A Kiss to the Rescue: A BWWM Contemporary Romance Read online

  A Kiss to the Rescue

  Erin St. Charles

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Summary

  His name is Richard Alvin Brantley, III.

  But I call him Rich A**hole.

  Because when you’re an emergency operator and you meet someone right after they manage to crash their car in a tree, a**hole is a reasonable assumption to make about them.

  Convinced I saved his life, RA III is on a mission to do something nice for me. I told him it wasn’t necessary. For weeks, I told him.

  One day he showed up at my job, and our chemistry was off the charts. Then I found out he had a sex tape. And then I looked at that sex tape, and…

  Let me put it this way. Big dicks don’t exactly grow on trees.

  Originally published in the "Emerging Temptation" collection as "A Kiss to the Rescue"

  ISBN: 978-1-7323959-6-1

  Copyright © 2020 by Erin Martin

  Editing by Raw Books Editing

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or within the public domain. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted, including by any electronic or mechanical means, or in information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission for the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Chapter One

  "Stay with me, Mr. Brantley!"

  Richard Alvin Brantley, the Third, peered at the woman on his iPhone screen. He was dangling upside-down, held in place by the five-point harness of his uncle's Bugatti Veyron. This was because the car itself was upside-down in a cottonwood tree, its top crushed like one of the composite cans his family manufactured for soft drinks and other beverages. The iPhone was miraculously held in place in a cup holder phone mount. His phone would survive the crash. The car, not so much. "Ms. Williams, how many times do I have to tell you to call me by my first name?" he asked, exasperated. "Please call me Rick. All my friends do. At this point, I'd settle for Richard. Or even Dick. In fact, I might actually prefer Dick. Yep, call me Dick!"

  On his iPhone screen, Ms. Williams, whose given name she'd refused to divulge, stifled a grin and rolled her eyes. He'd been trying to get her to smile for the past forty-five minutes, which is when he'd awoken from the bump on the head he'd sustained when the fancy sports car had careened off the road, flipped ass over teakettle, and landed in the tree. She was a sweet girl, from what he could tell, with pretty, smooth, brown skin about the shade of a pecan shell, luminous olive green eyes, and high, defined cheekbones.

  Sweet and professional, she resisted all attempts to engage in the sort of flirtation that had had the ladies beating a path to his door since he was thirteen years old. Some women just liked to play hard to get, and he was sure that was Ms. Williams’ story. "Mr. Brantley, I want you to stay focused," said Ms. Williams. Her voice was a little husky. Sexy. Sensual, and decadent like a chocolate truffle. That gave him an idea.

  "If you tell me your first name, I'll reward you with the finest Belgian chocolate truffles known to man," he told her. Despite the pain in his shoulder, which he was fairly certain was dislocated, he flashed his most winning smile, all fluorescent bright white teeth, dimples, and piercing gray eyes.

  "That's not necessary, sir. Just hang in there. And stay with me," she said, reiterating her earlier request, enunciating the last four words carefully.

  Sir? That has a ring to it...

  "You know, forget what I said earlier," he tried. "You don't have to call me Rick. Just keep calling me 'Sir.' I’d even answer to ‘Daddy’!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  That's what finally coaxed a smile from Emergency Operator Williams. A smile, and also a noticeable flush to her pretty brown skin.

  “I’d like to remind you, this is an open channel,” she drawled. “Your call may be recorded for quality and training purposes.”

  He chuckled. She was a cheeky woman.

  Somewhere far above him, on the hill where he'd gone off the road, a team was in the process of positioning a crane to rescue him, according to Ms. Williams He heard them, diligent in their labors. The faint clinks of chains fed through whatever metallic slots were used to lower the crane to his position. All things considered, flirting with the lovely and sexy-voiced Emergency Operator Williams was far more pleasant than worrying about how long it was going to take to get out of his current predicament—and what his Uncle Jonathan would do when he found out about Rick borrowing, and then totaling, his new car.

  "Ms. Williams," he said, grimacing slightly as he moved his head. He hoped this did not mean he’d broken anything else. He could feel and move his toes. According to every hospital show he’d ever seen, this was a good indicator. "I don't think you need to worry about me staying with you. I'm not in the position to go anywhere at the moment."

  "Hey, hey, hey, what did I tell you about holding still?" she admonished him, her brows furrowed in concern. "I see you moving. You need to hold still until the medics can get you out of there."

  He sighed, frustrated and anxious. "Okay, okay. I'm getting a little antsy here, that's all. I'll be fine," he assured her.

  "Oh, I thought you told me you were a history major," she said with saccharine sweetness. "When did you get your medical degree?"

  "Oh...sarcasm," he said. Blood rushed to his face. In the inset image on his iPhone screen, where he could see how he looked to the person he chatted with, he noticed his face had turned red. Almost purple, actually. Good grief. No wonder she wasn't responding to his flirting. He looked like a tomato.

  She didn't respond to his remarks at all. In fact, she looked distracted. She appeared to be listening to something through her in-ear communications device. Was she getting an update?

  He watched her carefully, waiting to see what she'd say. She had her eyes down and a hand to her headset, as if she was listening intently. Her shoulders, the only body part visible on his screen, aside from her face, neck and hair, moved slightly as she moved her hands over what he guessed was a keyboard.

  "Okay!" she said, injecting cheerfulness into her voice. She turned her attention back to the screen and smiled brightly. "I have an update for you!"

  Oh boy…

  "So, in about fifteen minutes, they are going to start getting you out of there!" She sounded even more cheerful than a moment ago, if that was even possible.

  Ms. Williams explained how the crane would lower the crew to him, and the robotic jaws of life would be employed to open the car and extract him. He had an image of a sardine can being carefully opened with a key, to remove the fish inside. And in this scenario, his car was the can and he was the sardine. He winced, and continued to do so, as she described how this was all going to work. He felt his stomach roll.

  Finally, she finished the explanation, which ended in him being stretched out on the flat, minimally cushioned surface of a stretcher, and strapped in a collar designed to mitigate spinal injury. From there, he’d be raised to the level of the road, and whisked off to the hospital for treatment.

  "I just wanted to make sure you knew what to
expect!" There she went with that overly upbeat voice again.

  "You know, I'm going to need to thank you personally when this is all over," he said, hoping his face didn't turn any brighter red. His head throbbed like he had a heartbeat in his temple.

  "I've already told you, this is my job," she said smoothly. Then her expression softened, and she went on. "My paycheck is my thanks. And, you know, the fact that you'll be okay when this is all over."

  She'd been saying that since they'd started chatting almost an hour ago. She wouldn't give her first name, but that didn't matter. Why? Because he was Richard Alvin Brantley, the Third, and he was confident he would be able to find out who she was. He was going to find her, thank her personally, and get to know her. After that, he’d talk to Uncle Jonathan about making a donation for a charity benefiting first responders.

  Rick thought the level-headed Ms. Williams was the most unflappable woman he’d met in ages, a far cry from the well-groomed socialite fluffies he usually hung out with. He wanted to thank her personally for helping him in his time of need. He did appreciate the woman, but mostly, in the course of this misadventure, he'd come to recognize her as a desirable woman, strong and capable. And pretty. The more she sidestepped his flirtations and insisted on professional detachment, the more intriguing she became. He would track her down, and he would woo her. Not knowing her name was just a minor detail.

  "Mr. Brantley?" she was saying. Her eyebrows raised expectantly, as if she were waiting for his response to something she'd just said. He snapped out of his daydream and focused on her.

  "Yes? Hmmm?" he said, doing his best to seem engaged and interested.

  "I was explaining how this is going to work," she said, a little less smiley and a lot more serious. Her gaze was penetrating and her tone businesslike. "I need you to pay close attention."

  "Yes, ma'am," he drawled. “I heard everything. What do I do?”

  “You cooperate,” she said flatly. Don't worry, it's all going to be fine.” "They do this kind of thing all the time."

  He frowned, feeling trepidation unlike any he'd ever felt before.

  "I'll be here to talk you through it," she said. "I get off at 11 tonight, but I'll stick around until they get you out of there, okay?"

  Her eyes were large, dark, and compassionate. Her brow wrinkled with concern. He had the sense that she really did care about what happened to him. He felt tears sting his eyes. It was the first time he'd cried since his parents died and he went to live with Uncle Jonathan. That had been back in high school

  He blinked rapidly, as memories flooded him.

  "Hey, hey, hey," she soothed. "It's going to be okay." Instead of feeling embarrassed by his emotional outburst, he felt reassured. She enunciated the words carefully. She really was so sweet. Down to earth. Real.

  You're being a pussy, he told himself sternly.

  "When I get out of here, I'm going to kiss you, and then I'm going to marry you," he blurted.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled. "Really, there's no need for that." She waved a hand dismissively. Clearly, she thought he was kidding.

  And he was...wasn't he?

  "You're so easy to talk to, and I want to thank you personally," he said. "I’ll never find anyone as amazing as you.” She chuckled. "I gotta say, that's really tempting, but..."

  "Already married?" he asked her, playing along.

  "No, much to my mother's ongoing disappointment," she admitted ruefully.

  "Your mother is disappointed that you're not married?" he asked her, feeling the tension in his chest uncoil with her words. She seemed to sense his apprehension and wanted to keep him talking.

  "Yeah. I'm the youngest daughter of a Catholic, half-Mexican mother," she told him. "I don't do things like the rest of my sisters, and she turns into my abuelita on the subject of my love life. My older sister is getting married in a couple of weeks, and I’m in the queue to get married off after that."

  She looked away from him now, and a tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You don’t need to hear my personal problems.”

  "You're such a positive, level-headed person, though," he said, wanting to reassure her. "For example, I'm feeling better about being rescued. And I haven't thought about possible spinal injury, nor what my uncle will say about me totaling his car in the last ... five minutes?"

  She let out a bark of laughter. "You're going to walk away from a serious car accident with your life, and I bet your uncle is going to be happy you're alive."

  She was actually right about that. Uncle Jonathan would be happy he survived. Worried about the way Rick could be reckless, but he'd be relieved to know that his nephew was alive. The knowledge made him feel guilty.

  "The next time your mom calls you, make her happy and tell her you're engaged to a really nice guy with poor driving skills," he teased.

  She smiled again, and the crease between her eyebrows relaxed. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of doing that to you. My mom would never leave you alone."

  Just like I'm never going to leave you alone, he thought to himself. The idea of meeting her in person took firm root in his mind. I'm going to find you...and make you mine.

  Soon, the rescuers arrived at the car. One of the team, decked out in bulky turnout gear, appeared upside-down in Rick's window and knocked, startling him.

  "Here we go," Ms. Williams said. Her voice was soothing. Calm. "When you start to feel overwhelmed, remember to breathe."

  "Yes," he said, swallowing the dry lump of apprehension in his throat. "Last chance to give me your first name. You know mine. It's only fair."

  He heard the rescue team wrenching at the driver's side door and swallowed again. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breath came out in short pants.

  "Remember to breathe, Mr. Brantley," she went on in the same soothing tone.

  "I'd feel better if you told me your name," he stammered. The rescue crew—two of them—was getting more aggressive in their door opening maneuvers. Grinding, metal-on-metal noises sounded outside his door. The whole car shook slightly, then harder, as they brought out the jaws of life. He felt his pulse spike, and he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to fucking breathe.

  "You're okay," she said, her voice low and soothing "I'm here until they get you out, okay? I'm still not telling you my first name, though. If you really want to know, make sure you get out of there in one piece, okay, then find me?"

  He laughed weakly at that. It was like she’d been reading his mind. A moment later, cool air washed over his face as the door was at last wrenched open.

  It seemed like it took only moments to get him ready for transport, and soon, he was being hoisted by crane up the hill to the waiting ambulance.

  He wasn’t looking at the screen any longer, but Ms. Williams's voice crooned in his ear the whole time. He wanted to listen to her all night long, but she was already late leaving work, and there would be time to talk to her after he found her.

  Chapter Two

  Three weeks later

  Keisha Williams trudged up the walkway to the tidy little bungalow she shared with her cousin Tandy. She paused when she saw the potted flowering plant on her front step and sighed.

  Again?

  Keisha stood on her front porch, frowning at the plant. She wanted to leave it there, but after all, the plant hadn't done anything to deserve neglect. It was a little weird that he kept sending her gifts, but RA III seemed harmless. She bent to retrieve the card.

  “Many thanks for your kindness. Emily Rose for Richard Brantley III.”

  It was signed the same way all of his gifts had been signed, and she supposed Emily must be his assistant. She liked the flowers, but wondered how sincere a man who couldn’t even be bothered to sign the card himself really was.

  She slid her key into the lock, but before she opened the door, it swung open, and there stood her cousin Tandy, grinning ear to ear. She’d added electric blue extensions to her signature braids
. Keisha reached out to finger them.

  “These are new,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, and so are the flowers,” Tandy said. “I thought I’d leave those for you to find. Tandy stooped to grab the plant, then turned to go inside.

  "Gee, thanks. So considerate of you," Keisha remarked drolly, following her cousin inside.

  “You know, in all the years I’ve been an emergency operator, I’ve never had a patient send me shrubs as a token of thanks.”

  "I think it’s sweet!” Tandy enthused. “When are you going to meet with Richard Alvin Brantley, the Third?” Tandy asked, her tone teasing. “I’ve seen his pics in the tabloids. He’s pretty!” Tandy smiled dreamily.

  "Never!" Keisha declared in an adamant tone that had Tandy's eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  "And to me, he's not Richard Alvin Brantley, the Third," said Keisha. "I like to think of him as Rich Asshole. Rich Asshole, the Third."

  "Oh, don't be that way!" Tandy waved her hand at Keisha, stifling a giggle. "He really wants to 'thank' you for helping him in his time of need. And is he really an asshole?”

  “Not really an asshole, per se,” Keisha said, following Tandy to the kitchen where she was greeted by the scent of something sweet and chocolaty. “More like entitled. I get the sense women don’t say ‘no’ to him much.”