Carlys crush, p.1
Carly's Crush, page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Carly’s Crush
Maddie Taylor
Copyright © 2018 by Maddie Taylor
All rights reserved.
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Published in the United States of America
First Electronic Edition: February 2018
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Cover Art/Design by Fantasia Frog Designs
Cover Photo by RomanceNovelCovers.com
Editing by Wizards of Publishing
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and as such, any similarity to existing persons, places, or events must be considered purely coincidental.
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This book contains content for adult audiences and is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.
For mature readers, only.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Other Titles by Maddie Taylor
More Titles by Maddie Taylor
Chapter One
WITH A LOUD RIP, CARLY Mackenzie tore off the packing tape and folded back the cardboard flaps on the huge carton. Silks and satins in an array of brilliant jewel tones greeted her eager eyes. She hummed with a mix of excitement and relief. This was the last of the new Valentine’s Day stock, and when the contents of the other three boxes revealed mostly black, with the occasional item in uninspiring, virginal white, she worried she’d have to resort to a tired old-Hollywood theme for her window display.
Carly held up a stunning backless chemise in eggplant and grinned. “Thank heaven the lingerie gods have excellent taste and sent me scarlet, sapphire, and purple.”
With what could only be described as reverence, she carefully unpacked everything from imported charmeuse robes, to hand-stitched camisoles, to delicate French silk panties. Every item she withdrew was a designer original, each more beautiful than the last, and all appallingly expensive. She was in heaven.
Putting it plainly; Carly loved lingerie, the lacier, the sexier, the better. What girl didn’t?
Okay, maybe she had more of a fascination with underwear than the next girl, but she was elbows deep in it on an almost daily basis. And this wasn’t the stiff, scratchy, cheap stuff; it was the very best of the best, made of the most exquisite fabrics, so unbelievably soft it was like a sensual dream against the skin. In fact, with the treasures she discovered in the last box, if a lace-induced orgasm were possible, she’d be lying face down on the floor in a puddle right now.
Carly’s problem? She had 5th Avenue taste, on a bargain-basement budget.
She blamed her costly intimate-wear obsession on Sweet Nothings, the boutique where she worked four nights a week. Located in the Northpointe Towne Centre, an upscale mall near three of the most affluent suburbs of the city, the shop’s clientele could afford the best, and demanded it. This meant it was imperative the boutique carried only the very finest, ultra-exclusive labels: Lise Charmel, Eberjey, and Samantha Chang, to name a few.
Monica, the owner, gave her employees a generous discount. But even at 40 percent off, on Carly’s barely over minimum wage salary, she still couldn’t afford to buy anything, not when a single pair of La Perla boy shorts went for $360. For that kind of money, she could buy enough cotton panty ten-packs at Walmart to last a decade, maybe two.
So, she lived vicariously through the store’s wealthy customers. And, she found working there a welcome escape from studying, doing tax returns, and keeping books for the few private clients she had. She enjoyed it so much, she’d been giving a good deal of thought to staying on after she finished graduate school in the spring. Most of her other clients’ businesses were in the mall, and Monica let her use the space in the back of the shop and the computer whenever she needed. This saved the added expense of an office. All things combined, if she scrimped and saved for a few years, maybe then, she’d be able to swing $200 for skimpy hipster panties.
Another bonus of working at Sweet Nothings, she got to design the corner window display. It was purely an indulgence, but she had the eye for it. And it was a good thing too. Monica knew quality, had excellent taste in fabrics, and stocked her store with the right designer names which induced her customers to fork over a small fortune for the barely-there underthings. But the woman lacked creativity and had no concept of how to arrange her merchandise to its advantage. There was a fine line between sexy and vulgar, and it took finesse and inspiration to make the sheer thongs and see-through demi-bras appear classy instead of skanky and something you’d find in the triple-X adult shops lining the road out by the airport.
Today, eager to get started on the new Valentine’s display, she’d come to work an hour early. She was already elbows deep in briefs, chemises, and several thong bodysuits which were smoking hot and probably too risqué for her to use in the display. While dressing a mannequin in a sexy little red camisole and panty set, a loud shriek from somewhere outside the shop startled her enough to make her jump. When she looked up, she saw bags flying every which way and an older woman collapsed against the second-floor railing. Carly leaped up, a split-second from rushing out to help, when three other shoppers moved in to assist her.
While they assisted the shaken woman, she took a step closer to the glass and scanned the area for the two boys—the probable instigators—who’d been running in circles around the mezzanine overlook for the past half hour. She spotted them at the far end of the enclosed railing, not slowing a fraction as they rounded the corner to begin another lap.
They couldn’t have been more than ten, maybe eleven—old enough to know better, but evidently too immature to be left unattended. From her vantage point, surrounded on three sides by glass, she’d seen several shoppers and a few irritated store owners tell them to stop. They did, only to start up again a few minutes later.
Carly had worked in the boutique for three years and had seen this before. It would continue until someone called security and made Mom or Dad haul their misbehaving kids’ butts out of there. She could only hope it happened before someone got seriously hurt.
Unruly, unsupervised kids were an occasional annoyance throughout the mall, but on this level, it happened on a regular basis. The reason? The overlook, which was like a magnet to kids. Making it an even greater draw, the three-tiered fountain which shot nearly thirty feet in the air, and the best view was from the second level where observers could watch the water dance before their eyes.
“I called security. If those menaces aren’t stopped, someone’s going to be more than shaken up after being body slammed into the railing.”
She glanced over to find Sherry, the assistant manager, standing beside her. Carly frowned, confounded by how she’d managed to enter the display case without her noticing. Whenever she opened the sliding doors that served as the backdrop for the windows, they dragged in the metal track and often got jammed completely. Unsticking them, despite spraying them liberally with WD40 required force, at least for her, and made one heck of a racket.
Her frown deepened when she noticed the doors were closed, which meant they opened and shut for Sherry without making a sound. What the frick?
“What peeves me most is parents,” her supervisor went on to say, “who let their brats race around terrorizing the entire mall while they leisurely shop.”
Just then, the two hooligans ran in front of the boutique shouting at the top of their lungs. She would have laughed at their timing, if she didn’t think steam would hiss from Sherry’s ears.
“We’re not a daycare center, for cripe’s sake,” she snapped angrily. “And it’s not as though the rich bitches who shop here can’t afford a nanny.”
They both watched the boys pushing and shoving one another trying to be first around the end, then racing down the other side, oblivious, or simply not caring that dozens of shoppers and irate store managers glared at them as they passed.
“Absentee parents,” Carly muttered heatedly seeing the older woman limp away with help. “Kids don’t have manners or get disciplined anymore. I’ve got to wonder, though, what the designers and whoever signed off on the fountain were thinking. Anyone who knows kids, or with a hint of intelligence would know they’d be drawn to it. And they designed the overlook so it’s like a race track. I grew up with three younger brothers. Boys are compelled to chase each other. They can’t help it. I think it’s in their DNA.” She flung her hand toward the boys as they ran by once again. “They had to know this would be the result.”
“I’m surprised one of the little hellions hasn’t tried to dive off the rail into the fountain. It’s eighteen inches deep. They’d go splat!” Sherry clapped her hands once for effect making her flinch. “And there’d be nothing left but an oil slick in the water below and a bad memory.”
Carly grimaced as the graphic image formed in her head. “Don’t even think about something like that, and for darn sure don’t say it where any kids can hear. You might give them ideas.”
At the sound of heavy footsteps, they both leaned forward, cheeks almost touching the glass trying to see who was coming their way.
“That’s security I bet,” Sherry predicted. “They’ll handle these delinquents.”
Expecting Curt, the usual evening shift guard, when a different man came into view Carly’s heart ticked up a few beats. Wearing a navy-blue polo with “Security” embroidered in gold over the left pec, he was bigger, taller—topping Curt’s six-foot frame by several inches—and a whole lot more intimidating than the smaller man ever thought to be. The pair of rowdy fifth graders were about to get a much-needed wakeup call from Trent Jacobs, the badass owner of Jacobs Security, himself.
He appeared to survey the area without pausing, quickly keyed in on the troublemakers, and moved to intercept them. His path took him directly by where she and Sherry stood. With a small, shy smile, Carly raised her hand, ready to give him a little wave, but when he passed without so much as glance her way, she dropped it quickly. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. At least it’s what she told herself.
Not taking her eyes from him, she noticed how his long legs ate up large distances with each stride. For a man of his size, he moved with agility and unexpected masculine grace. She wasn’t surprised when he quickly overtook his targets.
“What’s Trent doing here?” Carly asked.
“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you,” Sherry exclaimed, turning to her with a wide, happy grin. “Curt’s wife had her baby this morning; a ten-pound, nine-ounce, future linebacker, bless her heart. Trent’s filling in, and I heard he’ll be doing it a few nights a week for a while because one of the other guys is on medical leave.” Sherry nudged her in the side with an elbow. “Guess you’re all broken up to hear that, huh?”
She ignored her, used to the teasing, and went right on ogling the incredibly fit, NBA tall, bodybuilder cut, movie-star handsome, ex-Special Forces captain-turned-security specialist along with at least a dozen equally appreciative women in the vicinity.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, scolding as it had in her childhood. It isn’t polite to stare, Carly Ann.
But she couldn’t drag her eyes away. From his thick, wavy, slightly overlong hair—the dark rich color reminding her of the no foam macchiato espresso she guzzled on the way to class every morning—to his incredible upper body which was outlined deliciously in his snug shirt. Trent Jacobs was gorgeous.
He had a trim waist, lean hips, and the best ass she’d seen in her twenty-seven years on this earth. And right then, his rear end, in dark washed denim, was pointed her way. That’s because he’d corralled the boys into a corner, and with his back to her, had bent forward in a half-squat, his hands braced on his thickly muscled thighs to face them on their level. This stance stretched his already close-fitted jeans tautly across his perfect backside.
Carly knew without question other eyes were taking in the same view, and she bet hearts were going pitter-pat as panties got drenched up and down the second-floor mezzanine. And for damn sure, she wasn’t immune to him either. In fact, a groan slipped out.
Beside her, Sherry chuckled.
She ignored that too. All the girls at work knew of her infatuation with Trent, unrequited though it was. It was such common knowledge, they created a nickname, calling him Carly’s Crush—though never within hearing distance of the big guy. Their teasing was reserved solely for her and accompanied by well-intended though unsolicited advice.
“Go for it,” was Sherry’s recommendation. “Men appreciate straightforwardness. Tell him you want to jump his bones, or vice versa.”
But brazenness, by making the first move, or bone jumping of any kind weren’t skills she possessed, especially with a man who was as sexy as he was intimidating.
Deirdre, one of the older women on staff, had offered different advice. “Flirt with him, honey. Turn your baby blues his way and bat those long eyelashes. He’ll get the idea, especially if you lick your lips when you talk to him. If he still doesn’t take the hint, twist a finger around one of those strawberry blonde curls. Oh, I almost forgot the most important part.” This was where the plan had gone south for Carly. “Undo your blouse several buttons. No man can resist a flash of tits.”
To this day, her jaw dropped when she replayed the encounter in her mind. The sixty-year-old grandmother of eight had used the word tits. Eek!
Others had offered suggestions, each one growing bolder and more outrageous. Being shy by nature, she didn’t have a prayer of executing any of them without her blushes setting off the sprinkler system and flooding the place.
But she had to do something.
As she contemplated Trent’s butt aimed her way, she briefly wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Undeniably handsome, with the body of an Adonis, heads turned and covetous female eyes stared wherever he went. He had to know he attracted attention. The thing about Trent, though, was he hadn’t let the fact he was all-that go to his head. Unlike the hardbodies at her gym, he wasn’t always flexing and showing off. Although, as ripped as he was, he could give any of them competition.
She nixed the ridiculous idea as soon as it came to her because Trent wasn’t like that. And, judging by the stern expression she’d seen on his face when he strode past her window, he was totally focused on the miscreants in front of him.
But she couldn’t deny it stung when he hadn’t acknowledged her, not sparing her so much as a glance, a nod, or the cool-as-crap two-fingered, flick-of-his-hand greeting she’d seen him give others in passing.
Being hurt was unreasonable. He was busy. Intent on doing his job. But crushes weren’t rational, and she’d nurtured the one she had on Trent for a long time. She wanted him to notice her as a woman, one he might feel romantically inclined toward, and tried every subtle way she could think of to get his attention. Yet, to her utter frustration, he seemed blind to her efforts and treated her the same as every other shop girl, which, in a mall the size of Northpointe, numbered in the hundreds.
Trent was friendly, spoke to her whenever their paths crossed, and he teased her. Not in a flirtatious way, which would have been welcome and given her a glimmer of hope he might feel more. Instead, it was how a man would tease a female friend, or worse, a kid sister.
But Carly didn’t need another friend, or a brother—she already had three of those—and she didn’t want nice. She’d dated nice guys in the past, but they were boring, especially in bed. She wanted the man from her daydreams. Someone tall, strong, and ruggedly handsome. He’d be dominant. Not a thug or a jerk, but with natural authority and confidence to go after what he wanted and get it. And high up there on her perfect man checklist, a skilled lover, one who would not only take the lead but rock her world between the sheets.
Maybe she’d seen too many romantic comedies, but, after her last boyfriend who stopped every other minute during sex to ask if he was doing it right, she wanted the dream. Trent was that dream, and she refused to settle for anything less.
After observing him for months, she decided Trent checked off all the characteristics on her list. She admired his calm, capable demeanor. He was friendly, polite, and everyone who worked at Northpointe spoke of what a great guy he was. Despite this, and because he didn’t outwardly flaunt his authority, she felt certain he had a badass simmering inside him. Wasn’t it a prerequisite for the Special Forces? Even if he hadn’t served and had worked at a ritzy mall all his life, she would have known by simply looking at him.
Some of the girls at the boutique had seen him in action, either with a shoplifter, or an irate customer who had more money than social skills. They’d gushed as they told of how Trent had stepped in, diffused the potentially volatile situation—something rare at Northpointe—and did it all with a quiet authority.
She’d learned from Curt, he’d been the same way in the Army. Except now, rather than dodging bullets and IEDs, and leading men on missions more dangerous than she dared imagine, he dealt with demanding shop owners, impossible to satisfy rich snobs, and their entitled brats.
It was no wonder he stayed calm and cool during a crisis. Compared to being in danger constantly, running his own company had to be a breeze—albeit annoying at times.
She couldn’t see any outward effect of his years serving abroad. Pretty much, you got what you saw—a usually easygoing, frequent to laugh, capable man who could be counted on in a crisis, something rare at Northpointe. But it didn’t mean he didn’t have a temper.
