Heartwood
* * * *
Heartwood
A Carved Hearts Novel
Copyright © 2015 by L.G. Pace III & Michelle Pace
Cover designer: Robin Harper.
Wicked By Design
.
Cover model:
Ruby Franco
Formatting by
JT Formatting
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Chapter Four - A Line and a Pole
Chapter Six - To Have and to Hold
Chapter Nine - The First Forty-Eight
“IF YOU NEED anything, Mr. Jensen...
anything
at all... don’t hesitate to call.” The front desk clerk tossed her dark hair and gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a seductive smile. She brushed her thumb over my knuckles as she handed me the hotel room keys. I was too distracted to fake a polite smile, so I nodded absently and made my way to the elevator.
The Driskill was an impressive old hotel, and I’d always admired the place for its 1886 architecture. It appealed to the craftsman in me, and though I’d been to many events there, I’d never been a guest. Molly and I had talked about staying on our wedding night, but, it was pricey and hard to justify since it was less than a few miles from home. Circumstances made that fantasy impossible now, but it seemed like a shame not to make this minor dream of mine come true.
I unlocked the door, and was greeted by a classy, very Texan style suite. A monstrous king sized bed dominated the room. Crowned by a partial canopy, it gave the room a posh yet clandestine feel. The suite was a magnificent space. The Driskill was far from seedy, but the entire scenario felt pretty cloak and dagger.
I felt my lips twitch with a smirk.
It felt good to be bad.
I jumped in the shower and afterward, I took my time shaving. I figured a gaping face wound wouldn’t get me laid. Throwing on my favorite suit, I took a minute to check my appearance in the mirror. After I was sure that my tie was straight and that I looked presentable, I made my way back down to the lobby. As I passed the front desk, the eye popping reaction I got from the flirty clerk bolstered my confidence. With a cocky nod in her direction, I pulled out my valet ticket and a red-vested attendant scampered to bring my truck around.
I was blocks away from the restaurant when traffic came to a crawl. Anxiously tapping the steering wheel, I finally passed the scene of the accident which had tied up both lanes. It seemed some tourist had slammed their Winnebago into a Smart Car, and Austin’s rubberneckers needed an eyeful. The gridlock continued, and growing ever more frustrated, I pulled out my phone and texted my date.
Traffic. I’m a mile away.
She didn’t respond. I was about to call her, when my phone chimed.
I glanced down at the picture message. No accompanying words, but I didn’t need any. The top of her garter belt jutted out from her skirt. It was visibly pinned to black stockings. I licked my lips, ready to park and sprint the remaining blocks to the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, I soldiered on.
When I finally entered Bess Bistro, I scanned the place eagerly. It didn’t take me long to find her in the dimly lit restaurant. She sat at the bar facing away from me sipping a martini. I watched as she placed her glass carefully on the surface in front of her. Her upswept hair accentuated her long, lovely neck which begged to be tasted. Seeing those stockings in the flesh made my temperature rise, and the way her midnight blue dress hugged her heart-shaped ass had me salivating.
Some old dude with greying temples and a droopy porn mustache was giving her the full court press. He was turned sideways on his stool, leaning into her personal space and talking to her cleavage. She nodded politely in response to whatever nonsense he was spewing, as his lustful eyes continued to violate every inch of her exposed skin.
A couple of years back, I might have punched him right in the ‘stache, but this was the new and improved me. The guy that didn’t fly into jealous rages or break irritating people into itty bitty bits. However, when he reached out and stroked her dangling earring, ‘Old Joe’ reared his ugly head. I was tempted to rip him off of his stool and toss him out the front door by the seat of his Depends. Instead, I took a moment and another deep breath. I had kids to think about now. Everything I did (or didn’t do) set an example for
them
. True, they were far too little to know what I might do here, but their blabbermouth aunts would be more than happy to fill them in later in life. As I stood contemplating the pros and cons of my next action, a far more civilized strategy occurred to me. I felt a devilish grin bloom on my face and I sauntered to the bar.
