Kiss Me I'm Home Read online

  KISS ME,

  I'M HOME

  by

  Bella Street

  Book Three in the

  Tennessee Waltz Series

  The prickly Morgan Lee Faye has a penchant for family TV shows and a dislike for the people around her, but she's the best travel agent in Tennessee. So good that she catches the eye of the mysterious proprietor of Avalon Travel, Mr. Kane.

  If Morgan accepts the job, she's promised adventure around the globe and gold for her pocket, but she worries the offer is too good to be true. It is. And Kane isn't the only one with a creepy agenda. Her co-workers all seem to want a piece of Morgan's secret—even the two office hotties.

  Honestly, she just wishes they'd all go away so she can watch Little House On The Prairie. But that's not going to happen because from Nashville to Avalon, faerie mischief is back!

  Book One: Kiss Me, I'm Irish

  Book Two: Kiss Me, I'm Yours

  Firefly Press

  Nashville, TN

  Kiss Me, I'm Home

  © 2014 Bella Street

  All rights reserved

  Kindle Edition

  Professional editing services by

  Arran McNicol

  (Any errors are the author's own)

  Cover by Magyar Design

  Photos

  © K7335 | Dreamstime.com

  © Captblack76 | Dreamstime.com

  © Matthew Collingwood | Dreamstime.com

  © Emanuele Leoni | Dreamstime.com

  Cover fonts:

  Antihistory

  Abbeyline

  Kiss Me, I'm Home playlist

  For Miss Amy

  Thank you for your encouragement

  But they left in her stead a changeling,

  A little angel child,

  That seems like her bud in full blossom,

  And smiles as she never smiled:

  When I wake in the morning, I see it

  Where she always used to lie,

  And I feel as weak as a violet

  Alone 'neath the awful sky.

  James Russell Lowell

  Are you a witch, or are you a Faerie—

  Or are you the wife of Michael Cleary?

  Irish rhyme

  Chapter One

  Morgan Lee Faye leaned forward and dropped her voice to a husky whisper. “The tangy ocean breeze plays across your skin as you sink into the warm sand. The heat from the sun makes your body relaxed, languorous yet...hungry.” She paused before continuing, moistening her lips. “There's no one in sight, the place is deserted, so you draw her close and make love right there on the beach—”

  “I'll take it!” a male voice gabbled on the other end of the line.

  Morgan straightened, a corner of her mouth twitching. “I know you won't be disappointed, Mr. Wilburn. Now, will that be Visa, MasterCard, or AmEx?”

  As he read off the numbers, she entered them into her computer. “Your confirmation number is TYJ890, and that's for June 23 through the 30th. I'll email you a copy of your itinerary. All the details will be included.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Thank you for allowing Tremble Travel Agency to meet your all travel needs.”

  “I'll send you a postcard, Ms—?”

  “That would be lovely,” Morgan said, before disconnecting the call.

  Peeling off her headset, she stood and discreetly stretched her muscles. Rays of anemic fluorescent light peered past the faded posters on the glass windows separating the office from the mall foot traffic where shoppers and families wandered in search of what—she certainly didn't know.

  Smoothing down the front of her silk ruby red blouse—paired with a black pencil skirt and black stilettos—Morgan left her desk and headed for the manager's office, her steps muffled on the gray industrial carpeting.

  She saw the gazes of her co-workers shifting in her direction.

  The men swallowed hard and the women glared or looked disappointed. Someone—probably Jonas—whispered, “She reminds me of Medusa.”

  It was always the same, everywhere she went.

  Morgan knocked on the glass separating the manager's office from the rest of the space.

  Mr. Tremble, her boss, looked up and visibly reddened. His balding pate reflected brightly in the light, and his thick-lensed glasses winked in counterpoint. Aside from a fringe of brownish hair, he sported unkempt sideburns and bushy eyebrows. His loosened tie was askew as if he'd been recently tugging at it. Looking away, he cleared his throat. “How can I help you, Ms Faye?”

  Morgan straightened her posture. “I wanted to let you know I booked another Hawaiian trip. The third one today, in addition to four Cancun trips.”

  Mr. Tremble chanced a look at her before coughing slightly and adjusting the pictures of his wife and kids in their frames on his desk. “Impressive. Truly impressive, Ms Faye.” He offered a nervous smile. “In this age of customers booking their own trips online, you truly have a gift for keeping our doors open and the lights on.”

  “I just make the customers want it. Even if it's just a fantasy.” She lifted her shoulders slightly. “And for some of us, it's all we've got.”

  Mr. Tremble began to cough.

  Morgan waited patiently until he finished. “Could you update my totals—?”

  “Of course!” He turned and tapped on the keyboard as numbers flashed on the screen. “Yes, well, my goodness. You have the most sales this month. As usual, I might add.”

  She tilted her head. “Who's next in line?”

  A few more taps. “Er, Jonas is the closest in sales, but your totals are still double what he's accrued.”

  “Hmm.”

  Her boss rose from his chair, avoiding eye contact. “I suppose an announcement is in order. And I'll let corporate know of your success. Of course.”

  Morgan watched the way he slid past his desk, taking pains to stay clear of her. She sighed inwardly when she noted perspiration dotting his brow. Stumbling over the waste-basket, he hurried out the door and cleared his throat again to get everyone's attention.

  The four other employees of Tremble Travel looked over, each expression reflecting either anxiety or boredom. Because they'd heard such announcements before.

  Every month, in fact.

  Morgan put her hands behind her back, her expression placid.

  “Uh, if you please, an announcement,” Mr. Tremble began. “Ms Faye has once again had the highest sales totals here at the agency. So, a round of applause is in order, if you will.” He energetically clapped his hands while everyone else ignored him or silently patted their palms with their fingers.

  Morgan wasn't surprised when no one else shared enthusiasm over her success. Jealousy was easier than admitting a need for improvement.

  After dropping his hands to his sides, her boss turned his head in her direction without actually looking at her. “So, Ms Faye, do you have any words of advice for your co-workers?”

  Morgan pursed her lips as if considering the notion. “Hard work, primarily.” She glanced at Jonas, her main competitor. “I don't waste time taking personal calls when I could be connecting with potential customers.”

  Slipping his iPhone into his pocket, Jonas pasted on a hard, fake smile.

  “I also avoid playing computer solitaire during business hours,” she said, looking Tammy's way. Tammy flushed red, which clashed with her dark orange hair. Last month it had been blue.

  “Personal hygiene is always important,” she said, raising a brow in the direction of Steven, who slumped deeper into his chair, stuck a finger in his mouth, then used spittle to smooth his stringy mustache.

  “And of course, confidence is king.” She peered over at Belinda, the wide-eyed blond. “You'r
e not just selling a vacation package, you're selling a dream fulfilled, lifetime memories, maybe even the realization of a private fantasy.”

  Her boss began coughing again. “Wise words,” he managed after several moments. “So, be encouraged, everyone. Ms Faye cannot continue her winning streak forever.”

  Morgan gave him a look of genuine surprise that had him putting up his hands in surrender and scuttling back to the confines of his office.

  “Thanks for ratting me out,” Tammy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Morgan kept her expression neutral. “I was just trying to help. My desire is for you to succeed.”

  Tammy rolled her eyes before she turned back to her desk.

  Jonas eyed her from head to foot. “I don't mind being beaten by a woman like you—if leather was part of the deal.”

  Morgan let him look a little longer before turning to Steven. At her attention, he swiveled around in his chair and began clacking away on his keyboard, despite the fact that the computer screen was blank.

  Morgan bit back a rude comment.

  As she headed back to her desk, Belinda intercepted her, hands clasped. “I truly wish I knew your secret.”

  Morgan stifled a stab of impatience. “You heard what I said a moment ago, correct?”

  Belinda blushed. “Yes, but I also overhead what you said to your last customer—that fantasy you wove for him, the way you said it.” She offered a tremulous smile. “I wish I had that skill.”

  “It's not that hard. You just need to apply your—”

  “But that's the problem. I haven't been to the places I talk to customers about. I've never left Tennessee in my life—except that one time I went to Kentucky Kingdom in Louisville with my high school youth group.”

  Morgan arched a brow.

  “I mean, how can I describe what I've never seen in person, you know?”

  “No, I don't know. I haven't been to any of the places I sell, and yet I don't find it a hindrance.”

  Belinda's cheeks darkened again. “I...have to follow up with a client about a vacation they want to take to Ireland. Any advice?”

  Belinda had never taken her advice before. Did she listen for the subtext of her clients' desires, the inflections of why they wanted to travel in the first place? Did she draw them out with careful questioning that revealed deeper motivations? No. Instead, she preferred to complain that nobody used travel agencies anymore, except the older generations and boring people.

  Morgan put her hand on the blond's shoulder and leaned close. “Don't sell the vacation, sell the experience. Tell them how their superstitious souls will be stirred by the dark Celtic forces that still swirl like the fog over the island.”

  Belinda blinked.

  “Encourage them to bring a hooded robe so they'll be ready when the druids come to claim their hearts' blood. And remind them to pack wool socks so the black mold from the endless rain won't rot their bones.” She squeezed the woman's shoulder. “See? Easy.” Morgan headed back to her desk.

  “Oh my God, she is such a bitch,” Tammy whispered loudly. “Just ignore her, Belinda.”

  As Morgan settled in her chair, she heard Jonas join the hushed conversation. “She may be a bitch, but she's a red-hot bitch.”

  “I don't get what you see in her,” Tammy said. “She's too rigid to be pretty.”

  “Ah, hell, you're just jealous.”

  “No. I'm serious. Okay, so she's got what guys want, but she acts like an ice princess and has some kind of Gothic fetish, if the way she dresses is any indication.”

  “She's an ice princess I'd like to heat up,” Steven said, his bravado belied by the quaver in his voice.

  “I'd like to see you try,” Jonas said. “But just you wait, I'll get her in bed eventually. Not many chicks have mile-long legs and a rack like that.”

  “Her eyes are pretty. Such a strange color of gray,” Belinda said. “Sometimes they look almost black.”

  “They must match her soul,” Tammy hissed. “She probably wears fake eyelashes, too. Plus, her boobs are not that big—she just wears tight shirts. And she looks ridiculous tottering around in those stupid heels. It's like she's dressed up in her mommy's clothes.”

  “Mommy issues will just make my job easier,” Jonas said with a snicker.

  “She might already have a boyfriend,” Belinda offered.

  “Have you ever seen any guy around?” Tammy said. “I bet dollars to donuts she's a lesbian. A gargoyle lesbian.”

  Belinda stopped a shocked giggle mid-laugh. “Gargoyle. That's awful!”

  “You're just making it sound better every minute,” Jonas said with an oily chuckle.

  Morgan compressed her lips at their conversation. Had she not attempted to be pleasant to them? To share sales encouragement toward their improvement? All she got for her efforts were spiteful comments about her fashion and demeanor. And yet what good did it do when she tried to fit in? She'd attempted that before in the past, and instead of conciliation, it just brought out more demands for change.

  But their assessment still stung. Today's words were especially brutal—on the day of a personal sales record. She fished in her purse, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet. After she tucked it into her bodice, she stood and left her desk.

  “Going somewhere?” Jonas leaned back in his chair, hands clamped behind his head, his mean little eyes gleaming.

  Morgan considered applying the heel of her shoe to his groin. “Remember how the sales winner gets to go home early?”

  “Hey, you're being presumptuous, you know,” Tammy said, her arms across her chest. “One of us could book some huge European vacay before quitting time and snatch that tarnished little crown from your head.”

  Morgan pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh dear. Sounds threatening. But you might have a better chance if you close your card game. I see a black queen that you could place on the red king, by the way.”

  Tammy sent her a fulminating look before spinning around in her chair to face her computer.

  Steven gulped as she passed him by. Jonas winked.

  Belinda sighed. “It's not fair, you know. We'll never beat your sales. Even Mr. Tremble says he's never seen anyone book trips like that, twenty years in the business. It's like it's magic.”

  Morgan snapped her fingers. “Sounds like you figured out my secret. Gotta run. Meeting up with my man in a few.”

  “So you do have a boyfriend?” Belinda asked, awe in her voice.

  Morgan didn't bother to answer as she pushed open the glass door.

  It brought her no pleasure to be unpleasant to co-workers, but their daily goading made it difficult to resist a dig now and then.

  Which did nothing to improve her soured mood. And I'm going to make it a whole lot worse.

  She strode into the mall, wincing when she heard the tinny Muzak from the ceiling speakers. People milled around her, making her shrink away from contact. One mother was frog-marching a small child covered in strings of pink bubblegum. Ugh.

  As she headed toward the fountain in the center of the mall, her gaze drifted to one of the shuttered businesses. Although only a portion of the gold lettering could be seen, she knew it said Drake's Coins and Collectibles. Before it had closed, she used to visit on her breaks and examine the trays of old coins and antique jewelry. Just the sight of all that gold settled her spirit—despite the overheated geniality of the creepy proprietor.

  Now that Drake's was gone, she had to go further afield to the only other jewelry store in the mall—one of those discount chains that advertised cheap bridal sets for ninety-nine dollars and even worse credit terms.

  As she approached the jewelry store, the overhead recessed lighting lent a spurious glitter to the low-quality electroplated items. She scanned the rings and necklaces, hoping for something to catch her eye. And yet why would she expect the genuine when everything around here was little more than make-believe?

  “Can I help you find anything?”

&nbs
p; Morgan glanced up to find a salesman with slicked-back hair and a toothy smile. “A pretty girl like you hardly needs extra sparkle, but I bet you have your eye on something.”

  Not bothering to return the smile, she straightened. “I don't suppose you have anything eighteen carat, do you?”

  “Haw haw, that's a good one, am I right? Does this place look like Fort Knox, or what?”

  “Or what,” she said crisply. “Anything fourteen carat?”

  “Erm, well, we have some wedding bands that are ten. The purer stuff is too soft for most jewelry, know what I'm sayin'?”

  “I've recently broke a sales record at my office and thought it might be nice to commemorate with a bracelet or necklace or—”

  “Bring on the re-ward bling, is that what I'm hearin'? Baby, you've come to the right place.”

  She stared at him until his smile faded. “Anything above ten carat?”

  “Um, no. Sorry.”

  Morgan straightened, tucking her long black hair behind her shoulder. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Hey, uh, you busy later? I get off in an hour.”

  Before she could utter a sharp refusal, she heard another masculine voice at her elbow.

  “She can't, 'cause she's goin' out with me. Ain't that right, baby?”

  Do I look like an infant to the male population at large? Morgan turned to tell off the newcomer, but the words died on her lips when she saw the long black pony tail, the shiny grill in his mouth, the multiple facial piercings, the colorful sleeve tats...

  Arching her back slightly, she widened her eyes. “That's right, baby.”

  The man gave a useless tug on the waistband of his baggy pants. “Uh.”

  “Walk with me a little.” Curling her hand around the man's arm, she moved away from the jewelry counter and headed toward the fountain, ignoring the shocked looks from passing women. “How would you like to make twenty dollars?” She tugged a corner of the bill from her bodice so he could see it poking out.