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  Lovestruck

  ISBN 978-1-60592-115-0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Lovestruck Copyright 2010 KT Grant

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  Book Blurb

  CEO hotel mogul Barbara Jennings has three months to decide whether to close her Manhattan hotel or cut costs by firing some of her employees. She meets her much-younger employee, Jennifer Caffey and is instantly smitten. Now Barbara has another mission, and that is to seduce the innocent Jenny.

  Jenny is also attracted to the powerful and beautiful Barbara, but has never really had a steamy love affair with another woman. Unwittingly, she allows herself to be swept away by her passion for this older woman who may ruin her life.

  Dedication

  To my mother Paige; the words are the gimmick.

  Acknowledgements

  Some may think writing is a solitary endeavor, but that is not the case. Thank you to LB

  Gregg for inspiring me. To Leanna Renee Hieber who gave me the guidance I needed, and to Stacey Agdern who is the best sounding board a writer could ever have. Keta Diablo, you have shown me the light and to Jill Noble for taking a chance.

  Ana Grilo and Kenda Montgomery, without you two "mean girls" in my life, it would be a very lonely place. Ninja out

  And finally to those who think you can't, oh yes, you very well can.

  Prologue

  Standing in line at her favorite Starbucks before her nine o'clock class, Jenny Caffey expected the usual Monday morning rush.

  She could have stopped at a coffee shop closer to her apartment in Brooklyn, but that meant she'd have the skinny caramel latte chugged down before her train arrived in Manhattan. And then she'd end up spending another five dollars to stay awake in class.

  "I gotta stop staying up past midnight," she grumbled.

  "Excuse me?" The woman in front of her—wearing an expensive, dark brown suit from Gucci or some other high-end designer—turned her head and looked over her shoulder at Jenny.

  "Sorry, talking to myself. Not awake yet. Don't mind me." Jenny rubbed her drooping eyes and let out a loud yawn. When the woman snorted, Jenny tipped her Yankees baseball cap in her direction and looked down at her feet. She thought about picking up her heavy backpack from the floor but remembered how much the five-hundred page college textbook inside weighed.

  "Can I help whoever's next?" A Starbucks barista shouted and Jenny moved forward in line, slamming into the Gucci suit when the woman stopped without warning.

  "Um, sorry 'bout that." She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and took a step back when the woman emitted an exasperated sigh.

  "I can help someone over here."

  Jenny followed the voice, scooted over to the next register and thought the girl behind the counter sounded more tired than she did. "A Venti skim caramel latte, heavy on the caramel, please."

  "One Venti skim caramel latte, heavy on the caramel!" The woman called out to an employee near the espresso machine.

  Moments later, Jenny exchanged her money for the drink, knowing she'd have to add skim milk to cool it down. On her way to the condiment caddy, she pulled the cover off the latte, and with her cap riding low over her brows, bumped into someone, causing her to spill her drink.

  "Shit!" She moaned, set the coffee on the caddy, reached for the napkins with one hand to wipe clean her shirt and pushed her cap up with the other so she could apologize face-to-face.

  The woman bent down and wiped the coffee from her drenched briefcase. Jenny stared at the well-put-together blonde with highlighted hair that fell in long waves about her shoulders.

  Why can't my crappy brown hair look that good? There's not a strand out of place.

  The woman straightened and waved her off. "It's no problem."

  Jenny knew she should leave, and fast, before she did anything more embarrassing. "Ah, yeah. Um . . . got to go." She walked away and out the door.

  Looking back through the window, she watched the well-dressed woman continue wiping down her briefcase. Jenny felt compelled to go back inside and apologize again, but had more pressing matters to deal with, such as being on time for her first class.

  Blocking the glare of the sun bouncing off the window, she cupped a hand over her brow, hoping to get one last look at the woman.

  She couldn't see much, but what she did intrigued her. When the blonde beauty bent down to wipe her expensive heels, Jenny licked her lips." I wouldn't mind tapping that."

  From out of nowhere, someone knocked into her. Jenny cursed, started to turn and address the rude passerby, but at that moment the sunlight bounced off the golden-streaked hair of her current object of desire. Anger forgotten, Jenny could only stare.

  When the older woman noticed her watching, she ducked her head and quickly walked away.

  "One day, Jennifer Anne, you'll be able to afford a hoity-toity pinstripe suit and the woman wearing it." She chugged her much-needed caffeine with the thought she needed to keep it together for another few months—until summer break. Then she could breathe again, not act like an idiot and spill hot drinks all over attractive women who looked like they earned more money in one week than she made in six months.

  Like the other inhabitants of the island, Barbara Jennings hated Monday mornings. More so now because of the young teenie-bopper who'd spilled caramel coffee all over her suit. Still, she couldn't help but smile. When she'd glanced out the window, her eyes locked with those of the girl in the baseball cap, the one who almost ruined her thousand dollar suit from Neiman Marcus. The adorable girl's eyes went wide when Barbara held up her coffee and saluted her.

  Barbara chuckled now, remembering how her voyeur pulled her cap down and walked away.

  Too bad the baseball cap hid her silky, auburn hair. She'd noticed several long strands peeking out from the sides and wondered what those tresses would look like spread out over her satin sheets.

  What's the point? I'll never see her again. Barbara sighed and took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. The reason for stopping by Starbucks eluded her, especially when she had a state-of-the-art cappuccino machine in her penthouse. In a rush to get to work, she didn't have time to make coffee and opted to fight the crowds for her morning caffeine fix like everyone else.

  She glanced down at her briefcase again, and with coffee in hand began the walk to her office several blocks away. Sipping while she walked, she allowed the coffee to take the edge off her disastrous morning.

  "I still have it," she said under her breath, remembering how the young girl had checked her out through the window. The thought made her feel better. Nearing thirty-six years of age, she'd discovered a gray hair in the mirror that morning, so the timing couldn't have been better. In a city this big, Barbara knew she'd never see the coffee-clutz again . . . unless she returned to the same Starbucks next Monday.

  Barbara snorted and crossed the street. What would her associates say if the richest hotelier in Manhattan picked up a grungy girl at least fifteen years her junior?

  Entering into a romance with anybody, least of all a strange girl who couldn't find the time to brush her hair in the morning and wore a baseball cap to cover her lack of cleanliness, had no place in her life.

  She had standards to uphold, after all.

  In an attempt to redirect her thoughts, Barbara went over her itinerary for the day in her head.
She didn't have time to continue her fantasy about the young girl in the tight, yellow t-shirt or think about how sweet her pink, glossed lips would taste.

  Jennings, you need to get laid. With this thought foremost in her mind, she walked into the foyer of her building to begin her very busy day.

  Chapter One

  Jenny knew by the loud banging on her bedroom door and the absence of the alarm blaring in her ear, today would be a disaster.

  Mike's voice filtered under the doorway. "Jenny! Get your ass out of bed. It's almost 6:30!"

  "Shit." Jenny mumbled into her pillow and rolled out of bed. She had to make the trek from her place in Brooklyn to Fifth Avenue in midtown and be at work by seven o'clock.

  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rushed toward the bathroom and stopped in the hallway. Seated at the table in the kitchen, Mike mumbled under his breath as he pounded away at his laptop.

  "You got another one?" she asked.

  He pushed his fingers through his uncombed hair and lifted a sheet of paper.

  "Mother-fucking rejections are killing me." He crumbled the letter into a ball, shot it toward the garbage can and missed.

  Mike had worked at the St. Jennings Hotel alongside Jenny for the past five years. Even though he didn't start until noon, he always rose at six in the morning to write. As the stack of rejection letters from various agents piled up on the table in his bedroom, his dream of becoming a published author eluded him. Some of the rejections had begun invading the kitchen and Jenny almost stepped on one in the hallway.

  "Sorry, dude," Jenny said through a yawn and scurried into the bathroom while Mike crossed his arms and frowned at his monitor.

  Jenny finished in the bathroom in less than five minutes and rushed back into her bedroom, where her uniform lay ready to go into her black non-descript bag. She preferred to get dressed in the employee locker room at the hotel rather than go into work dressed in her St. Jennings ensemble, consisting of a burgundy coat and skirt. But running late now meant wearing the garb to save time.

  "Gag me," she moaned, eyeing the less-than-attractive outfit.

  "Stupid me for not setting the alarm. God, I hope my train isn't running late." She had five minutes to get to the station. Twenty minutes after that, she'd exit the subway directly across from the hotel. In the five years she'd worked for the St. Jennings, she'd always been on time. She couldn't ruin her track record because she went to bed too late and forgot to set her alarm.

  She threw on her bra, underwear, stockings, uniform and shoes, then grabbed a clip and brush—as well as her handbag—and dashed out of the room.

  "Later." She called out to Mike and bolted down the stairs of her three-story walk up. She hit the sidewalk at a dead run, sprinting toward the subway two blocks away.

  As she reached the subway steps, her train stopped at the platform. She swiped her metro card through the turnstile, and as the doors began to close, leaped onto the train. Jenny glanced at the watch she'd worn to bed last night. She had fifteen minutes before her shift began, and it looked like she'd be late.

  "I need to start working out more," Jenny said through a pant, sitting down in an empty seat, very aware of the sweat rolling down her back. She took a minute to catch her breath, brushed back her ratty hair and pulled it into some resemblance of order.

  Most of the riders looked half asleep and didn't seem to notice her.

  Jenny yawned and shook her head. Maybe one of these days she'd learn not to stay up until one in the morning to finish an eight-page paper for her economics class the next day. With three classes in a row, Mondays were a killer for her, and meant she couldn't start the paper until late at night. She groaned. I'll have to finish that damn paper after my shift ends at three o'clock in order to hand it in tomorrow morning.

  She grimaced as she caught sight of her reflection in the window across from her.

  Smothering a weak laugh, she couldn't help but think she looked liked death warmed over with the bags under her eyes. She wished she had time to put on some makeup, but she'd forgotten to grab her compact. Jenny rooted through her bag to locate her lip gloss. At least she'd remembered her wallet. When she took her first break, she'd call Mike and tell him to bring her makeup bag when he came in.

  She tapped her foot impatiently as the train reached her stop. With one last glance at her watch, and only two minutes to spare, she rushed out the train doors and almost bruised her hip going through the turnstile. She took two steps at a time and couldn't believe her luck; the red light kept traffic at a standstill. She ran across the street to the century-old hotel.

  Jenny held back a cheer. Not one guest waited outside and most of the bellhops stood off to the side talking. She gave them a wave, pulled her hair back into a clip, took another deep breath and pushed her way through the revolving door.

  Jeffery, her supervisor and manager of the hotel—and the bane of every St.

  Jennings' employee—stood at the front desk. When she walked in, he looked up from the computer and frowned. She slipped behind the desk instead of heading for the locker room, looked up at the antique clock on the far wall, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jeffery folded his arms and crooked a finger in her direction. "We need to talk, Miss Caffey."

  Jenny swallowed. Could her day get much worse?

  Across town, Barbara finished up a five-mile run on her treadmill in her Central Park West penthouse while listening to the latest news and stock market reports.

  Yesterday, the Dow ended on a high note, making her day complete. She should be in good spirits now that her company's stock was up by three dollars. But her good humor had been lacking as of late, due to the ulcer-inducing decision she needed to make.

  As CEO of the St. Jennings hotel chain, she had final say. At least she could count on her trusted board of directors, who urged her, for the good of the company and her sanity, to sell her hotel that was barely staying afloat. After investing too much of her own personal revenue over the years into the Manhattan St. Jennings, she had hit a wall. If she sold the property, her net worth would skyrocket. And now, with a buyer interested and the paperwork almost completed, she had a way to get this albatross off her back. But . . . something was holding her back from making the final decision. She had a tender spot in her heart for one of the oldest properties her family owned on Fifth Avenue. Her great grandfather bought the hotel after he made his fortune in the California gold rush. He built the first St. Jennings in San Francisco in 1875 and then another in New York in 1880. The profits for the hotel in San Francisco continued to amass. The other fifty St. Jennings across the United States, England and France also made a nice profit. But the one in Manhattan couldn't keep up with the others. The hotel continued to lose money every week due to the fierce competition in New York City. With a heavy heart, Barbara knew she'd either have to sell the building or let go of some of the employees.

  It would come as a surprise to some people to find out how the guilt ate away at her. She glanced down at the latest Forbes magazine lying on her coffee table. A decade ago, she'd given an exclusive interview to a Forbes reporter. He'd highlighted her no-nonsense business tactics, said she struck without warning, and had given her a nickname: The Barracuda. At first, she enjoyed the moniker; it kept her associates and competitors on their toes. Now it had become more of an annoyance. She might be known as a barracuda when involved in a business deal, but at the end of the day she cared about those who worked for her.

  The bright mid-April morning did nothing for her mood.

  The way I'm feeling, there should be rain, not a sunny, perfect day. She finished her cool down and walked into the bathroom to take a shower, thinking about the long day ahead of her. First she needed to go to the St. Jennings and speak with management.

  Perhaps she could hold off a while longer? If by some miracle the hotel could be saved and make enough of a profit to keep it afloat until the end of the summer, maybe she wouldn't have to take any drastic measures. But tha
t was a big if.

  Standing under the warm spray, she tried to relax. Strung too tight and not getting laid in a long time added to her stress. Running on her treadmill no longer relieved the tension. Even the Jack Rabbit vibrator she'd been using almost every night before bed no longer did the trick. Tired and horny, she wanted a warm body and another person's hands and mouth to get her off. Her own hands and favorite toy didn't cut it anymore.

  Even masturbating in the shower had failed to arouse her.

  No man could quench her desires. One of the biggest problems for a high-powered lesbian in her mid-thirties? There just weren't many established, business-savvy lesbians around she could choose as a lover or even think of having a relationship with. She didn't want to spend her days alone on her treadmill, with her Jack Rabbit and her immense fortune to keep her company. She wanted a special woman to come home to, one she could lie next to in bed, who'd help her forget all the stress and worries of her work day.

  But real life intruded and the fairytale became a distant dream. She could thank her father for stopping those dreams. Even now, ten years after his death, the man's harsh words still rang in her ears.

  Barbara finished her shower, dressed in her favorite charcoal suit, styled her layered blonde hair and fixed her makeup until her face looked perfect. With one last glance in the mirror, she smiled.

  It would be the last time she smiled this morning. The Barracuda didn't smile as she went off to ruin someone else's dreams.

  Chapter Two

  By eleven o'clock, Jenny wanted to scream. From the moment Jeffery "Bane"

  Montgomery crooked his annoying finger, Jenny's world had gone to hell in a hand basket.

  "Jenny, you know I gave you quite the honor when I took you on as my assistant because of your work ethic. What the hell is going on in that mind of yours lately? You haven't been paying attention to important details. You're an embarrassment. What the fuck? Did I make a mistake when I chose you?" Jeffery picked up a pile of papers lying on his desk and shook them in her face.