Inflame: A Grumpy Meets Sunshine Forbidden Romance (Toxic Desire Book 1), page 1
INFLAME
TOXIC DESIRE BOOK ONE
VICTORIA DAWSON
PAPER HEART PUBLISHING LLC
Copyright © 2023 by Victoria Dawson
Inflame
All rights reserved.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
All characters and storylines are the property of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or people living or dead is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only.
Publisher: Paper Heart Publishing LLC
Cover Designer: Books & Moods
Editing: Happily Editing Anns
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-959364-07-8
ISBN (e-book): 978-1-959364-06-1
CONTENTS
Author Note
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Also By The Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
AUTHOR NOTE
Inflame is the first book in the Toxic Desire Duet that follows the same two main characters throughout both books. It is advised to read the books in order.
It is also advised to start with the Entice Trilogy (Spark of Obsession, Rush of Jealousy, and Taste of Addiction), as story elements are present in those three books that assist in character development and world building.
Trigger Warning: This book portrays what it means to be in a toxic relationship. The physical, emotional, and psychological abuse featured in this book may be triggering and not meant for anyone under the age of eighteen.
To those struggling to fit in…
Stop trying.
It is way more fun being the rebel.
1
CLAIRE
I jog up the street, trying not to be any later than I already am. I shift my vision board under my arm to keep from dropping it. I finished an invigorating workout class that I led down by the river with just enough time to get back to the apartment, clean up, and grab my visual.
Springtime in Portland is my favorite time of the year, and this one has been particularly warm for being the end of March. Everything smells fresh again, and the new budding life sprouting from the trees gives me hope in possibilities.
My hair is in pigtail braids, still damp from the shower. My outfit is a simple pastel plaid wrap dress, paired with overpriced flip-flops. From the way they are making my toes hurt, I really don’t see the appeal.
I push open the cafe door and find my fellow party planner, Nic Hoffman, watching me from the corner table. I use his job title loosely. He has basically done nothing to help thus far, unless you count the blatant ignoring of my emails or vetoing of my ideas. I actually think he thrives on being difficult.
For the past three months—since Angie and Graham appointed us as maid of honor and best man—I’ve been doing all of the work. Granted, it has mostly been from a socially safe distance from each other. But I can no longer avoid the roadblock that is Nic Hoffman. I mean, I should have seen it coming. His brother lives by his own set of rules. It must run in the family.
Nic’s fingers tap the smooth surface, while his eyes study my every movement. His other hand is curled around a mug of coffee, forgoing the handle completely. My gaze lands on his gold ring. I guess when your brother is running the top jewelry company on the entire West Coast, you get special privileges of custom pieces meant only for you. But something tells me there is more to this ring than simply the family connection. Nic doesn’t seem like the man to be random about his style selections, and he definitely isn’t the type to follow a fashion trend either.
I hate how he is looking at me. It is borderline rude. Or perhaps it is just my own salty projection of my feelings toward him.
“You’re late,” he says flatly.
I guess I expected more indifference from him than directness. I want to reply with some snide remark, and normally I would without hesitation. But I still subconsciously think of Nic as my boss, since my name is still floating around the Entice database. My boyfriend, Ethan, insisted on me keeping my employment status as a high-class escort inactive instead of quitting entirely. He rattled off a bunch of stuff about insurance and benefits-package perks that I honestly wasn’t really following. When it comes to money and healthy financial decisions, I am clueless. College was paid for by my parents who I think were happy I switched coasts just to alleviate some of the face-to-face guilt they were experiencing when I was in their presence.
“My Zumba at the River class ran over, and I needed to go back to the apartment to shower,” I explain, watching him rise from the table.
The gray military-style fabric belt adjusts to allow his jeans to hang low on his hips, but tight enough to keep the sag away from his legs. He has on a solid black T-shirt that I know did not come from one of those three-packs at the department store. His outfit is casual, yet completely put together. He looks amazing.
His blue eyes catch mine and in this instant, I wonder if he knew I was checking him out. I shake my head as if my thoughts will clear from the movement. I need to stay focused on our job that we both agreed to do—together.
“I brought my—”
His hand moves up to halt my words. “What would you like to eat and drink?”
“I, um,” I stutter, not really planning on consuming a meal right now. I turn back and glance at the menu that is written on a whiteboard with washable markers. It only takes me a few seconds to realize that there is nothing here for me. I am in the middle of a five-day cleanse that I need to complete prior to the trip. I turn back and look at Nic. Despite his hair being shorter and lighter in color, he looks alarmingly like his brother, Graham.
“My treat,” he says, reaching for his wallet.
“Oh, I’m good actually,” I answer quickly. I dig out my lip gloss and reapply it.
Nic’s eyes narrow. “Not even a drink?”
I look toward the list of beverages and frown. There just isn’t anything here for me other than water. “Maybe just a bottled water.”
With a single nod, Nic vacates our corner table and goes to wait in line. I sit down opposite of his coffee mug and spread out my trifold board. It bumps into his mug, and I gasp as the liquid sloshes up the interior sides. Why am I so nervous? Nic returns and hands me my drink. He also places a muffin wrapped in plastic wrap onto the table in front of me.
“In case you change your mind,” he says simply.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“You’ve been busy,” he says, pointing toward my picture board and itinerary planner. I designed, printed, and laminated all of the things we need to get accomplished on the long weekend to Vegas. On the backs of each slip, I glued Velcro so we can discuss the plans and the overview of the trip—while being able to easily rearrange any events to allow for flexibility. Nic glances at his watch. “You know this place closes at ten at night, right?”
“Okay, great, that gives us roughly eleven hours to hash this out,” I say blankly. I can’t tell whether or not he is trying to be annoying or cute. Either approach unnerves me. I’m here to get the job done, not make jokes. Giving my bestie the best bachelorette trip of her life is my goal. Surely, her future brother-in-law and I can meet in the middle in regard to planning this thing.
Nic takes a sip from his mug and leans back into his chair as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Must be nice to have such freedom from the mental clutter that I typically have to sift through on a daily basis.
“We could have avoided this meetup if you would have just answered my email, you know?”
“And miss out on this…”—he points to my board and snickers—“special display of resource over-usage.” His eyes focus in on my perfectly crafted details. “What is it exactly?”
My eyes narrow. “It’s a vision board.”
“A vision board,” he echoes, looking at it as if he is suddenly interested in everything I have been working on this past month.
“So I took your one suggestion, and—”
“Completely ignored it.” He slides into the seat beside me, so neither of us have to look upside down.
I glance over to his look of indifference. I cannot get a read on this man. He lacks the ability to have real conversations—whether it be through text, phone call, or in person. Trust me, I tried. He seriously needs to brush up on his social skills before he dismantles every last thread of patience I have reserved for him. I am being very kind and flexible, since he is my bestie’s fiancé’s brother.
I take a deep cleansing breath. “You suggested us ‘winging it’ and I counter-negotiated that we could—”
“A negotiation implies an agreement on both sides. I never agreed,” he says flatly.
I lift my butt and pivot my chair so I can read his body language better. It feels like we have beaten around some proverbial bush to the point where there no longer is a point.
My eyes narrow, while his remain laser focused on my every twitch and fidget. No one gets under my skin like this. He is treating me like I am a spectator sport. While I’m not inexperienced when it comes to competitions, it feels like we are knocking heads despite needing to achieve the same goal. If I could do this on my own, I easily would. However, it was made clear when I decided to be the maid of honor that I would be willing to work with the best man on some of the planning.
So, unfortunately, our paths are going to cross a lot since I have my hand in every aspect of this wedding planning extravaganza. Avoidance is not going to be a valid strategy for coping with his mood. Angie lost her mom when she was twelve and then her only sibling when they were eighteen. I’m the closest thing she has to a sister. The least I can do is suck it up and learn to block out his—
I don’t even know.
Sure, we have hung out on a few occasions when I roomed with Angie, but this just seems different. It’s like he is staring into my soul, without my permission granted. It is borderline violating to feel this stripped down.
Nic is just so different from most men I have encountered, and I have dealt with a lot of different types. Hell, I either am making myself sound super slutty or super old, and I’m not sure which is better.
I need to get this meeting back on track before he railroads me further off course. “Where were we,” I mumble, looking over my vision board.
“I think we were about to discuss how you took my suggestion to keep our schedule loose and less rigid,” he says, sipping his drink but never removing his eyes from me.
I frown down at my ideas. I have spent a lot of time researching the attractions and events that Las Vegas has to offer to give Angie and Graham the best joint bachelor and bachelorette party that they deserve. Neither of us has ever been there, so naturally I wanted to plan enough touristy activities, while still hitting up a couple off-the-strip places. What has Nic done? Tried to veto nearly everything I proposed to him via email, to the point that I stopped sending him any information. That brings us to this very moment, where I’m still met with a roadblock.
“We are planning this trip together, Nic. Please work with me. Your brother is an extreme control freak, and I promised Angie that all she will need to do is pack her bags and show up at the airport. I would have everything—”
“We,” he interrupts.
“Excuse me?”
He motions with his finger between us. “I’m just pointing out that we would have everything handled. As in you and me.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say.” I throw my hands up, knocking over my sealed water bottle, sending it rolling off the table.
Nic leans over, catching it midfall. “Can you just calm down?”
I exhale so strongly that the air expelling from my lungs cause the flaps on my board to flutter wildly, some strips barely hanging on. I count to ten, forward and backward. I twirl the loose hair that hangs from the end of my braid around my finger. Does he not realize how aggravating it is for a man to tell a woman to calm down—especially when she is not acting hyper or crazed? How does he not know that he is supposed to save that question in his arsenal and only use it when absolutely necessary? Now is not necessary. He has a sister and a mother who are both lovely. How did he not learn anything from them?
“Let’s just verify that we have all of the checklist items marked off our list,” I suggest, trying to start over with this meeting. “Did you book the hotel and plane tickets?”
“Yes.”
“How are we handling the cost of these big-ticket items? Each pay half?”
“No.”
“Divide it four ways?” I counter.
“No.”
“Can you share your idea without the use of a monosyllabic word?”
“Yes.”
“Do it then!” My words come out harsher than I mean them to and much louder than I intend. I tilt my head down, trying to avoid looking around the cafe to see if anyone has noticed my outburst. The smile on Nic’s lips is unmistakable. I don’t need to look at him to know it is beaming across his chiseled face. He is enjoying my frustration. Maybe he wants me to look crazy, so that he in return looks normal.
“I have it covered.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Nic shrugs. “Life isn’t fair.”
I frown over his nonchalant words. They are riddled with a bitter aftertaste. “This is true. So, I looked up a list of the top fifty restaurants in a ten-mile radius from the strip. Would you like to pick out some of the places we plan to eat at?”
“No.”
“No?” I want to toss my hands up toward the ceiling or bang my head against the wall, but I resist. Why turn my headache into a migraine? Instead, I lean back and close my eyes to squeeze in a quick moment of meditation. I take a few deep, calming breaths. Once I’m back to my equilibrium state, I open my eyes to find the sea of blues in his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“No,” Nic reiterates.
I take out my top fifty list anyway, then dig through my bag for my twenty-four pack of multicolored pens. I remove the green, yellow, and red, setting the rest of the package off to the side of the table.
“Oh yes, I love arts and crafts,” Nic deadpans. “Did you just growl?”
“Probably,” I grumble, unable to look at him. I roll back my shoulders. You can do this, Claire. “So, I thought we could look at each name of the restaurant and the type of food served there, and then circle the favorites in green. Maybes can be marked in yellow, while reds can be—”
I stop my sentence as Nic takes the list from in front of me and the red pen. Then he strikes through one after the other, moving down the list.
“No, no, no,” he says, as he crosses each one out.
I rip the paper from his hand, tucking it under my vision board. “What is wrong with you?” I snap. “Seriously? Why are you being so difficult?”
Nic rubs his fingers against the scruff on his chin. “Where did you hide Spontaneous Claire? She seems to be way more impulsive than the Claire I’m witnessing today. Bring her back. I miss her.”
Nic has seen me run wild with my costume ideas and quest for a good time. We even spent last Christmas together at his parents’ house and participated in family games. According to both him and his brother, I’m trouble when it comes to Angie’s and my excursions. However, this task of helping with a wedding and being the maid of honor has sobered up my fun. I feel the pressure and take my job very seriously.
