trimmed hair and mustache with just a hint of gray. His arms were strong, and his hands were huge. She wondered what it would feel like to be hugged by those arms, but not more than she wondered what the story was behind his sad eyes.
“I can handle a lot.” She smiled back at him.
Dear Reader,
Lane Martin is a complicated fellow, sort of like that India Arie song “Complicated Melody”—a melody so complex, it can’t be sung on key. That’s Lane. Being hurt in love has made him that way. But he’s charismatic and easy to fall in love with, despite everything else. He’s a truck driver and blue-collar—the total opposite of anything Whitney Talbot is accustomed to. So, she prejudges him, as we often do when we’re not accustomed to something.
Sometimes, we only see black and white, and not the gray areas in between. She doesn’t quite see or understand the whole of him. And because he has very few qualities on her Man Menu, she almost misses out on the love that could change her life. Not to mention she’s dealing with her own fears of love and commitment, which is why these two are made for each other. The chemistry and love between them are undeniable, even though they both spend way too much time denying it.
I hope you fall in love with Lane, and enjoy his and Whitney’s story. Writing this book was somewhat effortless, yet intricate all at the same time.
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing the Talbots’ story. Because my family is from the Eleuthera Islands, it’s like sitting with them and having a great Bahamian meal while researching the beautiful island they call home...and I call my homeland. I hope you continue to love the Talbots and make them your favorite family.
Visit my website at monica-richardson.com or email me at Monica@Monica-Richardson.com.
Happy reading!
Monica Richardson
The Unexpected Affair
Monica Richardson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MONICA RICHARDSON writes adult romances set in Florida and the Caribbean. Under the name Monica McKayhan, she wrote the Indigo Summer young adult series. Indigo Summer hit the Essence and Black Issues Book Review bestseller lists, and the series also received a film option. Monica’s YA books have garnered accolades and industry recognition, including several American Library Association (ALA) placements on the Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers and the Popular Paperbacks for Young Adults annual lists. She penned her first romance novel, Tropical Fantasy, in 2013.
For my granny, Rosa A. Heggie
(November 1927–2008)
She was special in so many ways and the strongest woman I knew.
My life is rich because of her.
Acknowledgments
To my family and friends—you are my support system.
To my readers—you give me the energy to continue to write. I’m sure you will enjoy the Talbot family and get to know them well. This is for you!
To my family in the Bahamas—visiting with you and talking to you about my history has made the research and writing of this Talbot series a complete joy.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Extract
Copyright
Chapter 1
Whitney Talbot went over the details of her Man Menu in her head. First and foremost, he needed a college degree. Beyond that, he needed an ample salary and he needed to own at least one piece of real estate. He needed to be tall—at least six feet—dark, handsome. He shouldn’t have any children or have been previously married—she didn’t need any baby-mama drama. He needed to appreciate the arts and music and love children—because she intended to have at least one, maybe two. He needed to be a conversationalist, because she enjoyed a good conversation.
Her Man Menu was a page long, and she used it loyally. She used it because she and her friends had developed it at the Starbucks just down the street from their college dorm during their Texas A&M. days. They had spent hours pulling it together. It was their bible—their source. They wouldn’t be stuck with the wrong man under any circumstances.
After college, Kenya had ended up with Will. Though she spent more time alone because Will traveled 90 percent of the time, she swore that she was happy. He was providing for his family, she always defended him. And though Tasha’s husband, Louis, had fathered another woman’s child during their marriage, she still swore that he was the perfect man, according to their Man Menu. Yes, he’d made a mistake, but they were repairing their marriage. Marriage took work, she’d say.
All of it terrified Whitney, which was why she had remained the single one in their threesome. She wanted love at the top of her list. Otherwise what was the point? But she wasn’t confident that she would find all of the things on her Man Menu plus love. She’d lost faith in that long ago. And as a result, she would date a man just long enough to discover that he was getting too close. Then she’d break things off, regardless of whether he lived up to her Man Menu list of qualities or not. It was easier this way. And though her best girlfriends both proclaimed they were living in romantic bliss, she knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The dating game had become exhausting and a huge disappointment. Her younger sister, Jasmine, and her older sister, Alyson, had found happiness with good men. She wanted what they had, but men like her brothers-in-law didn’t come around that often and surely didn’t exist in Texas. She was convinced that they didn’t even exist on the planet. And she wasn’t taking just any-old-body home to meet her family. Her family was a traditional Bahamian family, and they were certainly a down-to-earth bunch. But their impression of her was that she’d gone away and done well for herself—and she needed to live up to that image. If she took a man home, he needed to be perfect and their connection needed to be real. Her family would see right through her. She was the middle girl and didn’t need nearly as much attention as her other sisters, but she needed a man who loved her. And she needed to love him, for that matter.
She’d gone to college in Texas and landed a teaching position at a local elementary school in Dallas. She wasn’t crazy about Texas but vowed never to return to the Caribbean for any length of time. She needed her independence, and her family wouldn’t allow that if she moved back home. They would be all up in her business, running her life. She had almost entertained the thought of it when she and her siblings had inherited three historical properties from their grandparents. Her family had since transformed the properties into beautiful B and Bs along the Bahamian coast. Though she hadn’t been there during the renovation, her siblings had been instrumental in making the Grove the extraordinary property that it was. It had quickly become one of the most sought-after properties on Harbour Island.
She’d promised her family that once the property was up and running, she’d return home after the school year ended and help out with the family business. Unfortunately, returning never happened and she hoped they wouldn’t bring it up. After the Grove was fully staffed, she figured there was no need for her services, and she was fine with that.
Her older brother Edward had recently remarried his ex-wife, Savannah. They’d fallen in love all over again—or was it that they’d never fallen out of love? Whichever the case, they were throwing a huge soiree in the Caribbean at the family’s property to celebrate their nuptials. The entire family was expected to be there, and she was no exception. It seemed that every time she turned around, the Talbot family was celebrating something and expecting her to hop on a plane and traipse to the islands as though they were just around the corner. She loved her family and loved spending time with them, but she was tired of returning home for these parties and celebrations and she was the only one without a man. So before she headed off to the Bahamas for another blessed event, she was determined to find that perfect someone to accommodate her.
Her best friend, Kenya, claimed to have the perfect guy for her.
“He has everything on the menu, girl!” Kenya squealed. “I swear.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” said a doubtful Whitney.
“Okay, maybe not every single thing, but most stuff,” Kenya assured her. “You have to be a little flexible or you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life! And you have to stop running guys away when they get too close. Thomas was perfect for you, but you...”
“I don’t mind being alone, Kenya. I’ll die alone before I settle.”
“Well, you need somebody to take home to the Caribbean, right?”
“Right,” Whitney resolved. “I guess we don’t have to get married or anything. I just want him to impress my father, who is a retired physician, and my mother, who was an educator—in her other life.”
“First of all, I’ve met both of your parents. They’re sweet as pie...not one bit judgmental. I think they just want the best for you—whatever makes you happy,” said Kenya. “Which reminds me. Did you tell them how miserable you are teaching little kindergartners?”
Whitney loved her teaching career. Loved making a difference in the lives of her children. She wasn’t miserable and certainly had no plans of leaving her day job. Her mother would be crushed if she even thought she was leaving the teaching realm. After all, Beverly Talbot lived her teaching career vicariously through Whitney, and she wouldn’t let her mother down. However, she had found that songwriting made her heart soar. She’d been writing on the side and it actually made a good supplement to her teacher’s income, and it gave her a creative outlet. And when someone had actually performed one of her original pieces at Kenya’s birthday party, she’d actually entertained the idea of doing it full-time. That is, until her friend Tasha shot the idea down and made her feel ridiculous for even considering it. Needless to say, her good sense had kicked in and knocked her back into reality. Besides not wanting to disappoint her mother, she would never squander her education. Her father had worked too hard to put her and her siblings through college. Not to mention, she loved her children.
“I’m not miserable teaching, and I haven’t told them anything. In fact, I haven’t decided what my career plans are. I’m just taking it a day at a time.”
“You’ll figure it out, Whit. You always do.” Kenya was always her encourager. “Anyway, Will and I will meet you at the Cheesecake Factory at six. His friend Jason will be there, too. He won’t have much time, because he has another commitment after dinner. But he desperately wants to meet you. He’s educated, a business owner, fine as hell...”
“Is he tall?”
“He’s not quite six feet, but he owns a home in Mansfield and some commercial property, too.” Kenya skirted right past the issue of his height. “He has a house on the beach in Galveston.”
“Okay, fine,” Whitney resolved. She hated blind dates but didn’t want to disappoint Kenya.
“Be on time, Whitney,” warned Kenya. “He’s a busy man and has another commitment.”
“Fine.”
Whitney had a commitment of her own. She’d just purchased a lot in the new housing development in Cedar Hill, near Joe Pool Lake. Her first taste of homeownership and she was beyond excited. She’d long outgrown her Dallas condo and was tired of the hustle and bustle of Dallas traffic. She was having her dream home built and couldn’t wait to do her daily drive-by to see how things were coming along. She just wanted a peek and hoped she could make it to the new development and then back to Sundance Square in downtown Fort Worth for her blind date with the good friend of Kenya’s fiancé’s. She hoped that Dallas traffic would be milder than usual.
As she pulled her Nissan into the development, she smiled when she saw the cement truck backing into one of the lots. They were building more homes in her popular neighborhood. She drove to the cul-de-sac at the end of the block, turned around and came back. Kenya sent her a text and she looked down—for a split second—to read it, and when she looked up, she realized that the cement truck was now moving forward and not backward. She’d already slammed into the side of it before she knew it.
“Dammit!” she exclaimed as the phone hit the floor. She put the vehicle in Park and stepped out of the car. She smoothed her dress over her hips.
The driver hopped down from the truck, a frown on his face. “Lady, what were you doing?”
He wore an orange-and-silver reflective safety vest, but all Whitney saw was the tight gray T-shirt underneath that hugged his biceps. With a hard hat on his head, he pulled the dark shades from his eyes and peered at her.
“I’m so sorry. I just looked down for a split second,” she said. “When I looked up, there you were.”
“What are you even doing here? This is no place for you to be driving around.”
“I’m here because right over there is my house—my lot!” She pointed at the space across the street where the foundation of a home had just begun to be built. “I have every right to be here.”
“You should watch where you’re going.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, called his company to explain the details of the incident. She gave an apologetic smile to the other workers who had gathered at the scene. They weren’t at all happy with having their workday interrupted. The ordeal seemed to last longer than she’d hoped.
She hated to ask but knew that she had another commitment. “Can we speed this along? I really have somewhere else I need to be,” she stated as they awaited the arrival of the local police.
“You’re serious.” A slight smile danced in the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, I’m serious.”
“You should’ve thought about your other commitment before you hit my truck,” he said. “There’s a process to this.”
She rolled her eyes at him, pulled her cell phone out, called Kenya and explained that she wouldn’t make it for her blind date.
“Blind date, huh?” he asked after she hung up.
“Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”
“I couldn’t help it. You weren’t exactly whispering.”
Mr. Cement-Truck-Driver was quickly getting under her skin, but she tried to remain calm.
“It’s rude to listen in on people’s conversations. And even more rude to put your two cents in.”
“I didn’t know people actually did blind dates anymore.”
“Well, they do,” she said.
“I see.”
She ignored him and began to engage in text messaging with Kenya until the officer arrived. The officer jotted down each of their contact information, gave them each a copy and then disappeared in his patrol car. She glanced at her copy. Lane Martin was his name. She crumpled the paper and stuck it into her purse. Headed for her car.
“Why do you need a blind date, anyway?” he asked. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a man.”
“For your information, I don’t have trouble finding a man,” she stated, “not that I’m looking.”
A slight smile danced in the corner of his mouth again. He seemed to enjoy getting under her skin. “I’m sorry about your car.”
“My insurance will be through the roof, if they don’t cancel me.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Insurance companies are crooks anyway.”
She stood there, when she should’ve been moving toward her car. She was mesmerized by him. Couldn’t take her eyes off his chest. He was tall, a big strong guy. Football-player strong, she thought.
“I’m Lane. Sorry we got off to a bad start.” He held his hand out to her.
“Whitney.” She took his strong hand in hers. She appreciated the ruggedness of it. It wasn’t soft, and his nails weren’t manicured, but they were decent—clean and trimmed.
“That accent. Jamaican?” he asked.
“Bahamian.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you,” she said. She got that all the time. People loved her Caribbean accent.
“So that’s going to be your new home, huh?” he asked, pointing at the lot across the street.
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.” He smiled genuinely. “I poured the concrete over there, too.”
“Thank you, I guess,” she said, looking at her watch. “I really have to go.”
“Oh, that’s right.” There was that beautifully sly grin again. “Blind date.”
The truth was, she’d already missed her blind date, and she wasn’t even mad about it. In fact, she felt somewhat relieved. She hadn’t been too keen on meeting yet another guy she wouldn’t be the least bit attracted to. She would only go through the motions and hope that she’d find something about him that she could tolerate.
“Good day, Lane,” she said. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
She was grateful for the dress she’d chosen that day. The one that hugged her ample hips in just the right places. She put an extra swing in them as she made her way back to her Nissan.
“Pleasure was all mine,” she heard him say. No doubt he was watching the rhythm of her hips.
As she sank into the driver’s seat of her car, she exhaled. She glanced at Lane. Just as she’d suspected, he was, in fact, watching—his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against his truck. She was nervous, and just making it to her car had been a challenge. Her heart pounded. Why was she behaving this way? This guy most likely met very few of the requirements on her Man Menu. She started her car, turned up the volume on the Jill Scott tune that amplified through her speakers. Gave him a slight wave as she pulled away.
He was not her type. She was sure of it.
Chapter 2
Lane Martin needed another incident like he needed a hole in his head. He’d just been written up for another incident a month prior. He’d been with the company for almost twenty years but the new company supervisor had it in for him. He didn’t need any more trouble. His job was his pride and joy. He wasn’t working in the field of his degree. Instead he’d chosen to work with his hands, rather than selling out for a white-collar position in corporate America. Though he’d invested well, he didn’t believe in splurging on unnecessary things. He owned a modest ranch-style brick home on the outskirts of Mesquite, Texas, and drove a regular old pickup—a ten-year-old Ford F-150. He hadn’t bought a new vehicle since his divorce. He knew that he would have to send his son to college one day, although he still had several years before Lane Jr. even thought about college.
Even at the age of thirteen Lane Jr. was already an impressive athlete. Lane had been an impressive athlete, as well. He’d attended Mizzou on a football scholarship and had been a running back. At one time, he had hopes of being picked up by the Dallas Cowboys, but a fatal car wreck had robbed him of those dreams. His life had changed the night that he and his older brother Tye had been celebrating a football victory. Tye insisted on driving them home, although they’d each had one too many drinks. Neither of them was awake when they plowed into the rear end of an 18-wheeler. Tye didn’t survive the crash, and sometimes Lane thought that he hadn’t either. His life came to a screeching halt that night. He blamed himself for the accident. If only he’d convinced Tye not to drive, he would still be alive. From that night on, Lane had no desire to ever play football again.
He jumped into a marriage to try to mask the pain of losing his brother but failed miserably as a young husband. By the time he realized that his marriage was over, it was too late—his wife was leaving him. He packed his things into his car, kissed his toddler son goodbye and went out to find his way in the world. He was determined to be better at fatherhood than he had been at marriage, and so far he was batting a thousand. Alongside having a career that he was proud of, making a nice salary and owning a nice home in a small Texas town, being a father was right there at the top of his greatest-achievements list.
Grief, fear and failure had robbed him of ever finding love again. However, after exchanging information with the beautiful stranger who had run into his cement truck, he had to admit, she was attractive. He remembered how she kept going on and on about having to report the accident to her insurance company and the risk of higher premiums—or worse, cancellation. He thought maybe he could fix things for her. That was what he was—a fixer. Always fixing others’ problems. Yet his problems had gone unsolved.