He Belongs With Me

He Belongs With Me

SARAH DARLINGTON

HE BELONGS WITH ME

Copyright © 2014 Sarah Darlington

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

The characters and events portrayed in his book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Editor: S.G. Thomas

Find Sarah online:
www.sarahdarlingtonauthor.blogspot.com

To my Aunt Michelle, for giving me my first romance novel

PROLOGUE

CLARA

My dad, the one and only Reed Ryder, had been golfing professionally for the last quarter century. As a younger man, Dad was the shit. Golf’s golden boy. Insanely good looking. All-American. Dad’s likeability factor propelled his celebrity status to legendary overnight. Riding the waves of his new success and fame, he met my Mom—a Southern beauty with golden curls and an unbreakable spirit. The two fell madly in love, were married, and had perfect twin baby girls. Wanting a retreat for his new family that was out of the media spotlight, Dad built a beautiful house and a country club in the southern Virginia town of Blue Creek.

Talk about a golfer's wet dream. The Reed Ryder Country Club, located in the middle of nowhere, was like no other. With the help of his best friend—Leonardo Maddox the second, heir to the Maddox Hotel fortune—Dad spent millions designing and perfecting the ultimate golf getaway. Word quickly spread about the lush ‘little slice of heaven’ nestled the Blue Ridge Mountains and soon others wanted in. Mr. Maddox built a luxurious hotel to accommodate the numerous vacationers and even more of the wealthy flocked in, which resulted in grand vacation homes popping up all over Blue Creek. So that's how the Reed Ryder Country Club came into existence, and how the once quiet town of Blue Creek, Virginia made its mark on the map.

The golfer, the beautiful wife, the twin girls, the best friend and his family, the country club in the mountains…this is our story.

And oh yeah, for the record, he most definitely belongs with
me
.

CHAPTER 1

MAGGIE

Desperation kept me from falling as I stumbled across the gravel parking lot in my red, Jimmy Choo, sky-high stilettos. God help me. I was about to enter the grungiest, ugliest, most run-down bar in the city—Mike’s Pub. I'd driven past this place countless times but never dared go inside.

Until now.

My mission—my one care in the world at this moment—was to find a guy named Dean. My plan was to ask him to be my date. Tonight, the Reed Ryder Country Club was hosting its official gala to kick off the summer season and who better to accompany me than a total stranger, right? Judging by the bar I was about to enter, Dean was better off staying a stranger. Nevertheless, that's why he'd be perfect for this evening.

The goal tonight: shock and awe. A new rumor involving me, one that was unfortunately true, would begin to circulate soon, and maybe if I created a rumor of my own I could trump the first. My plan was juvenile, but it was all I had. I'd been to three other bars looking for this guy. If I couldn't find him here, then I'd be forced to head to the dance dateless. He
had
to be here.

As I approached the front door of Mike's, several middle-aged men—cigarettes and beers in hand—stared open-mouthed at me. I drew attention in my crimson-red Zac Posen dress, the lush material clinging to my petite body like a second skin. The dress had a long slit up one leg that would make Jennifer Lopez proud. To top off my elegant look, I’d worn my naturally platinum-blonde hair parted far to one side, circa 1920s. My hair had natural wave to it, but I'd straightened and then re-curled it in big waves to ensure that the style was just right. And it was perfect, though I hardly looked my age or appropriate for such a dive bar.

Keeping my head held high, I passed several men concealed by clouds of smoke and pushed my way through the heavy double doors into the unknown. Gulping down any remaining fear, I dared my first glance around at my surroundings. If I'd thought the outside was bad, the inside was worse…much worse. The rotting floorboards reeked of urine and mold, and the clientele wasn't much better—beer bellies and mullets were in plentiful supply. I was pretty positive all horror films started in places like this.

The infamous Dean—apparently some sort of walking sex on a stick—couldn't possibly be any of these strangers. I was beginning to think he was more fairytale than real life anyway, and therefore my brilliant idea to ask him to be my date took a nosedive straight into the trash. Settling for someone else wasn't an option either. If I wanted to shock and awe, then I couldn't arrive with Mr. Shockingly Awful. Going to the gala dateless, as pathetic as that would be, seemed like my only choice.

Accepting defeat, I headed back toward the door when a woman with the body of a flagpole approached me. She wore a tight-fitted white t-shirt, a server's apron, and a plastered-on smile. Her eyes took in my dress with envy. “Ain't you a fancy one? Ya lookin' fer someone?” Like any local in town, her voice carried a strong Appalachian dialect. Thankfully, my speech carried no trace of that distinctly southern Virginia twang, even though I had to try my best to hide it sometimes.

“Do you, by chance, know a guy named Dean? I'm not sure what his last name is.”

Realization dawned on her face. “I shoulda guessed you'd be here fer him.” The bony woman whipped around and, in no particular direction, yelled, “Dean! I found ya 'nother stray!” before facing me again. “He's workin' at the bar. Good luck, sugar. You'll need it.”

The server's slightly back-handed comments might have bothered me on a regular day, but not under the current circumstances and not with the clock ticking against me. The dance started fifteen minutes ago and this would be my only shot at a date. I sure hoped this Dean guy was everything Anita said he would be. He just
had
to be.

I got my first glimpse of the man working behind the counter and knew he was the one I'd been searching for.
Hello, Mr. Hottie-Boom-Body.
Early twenties, wickedly handsome, and totally worth the nightmare I’d suffered through to find him—
thank you, Anita.
But it wasn't just his pretty face that made him the perfect choice, it was his size. Between his height, width, and all the muscle in between, his size demanded attention. If I could show up with him tonight, then everyone on the gala guest list would notice. He was everything shock and awe had to offer. Now I just needed to convince him to be my date.

I walked confidently toward him like his looks weren't overwhelming. His light honey-colored, almost golden eyes locked with mine. Despite the low lighting, they stood out against his ruffled, brown hair. There was a sexy warmth about him that reminded me of something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Whatever it was, it made him the perfect choice for tonight. Not quite what I’d been expecting—better.

“You must be Dean,” I said, finally face-to-face with the guy I'd spent the last two hours trying to hunt down. Well, face-to-chest. He stood well over a foot taller than me, and up close, the intimidation factor was almost too much to bear. Behind the counter, his big hands worked quickly as they expertly mixed different drinks. I couldn’t help but think about what
else
he could do with those hands. At that thought, I tried to remind myself that my motivations tonight were strictly business. A slight smile formed on his lips and it helped me regain some confidence.

“You
are
Dean, right?”

The corners of his mouth reached wider into an even more charming smile. Did I amuse him or was the dress working its magic? He leaned over the bar to get a better look at me, and I tried not to feel flustered as he gave me the once-over.

“Who's asking?” His voice was gruff and completely void of any accent.
Interesting.

“My name's Maggie Ryder.”

“As in Reed Ryder, the golf pro?”

“Yes, Reed is my dad.”

“Well then, what can I do for you, Maggie Ryder?”

There was no easy way to say what I came here to say, so I just blurted it out. “I know this is going to sound insane, but I need a date. There's a big party at my dad's golf club tonight and I absolutely, positively cannot show up alone. I need you. I need you to be my date. And I need this to happen like ten minutes ago.”

He chuckled and handed a mixed drink to a customer down the bar. When he returned, he looked as if he was waiting for me to say, “Gotcha,” but this was no joking matter. I waited for his response, and when it became clear I wasn’t messing around, the easy smile left his face.

“That's an odd request. Why me?”

I twirled a curl of my hair between two fingers—something I often did when under scrutiny—and tried to keep an even face. “I want something...um,
someone
different. Look, my reasons are kind of personal and I don't feel like getting into the details. I understand it's a lot to ask on such short notice, but I'm kind of desperate. Can you help me or not?”

“You're a pretty girl. I’m sure you've got the boys lined up. Besides, as you can see,” he said, indicating the dirty dive bar with a wave of one of his strong arms, “I'm kind of working.”

My eyes were having trouble leaving those arms. He certainly wasn’t a boy and I certainly wasn't after a boy. “I could pay you for your time. A couple hours, that's all I'm asking. Can you find someone to cover your shift? I'll wait if I have to.”

His jaw tightened, telling me his answer was ‘no.’

“Pretty please.”

“I can't,” he stated, his voice firm and unwavering. “I'm not an escort service.”

Shame rose to my cheeks. He was right. I hadn't realized the insanity of my request until now. Did I really think I could pay a stranger to be my date? My life wasn't an eighties movie and this sure as heck wasn’t
Can't Buy Me Love.
This guy had morals. Where were mine? Maybe it was because of his good looks, but I suddenly felt all the embarrassment I should have earlier.

“You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have wasted your time.”

I turned tail and hurried for the exit, past all the lingering eyes, and back into the cool night air.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
As fast as my Jimmy Choos would allow, I raced to my Porsche 911, aka Baby, desperate to put Mike's Pub and Dean in my rearview mirror. But it wasn't my outlandish idea that bothered me so much, it was how quick Dean had turned me down. I'd known the guy for all of five seconds and somehow he'd gotten to me.

Digging for my keys with shaky hands, I dropped my purse and its contents onto the gravel.
Dang it!
I bent over to gather my things, put my purse back in order, and when I made it back on my feet, a cry of shock left my lips—Dean.

Taking no notice of the heart attack he'd just given me, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and said, “I could trade a favor for a favor.” Gone was the apprehension I'd seen moments ago and instead, amusement lingered on his lips. Was he bipolar or something? “Money turns me into a slut. A favor, that's different.”

“What? You'll do it?” I asked, though inwardly wondering if I even still
wanted
him as my date. This guy just took confusing to a whole new level.

“That's what I just said.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What kind of favor?”

He shrugged. “One to be redeemed at a later date.”

“What exactly does
that
mean?”

“It means I don't know what I want right this moment. Nothing sexual or illegal, of course.” He cocked
his
eyebrow at me. “But maybe later I'll want something in return. Does that sound fair to you?”

I stared up at his face and tried to decipher his motives. He wasn't just some backwoods country bumpkin. He was smart—smarter than his bartending job might lead one to believe. I could tell that much from the moment he first opened his mouth.

“You want me to cash you a blank check?”

“When you put it that way, you make me sound like some sleazy politician. But yes, I want a blank check. Those are my terms.”

“Nothing sexual or illegal, right?”

As he nodded, I realized that I was fine with the whole favor-for-a-favor thing, and I certainly wouldn’t complain if I had to see him again in the future. So at this point, we were just wasting time.

“Deal.” I jutted out my hand out for him to shake. “One favor to be redeemed at a later date.”

“Deal,” he said, taking my hand in his. “Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Maggie Ryder.”

AN HOUR HAD PASSED since I made my agreement with Dean and I'd spent every minute of it waiting. Waiting for him to find a replacement to cover his shift at the bar. Waiting for him to make a random phone call—probably to a girlfriend or something. Waiting for him to shower and change into some decent clothes. After what seemed like forever, he finally came out of his apartment and got in my car.