In Too Deep

By Mallory Rush

Single mother of twins, Angel Carmichael is desperate enough to take a belly dancing gig at a bachelor party after being laid off from L.J. Steele. She must keep her babies fed and the mortgage holders at bay.

When the dancing gig takes an unexpected turn, disaster opens the door for destiny in the form of Zachary Taylor—a hunky workaholic whose sense of decency doesn't extend to keeping his hands off an L.J. Steele employee he'd let go sight unseen.

For Zach, doing what's necessary to keep a failing company from going under is nothing new. But forming a "friends with benefits" relationship, is. He never expects to fall for Angel, or her darling twins, Faith and Hope.

But there are no easy answers as the ever-ticking clock winds down on L.J. Steele and a mother's protective instincts clash with the needs of her body and soul.

OTHER TITLES by Mallory Rush
Outlaws and Heroes, A Three-Book Series
Shades of Deception, A Four-Book Series
Bad Boy of New Orleans
Between the Sheets
Hurts So Good
Half-Moon Hearts
Kissed by the Beast
Madness and Magic

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: Mar 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781614175568

Mallory Rush

Mallory Rush (aka Olivia Rupprecht) began writing romances when her babies were in diapers. Now that they’re grown, she’s still writing about the most amazing experience in the world: Falling in love with an imperfect someone who just happens to be perfect for us; the dizzying euphoria of a first kiss, the devastation of a heart being broken, and the thrill of emerging with a happy ending despite all the odds against it. Her own life story goes something like this: Nearly destitute, divorced young mother of four, working two jobs, loses her house—but keeps typing away into the wee hours, determined to see her love stories in print. Enter a really hot, single guy riding a Harley (er, Suzuki) and building corporate empires (as a CFO for a manufacturing plant in Lubbock, Texas). One kiss and KA-POW! It was like you read about. He asked her (and all those kids) to marry him and bought them a house as a wedding present. A year later they had a miracle baby. A few years after that, Bad Boy of New Orleans hit the bookstore shelves. Many other novels would follow, and corporate moves would take them to Tallahassee, Memphis, Boulder, and finally to Fox Lake, Wisconsin, where they’ve renovated a big historic tavern. A lot of people thought it wouldn’t last, but 30 years later they’re still really into each other. Little wonder that Mallory believes in the transcendent power of love and its ability to elevate all of our lives from the ordinary to something mystical and amazing. Although she’s written and edited historical thrillers and non-fiction as Olivia Rupprecht, she considers romance to be more than a genre—it’s as essential as breathing for a truly rich life. Mallory loves to hear from her readers.

Book preview

In Too Deep

by

Mallory Rush

Award-winning Author

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-556-8

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2014 by Olivia Rupprecht. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Thank You.

Chapter 1

Panama City, Florida

May, 1990

"You want me to do what?"

You heard me, Angel. I need you to fill in for Gina tonight. It's not like she can shake her booty for a bunch of guys at the fire station when she's laid up in the emergency room with a broken leg.

Angel Carmichael tossed aside the fuzzy rainbow colored wig that was itching her scalp and shook out her shoulder length hair, a shade lighter than the bulbous red honker she yanked off her nose. Scrunching it up as if she'd just sniffed something foul, she drew the line that she absolutely, positively would not cross.

Look Camilla, I don't mind romping around in a clown suit at a birthday party, but shaking my booty at a bachelor's last rites is... Remembering her short stint as an exotic dancer some years ago, Angel felt her stomach twist. No matter the cause had been worthy—to pay her college tuition—and no matter she'd seen thongs at the beach that were skimpier than her own costume had been. It had been a horrible experience and she wasn't about to repeat it. I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else.

If I could at this short notice, I would. Hell, I'd even do it myself it I wasn't looking at sixty and wearing a dress that the grandkids used for a tent their last visit. A pause, then she waved a carrot like the food it represented on the table. "After all, Gina makes great tips at these gigs. Said she pulled in over a hundred bucks at the last one—plus the fee I pay her. Forget the carrot, suddenly out came the whole bunch. That's usually fifty but seeing that I'm in a bind, I'll make it double for you."

A hundred dollars plus any forthcoming tips to swallow her pride, swivel her hips and pray she didn't get her butt pinched? Angel considered that. She wouldn't be able to replace the hot water heater that had been out of commission for three months, but she just might finagle the balance of last month's mortgage. She had to catch up and fast or the twins could be sleeping in the back of the van soon—unless it got repossessed before the house did.

Okay, she reluctantly agreed, then quickly added, But I'll have to make sure Kathy can babysit tonight.

If she can't, I will. Camilla made some maternal clucking noises. Oh, those little babies are sooo cute! How that no-good man could skip out on the three of you is just beyond me.

I wouldn't exactly call Jack a man. More like Peter Pan minus the peter. Looking around her, Angel no longer saw the ghost of misery past. What she saw was a breezy little cabana filled with sunshine and seashells and scattered toys, not gloomy memories and bitter disputes. How dearly she loved this place; how hard it had been to put it on the market. A very sluggish real estate market, even for property on the beach.

Gravitating to the sliding glass doors that opened to a deck that would take her to a boardwalk prowling down to sand that looked like refined sugar, Angel opened the doors to let in some salt water air. Humid and warm. How long had it been since the barometer of desire had managed the same effect on the region that felt plenty humid and warm in this heat but had nothing to do with desire?

Better no man than the wrong man, Camilla decreed. Still, I don't know how you do it what with all the odd jobs you're juggling and two little sweet peas to love and feed.

Believe me, it's a lot easier to take care of two kids than three. Especially when the oldest is over thirty and still wetting his diapers with rum or whatever else he can get his hands on. Angel stopped before adding, including me. Not that Jack had ever hit her but he'd come close to it. Close enough that she'd given him the boot and he'd staggered off without a fight to keep his wife or the unborn infants he hadn't wanted. Actually, neither had she when the test results had come in but she harbored no regrets for the decision she'd made despite his subsequent desertion.

Ironically, Jack taking a long walk and never coming back had made all those birthing pains and her unceasing struggles to make it as a single parent well worth it. At times it was tempting to throw a great big pity fest for herself but she'd never had much sympathy for anyone who'd rather wallow in their misfortune than do something about it. Which was why she didn't heap more coals on the head Camilla was presently taking an ax to—and it wasn't Jack.

If I were you I'd want to tote a rifle up to a bell tower and take a pot shot at everything walking with a penis in his pants, just figuring they were all bad. First came Jack, then what's-his-name who waltzed into that big company you were working for and laid you off the week before Christmas without so much as a farewell turkey or a how do you do. Hell, he didn't even have the guts to introduce himself and do his own dirty work, just left it up to your boss who hated to see you go.

True, all true. And she truly hated that bastard's guts—something or other Taylor—for dismissing every temporary they had at L.J. Steele the minute he stepped in and took over. He apparently didn't care that his predecessor—who had fallen from corporate grace—had wanted to hire her as a permanent employee with full benefits. Benefits she was desperate for since Faith needed tubes in her ears and Hope a new pair of braces to help straighten out her toddling pigeon toed feet. Thanks to Mr. Taylor's lack of charity, Mama didn't have insurance to pay for either. It wasn't fair. Neither was it fair to judge all men by the losers she'd love nothing better than to bury alive just so she could hear them plead for the mercy they hadn't shown her.

Well, screw them. Portable phone in hand, it took her all of three seconds to make it to her tiny white eyelet dream of a bedroom. Wiggling out of her polka-dot bloomers while Camilla yakked on about no-good men, Angel dangled the limp fabric from a fingernail that hadn't seen polish in a year. Pretending it was Jack and that jerk who'd had her fired almost six months ago, she imagined kicking both their butts out the door. When the bloomers wafted to the floor, she dug her heel into the costume's crotch to compensate for the distance.

Know what, Camilla? If I ever meet a man with half the balls I've got, I'll wrestle him for who gets to be on top, split the difference, and never let him out of my bed or my clutches.

That might be awhile, Angel, she chuckled dryly, more truth than humor in it. You could end up older than me before such grande huevos come along and I'm old enough to be your mother.

A really cool mother, Angel thought. Camilla had great nurturing instincts but she sure knew how to tell it like it was. On top of all that, she had a good head for business. The fire station where the bachelor's party was taking place had been deserted for years—until Camilla bought it, dubbed it Some Like It Hot, and turned it into Panama City's most happening private party palace.

The pole came in handy for parties such as this at Some Like It Hot. And hot Florida was even in early May. At least the place had air conditioning.

So did her beloved little abode, but there was a utility bill to consider. Angel turned on a ceiling fan and stood directly beneath the rotating blades. Getting as cool as she could, she peeled off the voluminous top sticking to her skin and used it to wipe away the sweat trickling from her neck to her cleavage. She checked her Mickey Mouse watch. Great, nearly seven o'clock. She should have picked up the twins an hour ago and she now had less than two to transform herself from a clown into a hot tamale who could make a man reconsider the merits of marriage. First things first, though.

Hey, Kathy. How's it going?

Going, going, gone! A crash in the background confirmed as much. Anthony just knocked over the fishbowl. Lisa's crying because Peter decapitated her Barbie doll. Kelly called a little while ago to let me know he's working a double shift in the warehouse again. So all in all, it's been a typical day.

Talking to Kathy always made Angel feel better. Her own plight in life didn't seem so bad considering she lived, for the moment at least, in a doll house on the beach instead of a trailer. And while she went about working her tail off to keep what she had from the clutches of the bank, Kathy dealt with stuff like this day in and day out. Then again, Kathy loved staying home and caring for the children she kept, which included her own. And she did have a husband who might pull a lot of overtime to make ends meet but when Kelly came home, he always greeted his wife with a big hug and kiss before pitching in and leaving no doubt that he adored her.

How are the twins?

Let's see... Hope pointed to the potty several times and didn't wet her training pants all day. Faith not only ate her applesauce but licked the bowl, took a long nap, then made some faces that had me rolling on the floor. I sure do love your babies, Angel. If you want to do a trade I'll take both in exchange for one of mine—Anthony, no! Don't put that fish in your mouth! Hang on, he's trying to eat the fish.

While Kathy saw to the latest crisis, Angel took stock of her wardrobe. Not a bikini to be found since she'd given those up with motherhood. As it stood, she was down to a one-piece bathing suit, the clown suit, a hula skirt from her Hawaiian honeymoon eight years ago that she kept meaning to burn and—

Perfect! An I Dream of Jeannie costume that even Barbara Eden would die for. It was more sequins and beads, more Hollywood glitz than a truly authentic Middle Eastern outfit to entertain in. That's what such dancing was really all about. Entertainment. Though her mother had cringed to learn all those ballet lessons had turned out a belly dancer instead of a prima ballerina, it had been a fun and thoroughly decent way to earn that college tuition. Sure the money was a lot less than what exotic dancers made, but at least she wasn't getting propositioned to do more than dance.

I'm back, Kathy panted. I saved the goldfish from Anthony, Lisa's laughing now that she's bonking Peter on the head with her headless Barbie, and the twins are taking a bath.

Thank you, Angel said quietly.

Hey, no problem. In fact, why don't you put that tub to use yourself when you come to pick up the twins? You could even stay for dinner so I can have another adult to talk to for a change.

Kathy. Bless her. She was always glad to share her modest bounty, whether it was beans and weenies for dinner or hot water that didn't come from a pot on the stove. Somehow she made her generosity seem as if a favor was being done her instead of the other way around.

Actually, Kathy, I need a favor even more than a bath tonight. Camilla asked me to, um, dance at this party. It's just a one-shot job that pays good and shouldn't keep me out past ten. Is there a chance you could—

Sure I can watch the twins. She snickered. On one condition.

Angel clicked off the phone with a smile. If anyone was an angel it was Kathy. All she wanted in return for a night of babysitting were the juicy details of what actually went on at a stag party while they shared a bottle of whatever wouldn't be missed by those who were partying.

Arriving out of breath and thirty minutes late, Angel raced through the back entry, snuck a peek at those who were partying and thought she might pass out.

No, it couldn't be. She shrank further into the shadows of the office area where only employees were allowed, closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and hoped against hope that the floating cigar smoke surrounding the men had concocted a mirage. Not an oasis in the desert trick of the eyes, more like a Dante's Inferno take on hell.

Angel risked another look. Whatever she had done to earn such bad karma, she had no idea, but if there was a hell on earth she was definitely in it.

Suddenly from the midst of revelry and piped in rock and roll, a voice bellowed, Where's the dancer? Taking his cue, a chant rose up: Dan-cer, dan-cer, dan-cer!!!

Camilla dumped some more chicken wings onto the buffet table, signaled the bartender to hurry with his pouring of beer and spirits, and left the other server to handle the catered goods while she cleared a path through the crowd, doing a little jig as she went. Amidst groans and laughter, she made her way to the pole, swiveled around it several times, then shouted, Either you boys behave or I'm the only dancer you'll get!

That ended the chant. While the men got on with their celebration for the guest of honor—who was hauling around a bowling ball attached to a heavy-duty chain around his ankle—Camilla made tracks to the office, where Angel urgently signaled her.

Thank heavens you're here, Camilla puffed. This has to be one of the rowdiest groups I've ever had and— Looking Angel up and down, she demanded, Girl, what on earth are you wearing?

A sack over my head if you've got one. Hands planted on hips that were hugged by scarlet velvet, Angel lightly stamped a slippered foot. Bells tinkled. The beaded bodice she'd barely been able to fit into heaved and her breasts nearly spilled out from the strain. Why didn't you tell me this party was for Dave Wilson?

Is that his name? Camilla scratched her head. Some guy named Joe made all the arrangements and it made no difference to me who the groom was.

Joe, Angel repeated. Joe Springer, right?

Uh... yeah. I guess you know him?

Know him? Know him! Camilla, he's my old boss! As for Dave and the other dufasses in there, I know most of them too. Hell, I don't know why they didn't just throw the party at L.J. Steele after work instead of making everyone drive over here.

Probably wouldn't have been PC Camilla grimaced. Then throwing her arms around Angel as if afraid she'd take flight, nearly wailed, I'm sorry, sugar. I swear I had no idea.

Certain her self-appointed surrogate mother would never deliberately put her in such a humiliating position, Angel patted her back—and grappled with the urge to strangle someone. Like the head honcho of the company since she'd still have a respectable job—and therefore a house that wasn't up for sale—if it weren't for him. Too bad he probably wouldn't be caught dead fraternizing with the underlings who wouldn't invite him anyway. A company president would cramp his employees' after-hours style.

You're gritting your teeth, Angel. Is it because you're thinking of how much you'd like to take me upstairs and push me down the pole while you take off and save face?

"No, I was thinking of how much I wish that jerk who had me fired would show his around here. If he did, I'd shimmy over to his table, wrap my hands around his neck, and squeeeze. As it is... The rhythmic clap of hands made her shudder. I have a job to do and hopefully no one will recognize me."

I'll dim the lights, that'll help.

So will this. Repositioning her headdress and fastening the sheer white scarf over ruby slicked lips, Angel told herself that no one would imagine they actually knew the temptress she had transformed into. A look but don't touch temptress with her face half-covered, eyes lined with kohl, and fingers tapping tiny cymbals rather than typewriter keys. Unfortunately, I can't get too close, so there go the tips.

"I'll compensate for them. In fact, I'll even split tonight's profits down the middle for getting you into this jam and you not jamming me up by bailing out. Did you