Hidden Flames

Hidden FlamesShelby Creek CountyBook 1 By: Jean Marie Copyright © 2023 Jean Marie All rights reserved The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20EpilogueMore Books From Shelby Creek County SeriesOther Series From Jean MarieAbout Jean Marie Chapter 1 Melissa The massive clock overhead chimed, announcing it was exactly two o’clock. Sweeping another glance through the packed room, dozens of wait staff hustling around getting the room ready for the charity dinner, I bit back a growl of irritation. She was late . We’d promised to meet up fifteen minutes ago, and Ashley knew how much I hated being kept waiting. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t asked me to fill in as a waitress. It’d been years since I’d worked that title, but when she leveled those baby blues on me and asked if I could help, there was no getting out of it. She didn’t ask things of me often, and this wasn’t too hard of a thing to do. Show up, play the waiter for her favorite charity event, and afterward, we’d go out for drinks and ice cream. The perfect evening. Alright, fine it wasn’t perfect–it’d need an orgasm at the very least, and I had no interest in getting one of those with Ashley–but it was as close as it came with just us. Besides, it could be worse. Looking around the room and actually taking it in how I hadn’t in my impatient rush, I let out a low hum of appreciation. The room was massive, no getting around that. It easily held dozens of circular tables, each covered in pure white tablecloths that flowed elegantly to the ground. Waiters wove between them, placing silverware–that was actually silver!–down alongside crystal glasses and cloth placemats. Overhead, three giant chandeliers bathed the room in a gentle gold light, and when you added in the tasteful paintings lining the walls, under which long buffet tables were piled high with plates that’d yet to be filled, it was the poster child of ‘high society party.’ And I’d never felt more out of place in my life. Sneaking a glance down at my raggedy jeans, plain shirt, and scuffed shoes, a kernel of unease settled in my stomach. Ashley had said they’d provide the uniform, I just needed to come with plain black slacks and a shirt. I’d done that, but seeing it now–in stark contrast to everything else’s dazzling appearance–spawned doubts low in my gut. I did my damnedest to avoid events like this, thanks to how out of place they made me feel, but this was for Ashley. Would it be obvious to the people coming today that I wasn’t from their world? Would it cause issues? Ashley adores this charity, and so do I, for that matter. After growing up watching my mother’s blood decorate the floor, I’d always be first in line to advocate against abuse. This was one of the biggest charity events of the year, and most of the proceeds would go toward funding the town’s main women’s shelter, and I couldn’t do anything to mess it up. Tugging on my shirt, which felt ratty now, I looked closer for any holes or wear. Most of my clothes had them, though I thought I’d done well in checking this one. After five minutes of thorough examination, I nodded in satisfaction. It may not be the same level as the rest of this place, but it wasn’t horrible either. Heck, the people here would probably have a stroke if they saw my favorite sweater. It was from years ago when I’d still been in college, stretched in all the right places, and the softest thing I owned. It also had more patch spots than clear fabric and was held together by hard work and a refusal to replace it. Shaking aside the thought of a bejeweled elderly woman fainting at the sight of anything less than the latest fashion, I glanced at the clock again. She was twenty minutes late now. Irritation faded into worry, the itch of wrongness sliding up my neck. Ashley knew I wasn’t comfortable in places like this; she wouldn’t leave me here without a text or something. My fingers twitched, the urge to reach for my phone and call her gripping tight and refusing to let go. She was probably just late. It didn’t happen often, but she was only human, and things happened. Before I could give in and call her, something hard collided with my back, sending me sprawling into a firm chest. Distantly I heard a muttered apology before scurrying footsteps ran back to the kitchen, but my attention wasn’t on the staff that’d just knocked into me. No, I was too focused on the familiar sandy brown head of hair staring down at me with a devastating smile I’d adored once upon a time. Jeremy’s arm stopped me from colliding with the cold tile, his grip firm but gentle as I straightened again. He stood a few inches taller than me, eyes sparkling with the charismatic glint that’d originally drawn me to him, and the crisp white button-up he wore fit right in with the glimmering surroundings. Black slacks were melded to him, and when I caught a sniff of his cologne, I groaned. I never got the name of it, but it was a soft musky scent that immediately rubbed along my skin like heated, vibrating silk. And by the smirk tugging his lips, he knew the smell still caused the same reaction in me. When the