All In: A Moira McTark Re-release (Coming Around Again Book 2) Read online

  All In

  Mira Lyn Kelly

  Contents

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Also by Mira Lyn Kelly

  About Mira Lyn Kelly

  About the Book

  There ought to be laws against what happened to that wedding cake, abandoned or not. Sure, it was sexy, good fun of the dirtiest variety, but it was the kind of mistake career-minded wedding planner Laine Malone won’t repeat. At least not until next Saturday when she’s once again face-to-face with Jason Henley, the bossy, all-trouble hotel owner who won’t settle for just one night.

  *This title has been previously published under another pen name. The story has been updated and expanded.

  ALL IN © 2020 by Mira Lyn Kelly All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  Saturday, June 5th

  Laine

  Sunshine glitters through the windows, reflecting off the rich mahogany-paneled walls and throwing a gilded cast across the room. A hush surrounds us as we face each other, me with a silk-bundled bouquet in hand and him in his immaculate suit. This moment has been a long time coming.

  “You’re such an asshole,” I hiss, wishing looks could kill.

  Jason Henley, owner of the exclusive Henley Hotel, arches a dark brow and, clearly amused, lets his attention fall to my lips… lingering there long enough for me to feel the effect of his focus deep inside.

  “Such pretty talk. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  His mocking tone chases away the shudder spurred by what was undoubtedly a meaningless glance. I clench my wilting bouquet, sending a stray thorn from beneath the ribbon into the flesh of my palm.

  This man is insufferable. Cocky. Arrogant. And capable of affecting me in ways I wish I could ignore. Ways I hope to hell he doesn’t notice.

  Yanking a fistful of my beige dress—chosen to blend in while still being suitably formal for the occasion—to the side, I take a threatening stride forward and glare up at him. “You fix this or—”

  “Or what? I’ve already accommodated the extra twenty-seven guests we found out about this morning. Tables, food, staff. And while I draw the line at changing the ballroom drapes to accent the bridesmaids’ gowns, I think I’ve been pretty damn accommodating. Yes?”

  I lean into his space. “I think you fix this or I’m going to shove this thorny reject bouquet up your ass.”

  Jason huffs out a laugh as he smooths the lapel of his perfectly tailored suit. “Sorry, princess, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not into that kind of kink. But how about this? Take your pretty, plunging neckline and your sad little bouquet, and back off—clear out of my office so I can make some calls.”

  He’s infuriating. Because now I’m thinking about kink and wondering about his.

  We stare at each other for a moment and I’m not even sure what this power play is about except that these days all Jason and I do is push.

  He gives first, throwing up his hands. “Look, we both know whose fault this is—spoiler alert: not mine—but I’ll make a concession and get a cake in here for your bride before the entrées are served.”

  Jason’s a professional, and as a rule if he says he’ll get something done, he will. So, while I’m not worried I’ll be looking at a two-week-old Spiderman birthday cake from the grocery store wheeled out during the choice of salmon or steak, the unholy glint in his eyes is a bit unsettling. This is a business built on reputation, and I’ve already had one bride bail last minute this year. I can’t afford another strike.

  “Get me a four-tiered cake in the next hour or you’ll hear from the Blissful Brides lawyer, and the Henley Hotel name will be smeared bad enough you’ll never see another wedding in your rooftop rose garden.”

  “Save your threats, Laine.” Handsome to a fault and unruffled to an exasperating degree, Jason rounds his desk to flip through a stack of papers. “You’ve got a wedding booked here every weekend for the next year and a half. You’re not calling a lawyer, and we both know it. Go tell that bride of yours her special day will be fine, regardless of the fact that her shit-faced groom tripped my bellboy into that hideous cake.” He straightens his cornflower-blue tie, perfecting the always-immaculate appearance, and looks over at me. “And skip the salmon tonight. Have dinner with me instead.”

  The offhand remark slips under my skin and sets my heart racing. What’s he trying to pull? I ignore the outrageous request and focus on the bullshit he threw in there before, probably hoping I’d be too distracted to call him on it.

  Fat chance. My groom might have been drinking early, but not that much. “You know as well as I do your bellboy was high as a kite and tripped over his own damn shoes. You wouldn’t have fired him otherwise.”

  Jason doesn’t like firing people. The staff at the Henley is like family to him, even newer employees like the one he let go today. But there are a few lines you don’t cross with him, and drugs—particularly the kind found in this kid’s locker—is one of them.

  “Fine, whatever. Let me get your new cake so Connie Bliss doesn’t fire your gorgeous ass and the Henley Hotel keeps booking weddings fifteen months in advance.” He freezes like he just realized what he said, and I wait for his eyes to meet mine again. But he goes back to sorting through his desk. Finding whatever paperwork he’s after, he nods. “Give me twenty minutes to take care of some business, and we’ll check back in.”

  “Fine.”

  Jason dismisses me with a lazy wave. “Fine.”

  So. Irritating. “Fine.”

  I head out of his office, shutting the door behind me to the sound of his last hushed word. “Fine.”

  Alice isn’t at her desk, and the employee corridor is thankfully empty, because there is no stopping the stomp of my stiletto as I turn back to the door and, fists balled at my sides, hiss, “Fine!”

  Like I’d let that arrogant ass have the last word.

  Not on my watch.

  Darting a quick glance back at the mirrored wall behind me, I check to see how obvious my fluster is. Not terrible, but damn, I hate that I let him get to me.

  Wedding planners aren’t supposed to ruffle. We’re supposed to be unflappable, able to handle anything. Even the curveballs thrown by chiseled-cheeked, tall, dark, and sexy hotel owners who like to fight and make a challenge out of every single thing.

  He’s just so cocky. So smug. So annoyingly attractive. It makes me want to scream.

  And that dinner invite. What was that?

  Six months ago, I would have thought he was asking me for a date, buttercream fantasies filling my mind. I know better now.

  On paper Jason looks like the catch of the century. He’s the sole owner of Chicago’s most luxurious boutique hotel. He’s criminally handsome. Intelligent to a startling degree. Intense and driven. Sexy. He’s a man comfort
able in his own skin and confident in the space he occupies. He flirts like he breathes. Makes fighting seem like foreplay. And for a time, all it took was the briefest contact—picking a bit of birdseed from my hair—to make every nerve in my body sensitize, polarize, and migrate toward the point of his touch.

  Silly, silly girl.

  Rumor has it he got burned a few years back and now he keeps women—a continuous string of them—at a safe distance from anything important to him. I’ve even heard he doesn’t take those dates he cycles through to his penthouse apartment, but instead to some suite a safe few floors down.

  Jason’s a serious playboy. And he’s seriously all about his hotel. That’s probably all the dinner thing was, a meeting to discuss the growing nuptial business.

  Time to get my head back in the game.

  Wedding. Bride. Special day. Damage control.

  I smooth a stray hair, put on my best smile, and let some of the starch out of my shoulders. The effect is warm and confident. I look like I’m just bursting to make this day perfect. And regardless of the bridezilla waiting on me upstairs, I am. Being a part of such a precious moment in the lives of two people who love each other is what makes this job so incredible. With my help, couples can concentrate on the meaning of the day instead of the details that occasionally go awry. Details like cakes being demolished, bands failing to show, broody hotel owners getting sidetracked when they promised to deliver.

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve made some calls of my own. Still no luck with the cake, but everything else is on track and I want to check in on Melinda before it gets any later. Two steps into the lobby, I notice Jason leaning against the front desk with Dil, no doubt trying to score a cake through his favorite bartender’s connections. His drifting gaze lands on me, hardening into a steady stare that follows me as I cross the marble floor and has my skin flaming red by the time I reach the elevator doors.

  Damn him.

  “Well, hello, wedding planner,” comes the slow, slightly nasal voice belonging to my groom du jour.

  I take a step back and offer up a platinum smile as I scan the length of him, checking off the details. Hair, styled. Tux, clean and wrinkle free. Shoes, shined. Eyes… glassy. Not good. “Ed, we’re working on a solution for the cake.”

  “Never had a doubt, lovely Laine.”

  I stiffen at the way his eyes drift over me and he leans closer but doesn’t say anything else. Holding my smile firm, I ask, “Did you need anything?”

  “Yeah, I could use a drink. Join me in the bar for one.”

  Jesus. “Ed, you’re trouble.” I say it like I’m talking to an adorably mischievous six-year-old, but I mean it in a way that has my stomach knotting with dread. This guy sets off every warning alarm I’ve got. “I’ll have to pass. I’m actually heading up to give Melinda an update.”

  “Great. Let’s ride up together.”

  More alarms. The kind I don’t ignore anymore.

  “Actually, go on ahead.” I step back. No way am I getting in an elevator alone with this guy. “I’ve got to grab something down here and then I’ll be up in a few.”

  Jason

  I watch as Laine brushes off the smarmy groom and heads for the back stairwell. My gaze tracks down the length of her body, over her long smooth legs and slim ankles, before landing on the sexy spiked heels she’s wearing. She can’t be thinking about walking up six floors just to avoid that guy? But another glance at him has my knuckles cracking as my hands turn to fists, because that is not the look a man about to get married gives a woman other than his bride.

  Christ.

  Figuring she might appreciate a legit excuse to skip the stairs, I turn, intending to catch her with some business, only to stop short when a deep voice originating behind me resonates through the lobby. “Hey, Laine!”

  I hang back, feigning interest in my phone, as some guy looking about ten years younger than I am jogs across the open floor and greets her with a kiss on the cheek.

  Just out of eavesdropping distance, I watch as Mr. Barely Legal chats her up.

  He’s wearing a suit but doesn’t look like a client. She isn’t giving him the patented, reassuring smile she sells to all her customers. This one is something more subtle. Authentic, I realize with a tightening in my gut.

  “Jason?” Bev calls from the reception desk a few feet away. “Line four is about the cake. Do you want to take it?”

  Laine must hear, because her head pops up. She’ll want to be in on the call.

  I glance back at reception. “Tell them to hold a minute, and we’ll be right there.”

  Laine flashes a thankful smile and signals one second.

  No problem. Take your time unloading the guy. I’m happy to wait.

  The kid stands too close, his head bent to hers in intimate conversation. He’s talking fast, focused on her completely. Laine’s grin spreads and—oh, shit—genuine laughter spills out.

  Then he’s walking backward, arms out to the sides. “You know we’d be great together. Just think about it.”

  What the hell?

  She cocks a scrutinizing smile at him and nods thoughtfully. “I will.”

  I almost choke. This asshole just put a move on Laine—in my hotel.

  Christ, who am I kidding? A hundred guys make moves on her, and right under my nose. It’s the fact that this guy wrenched some genuine emotion from her that has my inner caveman going apeshit trying to get out.

  “Sorry about that,” she offers with a vague gesture toward the exit and no explanation as she walks over. “You didn’t have to wait.”

  Except I did.

  Ten frustrating minutes later, we’re still in my office, and coming up empty. Laine’s been pacing and texting nonstop as I work my contacts. We thought we might have a viable prospect, but it involved a drive to Wisconsin to pick it up, and the timing would be too tight.

  Which sucks.

  I want to be the man who makes Laine’s dreams come true, not the schmuck who can’t get a freaking cake delivered. Thrusting my fingers into my hair, I close my eyes and strain for patience. “There are literally hundreds of weddings scheduled to take place today in this city alone. Somewhere, some girl is wrapped up in her favorite terrycloth bathrobe, wearing a two-hundred-dollar veil, crying her eyes out because the groom-to-be forgot his future father-in-law was there when he got a blowjob at the bachelor party last night. Someone doesn’t need a cake.”

  The voice across the line is tight. “I’ll keep looking.”

  “Whatever it takes.” Disconnecting, I plant both hands on my desk.

  Laine leans against the bookcase, head cocked with her cascade of shiny chestnut hair falling over her shoulder. “Well, that certainly is a romantic way to look at it.”

  “Save the indignation. You and I both know I’m right.” I don’t like the sound of my voice. I’m still thinking about that guy who made her laugh. The way his lips grazed her cheek. The echo of their words.

  “Think about it…”

  “I will…”

  “How about your groom today? I saw you dodge the elevator ride with him—everything okay there?”

  Laine rolls her eyes. “He’s fine. Kind of an ass. But I’m not marrying him.”

  I don’t think she’d try to placate me if there was something really wrong. Not anymore, anyway. Though if she had any idea how often I think about the piece-of-shit groomsman from eighteen months ago, she just might.

  Even now I have trouble keeping my breathing steady when I recall the way she looked, trying to avoid the unwelcome kiss that fucker was determined to take. The way his fingers left bruises on her arm. The sound of my fist connecting with his nose.

  How my world changed when she practically fell into my arms, her shoulders shaking with tears and rage.

  “Have you tried Dolce for a cake yet?”

  The question takes me by surprise, pulling me back to the now. There’s a stipulation in the paperwork for booking the hotel that specifies a few bakeries approve
d to supply outside cakes. Dolce isn’t on it, despite their having a top reputation in the city. She’s asked me about it before, but I’ve always put her off with a vague reference to a contract they failed to meet. “No. But be my guest. Call them.”

  Breezing across the carpet, she takes a seat in the open club chair. Her thumb sweeps over the screen, drawing my attention to her hands. They’re long and thin, elegant. She never seems at a loss for what to do with them, and, not for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to have them on me.

  “Dolce? Hi, Laine Malone from Blissful Brides… I have an emergency. Is there anything you can do to get me a cake three hours from now—?” She yanks the device away from her ear as the person on the other end bellows at her request. Carmen, I’m guessing by the color of Laine’s cheeks.

  I let out a short laugh, and she stares back at me with narrowed eyes. She tries again. “I’m at the Henley Hotel and… Hello?” She looks at the screen with shock, as though it might explain why someone would hang up on her.

  Apparently, she didn’t know her only shot would have been to pick up the cake in an unmarked van or ask them to drop it at the intersection two blocks down. “No dice, eh?”

  Watching her incredulous expression, I want to laugh but try to rein it in.

  “He hung up on me.”

  Ah, Tony then. Sour bastard.

  She licks her lips and slowly settles her cell in her lap. “I know rude. I deal with it on a daily basis. But that was exceptional… and all because of some wedding a few years back?”

  She wants more information, and I’m half considering giving it to her. I owe her an explanation. Maybe over dinner—