Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea

  SEX, LIES & SWEET TEA

  Hotter than hell and half of Alabama, FBI Agent, Mac Callahan is thirsty for everything except love. Coming home to bust a white-collar crime ring, Mac intends to execute his usual practice with work and women – get in, get it on and get out. Instead, he finds himself unexpectedly drawn to the legacy of his family, his plantation, and the charms of a Southern girl. Samantha Peterson possesses everything he needs in a woman, including the evidence to wrap his case. As the investigation heats up, so does their passion and a dangerous game ignites. But, then again, everything’s hotter in the South.

  SEX, LIES & SWEET TEA

  Sex and Lies Book One

  A Moonlight and Magnolias Novel

  Kris Calvert

  © Copyright 2015 Kris Calvert

  EPUB Edition

  Excerpt from Sex, Lies & Lipstick copyright © 2015 by Kris Calvert. All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material form the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at www.calvertcomm.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover by Jim Wilmink, Insignia Design

  jim@insigniadesign.com

  Edited by Mary Yakovets

  ISBN: 978-0-9911386-0-9

  Calvert Communications, Lexington, KY 40515

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1: Samantha

  2: Mac

  3: Samantha

  4: Mac

  5: Mac

  6: Mac

  7: Samantha

  8: Mac

  9: Samantha

  10: Mac

  11: Mac

  12: Samantha

  13: Mac

  14: Mac

  15: Mac

  16: Samantha

  17: Mac

  18: Samantha

  19: Mac

  20: Mac

  21: Mac

  22: Samantha

  23: Mac

  24: Mac

  25: Mac

  26: Samantha

  27: Mac

  28: Mac

  29: Mac

  30: Samantha

  31: Mac

  32: Samantha

  33: Mac

  34: Samantha

  35: Mac

  36: Mac

  37: Mac

  38: Mac

  Excerpt from Sex, Lies & Lipstick

  Connect with Kris

  Other Books by Kris Calvert

  A note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I’d be lying if I didn’t say it took a lot of prodding for me to actually write this first book. As a copywriter and creative director for over twenty years, I could write headlines, tag lines and could explain most things in fifty words or less. Changing fifty words into almost one hundred thousand was a dream job as well as a nightmare for me – one I could’ve never undertaken or survived without the support of many folks.

  Robyn, you were the first to say, “do it.” Thank you for pushing me to write, for talking me out of quitting when I wanted to, and for reading the rewrites of the rewritten chapters. Most of all, thank you for being such a good friend.

  Thank you to Jennifer, Molly and Kristy for reading for me. I’m so thankful for your friendship, your suggestions and character prowess. And to John, for always offering a man’s point of view.

  Donna and Bruce Almighty, you so generously shared everything you know about this industry without giving it a second thought. Thank you for always, and so kindly answering my questions at length and ad nauseam.

  Thank you to Jim, my friend and colleague for over twenty years. You are the finest designer in the land, and I’ve never done anything truly amazing without you.

  Thank you to Mary my grammar ninja. You make me look good, even when I’ve tried my hardest not to.

  Finally, thank you to my adoring husband, Rob. God bless you for believing in me more than I believed in myself, and for telling me everyday, “you can do this.”

  For Rob.

  Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born;

  you are my sun, my moon and all my stars.

  PROLOGUE

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched, knocking my phone from the nightstand to the bedroom floor. Sweet Home Alabama, my wake up tune of choice, continued to play as I drug my slightly hung over and totally remorseful ass out of bed. Snagging the phone to turn it off, I let out a deep sigh as I sat on the edge of the mattress. It was early in Washington, D.C.—five a.m. early. I’d set the alarm so I could run. My morning ritual, it was usually preceded by a night of drinking and or beguiling ladies. Today was no different. Tossing the phone back to the nightstand, I spied an empty condom wrapper—the small gold package gleaming on the expansive and largely empty floor. Clearly tossed to the ground, devil-may-care, prior to last night’s mattress dance, it was the evidence of my latest bad decision. Once again, using the wrong head to do my critical thinking, I was now feeling as guilty as sin on a Sunday.

  The massive bed filled my empty room and minimalist was how most described my décor—empty was more accurate. I lived in a historic three-story brownstone filled with a long history and very little furniture. When I moved in, I filled it with the bachelor basics: a king-sized bed, a huge couch, and a big-ass flat screen. For the past five years, for better or worse, it was my home.

  I stood over the bed, eyeing the leggy piece of ass with long blonde hair lying on her stomach. She was wrapped in my expensive dark gray sheets—a gift from my mother in Alabama when I moved here. Her leg and perfectly muscular bottom were exposed, reminding me of our night together. Tara or Tamara, I couldn’t remember her name exactly, was an assistant in the office of a prominent senator. Senators and congressmen always hired the hottest babes in the city—it seemed to be an unspoken contest.

  I always found it interesting how the old farts in Washington got away with so much. Most of the girls I dated had had a run in, or at the very least, an unwelcome brush with a dirty old politician. I was living in a city of sex and lies. It was, as my late father lovingly called it, the largest gravy train with biscuit wheels in the world.

  Honest men were hard to find in Washington and it was one of the reasons beautiful women in D.C. were drawn to guys like me. I was much closer to their age, stayed in shape, didn’t need Viagra, or have a saggy ass. And I was clean—in every aspect of the word.

  As a seasoned agent for the FBI in the white-collar crime division, I had the unique distinction of being a Harvard-educated Southern gentleman, who incidentally packed heat. I had a big brain, a big gun, and a big dose of charm I commanded as the occasion dictated. It had always served me well.

  I found my boxer briefs in the clothes littered across the bedroom floor—affirmation of our whirlwind shag. Pulling them on, I decided I needed to wake this girl and get her on her way before the sun got too high in the sky. “Good morning, darlin’,” I said, stroking her back and rousing her from her comfortable slumber.

  “Good morning.” Her voice cracked as she rolled over and brushed her long blonde mane from her
face, exposing her fake and perky breasts. “What time is it?”

  “It’s way too early.” I pulled away and placed my hands on my hips, feeling horrible for not remembering her name. I brushed my fingers across the stubble on my face in an attempt to dust the cobwebs from my blurry and somewhat embarrassed constitution. “I’m gonna run this morning before I shower, but the coffeemaker is on a timer and there should be a fresh pot in the kitchen.”

  She sat and pulled the sheets up, tucking them under her arms to hold them in place and leaned toward the nightstand to look for her phone. Instead, she picked up my ID, examining it before bringing her knees to her chest. “I had a good time last night, Special Agent in Charge McKay W. Callahan III. Jeez, that’s a mouthful.” She giggled as she inspected my credentials and badge. “McKay?”

  “Family name.” I sighed as I took it back and tossed it on the dresser, wondering if she was suffering from a case of whatshisname as well. “I prefer Mac if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. McKay.”

  “Don’t make me arrest you this morning,” I replied, flashing her a wicked smile. “You’re way too pretty to share a detention cell with whatever random transvestite unceremoniously surprised a White House staffer last night.”

  “That doesn’t happen,” she laughed, tossing her head back.

  “The hell it doesn’t, honey.”

  “Well, I don’t remember you reading me my rights last night, but I’m pretty sure neither of us remained… silent.”

  I smirked at her and turned to look for an old t-shirt and shorts in my dresser. She still expected the man who pinned her to the bed last night, but he was gone, and she was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

  “Sweetheart, you’re sexy as all get out, but the pavement is callin’ my name.”

  “Maybe I should arrest you.” She ignored my comment and continued twisting a tousled blonde ringlet around her finger.

  “And what would be the charge?” I asked as I pulled my running shoes from the closet.

  “With that beast?” She giggled, nodding toward my crotch. “Assault with a deadly weapon.”

  She was cute as hell and I suddenly remembered her big dick compliments from the night before. Her dirty talk had been impressive. “What would you charge me with?” she asked with a smug look.

  I played along, not wanting her post-coital flirting to fall on completely deaf and insensitive ears. “Indecent exposure,” I replied with a scoff as I sat on the side of the bed to dress.

  “Lewd and lascivious behavior?” she asked in a whisper as she moved into me and stroked my bare chest.

  I pulled away, leaving an awkward space and silence between us.

  “Maybe I just wanna be handcuffed,” she said, sitting back.

  “C’mon now, darlin’, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tease a man with a big gun and a set of cuffs? Besides,” I began to lie. “The handcuffs only come out for official business and really bad girls, and you, my dear, are a lady.” I grabbed my phone and headphones from the nightstand and awkwardly stood in the doorway, wanting desperately to leave without being completely rude. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen—if there is anything in the kitchen—and like I said, the coffee should be on.”

  “I had fun last night, Mac.” She looked away in obvious embarrassment, pulling the sheets tightly under her chin.

  “Me too.” Rushing in for a quick peck on her tiny mouth still stained with red lipstick, I waved not giving her a chance to reply. “Just let yourself out and lock the door behind you.”

  Leaning against the front of the house, I stretched before hitting the pavement. It was March, and still cold as hell in D.C. I watched the warm mist of air leave my lungs and fog the space between my body and the old brick house. I needed to run. I needed to clear my head. I always questioned myself in the morning, feeling guilty for bedding women I had no intention of seeing again.

  I plugged my ears and chose my playlist. As Axel Rose poetically sang Welcome to the Jungle, I began my day jogging the streets of another one—Washington, D.C.

  1

  SAMANTHA

  “Samantha, you’re wrong. You’re not even going to hit your sexual peak until your thirties.”

  It was a comment I had come to expect from my ninety-eight year old grandmother, who by any stretch of the imagination had lived a full and interesting life.

  “Mimi. Really?” I asked, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot.

  I was her favorite granddaughter, and the Peterson family knew it. Actually, I was her favorite—period. I came to visit Mimi every week after a stroke two years ago demanded she have full-time care. Mimi, not wanting to make a fuss, decided to move into the luxurious Autumn Valley Healthcare Center in lieu of staying in the family home with a nurse. She gave the hundred-year-old house she was born in to me, and her only great-grandchild, Dax.

  “Lower your voice, please,” I said as I surveyed the lush garden that surrounded the facility.

  “Aw hell, Sam. These old farts couldn’t hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant.”

  I looked around at the residents placed on the perfectly manicured lawn of Autumn Valley. Some of the poor souls seemed as if they were already gone from the real world, but no one had bothered to tell them.

  I raised one eyebrow and lowered my voice. “All I meant was I’m okay with being twenty-nine and celibate. And by the way, do I need to remind you that you are one of the oldest residents here?”

  “That’s what they tell me,” she barked as she sat up in the chaise lounge to catch a deeper breath. “But I think a few of these gorkers need to cough up a birth certificate. God knows they’re coughin’ up everything else.”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Look around you. These are some of the South’s finest people.”

  Well, maybe not finest, but certainly the wealthiest. Autumn Valley was a sure sign that money couldn’t buy happiness, and senior-citizenship could in fact, be glamorous.

  “Humph!” uttered Mimi. “All I see is a bunch of sick bastards.”

  I bit my lip at her comment. Southern girls were raised to think whatever they wanted, but to carefully choose the words that came out of their mouths. Mimi, on the other hand, had long given up caring what anyone thought.

  “Speaking of sick bastards, have you heard from your parents lately?” Mimi asked.

  I loved this woman. She was slight but wielded tremendous and wicked power. Even though she was a proper lady, sometimes she acted like an old broad. She was the only person who’d really been there for me when I needed sound advice, a good laugh, or a shoulder to cry on—my parents were mostly absent.

  “I got a card from their trip to Africa last month,” I said, looking away and pretending to admire the rose garden. “Dax and I really haven’t seen them since Daniel’s funeral.”

  My mom and dad—what a pair. They were both very well mannered and educated physicians who cared deeply for their professions, their many charities, and the social circles that seemed to accompany them. They gave their lives to their work, and their free time to everyone but me—their only child.

  “Damn it,” muttered Mimi. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s their loss for not being around you and Dax more.”

  I’d spent most of my life in boarding schools, learning to be a well-bred lady of the South. What I’d ultimately learned was that I didn’t want to be anything like my parents. Mimi always reminded me what mattered most. She’d held my hand when I sat in the funeral home making arrangements for Daniel—my loving husband and my one and only. She told me that all Dax needed was one person in his life who truly loved and believed in him, and she assured me it was okay to be a single parent.

  Mimi leaned in and took my hand, “My sweet Sam.”

  I could easily forget how fragile she was because of her attitude, but her thin frame and paper-like skin reminded me that she was indeed, ninety-eight.

  “You are such a beautiful girl—gorgeous, long b
rown hair. Perfect figure.” I knew what was coming next.

  “You look a lot like me when I was your age.”

  “I know, Mimi. I love the old photos of you and Gran.”

  “I had plenty of suitors in my day, but your Gran was the light of my life for sure.”

  “I loved him too,” I agreed. “It sucks when the love of your life is gone.”

  “Baby girl, it is possible to love more than one man in your life.”

  “I’m sure it is, but you know what it’s like. Daniel was my true love, just like Gran was for you. He was my one and only.”

  “We’ll talk one day, honey,” she said, patting my hand. “Not today, but one day. My life is coming to a close, but yours…” She squeezed my fingers, forcing me to look at her. “Yours is just beginning. I promise, you will love again.”

  I gave her hand a quick kiss and lied. “I’m not interested in that kind of love anymore. Dax is all I need.”

  “You look very pretty today, sweetie,” Mimi said, quickly changing the subject. “You’re perfection in that blue dress. It matches your eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And your pearls. I’m so glad you are wearing them.”

  I touched them lovingly with my open hand. “Of course.”

  Mimi had given me a single choker strand of large pearls for my sixteenth birthday. Growing up Southern teaches you plenty, least of all that you never go anywhere without your lipstick or pearls.

  “Now,” Mimi coaxed, breaking my train of thought. “What time is your interview in the business office?”

  “Eleven, but I don’t know how I feel about working in an office. It might be a challenge for me. You know, four walls… re-circulated air… fluorescent lighting.”

  I hadn’t worked since Dax was born three years ago, but with Daniel gone, I needed to somehow find a new life for myself. My old career as an executive headhunter had always been lucrative. I found it easy to place intelligent folks with companies who were searching for just the right addition to their team. It was kind of like matchmaking–without the sex. I was known as a lioness, always victorious in the hunt—always leaving the males behind. It kept me on the road, and when Dax was born I resigned.