Hello, everyone!

Vamp and I are very excited (at least I am) to announce my newest release just out today! And I'm pleased to offer you the first chapter to enjoy and hope you will like it enough to explore further.

I'd like to get to know my readers better, so if the first chapter doesn't draw your interest, drop me a comment and let me know why.

This beautiful cover was done by SCinders, a wonderful artist.

Taming His Irish Spitfire

Click Here!

On to the first chapter...

Taming His Irish Spitfire

                                     By Brandy Golden

  Chapter 1

Chessy Morgan grinned down at the man walking beneath her scaffold. He in turn glared up at her. She waved cheekily when he did an about-face and continued on his way, his back ramrod stiff, the water droplets glistening on his black Brooks and Dunn suit jacket.

So much fun to aggravate the man.

There was just something about the set of his blond head and the natural dominant arrogance that he seemed to stride through life with that set her teeth on edge. At least through her life on the scaffold above the sidewalk where she spent three hours a day earning the insurance payment on her Volkswagen.

The Gods must have smiled on her three days ago. That was when he’d first walked under her scaffold, and she’d accidentally dripped her squeegee over the side of the scaffold from the next floor up. His arrogance had popped out immediately, directed right at her and her mistake.

“Hey! You up there! Pay attention to what you are doing! There are people down here you know!”

The irritable tones had slashed up at her through the crisp Boston air, causing her hackles to rise and goosebumps to break out on her skin. She peeped over the edge, her bright green eyes alight with mischief and curiosity, to see an irritated male face. The dark blond slashes of eyebrows were drawn together in an impatient scowl.

 “You just dripped water on my new suit,” he told her in no uncertain terms as if there wasn’t another store in the entire city of Boston that would carry another one.

“What a pity,” she mocked, her gamin grin registering exaggerated sorrow. “Sure and t’would be hard up you are if that’s the only suit you have to wear now, wouldn’t it?” She couldn’t resist her exaggerated Irish brogue.

 It was obvious the man was anything but hard up and Chessy had disliked him on sight. People with money liked to throw their weight around. She liked nothing more than to prick their hot air balloons of pride and censure of their fellowman whenever she got the chance.

Today, the Gods had been merciful yet again. The same man was just walking away from her for the third day in a row—with a well-spattered suit. Life couldn’t get any better than this, she thought happily. Funny, even though he hadn’t said anything the last two days, she knew he was fuming. She shrugged her slender shoulders. She was at a loss as to why he kept coming back, and frankly, didn’t care. She had succeeded in aggravating the life out of him and she felt vindicated, although she would rather have gotten even with her skinflint grandfather. Since she couldn’t aggravate him, another man of wealth was the next best thing.

Chessy glanced down at her watch. It was almost noon. Time to close up for the day and meet Marsha, her best friend, at the Olive Garden for lunch. Whistling cheerfully, she lowered the scaffold and nimbly hopped off. It would be the end of the week before she finally got to the tenth floor, which was as high as the building went.

Working for Dunn’s window cleaners was interesting, to say the least. She didn’t mind being up in the air at all and most certainly did not suffer from fear of heights. No, Chessy, short for Cheshire, was a Huntington, and Huntington’s knew no fear.

At least that’s what her spunky Irish grandfather had always told her.

She was even planning on making a parachute dive this summer, as soon as she could talk Marsha into going with her.

Quickly she jumped into her lime green Volkswagen beetle parked in the alley, and sped off, intent on making her lunch date. She totally missed the fact that she’d pulled out in front of a Lincoln town car.

                           ****

Ty Anderson shook his blond head and watched the colorful vehicle disappear into traffic. The little Volkswagen began to weave in and out of the cars like a colorful butterfly flitting among the flowers.

It was that cheeky little window washer that kept dripping water on him each time he walked under the scaffold.

 He supposed he could walk down the other side of the street, but he didn’t feel the need to go out of his way for a saucy little redheaded sprite with an attitude. He didn’t know why she seemed to have singled him out for her prankish gestures—he hadn’t noticed anyone else with water drops on their shoulders.

Not enough trips over a knee for a good paddling of her backside he supposed. Well, she’d better watch it if she knew what was good for her. If the right opportunity came up, he wouldn’t hesitate to flip her over his knee for a sound spanking.

“Where to, sir?” came the placid request of his driver, Sam.

“The Olive Garden, Sam,” he replied. “I’m meeting Lydia there for lunch.”

“Of course, sir.”

Ty sank back into the plush leather and reflected on the situation three days ago when he had yelled up at the brat to watch it. Her impudent grin and sassy retort had made him want to come up there, bend her over the scaffolding railing, and set fire to the seat of her coveralls. His mother had always told him that good things come to those who wait, so he would await his opportunity.

 A feral grin lit up his masculine features as he thought about teaching her a well-deserved lesson. Who knows, he thought. Maybe the Gods would smile on him and he’d actually get the chance. And if he did, little miss cheeky pants would dance to a different tune.

Ty watched as Sam skillfully navigated the heavy traffic. He really didn’t need a driver, but he’d run across Sam Daniels on one of his construction sites. A gang of young punks had beaten and robbed him, so Ty had helped him to a hospital, paid for all his expenses, and then hired him so he wouldn’t have to beg on the street. Sam had raced cars once upon a time and was a very skillful driver, but gambling and drinking had eventually lost him his career and family. And finally, almost his life—until Ty had come along.

            Sam hadn’t cared whether he lived or died in that hospital. Ty had wormed his story out of him and then offered him a way to take care of himself. He’d been grateful and hadn’t missed a day of work in two years. Of course, Ty had given him plenty of days off because he liked to drive his Mercedes convertible, so it had been a mutually satisfying agreement.

As Sam turned into the parking lot at the Olive Garden, Ty couldn’t help but notice the little lime green Volkswagen parked askew in a parking slot, effectively taking up two spaces. He wondered how many there were in Boston painted that outlandish color? He glanced at the inside as they drove past it and saw a cap flung carelessly in the front window that said Dunn’s window cleaning. He smiled wolfishly. Apparently, the little redheaded imp liked the Olive Garden as well.

                                  ****

“You did what?” Marsha Pierson exclaimed, her bright blue eyes lighting up in laughter. “Cheshire Huntington, you are going to be in so much trouble one of these days. I can’t believe you deliberately dripped water on some man you don’t even know. And dirty water at that.” Marsha shook her head at the mischief sparkling in Chessy’s lovely green eyes as the vivid redhead nodded affirmatively, a broad grin slashing across her puckish features.

 “I sure did. And with the leprechaun luck of the Irish, maybe I’ll be able to keep doing it for several more days. Especially since he refuses to walk on the other side of the street. The least I can do is accommodate him,” she added with a wink at her friend.

Marsha spied the arresting blond man as soon as he entered the restaurant and her hand flew to her breast. “Oh my, Chessy, your blond hunk doesn’t happen to look anything like that one does he?” She nodded towards the front door and fanned her face with her napkin.

Chessy was taking a sip of water when she turned to see whom Marsha was referring to. Recognizing her victim, her quick intake of breath caused her to get water down the wrong tubing. Choking and gasping, she shrank back against the booth seat, hoping he didn’t come their way.  “Saints preserve us, Marsha, that’s the man!” Her green eyes glittered. “He’s not coming this way is he?” she choked out, trying hard to suppress the sudden urge to burst into laughter.

“Actually, he is,” Marsha replied, her eyes alight with excitement. “But he has met a very beautiful woman. They are both following the waitress in this direction so it must be a lunch date.” She straightened her shoulders and did a quick primp as all women do in the presence of a good-looking male. She appraised him as he sauntered behind the pretty woman, his brown eyes looking around as if searching for someone.

“He acts like he’s looking for someone, Chessy,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s you.” She tried to suppress a giggle at the horrified and outraged look on Chessy’s face.

“Give me a menu,” snapped Chessy hastily, unfolding the menu and turning slightly sideways so her face was hidden behind it. Her heart was beating fast and her fingers trembled. Then her eyes widened in startled surprise when lean male fingers appeared at the top of the menu and gently pushed it down. She looked up into a pair of amused brown eyes that seemed to hold a warning glint.

 “Ah…the little window washer. How nice to see you.” He practically purred like a big cat.

Chessy felt like a rabbit caught in a predator's hypnotic gaze and she gulped at his wolfish grin.

Huntington’s know no fear! Mentally she put up her fighting Irish dukes.

“Do I know you?” she replied haughtily, her small nose going into the air. Let him chew on that one!

“We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’m quite aware of your presence each morning,” he returned smoothly. Ty found himself enjoying the exchange as he watched her expressive face go from a startled rabbit to the proud combatant. Her green eyes were a beautiful startling color and he could sense the mischief emanating from her curvy little body. Oh, yes—he’d noticed.

Chessy cocked her head sideways as if trying to place him in her memory of numerous eligible males. Her fingers snapped suddenly. “Yes, now I remember you,” she exclaimed boldly. “You are the one that just happens to walk beneath my scaffold about the time I’m draining the water from the squeegee.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she stared up at him. “Now I get the connection! You really should be more careful you know, you might ruin a suit that way.”

Have another bite of ego deflator.

“Oh, there will be a connection one of these days,” he suavely assured her, “and I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it about as much as I do water on my new suit.” Ty thoroughly enjoyed watching her pretty eyes narrow in reaction to his words. She didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, but she would find out when the time came.

Say what? “Are you threatening me?” Chessy’s delicate brow shot up as she appraised his meaning in her mind.

“I never threaten, I only promise. And I can assure you, when and if the circumstances are right, a certain part of your anatomy will feel my wrath.”

Chessy felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck as she stared at the brown-eyed man.

What part of my anatomy? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what he was talking about, but his derisive grin set her teeth on edge and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You could just walk on the other side of the street,” she pronounced haughtily, changing the subject away from her person.

Ty had to suppress a laugh. She badly wanted to know what he meant but was too proud to ask.

“I could, but I won’t,” he responded evenly, his white teeth flashing in an amused grin at her discomfort.

“No, I’m sure you won’t,” Chessy replied scornfully. “You people with money are all alike; you think wealth gives you the right to do whatever you please. Well, just remember, the little people have rights too—and if you insist on walking under my scaffold when I’m draining my squeegee, then you’ll just have to take the consequences.”

“Chessy!” Marsha squeaked, appalled at her friend’s bald statement.

The exotic-looking woman at Ty’s side sniffed delicately, her nose in the air. “Come on, darling, it’s quite obvious the little riff-raff has no class. Don’t waste any more time on her.” Her red fingernails dug into Ty’s sleeve, tugging at him to follow her.

Chessy felt a dull flush creep up her neck and spread to her face. She opened her mouth to retort back at the woman, but Ty put his hand over it. “Don’t dig yourself in any deeper, Spitfire,” he warned. “You’ve already got quite an account to be settled.”

Account? Settled? Spitfire?

His parting words effectively silenced her and he followed his lunch date to another room with Chessy’s eye’s boring holes in his back.

“Wow, Chessy, I think he likes you!” exclaimed Marsha.

Chessy rolled her eyes. “Only a romantic like you could read that into this situation. The man is obviously threatening me. How can you possibly think he likes me?”

Marsha leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially. “I think he was threatening to spank you, Chessy. And men usually only spank women they like or feel protective of.”

“Spank me?” Chessy was sure Marsha would sprout horns any second now, only a demon could come up with an idea like that. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I’m not kidding. It does happen sometimes.”  

“Not in this lifetime.”

Marsha smiled mysteriously. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Now you sound like Ripley’s Believe it—or not,” Chessy replied with a snicker.

Marsha shrugged and glared at her. “Scoff if you want to, but I’m telling you, it does happen.”

Chessy eyed her friend, curiosity finally winning over the ridiculous. “And just how would you know that?”

A blush crept up the pale face in front of her. “I just do, that’s all.”

At that moment, the waiter brought their food and the subject was dropped as the girls dug into the antipasto and hot, garlic-buttered artichoke hearts. 

“Mm mm…delicious,” Marsha sighed, licking the tips of her fingers. “Oh, by the way, do you want to come to a meeting tonight?”

“What’s it for?” Chessy was swallowing the last of the crab stuffed mushrooms.

“We are trying to raise support to block the destruction of the old Odd Fellows Hall. We want to have it declared a piece of history, and therefore indestructible.”

“It is historic, isn’t it? I remember the dances and parties our high school had there,” Chessy replied thoughtfully. Her father had taken her to a Daddy/Daughter dance there when she was fifteen. It had been one of the last things they had done together before he became ill. She still had a picture of the two of them on the steps, in between the stone lions.

“That’s the problem. For some reason, we can’t get a hold of the records. The county offices keep saying they can’t find them, and we think they are stalling until it’s too late. So, we want to talk about fundraisers to hire a lawyer to subpoena the records to see if it’s actually over a hundred years old. If it is, we can stop it from being torn down by having it declared a historic site.” She cocked her head, her blue eyes staring at Chessy with a silent plea. “Are you interested?”

“What’s going to be built in its place?” Chessy took a drink of her iced tea as she considered the idea.

“They say it’s going to be a health spa. The kind where you can actually check-in, stay, and go through a diet and exercise program to lose weight under supervision.”

“You mean a fat farm?”

Marsha flushed. “Well…yes. But I wouldn’t call it that,” she said defensively. She always felt uncomfortable with any references to fat, having long ago given up her dream of being slim and svelte like Chessy. She didn’t have that kind of chemical makeup, no matter how much she wanted to.

Chessy decided not to make an issue of it. She knew Marsha was sensitive about her weight, although she was far from fat. Her figure was certainly well-rounded and full-busted. As her country cousin would say, ‘built like a brick outhouse’, only he didn’t put it that nicely. Plus, she had perfect, flawless skin, something Chessy would kill for. “Sure, I’ll come. I’d hate to see that old building go too, it has some good memories.” 

“It’s at 7:00 p.m., conference room B, at the town hall. Don’t be late!” Marsha stood up and picked up the bill. “My turn this time.”

“Right, I got it last week.” Chessy grinned as she stood up. They always took turns with the bill. Two weeks in a row at the same restaurant, each paying once. It was a good system.

As they turned to go, her eyes were inexplicably drawn towards the back of the restaurant where she saw the blond man staring enigmatically at her. His eyebrow lifted sardonically when he caught her eye, and for a few seconds, she felt pinned by his probing gaze. Her chin went up in a gesture of unconscious defiance, and then she turned on her heel to leave.

No fear, remember? She chided herself for feeling a twinge of apprehension. Tossing her reddish-blonde mane over her shoulder, she walked away.

                                           ****

“Ty, are you listening to me?” 

Ty dragged his gaze away from the impertinent, disappearing derriere of the little window washer and back to the black-haired woman across the table.

“I’m sorry, Lydia, you were saying?” He couldn’t help but compare the bored, worldly look on Lydia’s face to the vivacious, exciting expressions that had flitted across the little redhead’s face as she talked with her friend. Her hair was an unusual color of red. Not a bright carroty red, yet not an auburn color either. It was almost a strawberry blonde color, its curling strands shiny and full. The dusting of freckles across the turned-up nose gave her a savannah sort of look, A person that you would imagine in a field of sunflowers with a soft gentle expression on her face. 

“I said, are you going to the Ferguson’s party with me tomorrow night?” Lydia’s eyes narrowed as she watched Ty lose interest once again. What was going on? He had been sneaking surreptitious looks at the booth near the front of the room for the last thirty minutes; the one with the rude young woman he had spoken to when they first come in.

Lydia Hastings was a woman who was not used to being ignored. Her exotic, almond-shaped eyes and olive complexion turned heads wherever she went. Her short black hair laid lovingly cut in one length along her jawline and glistened with an expensive sheen. She considered male appreciation as her due in return for the expense she lavished upon her person to stay gorgeous. Besides, she had her sights set on Tyrone Anderson Jr., and she didn’t intend to let a little chit like that steal her thunder.

“What? Oh…yes, yes, of course, Lydia. I’ll pick you up at 8:00 pm.” Ty picked up the bill. “Are you ready to go?”

“Will I see you tonight?” Lydia purred as she stood up, laying her hand on his arm. The red nails glistened against the sleeve of his white shirt and she peeped at him from between long dark lashes.

“Sorry, darling, I have a meeting tonight,” Ty drawled, his eyes traveling the length of her in appreciation. She really was a beauty, and she had all the right qualifications.

The image of the ‘spitfire’, as he had dubbed her, flashed into his mind again and he brushed it impatiently aside. He didn’t have time for a red-headed imp who was probably more trouble than she was worth.

Ty was sure Lydia was thinking of long white dresses, but he wasn’t as convinced. It was time he got married though; his mother never stopped nagging him. He supposed Lydia would do as well as the next girl. They weren’t in love with each other, but love was overrated anyway. Cynically, he figured he hadn’t met a girl yet whose bottom line wasn’t money. However, he did want to have a child…at least one.

“We need to have a talk soon,” he said. “There are some things I’d like to discuss with you.”

“So come over after your meeting,” she replied huskily. “I’ll still be up—as late as you need me to be.” She put her arm through his as he led her out of the restaurant. They stopped at her car and he leaned down to kiss her soft lips.

“I’ll try to make it if the meeting doesn’t run too late. If it does, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He opened the car door and held it while she got in. “Just for the record, how do you feel about children?”

She met his gaze with a blank look. “Children?”

“Yes, you know, short people—the kind that lives in families?” Ty knew he was being sarcastic, but he couldn’t help but feel that children had never entered her mind.

“Oh…of course,” she simpered weakly. “You just caught me off guard. As long as there is a nurse or nanny available, I wouldn’t mind having one.”

“I see,” Ty replied thoughtfully. He really did see—she wasn’t interested in children. “I’ll see you tonight then if I can.” He closed the door and turned away. He’d still give her a chance—they would talk. Then he’d make a decision.

                                            ****

Chessy ran lightly up the massive stone stairs—running late, as usual. Trying to hurry, she walked down the hall towards the conference room, her boots clicking on the tile floor. She loved these boots; they went nicely with her jeans or long skirts. Not that she ever wore a skirt very much, but sometimes the occasion warranted it. 

Tonight she was in nice Jordache jeans, a button-down white shirt, and a black jacket. Her long mane was flowing freely about her shoulders, the slight breeze from the hallway fans lifting it away from her delicate ears as she walked with a proud stride.

Finding the conference room, she stepped inside, her eyes seeking out Marsha. It was crowded. People were milling about and she recognized a few old friends. It looked like it still hadn’t started though, and she smiled in relief. She hated walking into a meeting with everyone staring at her. It occurred to her that she could solve that problem by not being late, but she brushed it aside. 

“Chessy!” 

She heard her name being called and she turned to see Marsha beckoning her to join her. She looked terribly excited about something, but that was Marsha. Chessy threaded her way through the throngs of people to the seats her friend had obviously saved for them.

“Hurry up, it’s about to start,” Marsha cried. She motioned Chessy to the chair beside her and they took their seats just as a smiling, round-faced little man picked up a gavel and pounded the podium with it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?  The little man held up his hands for silence and everyone settled in their chairs. 

“That’s Robert Harris,” whispered Marsha. “He’s in charge of the fundraiser committee.”

“We are going to open the floor for ideas on what to do for a fundraiser,” announced Mr. Harris. “Please raise your hands, wait to be acknowledged, and then state your idea. We’ll write it down, and then we will all take a vote on the best ones.”

There was a rippling murmur in the crowd and Mr. Harris held up his hands again. “Please—who would like to begin?”

Several people raised their hands and Mr. Harris called on a distinguished-looking older man with long sideburns and a bushy mustache. “Mr. Eldridge, you have the floor.”

“Don’t look now, but you’ll never guess who just walked in the door,” Marsha hissed in Chessy’s ear.

Chessy immediately turned to look, in spite of the injunctive not too. Her mouth dropped open when she recognized the wealthy, aggravating male who walked under her scaffold every day. He seemed to home in on her position, sending her a mocking grin in return. Then he settled himself into a chair.

Taming His Irish Spitfire

On Amazon

Thank you all for reading!

Best wishes,

Brandy