Kissable You: Falling For You

By Simona Taylor

After Raya catches a scrawny, straggly-haired kid spray-painting a parade of long-legged black spiders across her precious hand-painted mural, she discovers he's a serial mischief-maker. Dyeing the river blood red so the townspeople think the Apocalypse has come. Spraying cuss words into the lawn with weed killer.

 

Nobody would believe the sweet-faced, sad-eyed August is bad to the bone. There has to be another reason. And when Raya meets the boy's dad, she thinks she has a clue. Blond, blue-eyed, impeccably dressed and super rich, Christopher Kane is every inch the perfect guy, but he has no idea how to treat with the teenage son who came to live with him just months ago. Man and boy can't see eye to eye, and Raya thinks all this acting out is the poor motherless kid's way of getting his busy father's attention.

 

When Raya takes him on as an apprentice, all she wants to do is help ease his loneliness and give him a sense of direction. She didn't count on Christopher invading her life, her thoughts and her heart as well!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simona Taylor
• Release date: Apr 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9789768333193

Simona Taylor

Roslyn Carrington, Simona Taylor's alter ego, has been a freelance writer, editor and proofreader for over 15 years. She is also a former public relations practitioner with 13 years of experience in the energy industry. Aside from her self-publishing successes, she has published 15 novels with major US publishers such as Harlequin, BET Arabesque and Kensington, and has ghost-written several memoirs and non-kction worPs. She writes and edits for a variety of publications and corporate clients. She lives and worPs in Trinidad and Tobago. @lease contact her at SimonaTaylorRomance

Book preview

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Kissable You is a mildly saucy instalove romance by Simona Taylor. In the small town of Abyssinia, park manager Raya encounters a rebellious, motherless teenager and her soft heart compels her to help. But August's single dad, Christopher, isn't sure whether making amends for his delinquency while in Raya's care is best for his son. They may have wildly different ideas about what's best for this sad, confused boy, but one thing they know for sure is that their attraction to each other can't be denied.

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Copyright © 2023 by Roslyn Carrington.

Falling For You Series: Kissable You by Simona Taylor

ISBNS

KINDLE: 978-976-8333-20-9

PAPERBACK: 978-976-8333-18-6

EPUB: 978-976-8333-19-3

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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

This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond the copying permitted by US Copyright Law, Section 107, fair use in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpts), without written permission from the author.

Contents

1. Got Any Grapes?

2. Call Me ‘Dad’

3. A Pound of Flesh

4. Live With, Learn to Fix, or Die Trying

5. Doing Time in Purgatory

6. Out of the Doghouse

7. Hey, Numbskull!

8. A Parade of Scraggly Mongrels

9. Thoughts Whirring Like a Buzz Saw

10. A Spark of Recognition

11. Cold Beers at The Crooked Lance

12. Like Diamonds Blazing

13. Someone Like You

14. The Longest Week

15. Hester’s Weir

16. Headhunting a Millionaire

17. Happylogue

Enjoy a taste of Irresistible You

Enjoy a taste of Tantalizing You

Dear Reader,

About the Author

one

Got Any Grapes?

Raya

O hmigod, stop lying! I exclaimed, glancing at my friend beside me.

Nope. Swear to God, Raya. Ruby Red puffed as she kept pace with me, crossing her heart as she spoke. "The guy’s mom drove him to our date. And waited in the car!"

We took a left turn along one of our favorite running tracks in Cottonwood Park. We were just winding up our usual early morning 4K jog and heading back to my office in the heart of the park I manage.

I was so engrossed in what Ruby was saying that I almost tripped on a protruding root, and hastily righted myself.

Ruby warned, Honey, if you fall down, I ain’t picking you up!

You won’t have to, Red, I promised, knowing she was just trying to sound like the badass she wasn’t. Ruby was the kind of friend who’d wrestle snakes bare-handed if your life depended on it.

Her full last name was Redman, but she usually went by Red. She was in her forties, amply curved, with dark skin, long, intricate braids and a native West Indian accent that I adored, especially since it helped underscore her remarkable storytelling talent. And those stories almost always had to do with yet another delectably awful tale of dating disaster.

Ruby went on. There I am, halfway through my soup, when in walks this woman, waving at my date from across the room. Walks straight up to our table and asks me how I’m liking her son! Starts telling me he got shares in this company and that, how he takes her to church every Sunday, and what a good cook he is. She brushed her hair out of her eyes. Then she plops down at the table closest to ours and begins to order dinner!

But why did she drive him in the first place?

Ruby rolled her dark, expressive eyes. Turns out after three DUIs, his license got yanked, so Mama stepped in and drove him to the restaurant. She got hungry waiting in the car, so …. She shrugged, leaving the rest to my imagination.

And now you know why I’ve given up on dating, I commented, not bothering to quell my spontaneous eyeroll. Trying to connect with a man was hard enough, but when family got involved ….

We slowed down for the last hundred meters, allowing our respiration and our bodies to return to normal. Hard pass, I advised.

Ruby snorted. Got that right! I didn’t even bother with dessert. Paid my share of the check and— She gasped, pointing. Raya, look!

What? I looked in the direction of the small building that served as the main admin office for the park—my admin office. Immediately, I saw ‘what’.

A scrawny kid in skinny black jeans and a baggy black hoodie was standing before the widest wall … a wall where I’d spent several weekends painstakingly painting a mural. It was a whimsical interpretation of the classic children’s song about a duck walking up to a lemonade stand. I’d even drawn a speech balloon coming out of the googly-eyed duck’s beak, asking, Got any grapes?

The building was closest to the kiddie play area of the park, and I’d thought the many children who came every day to swing and slide and run around might find it amusing. I wouldn’t call myself an artist, per se, but I’d done a pretty good job.

And here was this kid, can of black spray paint upraised, drawing a long row of large, hairy spiders along the entire wall. Tagging my mural! Hey! I shouted, breaking into a run.

Ruby was right behind me. Child! You better stop! Don’t make me—

The kid leaped around guiltily, and I got a glimpse of her face. Long, limp blond hair sticking out from under the hoodie, enormous sunglasses, and incredibly pale skin. The little mouth fell open in shock, and instead of standing still and facing the music, she threw the spray can wide and took off in a sprint.

Yeah, I got news for her. I run at least five days a week, and Ruby ain’t shabby, either. We darted after the little miscreant, our bodies still warm from our workout, and if we were tired, now wasn’t the time to feel it.

The girl dodged and darted into the kids’ area dotted with jungle gym, swings, slides and merry-go-rounds. It made an efficient obstacle course, and she was putting some distance between us.

Past the kids area into the doggie park, where early morning dog lovers were strolling with their beloved pooches. Ruby took the left flank and I took the right, but still the kid feinted and spun around—and then tripped over a long leather leash with a surprised-looking older man on one end and a Rhodesian Ridgeback on the other.

Down she went, face first into the grass, so hard I was scared she’d hurt herself. Ruby was on her like a pile of falling bricks, grasping her by one matchstick arm and hauling her to her feet.

I faced the kid, catching my breath, panting out, You okay?

Ruby already had her phone in hand. She’ll be a lot worse off when I call park security.

Our eyes met, the child’s and mine, and I gasped in shock. Two shocks, actually. The first was at the clarity of those pale gray eyes, wide and scared, as intense as water under a cloudy sky. The second was at the fact that this waif was no girl. I could spot a few half-hearted flecks of upper lip hair, and the widening of cheekbones and shoulders that puberty usually brings on. This was a boy.

He was still scrawny, seeming undersized compared to his big hands and feet, and I put him at twelve to fourteen. He was scowling at me, turning to glare at Ruby, who still grasped his upper arm.

You okay? I asked again, more gently, signaling Ruby to let him go.

He didn’t seem inclined to answer, at least not to my face. Instead, he snarled under his breath in Spanish, a name for me which, shall we say, wasn’t complimentary. I had news for him: growing up in a Hispanic home with three brothers has many advantages. Among them is the ability to cuss like a sailor in more than one language. So I matched him offence for offence, and that shut him up good.

Okay, I said, now that I had his attention. Let’s walk back to my office and—

The child let out a blood-chilling scream, clutching at his throat. Was he having an asthma attack?

He threw a dark, resentful glare in my direction. My pendant! You made me lose it! He had a hint of an accent, a slight musical lilt I couldn’t quite place.

"I made you—? I began, but he was racing around in circles, bent over in half, searching the soft grass at our feet, mewling in grief and fear. His distress was palpable. What did it look like?" Which was a stupid question. It looked like a pendant, probably the only one that had been lost here today.

Ruby and I began searching, dodging passing dogs and their owners. I hoped those trotting feet from both two-legged and four-legged visitors wouldn’t stir things up so much that what the kid was looking for would sink into the ground and be permanently lost.

Five minutes passed, then eight, and the child was near frantic. Moaning, pulling at his hair, moving around on hands and knees, face close to the ground.

I felt a weird sense of responsibility. It didn’t matter that he’d been caught committing a misdemeanor against me and my park; his anguish was so palpable I felt it as if it was mine. I intensified my search, and like him I got down on all-fours, silently praying to the god of lost things for help.

He must have listened, because moments later I spotted a glimmer in the grass and reached for it. In my palm lay a golden winged angel, cradling a baby in her arms, a beatific smile on her lips. It was exquisite, but something told me that the piece of jewelry itself meant less to him than the person he associated it with did.

Here, I said softly, holding it out.

He grabbed it without saying thank you, causing Ruby to do that familiar lip-twist of hers. I decided to give the kid a break, not bothering to reprimand him about his manners. He was already in deep enough trouble as it was. I motioned back toward the office, and to my surprise, once he had clasped the chain around his neck, meekly followed me, head down. Looking so beaten I felt sorry for him.

We’re going to have to call your mom, I said gently as I fished my keys out of my jogging sweats and opened up the office.

No answer.

I persisted firmly, refusing to put up with any stonewalling. Can I have her number?

Ruby spoke up, Boy, big people talking to you. You better—

My mom’s dead, he answered dully, not looking at either of us. The words rang low and deep, as if rising up toward us through hollows in the earth.

I’m sorry, I said sympathetically. Who takes care of you, then?

My father, he answered glumly, and before I could ask for the man’s number, the boy pulled out his phone and sent a text. Then he sat there in my visitor’s chair looking hangdog and defeated. A prisoner waiting for sunup to come so he could begin walking the green mile.

Less than ten minutes later, a navy-blue SUV skated up to the parking lot outside, causing both me and Ruby to lift our heads. What we saw made us both suck in a breath.

The guy who stepped out cut an imposing figure: he was tall, with precisely cut, dark blond hair, broad shoulders embraced by a tailored navy pinstriped suit that fit like only a custom suit could. His black patent-leather shoes shone like volcanic glass. His eyes were obscured by thin-rimmed glasses darkened by the daylight, but even without looking into them I could tell he was furious.

I could also tell he was gorgeous—as could Ruby.

My, oh my, she breathed. Looky, looky.

I knew what she meant. He was well worth staring at; matter of fact, I couldn’t drag my eyes away. It was like that scene in a movie when the actor playing the president steps down from Air Force One and stalks up to the bruised and battered action hero to demand an update on ‘the situation’.

And then he sneezed, and the effect shifted from commanding to comical. Sneezed again, glared almost accusingly at the trees and bushes surrounding him, and hurried for the front entrance.

Hay fever, I guessed, but I wasn’t about to throw a pity party.

He opened the door to the small lobby without knocking, and I could see on the CCTV that he was heading straight to my office without even glancing around. As if he knew his way. As if he owned the damn place.

Mildly miffed, I rushed to the door and opened it before he had the chance, noting as I did so that the kid behind me shrank a little more into his chair. As ill-behaved as he’d been, I felt sorry for him.

Hot Dad seemed to have recovered from his sneezing fit. He gave me the