Falling in Long Beach

By Maria Connor

When Renee Belmont wakes up with a blinding hangover, she thinks things can't get any worse. She's wrong. Oh, so wrong. Her best friend and boyfriend who made the cross-country trip from Toledo, Ohio, to Long Beach, California, with her have run off together—in her car, where her secret stash of cash is hidden!—leaving her stranded with nothing but one measly suitcase.

When Long Beach Police Officer Zac Jones encounters Renee on a park bench, his initial assumption is that she's high, homeless, or a plain ol' hot mess. But something rings true when she reluctantly confesses the trouble she's in, and he offers her a temporary job helping care for his grandmother, promising to do what he can to track down her stolen car.

Although Renee is the one in dire straits, Zac soon discovers she isn't the only person who needs to be rescued.


Falling in Long Beach is a sexy, sassy contemporary romance set against the small town vibes of Long Beach's historic neighborhoods and vibrant waterfront. Come along and fall in love on the beach.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EmKay Connor
• Release date: Jul 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223601487

Book preview

Chapter One

Renee Belmont had only been to the symphony once. On a fifth-grade field trip. Most of the instruments bored her, but she remembered sitting up in the velvet-upholstered seat when they demonstrated the timpani. The drum’s thunderous timbre resonated through the building and then up through the soles of her sneakers until she felt the heavy tone vibrate through her whole body.

Borrowing under the blanket and pulling the pillow over her head, she wondered who was banging one of those huge metal drums outside her room on the fourteenth floor of The Westin Long Beach hotel. Every muscle in her body throbbed in time with the rhythmic pounding.

As the drumming reached a crescendo, Renee moaned, rolled to the edge of the bed, and stumbled through the darkness to the bathroom. On her knees in front of the toilet, arms hugging the frigid porcelain, she realized the little drummer boy was inside her head. And he’d just thrown the switch that sent her careening, as if riding the world’s twistiest, turniest roller coaster.

Her stomach heaved, and chunks of last night’s Mexican dinner splashed into the bowl. Grossed out by the sound, she puked a second and third time until there was nothing but the acidic burn of bile down her throat. Struggling to an upright position, she groped her way to the sink, sliding her palm over the wall for the light switch. Eyes clenched against the blinding glare, she cautiously opened first the left, then the right. Through narrowed slits, she examined her reflection in the mirror.

Her dark hair hung in knotted hanks, a greasy gray pallor tinting her face. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her hand shook as she yanked the cold-water knob to full capacity, bending to drink greedily from the spigot.

How many margaritas did she have last night? Three? Four? She’d lost track when Keith started ordering tequila shots. Her stomach threatened to revolt again, so she pushed away thoughts of limes and salt and alcohol. Thirst quenched, she cupped her hands under the flow of water, splashing her face repeatedly.

She cranked off the water, stunned to realize the thumping had started back up. She blinked and raised a tremulous hand to her forehead before she realized someone was pounding on the hotel room door.

Jenn! Keith? Can one of you get that? Clad in nothing but her underwear, Renee tried to remember undressing. Sheesh, she didn’t even remember returning to the hotel. An unsettling mix of shame and resentment started her stomach churning again. Keith and Jenn knew she was a lightweight when it came to drinking. They’d ignored her protests last night, insisting it was a celebration and later calling her boooor-ing. Ultimately, though, accountability rested with her. She could have said no. She should have said no.

Guys! Exasperated and on the edge of puking again, she grabbed a t-shirt and pair of sweats off the bathroom floor, dragging them on as the banging grew louder.

Most of the room lay in darkness, save for the small wedge illuminated by light from the bathroom. Pressing the door open wider, she saw bedding strewn on the floor, both beds vacant. The corner where they’d stashed their luggage was empty except for her faded pink backpack.

Jenni… Her voice trailed off, a week’s worth of suspicions clogging her throat. No. Jenn wouldn’t betray her like that. They’d been friends since their freshman year at Hobart High. Ten years later, Jenn was like a sister.

Keith, though…

There had to be a logical explanation. Right?

The pounding abruptly stopped, replaced by the swipe and chirp of a keycard followed by the metallic click of the door handle.

Management, called out an authoritative female voice.

Just a min⁠—

Miss Belmont? A tall, fifty-something woman in a navy blazer, white blouse, and gray skirt stepped into the room, accompanied by a Hispanic man in a similar uniform. Both wore wary expressions. Are you Renee Belmont? the woman asked.

Y-y-yes. Smoothing back a wayward strand of hair, she tried to compose herself. Is there a problem?

That depends. Is there anyone else here with you? The woman’s eyes skipped around the room, her posture relaxing a bit once her careful risk assessment was completed.

Not—her voice cracked—not now.

Do you realize it’s one o’clock? Check-out is eleven. We tried charging your credit card to close out your stay, and it was declined. Hands folded at her waist, the manager’s words were clipped, her tone brusque. Please pack your items immediately. Luis will wait outside and then accompany you to the front desk. In the meantime, if you have another card, I’ll take it and have the paperwork ready for you.

I don’t have another card. Face red-hot, she looked around the room, searching for her purse. Let me find my wallet so you can run it again. There wasn’t a problem when we checked in yesterday afternoon. Her black leather bag was nowhere in sight. Aside from the disarray of the bedclothes, the room was neat and orderly. Panic began rising like tidewaters in her chest, cutting off her breath, making it hard to think. She tossed the sheets, praying she was wrong.

Miss Belmont⁠—

No! You don’t understand. She whirled to face the manager, white-knuckling fistfuls of rumpled cotton as