She's My Kind of Girl (2 page)

Chapter Two

Griffin Strong surveyed Revival's VFW Hall with a critical eye and couldn't find one thing out of place. The party-planning committee had outdone themselves and Revival's first annual Christmas party was underway. Every ticket had been sold, the place was already filling up, and all signs pointed to the night being a success. There were twinkle lights everywhere and a giant Christmas tree overflowing with packages for underprivileged kids, decorated by the grade school.

It was perfect, exactly what he'd envisioned.

“What do you think?” Mary Beth Crowley asked, hands on her hips, that fierce expression she always wore on her face. She was the head of the Junior League, on the city council, and his most valuable ally.

If it weren't for her support, he probably wouldn't be standing here right now. He smiled. “I couldn't be happier. You did a fantastic job.”

Not that anything would dare go wrong while Mary Beth was in charge.

She nodded and scanned the room, pointing to the elaborate cupcake display. “And did you see I managed to convince Gracie Roberts to come back from her fancy bakery in Chicago to take care of the folks back home?”

“I did.” Griffin laughed. Mary Beth's reach and influence had a long arm. Gracie Roberts—soon to be Donovan—probably had a million things on her plate with the start of her bakery in the big city, but somehow Mary Beth had convinced the blond bombshell to come home for Christmas and do them this favor.

Gracie was a few years older than him, but he'd hung out with her brother Sam when they'd been young and too wild for their own good. After high school they'd drifted apart, but lately, they'd rekindled their friendship.

One night Griffin wandered into Sam's near-deserted bar to have a couple of drinks in peace, and the ritual had become habit. Now Griffin found himself going to Sam's once or twice a week. It was good to have someone to bitch to whom he could trust, especially after a long day fighting the citizens of Revival as he attempted to drag them into progress.

He returned his attention back to Mary Beth. “Did we meet our fund-raising goal?”

She scowled. “Of course we did.”

He held up his hands. “Just checking. It's my job as mayor to confirm these things.”

The park and city beautification had been his baby since he stepped foot into office. After growing up in that old, tired part of Revival, he'd wanted to turn it into something beautiful. Somewhere the good citizens of Revival would take their families to for the day, not stay away from.

With the support of Mary Beth, they'd managed to convince the rest of the council members, after endlessly long meetings, that this was the best thing for Revival. For the community. That the project would bring new families into the neighborhood and new businesses to Main Street. It would allow them to do events and hold festivals that would plump up the city's economy.

When he'd first been elected three years ago, the city had been on the verge of bankruptcy. People were leaving and businesses were starting to worry about closing. He'd made it his mission to restore the town and make it thrive. It was an uphill battle, and he had to fight his outdated, “I hate change” council, but slowly they were coming along.

The band they'd hired started playing and Mary Beth's husband, Tommy, came over to her. The big, blond ex-jock owned the local garage and was devoted to his wife. He grabbed her wrist. “Come dance with me.”

Mary Beth scrutinized the room. “I guess everything's under control here.”

Griffin nodded to the dance floor, already littered with bodies. “You two have fun.”

They started to walk away, but then Mary Beth looked back over her shoulder. “Be on guard, Gina Bellini's divorce was finalized today and she's on the prowl. She's on a mission to make her ex sorry he left her for that twenty-two-year-old waitress. I have it on good authority you're her main target.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said, giving her a little salute.

Life as a single mayor had its challenges, and being propositioned by available women was one of them. It sounded like a male fantasy, but it was more like a nightmare. Sure, the job made for easy sex, but it was sex he couldn't take them up on. He was supposed to be respectable now. While he'd cleaned up his life since his wild, reckless youth, sex was one area he never reformed.

The last thing he needed was gossip about his fucking habits spreading through the town like wildfire. It was bad enough the rumors from his youth continued to circulate, especially during election time.

So he kept his distance from Revival's small but bloodthirsty dating pool. If he did go on a date with someone in town, he kept it as pure as the driven snow. Proper and aboveboard. The center table at the best restaurant in town. A nice, chaste good-night kiss on the cheek at the door.

For real sex he'd go to Chicago where his youngest brother lived, once every other month.

It wasn't perfect, but it would do. He was only thirty, not quite ready to settle down yet, which meant the good women of Revival were off-limits.

As if they knew he contemplated his single status, three women—a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette—came over to him, all beaming smiles and fluttering lashes.

“How's our favorite mayor?” the redhead purred. She had pouty, over-glossed lips and a killer rack.

He slid his hands into his pockets. “Everyone having fun?”

The blonde giggled. “Totally.”

The brunette bounced a little on her heels. “Come dance with us.”

With practiced ease, he gave them his most dazzling smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I can't possibly handle all three of you. You're far too much of a challenge.”

Truth was, he could probably handle all three of them together in his sleep, but that wasn't the point.

The blonde tossed her hair over her shoulder, giving him a sex-kitten grin. “You won't be sorry.”

He affixed a regretful expression to his face. “I'm positive you're too much to handle, and besides, I have duties to attend to.”

The brunette walked her fingers up his chest. “Maybe later?”

“Maybe later.” He smiled.

“Promise?” asked the redhead.

“I'll do my best. Now go out there and have fun for me.” Hopefully someone else would catch their interest and they'd forget all about him. If not, he'd come up with another excuse. Dancing with three women was not proper mayoral behavior.

As if synchronized, all three of them turned on their heels and sashayed off, their hips swaying in perfect rhythm.

Before he could take a breath, the newly divorced Gina sidled up. “Hey, Griff, nice party you've thrown here.”

He flashed her his most charming grin. “It did come out well, didn't it? And thank you for helping with the decorations, you did a fantastic job.”

“You're welcome.” She gave him a hungry look. “So, my divorce is final.”

“Congratulations.” He winked.

Gina had been the head cheerleader, and she'd married her childhood sweetheart, the captain of the football team. It was a match made in hell. Neither of them seemed able to handle being thrust into regular life where they were no longer prom king and queen. Rick had compensated for the loss by screwing every cute, gullible girl under twenty-three he could find. Gina was now a woman with revenge in her heart and sex on the brain.

Gina's heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered up at him. “I have a lot of living to make up for.”

Once upon a time Gina wouldn't have given him the time of day, but a lot had changed since he was the local troublemaker. He was respectable now, but the women of Revival couldn't stop wondering if the things they'd heard about him were true, or if they'd be the one to break him. He'd heard rumors there were entire betting pools on whom he'd end up sleeping with.

He pointed to the dance floor. “There's no place like a party to start living.”

She tilted her head toward the milling bodies. “Want to join me?”

Griffin was about to answer when his attention snagged on a flash of red in the doorway. His heart started to pound. He went hot all over, his cock hardening in an instant.

No. It couldn't be.

But it was.

There, standing on the threshold, she stood. Stunning in a red dress with a plunging neckline, tight waist, and flared skirt that hugged a body he knew as well as his own. Her blue-black hair was down, curving over her shoulders, and even though he couldn't see them clearly from across the room, he knew the exact color of those cunning bright blue eyes.

Everything stilled.

Darcy Miller was home.

Chapter Three

So here she was, in Revival.

Otherwise known as hell.

Relentlessly cheerful Christmas music played over the speakers as Darcy took in the good citizens of Revival. She didn't want to be here. She'd never wanted to step foot in this godforsaken town ever again. She wanted to go home.

To New York where she belonged.

She scanned the VFW hall, taking in the twinkle lights and garish Christmas decorations, like someone threw up red, green, and silver. See, Revival was so backward they still had Christmas parties, instead of the more appropriate “holiday” parties that included various religions and traditions.

She could focus on that instead of the nerves dancing to “Little Drummer Boy” in her stomach. She didn't want to be nervous. She wanted to be as cool and collected on the inside as she looked on the outside.

Tonight, getting dressed in her mom's small, dingy bathroom, she'd turned out exactly as she'd wanted. Sexy, sophisticated, and urban in her red dress and sleek hair.

But one step over the threshold of the VFW hall and she experienced the same swell of awkward unease she always did. As if people were staring at her, talking about her.

Which, in truth, they probably were.

Local wild child and troublemaker returns home.

The town was so small the news might make the front page of the local paper.

Someone issued a loud, dramatic gasp, pulling her from her thoughts. “Why Darcy Miller, is that you?”

Darcy blinked, and Charlene Burke came into focus. Charlene was blond, adorably cute, and perky as hell. She'd made the perfect cheerleader back in the day. Time had been kind to her, because she barely aged a day since Darcy last saw her. She plastered a smile to her lips. “Charlene. How lovely to see you.”

Charlene grinned and put her hands on her still small hips. “Well look at you, all fancy. I heard you live in New York.”

Back in high school the petite cheerleader wouldn't have been caught dead talking to Darcy, but now her face was open and friendly.

Darcy nodded. “Yes. Since I left home.”

Charlene shocked her by hooking her arm through Darcy's elbow. “You are so lucky. I always wanted to travel, but never really got the chance.” Charlene laughed. “Oh well,
c'est la vie.
”

Darcy opened her mouth to speak, but Charlene kept on talking. “Well, I'm sure your momma told you all about it but I married Dave Whitmore. Can you even believe it?”

Darcy could believe it, because they'd gone out all through high school. She tried to say congratulations, but Charlene had already started talking again.

“We have three kids. With the little ones world travel isn't exactly a priority. But someday, after they're grown, I'll get around to it. I have a list I keep on my dream board of all the places I plan on going.” Charlene dragged Darcy into the hall, oblivious to Darcy's reluctance, while asking, “So what have you been up to?”

Darcy started to speak, but Charlene had apparently had her fair share of caffeine today, because she kept on chattering a million miles a minute. “It has been so crazy here as we got ready for today. I'm on the committee. Co-vice president.”

Charlene waved frantically at several women Darcy recognized from high school.

Darcy prayed for a swift and sudden death as Charlene prattled on. “Doesn't the place look spectacular? Can you even believe this is the same place our parents used to play bingo? You remember Mary Beth Crowley, right? Well, she organized the whole thing. If you see her, make sure you tell her what a good job she did.”

She lowered her voice and glanced anxiously around the room. “She is one woman you don't want on your bad side.”

Darcy could only stare at Charlene in awe, marveling that someone could talk so fast.

The other woman's voice returned to normal levels. “There have been so many changes since you left, my Lord, I don't even know where to start. I know, let's get a drink. You do drink, don't you?”

Darcy opened her mouth to answer but Charlene was already talking.

“Of course you do.” Charlene shifted directions and tugged Darcy to the bar, while groups of people stared at her with wide, surprised eyes. “We don't have any of those fancy New York drinks, but I'm sure Sam can throw something together. You remember Sam Roberts, don't you?”

And then Charlene was off, and Darcy had no choice but to be pulled to the makeshift bar in the corner where a blond man she remembered as Sam poured drinks. Charlene sidled them up to the bar. “Sam, you remember Darcy, don't you?”

Sam Roberts gave her a lazy smile, nodding before saying in a slow drawl, “I do. Welcome home, Darcy.”

Sam had lost all traces of boyhood, but he still looked familiar and comfortable to her.

Charlene slapped his wrist. “That's right, you guys ran in the same circles, didn't you?”

They had. Troublemaker circles, although Sam's family had been a bit more respectable than Darcy's.

Charlene hugged Darcy around the shoulders. “Aren't we lucky this girl finally came home to see us?”

Now it was Sam's turn to try to get a word in edgewise. It didn't work.

Charlene laughed. “Of course we are, you guys probably have a ton to catch up on. . . .”

While the blond former cheerleader ran her mouth nonstop, Sam cocked a grin and gave her a little wink.

Darcy grinned right back.

Another woman Darcy didn't remember came over to Charlene and said, “We need you. There's a problem with the photographer.”

Charlene threw up her hands in exasperation. “Why on earth did Daniel have to be on vacation? You know people from Shreveport can't be trusted.” She turned to Darcy. “You'll have to excuse me. I'll be back. How long are you going to be in town? Maybe we can grab coffee while you're here. Of course, we don't have a Starbucks on every corner, so Earl's will have to do.”

“Sounds nice,” Darcy said, and the other woman dragged a still-talking Charlene away. Darcy turned back to Sam. “Wow.”

Sam chuckled. “Indeed.”

The years had only been kind to Sam Roberts who was tall, lean, and broad-shouldered. His blond hair was cut a touch too long, his blue eyes were bright, and his bone structure could only have been carved from by the gods. He'd gone from cute to absolutely gorgeous.

Darcy shook her head. “I didn't even know someone could talk that fast.”

Sam put his hands on the bar. “Sorry to say she's running a bit slow today. And how have you been, Darcy Miller?”

Darcy smoothed her hand over her stomach and shifted on her heels. “Pretty good, thanks. How about you?”

“Pretty good. What can I get you?”

“Do you have any white wine?”

Sam opened a cooler, pulled out a bottle, poured her a glass, and put it on the counter.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. “What have you been up to?”

Sam shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that. I own that old bar over on Second.”

“Really? Good for you.” They used to go there back in the day because the owner would serve them booze even though they were underage. “I'll have to come visit you while I'm here.”

“Please do. And what about you? How's New York treating you?” Sam asked.

“That's a good question, actually. How
has
New York been treating you?”

That voice. That ridiculous, smooth, low voice. She silently cursed when her stomach dropped to her toes and something deep inside her suspiciously heated.

Darcy closed her eyes and prayed he was fat, bald, and ugly. That time had been cruel. That all those teenage good looks of his had faded into something bland and nondescript. She needed paunch. Love handles. A middle-aged spread. Anything.

Her lashes fluttered open.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

She turned around.

Her prayers were not answered.

Jesus. H. Christ.

He was not bald.

He was not fat.

His face was not jolly or uninteresting.

He looked like a freakin' Adonis, and Darcy wanted to throw her drink in his face for being so insanely good-looking.

He was tall. Taller than she remembered. At least six-three. And broad.
Much
broader than she remembered. Even in black slacks, white button down, and a—she swallowed hard—a
Christmas tie
—he didn't look to have an ounce of extra fat on him.

And he was looking at her in that way he had. His chocolate brown eyes all intense and direct.

She licked her lips. “Griffin.”

“Darcy.”

They stared at each other, not speaking as the air sparked and crackled between them, just like it had that first time way back in high school. When she'd agreed to come home, she'd fervently hoped the chemistry they'd had was a figment of her overactive teenage imagination.

But one look at him and she knew that was not the case.

His gaze skimmed down her body, his eyes taking a long, leisurely stroll she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her skin tingled in the wake of his perusal.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You've come home.”

Throat dry, she swallowed. “Only for Christmas.”

He cocked a brown brow. “And to what do we owe the pleasure?”

At his question her reasons for stepping foot in this godforsaken little town came rushing back to her.

Griffin Strong was stealing her mother's house.

Griffin Strong was the reason she had to come to Revival.

Griffin Strong was responsible for pulling her from her New York life where she was confident, and sophisticated, and awesome.

It didn't matter if he was still hot. It didn't matter that she'd sparked with him more in these thirty seconds than she had in . . . forever.

All that mattered was
he
was the reason she was here. That her mom was unhappy.

“You mean you don't know,
Mayor
?” With a smirk, she planted her hands on her hips. “I'll give you three guesses.”