Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions) Read online

  Contents

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  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Destined for Love series

  Special Sneak Peek!

  Roping His Heart

  Get a Free Story!

  Kiss Me series

  No Match for Love series

  Sunset Plains Romance series

  Other Books by Lindzee Armstrong

  About the Author

  Copyright

  “Man cannot discover new oceans

  unless he has the courage

  to lose sight of the shore.”

  -Andre Gide

  A summer in Europe was the stuff of fairy tales, but nothing beat coming home. Even if it was with a cracked heart and bruised ego.

  Anticipation welled in Layla’s stomach as she tore down the blacktop in her cherry red convertible, drinking in the ancient cypress trees draped in Spanish moss. Hot wind whipped her dark hair against her designer sunglasses. Clouds gathered overhead, and the air grew heavy with humidity. Four months away from South Carolina—three as a chaperone for Destiny Tours and another at her family’s Italian villa—was too long.

  She rounded a bend in the road, and an elegant sign appeared before the turn for Cypress Grove. Neatly mowed clover surrounded its base, and ivy climbed up the stone. She still remembered the day that sign had been installed. She’d been five years old and so excited to see all the brides that would flock to the mansion.

  Layla snorted and turned down the narrow lane, pressing the pedal a bit harder. Thunder rumbled through the sky; she had maybe ten minutes before the heavens opened. A twinge of pain plucked at her heart, but she pushed it back. She wasn’t about to let some boy ruin rainstorms for her.

  She was done with men for the foreseeable future. A girl could only handle so many rejections before her self-esteem started to suffer.

  The green leaves of tobacco plants peeked through tree branches. She caught sight of a combinet working on the last of the harvest, and a flood of happy memories engulfed her. She’d always loved harvest season, when the plantation bustled with activity from dawn until dusk.

  She belonged in South Carolina, far away from the flirty man with lanky limbs and an adorable smile, who loved to tease but couldn’t make an actual move.

  Stupid, shy Tyler. Why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

  As Layla rounded a bend in the road, the mansion finally came into view. The elegant white marble columns rose toward the graying sky, making her breath catch and heart swell with pride. Three white service vans were parked in the circular driveway with company logos on the side. There was probably a wedding at the mansion tonight. Ever since Cypress Grove had been featured in Southern Bride magazine, the place had been booked solid.

  Layla bypassed the mansion, taking the private drive that led to her family’s home a half a mile away. The federal-style red brick came into view. It had been the original plantation home, built in the early 1700s, and wasn’t as grand as the mansion that followed seventy years later, but Layla had loved growing up there.

  She parked in the driveway and raised the top on her convertible as thunder cracked once more. She didn’t bother grabbing her luggage—Alfonso would get it later. Her sandaled feet touched the concrete drive, and heat radiated through her shoes to fill her soul.

  Home.

  She glanced again at the sky. Perhaps five minutes until the storm started. She couldn’t wait to sit on the veranda and watch as thick drops pelted the pond that lay between her home and the mansion.

  The front door flew open, and Gloria rushed down the steps, her sagging arms open wide. Her blonde hair sported new streaks of gray, and frizzy locks escaped her tight bun.

  “Welcome home, Miss Layla,” she said.

  Layla wrapped her arms around the woman. Gloria smelled faintly of jasmine and Orange Glo, instantly triggering the nostalgia of childhood.

  “It’s great to be back,” Layla said. “How are you?”

  “Oh, we’ve all been getting along just fine,” Gloria said. “Your mama and daddy are on the veranda. I’ll bring out a fresh pitcher of sweet tea in a jiffy.”

  “That sounds divine,” Layla said, perching her sunglasses on top of her head. “I haven’t had a decent glass since I left. Does Camille have the day off?” She was usually the employee who served drinks to the family.

  “Something like that.” Gloria waved her arms, glancing at the clouds that grew ever closer. “Come in before the rain lets loose.”

  Layla raised an eyebrow, but followed Gloria inside. Had Camille quit?

  The dark mahogany crown molding and Antebellum-period reproduction wallpaper wrapped around Layla like a comforting blanket. She ran her hand over the carved back of a settee as she passed through the living room, then let herself out onto the back veranda.

  Her mother rested in a chaise lounge, her bottle-blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she worked on a crossword puzzle. Daddy stood at the railing, facing the pond dotted in lily pads and the sweeping columns of the mansion. The scene was a familiar one, and Layla’s bruised heart give a happy flutter.

  She shouldn’t have stayed in Italy for so long. She’d missed afternoon tea with her parents, lightning bugs in the evenings, and helping out with events at the mansion. Originally, she’d planned to return to South Carolina as soon as her summer job with Destiny Tours ended, but after the relationship-that-wasn’t, she’d needed an escape.

  A strong jaw, freckled face, and messy blond hair that sometimes glinted red flashed into her mind before she pushed it away. Tyler had been a summer fling—if she could count flirting as a fling. Now, summer was over; time to embark on her next adventure. Maybe she’d remodel the pool house or offer to help out at the mansion. She hadn’t hosted a party in way too long.

  Thunder boomed, and lightning streaked across the sky. Any minute now, the clouds would unleash their fury.

  Her mother clicked a pen and scrawled a word in her puzzle as Daddy shifted, resting his hands on the porch railing.

  Layla grinned, making her footfalls heavy so she wouldn’t startle them. “Morning.”

  Daddy turned around, his suit coat uncharacteristically rumpled. Mom rose from the chair, a smile gracing her lips.

  “Baby,” Mom said, wrapping Layla in a tight hug. “We’re so glad you’re home.”

  Layla hung on a second longer than necessary, burying her face in her mom’s stiff, aerosol-scented hair. “It’s nice to be back.”

  “We missed you,” Daddy said.

  Layla gave him a tight hug as well. The dark shadows under his eyes said he’d spent too many long nights at the office.

  “How was Italy?” Mom asked.

  “Beautiful, as always,” Layla said. “I decided to renovate the master bedroom at the villa. You’ll love the fabrics I chose.”

  “Without asking me?” Daddy asked.

  Layla blanched at the tight edge to his voice. “I didn’t think you’d mind. Mom’s been talking about it for ages, and I needed a project.”

  Gloria wheeled
a cart onto the patio, the clatter of the steel wheels against the Trex planks interrupting their conversation. Layla gratefully accepted a glass of sweet tea and settled into a cushioned chair. Her father had a tight line between his brow. Was he seriously upset about the remodel? He’d never cared about that sort of thing before.

  Thunder rumbled, and the heavens opened. Rain poured down in a waterfall, slapping against the roof and pounding against the pavement. Layla watched as it ping-ponged around on the surface of the pond. She took a long sip of her tea, savoring the overly sweet flavor with a hint of lemon. Perfect.

  Gloria left, closing the double doors behind her. Daddy didn’t move to pour himself a glass of tea. His shoulders were tense, arms folded.

  “I’m sorry about the master bedroom,” Layla said. “I have pictures. If you don’t like something, I’ll make sure it gets fixed.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” A muscle spasmed in his jaw.

  Layla sat up, setting her glass on the small end table with more force than necessary. “If you’re not upset about the remodel, then what’s wrong?”

  Lightning shot across the sky, turning Daddy’s face gray.

  “It’s going to be just fine, sugar plum.” Mom’s words tumbled over each other as she patted Layla’s hand. “Daddy’s got a solution all figured out.”

  Thunder made the planks vibrate beneath her feet, and Layla batted away the fear building inside. “You’re scaring me.”

  Daddy stared at Layla, his dark eyes making nerves skitter up her spine. She held his gaze until her eyes watered.

  He gave a sharp nod, as though coming to a decision, and dropped into the chair next to Layla’s.

  “The money’s gone,” Daddy said, his tone flat.

  Layla blinked, and her breath escaped in a whoosh of air. She couldn’t inhale. Couldn’t force oxygen to travel to her brain and make sense of these words.

  Daddy ran a hand over his smooth chin. When had those age spots appeared on the back of his hand? “Without getting into the nitty-gritty, some investments didn’t pan out, cigarette sales are down, and now we’re at risk of bankruptcy.”

  Layla gasped, finally drawing in air. Bankruptcy? No, that wasn’t right. Her father was a shrewd businessman. He knew when to take a risk, and when to hold back. He never invested more than he could afford to lose. “How much is gone?” Her voice rasped, the words tearing from her throat.

  Daddy’s eyes watered. “I’ve lost almost everything.”

  “But the mansion . . .” Layla scrambled for something—anything—positive. “It’s booked solid a year out. Surely we’ve got money from that.”

  “Not enough.” Daddy sunk his hands deep into his pockets. “The upkeep on the place is astronomical.”

  “I don’t understand.” Layla pushed her bangs out of her face, shaking her head. Her entire body felt clammy, and suddenly the warm summer rain pattering against the rooftop chilled her to the bone. “We’ve had good crops the last few years. We’ve got an exclusive contract with the cigarette company. Are they dropping us?”

  “No,” Daddy said, “but if we declare bankruptcy, I’ll have to sell the plantation.”

  Layla rose on shaking legs. She clutched at the porch railing, gazing through the rain at the mansion. She was supposed to get married there, eat Christmas dinner with her future husband and children around the dining room table that seated twenty. “We can’t just give up. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  “There is.” Mom smiled, but her eyes still swam with concern. “Daddy’s got it all worked out.”

  Layla straightened her shoulders, breathing a little easier. She was overreacting. Things couldn’t be as bad as Daddy made it sound.

  It was good she hadn’t chosen her next adventure yet. Saving Cypress Grove would be her new project. “So what’s the plan?”

  Daddy put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “We need money, Layla. A lot of it, and fast.”

  “Okay.” Layla turned the problem over in her mind, trying to see it from all angles. “What about focusing more on e-cig sales? Maybe if we—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Daddy said, shaking his head. “We need an investor who can give us a quick influx of cash.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t be too hard to find. You’ve got lots of business associates.” Layla took a sip of tea, feeling her nerves calm. Her palms were embarrassingly damp, but her heartbeat had slowed. “Let’s start calling them.”

  “I already have. Charlie Davenport agreed to help.”

  She tried not to wince at the name. Mr. Davenport was new money, though he did his best to make society forget that. Something about him had always made Layla uneasy. There was a hard edge to his demeanor she didn’t like.

  But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Mr. Davenport’s string of automobile dealerships was lucrative. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that? Everything will be just fine, then.”

  Daddy looked at Mom. She pursed her lips and glanced away.

  “Charlie had some . . . conditions,” Daddy said.

  That sounded sufficiently ominous. Layla’s heart sped up. Why were her parents staring at her like she had a terminal disease?

  “You don’t have to agree to this, Layla,” Mom said, her eyes flickering to Daddy’s. “I’m sure we can find another way.”

  “There is no other option.” Daddy’s voice was harsh. “If it’ll save the business—”

  “Oh, for the love . . . Just spit it out.” Layla tossed her dark hair over one shoulder. The stick-straight locks felt suffocating.

  Mom folded her arms, but Daddy nodded.

  “Do you remember Grant Davenport?” he asked.

  “The one getting divorced?” It’d been all the local society paper talked about before Layla left for Europe. She and Grant had attended the same private school, but at three years her senior, they hadn’t run in the same social circles. Grant was classically attractive, but Layla had never swooned over him the way her friends had.

  She flashed back to Tyler and the lopsided grin that had the power to turn her speechless. She’d all but thrown herself at him, even offered to get him a job at Cypress Grove while he figured out what career path to take, and still he’d never done more than hold her hand.

  “The divorce is final now,” Daddy said, pulling her back to the present. “His ex-wife’s been stirring up trouble whenever she can.”

  Layla wondered how it could’ve possibly escalated from screaming matches outside their home.

  “She’s been arrested twice on a DUI, and Grant called the police one night when she tried to break into his home,” Daddy continued. “It hasn’t been pretty.”

  Layla gasped. Definitely worse, then. She could only imagine how much the society matrons’ tongues were wagging. “She sounds crazy.”

  “A woman scorned always is,” Mom muttered.

  “It’s starting to impact Grant’s reputation,” Daddy said. “He hasn’t received invitations to a few important events, and Charlie says sales are down at his local dealerships. He’s convinced it’s because of the bad press.”

  Bad press was an understatement, but it was only the society section of the local paper. Mr. Davenport had dealerships all over South Carolina. “People don’t make their car buying decisions based on the love life of the owner’s son.”

  “I know it’s ridiculous,” Daddy said. “But Charlie thinks it would be best if Grant could quickly become reattached—this time, to someone from a well-respected family. Someone with . . . class.”

  Oh boy. Layla folded her arms, defenses instantly going up. “You want me to chase after Grant?”

  “It’s absurd,” Mom cut in. “The way Charlie is behaving, you’d think he was raised in a barn.”

  “You can’t seriously think dating Grant will save Cypress Grove?” A fist tightened around Layla’s throat. She didn’t want to date. Especially not someone who’s reputation was being dragged through the mud.

  “Charlie Davenport
has agreed to bail out the company,” Daddy said. “We’ve got the contracts all drawn up and ready to sign, and he has the capital to do it.”

  Layla stared at her father, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. It was the twenty-first century, not 1845. “So, what? He’ll invest in the business if I date Grant?”

  Daddy nodded. “Exactly.”

  Layla’s stomach dropped, and she squirmed in her chair. “You’re serious.”

  Thunder clacked again, and the rain poured down harder, as though in agreement.

  “I know it’s unconventional,” Daddy said. “But you’re unattached, and Grant’s a nice boy. What’s the harm in dating him for a while to improve his image?”

  “That boy’s a social pariah,” Mom broke in. “Who says dating Layla will elevate his status? It might do the exact opposite and ruin her.”

  “Layla’s a darling around here,” Daddy said. “And it won’t be forever.”

  “How long will it be?” Layla ran a hand through her hair, lifting it off her clammy neck. She couldn’t pretend to be in love with some stranger when Tyler still held her heart in his strong hands.

  Daddy shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Charlie thinks six months—”

  “Six months!” Layla sputtered out a laugh. “I don’t even know Grant.”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Uh, it’s pretty darn important to me.” She’d never seen Daddy like this—her vague memories of an apparently difficult time when she was barely more than a toddler hardly counted. “What does Grant think of this?”

  “He’s agreed to the plan,” Daddy said.

  “Well, in that case, sure.” Layla waved a hand as a sarcastic laugh bubbled forth. “By all means, I should date him.”

  “Grant’s a nice boy. The press is being unfair to him.” Mom lifted a finger. “But don’t let your father pressure you into this.”

  “Let me save our family legacy, will you, Annette?” Daddy snapped. “All Layla needs to do is let the local press attach her name to his for a while. That’s not really so much to ask in exchange for Cypress Grove. Six months will go by in a blink.”

  Dating a man for the local gossip column, with a circulation of five thousand, tops? Layla massaged her forehead. “This is insane.”