Kimberly Meter - Playing the Part

Trouble in paradise

If Lindy Bell had her way, she’d still be in L.A., partying and angling for her next acting job. But a crisis at the family’s resort has surfaced, and who can ignore the call of duty? Still, duty would be easier to take if she didn’t have a bratty kid making trouble. Too bad the dad, Gabe Weston, can’t seem to put down his phone long enough to see his daughter needs his attention.

When Lindy points out to Gabe the error of his ways, sparks fly and she has his undivided attention. Unexpectedly, the three of them—Lindy, Gabe and his daughter—bond in a serious way. Such a serious way, in fact, that Lindy may be auditioning for a new role she never considered before....

“I don’t do casual.”

Gabe’s solemn expression added weight to his warning.

“And I don’t do relationships...at least not well,” Lindy amended with a subtle frown. “So what do we do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? I don’t think that’s going to work. We’re both dealing with some hefty attraction, right? I mean, I know I’m not in a one-sided situation in this. So...maybe we should just kiss and get it out of our system and see what happens.”

“I know where kissing leads,” Gabe said, his eyebrow lifting in a sexy yet sardonic arch that Lindy found insanely attractive. “Don’t you?”

“I have an idea,” she murmured, biting her lip against the surge of arousal that followed his silky statement. “And that’s bad?”

Dear Reader,

Lindy and Gabe...what can I say about them, other than wow. Simply put, I loved writing their love story because both needed to grow and change before they were ready for the commitment of a relationship. And they did so, beautifully.

Peeling back the layers of complex people is one of the perks of my job as a writer, and I had a ball exposing these characters’ vulnerable spots for all the world to see. It’s a deep, soulful journey that I hope you will enjoy as you spend some more time at Larimar with the Bells as they live and learn as a Family in Paradise.

You won’t want to miss Lilah and Justin’s story, Something to Believe In, coming in January 2013.

Hearing from readers is a special joy. Please feel free to drop me a line via email through my website at www.kimberlyvanmeter.com, or by snail mail at Kimberly Van Meter, P.O. Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361.

Kimberly Van Meter

Kimberly Van Meter

Playing the Part

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kimberly Van Meter wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for the Harlequin Superromance and Harlequin Romantic Suspense lines. She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

To my firstborn son, Sebastian,

as he finishes one journey to start another.

I hope you find every success out there

in the world. I love you.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

LINDY BELL STARED in growing horror, the plunger dangling from her fingertips ineffectual against the choking, gurgling and overflowing toilet that was burping water all over the tiled floor of Bungalow 2 at her grandparents’ resofrt, Larimar. She jumped out of the way before disgusting toilet water washed over her flip-flops. Oh, yes, most definitely, without a doubt—this was hell. And she was going to kill her sister for dragging her here and then putting her on maintenance detail just because she knew the difference between a Phillips head screwdriver and a flat head.

Normally, Heath Cannon—her sister’s boyfriend—was in charge of the maintenance but he’d fallen off the roof and banged himself up pretty bad so he wasn’t going to be any help for a while. It wasn’t that she minded pitching in—hell, she was here, wasn’t she?—but right now, she wanted to murder someone.

She caught movement at the corner of her eye and turned just in time to see a small blond head duck and disappear as light laughter tinkled after her.

“You monster,” she muttered, dropping the plunger to chase after the girl, not caring at the moment that she was supposed to be the adult because she was about to tie the little nuisance to the nearest tree. “What did you stick down there this time?” she shouted, rounding the corner and nearly skidding into a tall man who was sheltering the aforementioned monster in his arms as if Lindy were the villain and the kid was actually a victim.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, rubbing the girl’s back with soothing and gentle motions, as if Lindy had traumatized her. If anyone was suffering from an emotional upheaval it was Lindy. Being dragged to Cruz Bay in the Virgin Islands on family business and forced on janitor duty was punishment for crimes she hadn’t even committed yet. Unemployment sucked but unemployment in the entertainment industry was downright brutal. Her last gig had lasted only a few months and now she was on the hunt again, or rather, her agent should be hunting. In the meantime she had no choice but to stick it out at the resort with her sisters. At the moment she was looking at troubleshooting a clogged toilet—joy of all joys—that seemed to have been filled with sand, by the looks of it.

“May I ask why you’re chasing my daughter with murder in your eyes?” the man asked.

“Probably because I want to kill the little brat,” Lindy quipped, her kicked-up heart rate keeping time with her temper. “She filled the toilet with sand.”

“How do you know it was Carys?” he asked stiffly, but Lindy suspected it was an act. Anyone with a kid that wretched had to know they had the devil’s spawn on their hands. “Maybe the problem is simply the fault of the plumbing.”

“Yeah, sure. It can’t have anything to do with the beaches’ worth of sand she poured down its throat. Or the fact that this isn’t the first time maintenance has been called for problems with your toilet. Last week we fished five ties—presumably yours—from the trap.” At his startled look, she smirked. “You ought to check your underwear drawer. She might be throwing your boxers away next.”

“She’s lying, Daddy,” the little heathen shouted before burying her face in his Hawaiian shirt. Nothing said I’m on vacation more than a rayon shirt with giant magnolias on it. Lindy looked away in disgust as the girl fervently assured her father. “I didn’t put the sand in the toilet, Daddy. I swear it.”

“This is the first I’m hearing about the previous incident,” he answered, having at least the grace to look discomfited by the revelation. “Five ties?”

“Yeah. Five. Expensive looking, too. We threw them out because they were mangled.” Ugh. That kid of his was a great testament as to why some animals ate their young.

“Perhaps it was an accident....”

“Whatever,” Lindy said, exasperated and severely annoyed by the whole situation and the man’s inability to admit that his precious daughter was a nightmare. Turning on her heel, she added over her shoulder, “Expect to see a plumbing bill on your invoice. Thanks for staying at Larimar. Please feel free not to come again.”