Slanting his mouth over hers in a smooth glide, deliberately light and teasing, he offered a kiss that hinted and lured rather than taking outright.
Cali shuddered, her breath slipping over his lips with a soft moan. He pulled back to meet her gaze. “That good, huh?”
Her lips curved as she drank him in through half-lidded eyes. “I’d forgotten just how good that felt.” The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten the sexy swell of her pink bottom lip.
“Wasn’t much of a kiss, if you ask me,” he murmured. “I can do better.”
Her eyes darkened like smoked sea glass and locked on his mouth, sending “go” signals toward his groin. Her breath hitched as, moving closer, he traced the smooth line of her delicate jaw with his thumb, sifted his fingers through the silky hair at the nape of her neck, and tilted her face to his.
“Maybe just one more,” she whispered breathlessly, her lips an enticing invitation.
“One more,” he agreed, intent on doling out a kiss with every skill and seductive nuance he’d honed since high school packed into it. And that kiss would become the prelude to a night in bed.
Dear Reader
Have you ever had a connection to a place that neither time nor distance could sever?
I have. Chicago.
It’s the city of my youthful heart and romantic memories. It’s where I grew up, became a woman, and learned to love. When I began writing WILD FLING OR A WEDDING RING? I found myself mentally walking the streets, dropping by old haunts, and picking out all that I loved about the city to give to my heroine, Cali, to discover.
In the end this book became a bit of a love letter to Chicago, and I hope I’ll be able to share some of what makes this city so special to me with you.
Do you have a city that’s stolen your heart? If so, drop by my website at www.miralynkelly.com and share your stories.
Mira
Wild Fling or A Wedding Ring?
By
Mira Lyn Kelly
Mira Lyn Kelly grew up in the Chicago area, and earned her degree in Fine Arts from Loyola University. She met the love of her life while studying abroad in Rome, Italy, only to discover he’d been living right around the corner from her for the previous two years. Having spent her twenties working and playing in the Windy City, she’s now settled with her husband in rural Minnesota, where their four beautiful children provide an excess of action, adventure and entertainment.
With writing as her passion, and inspiration striking at the most unpredictable times, Mira can always be found with a notebook at the ready. (More than once she’s been caught by the neighbours, covered in grass clippings, scribbling away atop the compost container!)
When she isn’t reading, writing, or running to keep up with the kids, she loves watching movies, blabbing with the girls, and cooking with her husband and friends. Check out her website www.miralynkelly.com for the latest dish!
This is Mira’s first book!
To my husband, Chris. I love you.
CHAPTER ONE
STYLED in 1930s décor, the Jazz House was an inconspicuous place, classy and understated, tucked into a quiet corner of Chicago’s downtown Streeterville neighborhood. Smoky melodies, thick with heartbreak and yearning, drifted through the dark club, curling around hushed conversations and seeping beneath the tensions of the day.
Seated toward the back of the high-polish bar, Calista McGovern swirled rough chunks of ice in her gin and tonic, savoring the pull of blue notes at her soul. This was a place she could get used to.
That was it would be, if the next two months weren’t committed to an assignment that left little chance of Cali seeing the light of day—or even the dark of night for that matter—before it ended. She was Project Manager for the multibillion-dollar retail conglomerate MetroTrek, and her stint in the Windy City guaranteed long hours under the steady hum of fluorescent lights, broken only by meals on the run and the necessity to sleep.
Chicago was about work. It was a stepping stone to the new London expansion position her New York-based boss, Amanda Martin, had all but promised her—if she could nail the Chicago job first. It was the opportunity Cali had been waiting for.
Her plane had touched down on the O’Hare tarmac three hours before. She would have been elbow-deep in work already if it hadn’t been for Amanda’s insistence that she spend her first night in Chicago out on the town. And, more specifically, at this club.
As a rule, Cali wasn’t much of a suck-up, but with the London position hovering on the horizon—the restoration of a career she’d nearly destroyed all but complete—catering to her boss’s whims seemed a reasonable accommodation.
Amanda had discovered the club through her little sister’s husband, Jackson, last time she’d been home for a visit, and hadn’t stopped talking about it since. Normally mention of anything associated with the beloved brother-in-law earned a mental eye-roll from Cali. As Amanda told it—often in excruciating detail—Jackson could do no wrong. As Cali heard it, Amanda harbored some deep-seated crush on the guy, and any opinion even remotely tied to him should be taken with a grain of salt.
Tonight, however, Cali had to give the man credit. The Jazz House was perfect, with precisely the kind of subdued atmosphere she appreciated. Or at least it was until a guy looking to be in his mid-forties pushed onto an empty stool beside her and let out a labored breath as he rubbed a bloodshot eye with the back of his thumb.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Jake Tyler rested one shoulder against the wall, his attention locked on the woman at the bar. From the minute he’d seen her shake that spill of sexy red-brown curls across her shoulders he’d been struck immobile. He’d watched her face relax and her lips curve as she listened to the music, enjoyed the way her skirt rode over her thigh as she crossed her long, smooth legs, and wondered what it would be like to touch her. Take her home and lose himself in her body.
But picking up company wasn’t part of the plan. He’d come to unwind, as he often did after too many hours in the operating room. To let the smooth jazz ease the strain in his muscles and his mind before heading home to get some much needed sleep.
So he’d tried to focus on the music instead of the pretty girl at the bar, and he’d done an almost passable job of it—right up to when the chump running on one drink too many moved in.
Now the woman with the siren hair and soft smile was unsuccessfully trying to brush off the persistent nuisance who wanted to play the “don’t I know you from somewhere” game.
It
