Authors: Christi Barth
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #General
Friends to Lovers
Friends to Lovers
By Christi Barth
Book three of Aisle Bound
As florist and co-owner of a successful Chicago wedding planning business, Daphne Lovell has been there for the happiest days of other people’s lives. As for her own life? Well, it’s hard to be perfectly happy when you’re carrying a torch for your sexy, womanizing and oblivious best friend. So when the lights go out on New Year’s Eve, she seizes the opportunity to kiss him senseless.
British expat Gibson Moore has a lot on his plate. The hotel he manages is being bought out, his family is crazy and someone just kissed him in the dark. When the lights go on, he searches the room, trying to find the mystery pair of lips. Only, he never thinks to ask the woman standing by his side. He’s shocked when he discovers that Daphne is the woman he’s been searching for. But Gib’s also eager to act upon the attraction for her he’s always fought to ignore.
It takes trust to move from friends to lovers, and as Gib’s work situation worsens, he is no longer sure he can risk the friendship he relies on most. It’s up to Daphne to convince him that some things are worth fighting for...
96,000 words
Dear Reader,
It’s possible I say this every year, but I love October. To
me, this is the month that signals the start of a season of hot apple cider,
evenings by the fire, and curling up on the sofa with a good book, dressed
warmly in sweatpants and a comfy shirt and snuggled under my favorite fuzzy
blanket. We at Carina Press can’t provide most of those things, but we can
provide the good books, and this month we have more than a few good books!
In
Running Back
, the highly anticipated sequel to Allison Parr’s
new-adult contemporary romance
Rush Me
, Natalie
Sullivan is on the verge of a breakthrough most archaeology grad students only
dream of: discovering a lost city. Her research points to a farm in Ireland, but
to excavate she needs permission from the new owner:
the
Michael O’Connor, popular NFL running back.
If you’re like me, there are certain tropes in romance that
you fall for every time. One of mine is the main theme of Christi Barth’s newest
book,
Friends to Lovers.
(Gee, can you guess what it
is?) Daphne struggles with revealing her longtime lust for Gib, sparking it all
off with a midnight kiss on New Year’s Eve—only Gib doesn’t know it’s Daphne
he’s kissed! Also in the contemporary romance category is
First and Again
by Jana Richards, which has a special place in my
heart because this emotional story takes place in my home state of North
Dakota.
For months, this Red Cross head nurse has been aiding Allied
soldiers caught behind enemy lines, helping them flee into the neutral
Netherlands. It’s only a matter of time until she’s caught in
Aiding the Enemy
, a historical romance by Julie Rowe.
If you’re a fan of
Downton Abbey
, be sure to check
out the rest of Julie’s historical romances.
We have two mysteries for readers to solve this month.
British crime author Shirley Wells returns to the sleepy northern town of
Dawson’s Clough with her popular Dylan Scott Mystery series in the next book,
Deadly Shadows.
And in Julie Anne Lindsey’s
Murder by the Seaside
, counseling is murder, but
it’s never been this much fun.
Erotic romance author Christine d’Abo brings us the story of
Alice’s obsession with a brooding lawyer at her firm, which takes Alice on a
journey of self-discovery through the rabbit hole and into the world of BDSM in
Club Wonderland.
Also this month, the
Love Letters
ladies, Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher,
Emily Cale and Maggie Wells, round up five sizzling-hot stories to finish off
their sexy stampede through the alphabet with
Love Letters
Volume 6:
Cowboy’s Command.
Edgar Mason is losing Agamemnon Frost despite everything
they’ve been through—the passion, the torture, the heat. Frost’s fiancée
Theodora is back, and Mason can feel his lover gravitating toward her. Every day
he sees them together, it tears at his heart. Don’t miss
Agamemnon Frost and the Crown of Towers
, the conclusion to Kim
Knox’s male/male historical science fiction trilogy.
Because October is the perfect month for the paranormal, we
have a wide selection of fantasy, urban fantasy and paranormal to share with
you. In Jeffe Kennedy’s fantasy romance,
Rogue’s
Possession
, neuroscientist Gwynn’s adventures in Faerie continue in
the long-awaited sequel to
Rogue’s Pawn.
And in the
sequel to
Soul Sucker
, a powerful magic user is
stealing people’s faces in San Francisco, and empath Ella Walsh and shifter
Vadim Morosov have been called in to investigate in
Death
Bringer
by Kate Pearce. Also returning with another book in her Blood
of the Pride series is Sheryl Nantus, with her paranormal romance
Battle Scars.
Combining futuristic fiction, fantasy and urban fantasy,
Trancehack
by Sonya Clark is a compelling
cross-genre romance. In a dystopian future where magic is out in the open and
witches are segregated, a high-profile murder case brings together a police
detective and a witch with unusual powers that combine magic and technology. But
dangerous secrets, a political cover-up, and the law itself stand between them.
Don’t miss this exciting new world of witchpunk!
Carina Press is pleased to introduce three debut authors this
October. Science fiction erotic romance author Renae Jones gives us a
Taste of Passion
when lust strikes hard for Fedni, an
empath who can taste emotion, but her off-worlder neighbor is horrified by the
caste system that the former courtesan holds dear.
Two urban fantasy authors debut with us this month. In
Kathleen Collins’s
Realm Walker
, a realm walker
hunts a demon intent on destroying both her and the mate who left her seven
years ago. Also debuting in urban fantasy is Joshua Roots with his book
Undead Chaos.
When warlock Marcus Shifter performs a
simple zombie beheading, he soon finds that the accidental framing of an
innocent necromancer, falling in lust, and burning down a bar are just the
beginning of his troubles.
Regardless of whether you’re discovering these books in
October or in the middle of summer, any time is the perfect time for reading,
and I hope you enjoy all these titles as much as we’ve enjoyed working on
them.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your
thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
.
You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter
stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For my husband, who started out as just a friend, and then transformed into so much more.
Acknowledgments
Hugs to the MRW Scribblers for their invaluable help. Don’t forget to notice that Gib’s slippers made it to publication! Gratitude to my beta readers; Eliza Knight, Lea Nolan, Joya Fields and Stephanie Dray, who heroically carved out the time to read this during the holidays. And thanks to my wonderful editor Angela James. She not only squelched my addiction to similes, but helped me turn this from a two-tissue ending to a pass-the-whole-box ending!
Chapter One
In the hope of reaching the moon men fail to see the flowers that blossom at their feet
~
Albert Schweitzer
Daphne Lovell loathed working on New Year’s Eve. Other days certainly vied for a spot near the top of her craptastic workday list. The day after a bout of food poisoning. Birthdays (which everyone ought to get off as a personal, government-sanctioned holiday). Any day when the coffee maker malfunctioned. As a wedding florist, she worked most holidays. Just gritted her teeth and focused on the hefty surcharge they levied on all Aisle Bound clients who scheduled events on holidays.
But New Year’s Eve trumped them all. Most of the time she could handle standing on the edges of a wedding, watching everyone party like crazy around her. Party jealousy never bit her in the ass, because she rarely knew any of the wedding guests. Far better to collect her vases, head home and stretch out on the couch with a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream.
Except that the whole world—literally—partied on New Year’s Eve. Working this night felt like a punishment. Like Fate had grounded her for bad behavior. Daphne believed there was something magical about midnight on New Year’s Eve. Her father always said you should start the year the way you meant to continue. So most people did it right. Eating fabulous party food, drinking like crazy, spending the entire night with their favorite people and then kissing a loved one at the stroke of midnight.
Tonight Daphne was managing two out of four and last time she checked, fifty percent wasn’t considered a passing grade. She looked around the crowded ballroom of the Cavendish Grand hotel at the drinking, laughing, thoroughly happy people and bit her lip to keep it from unfurling into a full-on pout. The DJ pounded a fun dance beat that had half the guests on their feet, and the delicious scent of spicy food hung in the air.
Her best friend and business partner, Ivy Rhodes, swished up next to her in a silver taffeta dress with a cap-sleeved lace jacket. “I can’t thank you enough for working this wedding with me.”
Daphne shrugged, making the ruffles on her gauzy white shirt flutter. “It didn’t feel right to ruin anyone else’s New Year’s Eve. We own Aisle Bound, so we should have to do the dirty work. And to be clear, this does qualify as dirty work. You owe me for this one. Big. You know how epically big the final battle scene was in
Return of the King?
Think twice as big.”
“What if I promise you don’t have to dance with my handsy cousin Lewis at my wedding?”
“Please—that’s a given. You love me too much to subject me to him. I’m going to have to mull the possibilities for a while.” Daphne drummed her fingers along her cheek. “There is a good chance it will involve you letting me choose all your songs the next time we do karaoke.” Ooh, that was good. Ivy loved to watch karaoke. She hated to sing, and did a side-splittingly bad job when shoved in front of a mic. Just worrying about the possibility would keep Ivy on edge for weeks.
Ivy wrinkled her nose, then laughed. “I get it. Trust me, I knew before I begged you to help that there’d be a price to pay. But because this is a traditional Filipino wedding, there are just too many people for me to handle by myself.”
No kidding. The elegant, gray, silk-covered walls of the ballroom were bursting at the seams with hundreds of guests. “I wanted to ask you about that. Why the heck are there forty-five people in the wedding party? That’s bigger than the last three royal weddings put together. I just about crippled myself wiring the boutonnieres for this one.” She flexed her hand, remembering the claw shape it had cramped into by day two of prep.
“In addition to the usual bridesmaids and groomsmen, there are principal sponsors, coin sponsors, veil sponsors, candle—”
Daphne cut her off with a flick of the wrist. “You’ve lost me already. I take it back. I don’t want to know. Esoteric details like that are why
you’re
the wedding planner and
I’m
not.”
“True. But I am officially grateful you’re spending your New Year’s Eve here with me. And it isn’t so dire. Look at how sweet Gib was to throw us a party.”
Gibson Moore was far from sweet. Polished, elegant, refined and swoon-worthily sexy, yes. A wicked lust-’em-and-leave-’em ladies’ man. He snared them without even trying. The combination of his upper-crust British accent, wavy brown hair and eyes the color of a tropical sea pulled women to him with the strength of a tractor beam. Gib lived in the moment, and when that moment was gone, so was whatever woman had been lucky enough to share a few hours, or at most, a few days with him.
Because he happened to be one of her closest friends, Daphne saw past the womanizing exterior. She saw a man who embraced life. Unfortunately, no matter how many times she fantasized about him, that carpe diem spirit of his never led Gib to embrace her. Not as anything more than a fellow soccer fan, someone to drink beer with and laugh at cheesy action movies. Certainly not as a woman. Which frustrated her to no end.
“Gib didn’t throw us a party,” Daphne clarified. “Don’t make him out to be all selfless. As hotel manager, he’s stuck overseeing this shindig well into the new year. I wouldn’t call opening up a conference room for us to hang out in as throwing a party.”
More likely he recognized he wouldn’t be able to go to a party, so he brought the party to him. With Ivy and Daphne here already, it was easy for him to lure Ivy’s fiancé, Ben, into kicking back in front of a plasma screen with an unlimited supply of beer. As producer for a reality television series, Ben traveled so much that he jumped at any opportunity to spend time with Ivy. Even if that time turned out to be in ten-minute increments once every hour.
“He did stock it with appetizers. You know how much you love those brie puffs.”
True. Daphne couldn’t cram the oozy, creamy nuggets of deliciousness into her mouth fast enough. The chef at the Cavendish used to work at the White House. Daphne could hardly wait for her next chance to nip into their room and try whatever fresh delicacies he’d made for them. So far she’d also sampled crab claws, caviar-topped deviled eggs, two kinds of pâté and cherry peppers stuffed with prosciutto and provolone. “I appreciate the snacks. I definitely appreciate them being there for me a mere ten steps away from this wedding.”
Ivy waggled her finger. Light from the multitiered crystal chandeliers ricocheted off the two-carat sparkler Ben had placed there to warn off all other men. “Plus, Gib has champagne for us to toast with at midnight.”
Great. Ivy and Ben would be wrapped around each other tighter than moss on stone. Their friend Sam had promised to stop by for the big toast. He’d spent all day moving his fiancée, Mira, out of Daphne’s apartment and into his. So the two of them would be all lovey-dovey and in a lip-lock that lasted longer than it would take Daphne to drain her glass, refill it and guzzle another. All the while wondering why she didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight. Gib would undoubtedly have a lineup of at least five beautiful and eager contenders from tonight’s wedding. Heck, he’d probably find a way to kiss all five of them in the time it took the twinkly ball to drop in Times Square.
With a swift inhale, Daphne pulled herself out of her pity party. Forced herself to look around the room a second time. Smiling, happy people in snazzy suits and colorful dresses surrounded them on all sides. The DJ spun toe-tapping music. Her centerpieces of lemon and peach roses mixed with two-toned orange-and-red lilies perfumed the air. Someone got hugged about every eight seconds under the glittering crystal chandeliers. How many people could say that about their working conditions?
“You’re right. I’m glad the six of us found a way to start the new year together. That’s what counts, right? We all work with people we adore and respect. I get to spend my days playing with flowers, and even manage to get paid for it. We’re in pretty good shape, overall.”
The bride and groom swirled by in an impromptu waltz. They both grinned from ear to ear and waved at the women. “Benjie and Diwata look so happy.”
“They’d better. We’re throwing them one hell of a party.” Ivy checked her watch, then checked the official itinerary for the night. When Aisle Bound planned a wedding, everything ran like clockwork. No matter what, thanks to the perfectionist/slightly anal retentive streak deeply ingrained in her friend. To forestall any raised eyebrows (like the time a few years ago when she’d lingered in the bathroom a whopping thirty seconds past the scheduled first toast), Daphne had made a point of synchronizing her watch with Ivy’s. And remembered the shrieking chaos of the bouquet toss was scheduled to happen in ten minutes.
“I noticed. It’s crazy loud in here.”
“There are a ton of Filipino superstitions about New Year’s Eve. We incorporated most of them. For example, they make as much noise as possible to scare away evil spirits. That’s why they keep banging on the gong.” Ivy pointed to the bowls of shiny purple grapes on every table. “You’re supposed to have a grape in your mouth at the stroke of midnight.”
“Doesn’t that make it hard to kiss?”
“Smart-aleck.” A vertical worry line creased Ivy’s brows and she stared into the distance as she pondered. “You’ve got a point. I didn’t check to see if a kiss at midnight is part of Filipino custom.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Nobody expects you to orchestrate or skip a kiss. Kissing is organic. It either happens or doesn’t.”
“Are you trying to make me feel worse? You know nothing at one of my weddings is organic. Every moment, every eventuality is ruthlessly planned in order to appear natural and fun.”
Daphne patted the bulge in the hip pocket of her satiny black pants, a bulge created by Ivy’s three-page, detailed itinerary for tonight’s event. “I’m well aware.”
Ivy set off in the direction of the cake table. “See the tablecloths?”
Trying not to wince from her already-aching feet, Daphne followed. “How could I not?” Tangerine polka dots practically leaped off the white tablecloths.
“Anything round signifies prosperity. That’s why the bridesmaid dresses are covered in polka dots, too.” Ivy picked up the toss bouquet, a miniature of the giant calla lily and rose version the bride had carried down the aisle.
“Thanks for the trivia. I’ll file it under
things I might need to know if Ivy gets hit by a bus the day before our next Filipino New Year’s Eve wedding.
However, right now the only round thing that interests me is popping another crab puff. Are you ready for the next set of tag-team breaks?”
“It’s a hell of a wedding, ladies.” Gibson Moore, the handsomest man in the room, threw an arm around each of them. “Why on earth would you want to take a break from all this merriment?”
The scent of cypress, cedar and vetiver (and a few other things she couldn’t remember) tantalized her nostrils. As though on a zip line, it went straight from her olfactory nerve down to the place between her legs that tingled every time she smelled Gib and his damn enticing cologne. She’d asked him a few years ago what it was, and just what the heck was in it. Had to be some magical concoction of pheromones a mad scientist whipped up to drive women into a frenzy. After making a fool of herself at a department store, insisting on reading the ingredients and sniffing five different bottles, Daphne gave up. He wore the same cologne every day. It always engendered the same Pavlovian reaction—an urge to lick him up one side and down the other. But the cologne itself wasn’t special. Only when it met Gib’s skin did it weaken her knees. Not that she’d ever let him know.
“Great wedding, isn’t it?” Ivy beamed with pride. No matter how many weddings she planned at Aisle Bound, each one was her favorite on that special day. After almost seven years in the business, she still teared up every time she sent a bride down the aisle with a final fluff.
“You outdid yourself. Both of you,” he said, giving Daphne a quick squeeze at her waist. The heat of his hand burned through her thin blouse. Maybe he hadn’t actually seared a handprint into her skin. But tonight, alone in bed, when she looked down at her stomach, she’d see the spot he touched. She’d know. “The flowers are spectacular, as usual.”
As usual.
The business side of Daphne’s brain knew it to be a compliment. But the emotional swamp of her heart didn’t agree.
As usual
, Gib had a way of raising her hackles almost as fast as he spiked her libido. Newspapers got delivered, as usual. Every July here in Chicago was humid as hell, as usual. Her centerpieces, however, were artistic masterpieces. Each one the result of weeks of planning, sketching, tweaking, ordering and painstaking arranging. Absolutely nothing usual about them. Gib made it sound as simple as filling an ice cube tray with that offhand compliment.
“Somebody’s got to do the grunt work.” She steeled herself before sneaking a peek at him. Yup. James Bond suave, Gib wore a tuxedo as though born in it. He’d gelled his hair into a Superman swoop in the front. Hard to tell if she’d rather stroke her fingers through that, or through the light mat of hair she’d seen on his chest the last time they all went sailing together on Lake Michigan. Lighting cast shadows beneath his high cheekbones. It just made her focus more on those kissable lips. Maybe kept her from glancing at the way the jacket hung off his lean frame. Kept her from wondering if he’d take it off at some point in the night so she could stare at his squeezably tight ass. Then Daphne realized she’d been so busy ogling him—really, the man was a vortex, a black hole of gorgeousness that sucked her mind right out—she’d forgotten to finish her pointed rant. Which she’d scale back to a teasing jibe. Because that was what best friends did. They teased and poked each other. Just not the kind of sexy poking at each other that she craved.
“Seems like the only contribution you made, Gib, was to unlock the front door. Nice going on that, by the way. Oh, but wait—the Cavendish has a doorman. Well, way to go on signing the contract for this shindig without getting a paper cut.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I pride myself on how little actual work I do here. A good manager delegates, you see, and I’m very, very good.” His voice dropped to a caress on the last three words. She’d pulled the sides of her long blond hair into a barrette to keep it out of the way. What should’ve been a simple hairstyle choice turned into a gigantic mistake. Leaning in, his final breath tickled the side of her exposed neck. It set off a chain reaction of shivers from head to toe.