Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Sexy,
simple, seductive. He’d arrange one blind date a month for her. Help her forget that he wasn’t Mr.
Right. That was the deal. If only it had
worked.
Jeanne Clark is determined to marry and have children. Too bad the only man she wants is all
wrong—her best friend and business partner, Brad Larsen. Their brief affair had
been fiery hot but heartbreaking. Brad isn’t the marrying kind. Children? He
doesn’t want any.
Hoping they can both move on, Brad proposes a New Year’s
resolution. She’ll go out with a different guy each month, hand-picked by
him—the Man of the Month. Jeanne doesn’t do blind dates, but agrees to the fool
idea. She’s got to do something to get
over Brad.
As the bad dates add up, Jeanne realizes how much she really
loves Brad. And it’s killing Brad to watch her go out with other men. As the
tension between them builds, one reckless night threatens to change everything
between them forever.
Coming soon!
Chapter 1
JEANNE’S CHAMPAGNE sloshed over her
glass as she tried to find it with her lips. Lordy, was this her
third... or fifth? She’d never been much of a drinker, but it
was the only way she was going to get through this night. Either that, or one of
her pecan praline pies. Not just a nibble, either—the whole dang thing. In the
end, the champagne would do less damage to her hips, so here she was, drowning
in the bubbly.
As she aimed the flute
toward her mouth, it disappeared when someone plucked it from her sticky
fingertips.
"Hey!” she protested, grasping at the
air.
Brad towered over her, frowning as he
snatched the glass. "Jeanne, what’s gotten into you? Tonight of all nights?”
A few people turned to stare.
She hiccupped. Covering her mouth, she
shot Brad her nastiest glare, but ugh! The man, with those chiseled
cheekbones and that pitch-black hair falling in his eyes, was handsome even
when he was mad.
"Shoot, Brad!” She stamped her stiletto
and wobbled, grabbing his arm for balance. Her hand locked onto rock-hard
muscle, and she nearly whimpered. Instead, she lied. "I’m fine! I need that
drink to ring in the New Year.” She shouted over the music and laughter at the
party and plastered on a great big smile.
Seemed like everyone in Willowdale,
North Carolina had turned out for the bash, even old Chester Miller. He hadn’t
left his house since 1998, and here he was chasing the old Mercer twins around
the living room—and they were enjoying it. Was she the only one here faking the
fun?
Brad’s stern look disappeared, and out
came a smile that could blind the sun. "You don’t need any more. Not tonight.
Now, get over here, girl. The ball’s dropping.”
He linked his fingers with hers,
pulling her through the crowd until they had a good view of Times Square on the
giant flat screen TV. Couples bunched up together in the crowd preparing for
the countdown. Brad snaked his arm around her waist, his thumb stroking her
black satin dress. The warm feeling coursing through her body had nothing to do
with the all those glasses of pink bubbly.
They counted down together.
"Three... two... one!”
Horns blared, confetti flew, and it
felt like a slow-motion movie scene. She turned to him, fixing her eyes on his,
bright blue and smoldering under a lock of hair. His eyebrow hitched while his
mouth formed a perfect pucker. A shiver shimmied down her spine then back up
again. With a swipe of her tongue across her lips, she sucked in a breath,
closed her eyes—
And Brad planted a big kiss on her
cheek. "Happy New Year, kiddo,” he whispered in her ear.
Her heart sank faster than the ball
they’d just watched. Just like it did every time she realized her perfect guy
could never be more than a friend. Dang. She swallowed back the sob crawling up
her throat. Didn’t go down as easy without the champagne.
She forced a smile. "Happy New Year,
Bradley.”
Then she grabbed her glass, slurped the
last of her drink, and pushed away from him. Stumbling through the crowd, she
made her way toward the back deck of her friend Kate’s enormous house. The damn
place was probably bigger than the Smart Mart over in Whitesville.
After indulging a few of the regulars
from the Jelly Jar diner with celebratory hugs and kisses, she finally slipped
outside, relieved to drop the fake smile. Pulling her wrap tight around her
bare shoulders, she leaned against the railing and let out the tears she’d been
holding back. The champagne glass slipped from her grasp and crashed onto the
patio below. That only made her cry harder—like she needed more proof she
really didn’t have a grip on things and hadn’t for a long time.
Jeanne sniffed, and her bottom lip
wobbled like the bumper that was always threatening to tumble off Bill the
Barber’s truck. She wasn’t one to fall apart all pretty. When she crumbled, she
was a downright mess.
Soft, downy flakes fell from the sky,
tickling her nose. She brushed them away like gnats. That damn kiss on the
cheek shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d known for a couple years now that
Brad would always be just a friend, for several very good reasons. And now that
they were business partners, becoming a couple would be as stupid as topping
their famous rum pound cake with hot bacon drippings. Normally, she could deal
with it. Just tuck away that painful longing like a brochure for a month-long
cruise you could never afford to take, but still liked to dream about.
Guess something about the promise of
new starts and a new year, and maybe all that champagne, had brought hope
rising up inside her. Only to be popped like a silly soap bubble. Of course,
the bad memories from that New Year’s Eve so long ago chased away the good
feelings, too. She sucked in a shock of cold night air and shivered.
Folding her arms on the railing, she
rested her chin on top. She shouldn’t have come to this party. She should have
volunteered to babysit so her sister, Becca, could’ve gone out. Little Emma was
just three months old, and the most beautiful thing Jeanne had ever seen. That
was weighing heavy on her heart, too, reminding her how badly she wanted to be
a mama. To have the perfect family she never had, and how unlikely that was of
happening any time soon.
The deck door slid open, and the sounds
of music and laughter spilled out. She stood up and pressed her fingers under
her eyes to catch any dribbles of mascara. Was she the only person in the world
sobbing-in the New Year? Taking a deep breath, she turned to see who was coming
outside.
Please don’t be Kate or Tonya.
She didn’t know if she had the strength
to lie to her friends about what was wrong. They could sniff out of a fib
faster than Doc Louie’s bloodhounds.
"Why’d you rush out here?” Brad asked.
Dang, worse than Kate or Tonya, Jeanne thought, as she turned away. "Guess I don’t feel
like celebrating tonight.”
"Sure looked like you were having fun.”
He rubbed his hands together. "It’s freezing.” He took off his jacket and
draped it over her shoulders. His fingers grazed her arms, and she felt
goosebumps answering his touch.
His big, warm body pressed up next to
hers, and he planted his elbows on the railing as he looked out over the yard
and the pool tucked away for the winter. "This night’s hard for me too, Jeanne.
Eighteen years is a long time, but still... it hurts, I
know.”
She shook her head and shrugged off the
idea. She didn’t break down like this every year. Why this one? "No. That’s not
it. Your mother died that night, too, and you’re not out here crying.”
Brad winced and closed his mouth. He
was quiet for a spell. "You still upset we didn’t land the catering gig for the
Willowdale New Year’s Bash? You know Kate threw this party just to hand us a
booking, right? Not a bad consolation prize.”
She nodded. "I know. Kate’s a great
friend. That’s not it. The New Year’s Bash was a long shot. We’re not ready for
that yet.”
He leaned into her, his breath hot on
her cheek. "Cheer up, kiddo. It’s a new year. I’ll make you a batch of those
rum balls you love so much to start it off right.” He frowned. "No, nothing
with alcohol for you. How about chocolate silk pie? You love my chocolate silk
pie.”
She loved his everything. "No thanks.”
"Damn. You turned down pie. You are
upset.” He nudged her with his elbow. "You pouting ‘cause I took away your
drink? You’re a lightweight, and you know it. I’ve gotta look out for you.”
Shaking her head, she sucked in a deep
breath. "I’m pouting because... I’m lonely.” She sniffed, her
emotions ready to tumble out like a bunch of peaches in those flimsy paper
supermarket bags. "I’m sick of being single. I want a family.”
He looked up at the sky and let out a
long sigh. "How can you even think about romance when we just launched Elegant
Eats? I sure don’t have time for dating. What makes you think you would?”
She lifted a shoulder, a strand of hair
tickling her skin. "I’d make time. The alarm on my biological clock is
blaring.” Cue the dramatic eye roll. "Never mind. I forgot—you don’t
have one of those timers.”
The champagne had loosened her tongue
more than she realized. Things always got ugly when their talk turned to
babies. That’s what had broken them up the first time.
Brad’s hands went up and he stepped
back, his best cowboy boots thunking on the wooden deck. "Jeanne, you
can’t be mad at me for being honest. It would be a mistake for me to have
children. But I know that’s what you want, and I respect that. Just don’t look
down on me. I’m being responsible, not getting into a situation I don’t want to
be in—can’t be in.”
She nodded, not looking at him. It was
the one thing about Brad that made a relationship between the two of them a
deal breaker, and they both knew it. Jeanne wanted kids more than a stray dog
wanted a warm home. And Brad was a wolf who’d always be on the run.
The music thumped inside as they stood
there, frozen, while a whole world of silent hurts tumbled between them.
His hand cupped her elbow. "It’s a new
year, a new start. Why not resolve to get out there and meet someone?”
Her soft laugh left a puff in the air
between them. "Brad, I know practically everyone in Willowdale. There’s no one
here for me to date, unless one of the biddies down at Tonya’s salon has a
handsome grandson locked up in her attic. Besides, matchmaking and me just
don’t mix. Things got real ugly when Faye Jenkins tried setting up her son
Leroy with me—and Tonya and Kate all at the same time.”
"Leroy Jenkins is a fool. Course it
didn’t work out.” Brad tipped her chin up with one finger, and she swallowed a
cry. "I’ve got lots of great friends from here to Asheville. Good men.”
Sadness tightened her chest, and she
brushed off the suggestion with a big wave, stumbling with the gesture. Brad steadied
her with his hands on her waist as though he might lift her up and kiss her
long, hard, and good.
Which of course, he wouldn’t. Been
there done that, decided it wouldn’t work.
He pulled his hands away. "No, really.
Make it your New Year’s resolution to go out with a new guy every month until
you meet Mr. Right.”
She laughed, in a not-funny-at-all way.
"Listen.” Her finger poked his hard chest. "I don’t drink mocha double lattes
just to seem trendy, I don’t wear push-up bras just ‘cause I don’t got the
goods, and I don’t do blind dates just ‘cause I’m lonely as sin.”
Brad pushed away her finger and
groaned. "But I’ll prescreen all these guys. And who knows you better?”
The truth of it slapped her heart. The
man she loved knew her even better than her sisters or her girlfriends did.
"You want to set me up with a guy?”
He nodded. "One guy every month. The
Man of the Month.”
She hiccupped and pressed her hand to
her mouth. "The Man of the Month,” she said through her fingers. "You’re
kidding, right?”
"Nope. There’s your resolution, J.”
She loved it when he called her that.
He grinned, looking way too smug. "It’s
a brilliant plan.”
"Good lord.”
It was so silly she couldn’t even find
the words to argue against it. No way, no how was she agreeing to such foolishness.
But when she looked up at those take-me-now eyes, his perfect lips, and those
big biceps flexing as he leaned against the railing—imagining herself all
tucked up in them—she knew she needed to do something to get Brad Larsen out of
her system.
And that’s how she found herself
saying, "Okay, Brad. Man of the Month. Sign me up.”
"YOU DID WHAT?” Tonya choked on her
sweet tea at the Jelly Jar diner the next afternoon. Kate whacked her on the
back, and two old-timers at the counter turned around from their coffee and pie
and squinted in their direction.
"Shh! And shut those blinds, would
you?” Jeanne winced and rubbed her temples. "You heard me. I agreed to let Brad
set me up with a different guy every month. It’s my New Year’s resolution.
Wasn’t my idea.”
There had to be some grace period for a
do-over on a resolution, right? She could not go through with this. Her mama
was probably rolling over in Heaven at the thought of it. At least she thought
that’s what her mama would do. Jeanne didn’t remember much about her.
More heads turned as Tonya, in her
tight jeans, popped up to lower the blinds. She planted a hand on her hip. "You
mean, Brad-I-love-him-but-won’t-ever-admit-it Brad.”
She plopped back in her seat, her dark
curls bouncing on her shoulders. A week ago, her hair had been straight and
red. Tonya thought the best advertising for her salon happened right on her
head.
Jeanne glared at her. "You know which
Brad I’m talking about. Business-partner-best-friend-Brad.” She pushed away her
burger and fries, realizing her stomach wouldn’t appreciate that.
Kate wagged a manicured finger at her.
"I saw you tossin’ back the drinks. A bottle of champagne can make a girl agree
to all kinds of crazy things.”
"Especially when that girl is actually
in love with the man trying to set her up with his buddies,” Tonya added,
dragging a french fry through a puddle of ketchup.
Kate nodded. "That’s even more powerful
than a bottle of bubbly.”
Jeanne squeezed her eyes shut. "Will
you two let up on that? Just because we were a couple a while back does not
mean I’m in love with Brad Larsen. That’s when we figured out we were meant to
be friends. We want different things. So give up that goose chase, girls. Brad
and I were never an item and never will be. We’re friends. And business
partners. That’s it.” She sighed. Right. And after my New Year’s
resolution, I’ll give up lying for Lent.
Tonya pretended to zip her lip while Kate nibbled on her
own.
"Yep, that’s what you’ve been telling
yourself for a long time, Jeanne,” Kate said.
"Because that’s the truth.” Jeanne sat
up straight, trying to channel a bit of confidence. "And the more I think about
it, the better Brad’s idea sounds. He probably does know some very hot men, and
I get to go out with one a month.” She crossed her arms and nodded. She had to
prove to them she wasn’t in love with Brad—which would be as easy as convincing
them she didn’t like chocolate. "It’ll be fun.”
"You’re right. It does sound like a
good plan. Kind of makes me wish I wasn’t married,” Kate said, tucking her
silky blonde hair behind her ears.
Jeanne gave her a look. "Right. You’d
give up the hottest guy in Hollywood for a shot at some of Brad’s redneck
friends.”
Kate had married actor Teague Reynolds
in the biggest slice of gossip ever served up around these parts. But news of
this resolution would get tongues wagging, too. Jeanne rolled her eyes just
thinking of it. Maybe she should buy a honkin’ pair of sunglasses and a great
big hat to disguise herself on these dates.
Tonya looked down and tapped a shiny
blue nail on the table. After a deep breath, she lowered her voice and took on
a serious tone. "All right, I’m just gonna come out and say it. You don’t think
it’s a little strange to be in love with him after what happened with your
parents? Why him, of all people?” Her eyes slowly met Jeanne’s. "You might want
to sit down and make a list of all the reasons you love him and ask yourself
what’s really going on here.” She shrugged. "Lists always help me. It’s just—I
know Dr. Phil would have something to say about this.”
Jeanne’s mouth opened and closed a few
times, and she looked away. "No! I’m not in love with him. And that would be
weird, right?”
Neither of them answered, and she
noticed Rita’s daughters two booths over, taking their time cleaning up. The
diner and the beauty shop were the two biggest transmission points for gossip
in this town. News of these monthly blind dates would spread like a pandemic.
Kate snagged an onion ring from
Jeanne’s plate. "And you two are so different. He’s a total control freak, and
you like the unexpected.”
"I wouldn’t call him a freak,” Jeanne
said. "He just likes things to be planned and orderly. I really admire that.”
"He washes his truck every Saturday
morning, rain, shine, snow, or hail,” Tonya said. "While your house hasn’t been
clean since you moved in.”
"Yes, it has,” Jeanne said, without the
appropriate rage such a statement should bring.
Tonya held up her hands. "Hey, I’m not
saying we’re going to call Hoarders or anything. You just like to be
surrounded by stuff. And he is not a ‘stuff’ kind of guy.”
"And don’t forget he alphabetized your
spice rack,” Kate added.
Jeanne threw up her hands. "And it’s so
much easier to find things now. Except for turmeric. I always spell that
wrong.”
Kate sighed. "We just want you to be
happy, Jeanne. Whatever it takes. You deserve it.”
"Why don’t we set you up with Tommy
instead?” Tonya asked. "If you like one brother, the other might do.”
"Now why would we do that?” Kate asked.
Tonya shrugged. "We’ve both dated him
and can vouch he’s a good kisser.”
Tonya pointed at her. "Plus, he’s got a
kid, so we know he can make ‘em and take care of ‘em.”
Jeanne balled up her napkin and tossed
it at Tonya. "Is today January first or April first, because you have got to be
kidding me. Getting Ellen Lewis pregnant by mistake, while he was on break from
Kate, doesn’t count as wanting children.” She tipped her chin in the air.
"Plus, he’s nothing like Brad.”
"You’re mighty quick to defend Brad.”
Tonya’s eyes narrowed to devious slits. "Admitting it’s the first step to
solving the problem.”
Jeanne’s voice strained with a thread
of hysteria as she rose to her feet. "There’s no problem. Why would I agree to
a year’s worth of blind dates if I wanted to be with Brad?”
Plenty of heads turned at that, and
Kate pulled her back into the booth. "No, you’re absolutely right. You and Brad
are just friends.”
They poked at their food but ate
nothing. The three of them without empty plates was like two-stepping to rap—it
just wasn’t right.
Tonya finally piped up, her
good-natured mood returning. "Keep us updated, girl. We want to dish after
every date. Who knows, maybe Mr. January will be the one.”
"When’s your first date?” Kate asked,
finishing her milkshake, but stopping when it got to the noisy slurping part.
Guess a girl’s gotta ramp up the class once she marries into Hollywood.
"Jeanne, you should wear that silk, vee-neck cream dress. It makes you look
like a B cup.”
Tonya raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe even
a C cup if you get him drunk.”
"Hey, you’re a real C cup, Tonya. Maybe
you should go on the date,” Jeanne said.
Tonya was sorry and single, too.
Tonya ignored her. "Whenever it is,
stop by the salon first. Your highlights need a little tweaking,” she said,
fingering Jeanne’s hair. "Your blonde is blah.”
Jeanne slapped Tonya’s hand away and
shrugged. "I’m not sure when the first date is. I suppose I’ll find out in a
bit. We’re catering a party in Whitesville tonight. Gotta get to the kitchen,
hangover and all.”
She slid out of the red leather booth,
waved goodbye to the girls, and wondered if she could ever shut off her
feelings for Brad, because lying about it was certainly taking its toll.
Slumping behind the wheel of her car, she asked herself if Man of the Month
might be the way to finally do it.
A mocking voice in her head said, "Yeah,
when the devil starts serving sweet tea, heavy on the ice.”
Chapter 2
JEANNE DROPPED the stack of linen
napkins she was folding. "My first date is Friday? This Friday?” She grasped
the table to catch her balance.
Brad folded his arms and gave her a
smile she wanted to smack right off his face. "It came to me first thing when I
woke up this morning. The guy who rents from my brother in Whitesville would be
perfect for you. Sam’s Mr. Environment. He rides his bike everywhere. That’s
important, now that you’re going green these days.”
She rubbed her temples, but nothing was
making this headache go away. "I put in energy saving light bulbs because they
were handing out free samples at the hardware store.” She planted a fist on her
hip, her silver bracelets clinking. "I’m not exactly green, Brad. But I guess
concern about the environment is good. He’s not out saving whales or anything
is he? Not that I don’t like whales... . What does he do for
a living?”
Brad shrugged. "Not sure.”
"Is he good looking?” Say, someone
well past six feet, broad shoulders, thick, black hair such as yourself?
Brad stroked his chin.
A strong jaw like that would be nice as
well, she thought. With a dimple smack dab
in the middle, too. Made her melt whenever she looked at it too long. He’d been
so intriguing back in school, when Principal Willis made sure not to put any of
the Larsen boys in class with any of the Clark girls after the crash. Too
awkward, she’d heard the teachers say. But she could always spot Brad a mile
away in the hallway thanks to the dimple. The one that was currently
mesmerizing her.
"Is he good looking?” Brad repeated. "I
guess. It’s hard for me to say. I’m a guy.” He dropped another stack of
laundered napkins on the table to be folded.
"So, you don’t really know him, you
don’t know what he does, and you can’t say if he’s good looking or not.” She
counted off the disturbing facts one by one on her fingers. "Basically, you’re
setting me up with this guy just because he has a bike?”
Brad set his hands on her arms and
pulled her close. "He was the first guy I thought of.”
A laugh escaped from her pursed lips.
"Perfect qualification right there.”
"I didn’t want you to chicken out. I
figured we’d better strike while the iron was hot, while you were still keen on
the idea.”
"Still keen? I wasn’t keen about
it last night, and I’m not now.” But she did like the way Brad was holding her
in his arms. Possibly to shake some sense into her, but still, it felt nice.
And he smelled good, too. Always did. "Looking at it now that I’m not drunk and
crying in the dark, this is stupid. You had me at a disadvantage last night.”
She raised an eyebrow. "One might even argue that you tricked me.”
A hurt look crossed his face, like a
kid who’d learned he wasn’t going out for an ice cream after all. "But you
promised, J.”
She pushed past him and picked up the
linens she’d dropped. "This is the thanks I get for giving you an antique
butter churner for Christmas? Do you know how many vintage shops I scoured to
find that?”
"Hey, it was my favorite gift this
year. I’m going to put it front and center in the entryway and tell everyone
it’s yours.”
"No room for it at home, huh?” she
teased, thinking about his everything-in-its-place lifestyle the girls had been
mocking. They weren’t off base on that one.
He scratched his head. "Someone might
see it there. It’s better suited for here.”
Jeanne knew he admired old kitchen
gadgets but just didn’t like admitting it to anyone else. She lowered her
voice. "And what if I tell everyone that’s your collection out in the lobby?”
His jaw dropped. "You wouldn’t. Don’t
use my love of vintage kitchen tools to get out of this. You know I like it.
And I...” He fumbled for his words. "And I just want you to
find someone.”
"Why do you care? You said it yourself,
I should be concentrating on the business, not my love life.”
He grabbed a few napkins from her and
helped fold them. "I just hate seeing you so sad. You deserve to be happy.”
She nodded, wishing she felt the same
way, wishing she could be happy without him. He reached for another napkin, and
their fingers brushed. Just that little swipe of flesh sent an embarrassing
surge of lust straight down to her toes. She jerked her hand back.
She thought she’d had her feelings for
him under control for a while, that she shut them off completely after they’d
tried out a relationship two years before and decided it was a no go. But now
the feelings were back full force. You’re a weak woman. "You’re right.
How bad could one blind date be?”
Brad rubbed the back of his head.
"That’s the spirit. I’ll call and tell him you’re in, then I’ll give him your
number.”
Jeanne hoped her heart would flutter
just a whisper at the idea. But it dropped like a thud in her chest. "Great.
Thanks, Brad. I’m so lucky to have you... as a friend.”
He nodded and finished folding the last
napkins. "So, back to business. The desserts are prepped for the banquet
tonight. We’ve got three cases of champagne coming it. I’ll be handling those.”
He winked at her, and she winced.
"Don’t worry.” She held up a hand. "I
won’t be drinking champagne again until we ring in the next decade.”
"Or maybe at your wedding?” He waggled
his eyebrows. "I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
JEANNE GROANED when he said it, but
Brad kept his smile wide and tried his best to sound encouraging. He wasn’t
sure if he was pulling it off. Despite everything he felt for her, he knew damn
well he wasn’t the guy to deliver Jeanne’s happily-ever-after dreams. And she
deserved nothing less. Bottom line, she wanted a kid, the dogs, the big back
yard—and he didn’t.
After his mom died in the crash, his
dad had started drinking more. While his mother had been a weepy drunk, his
father was a mean drunk who seemed to find a reason to smack Brad and his
brothers every day—him especially. Brad wasn’t so sure that mean streak hadn’t
carried on down the line. He would not screw up a kid like that. And after
having two parents who’d let him down big time, chances were good he’d do the
same thing. He wasn’t going to perpetuate those bum genes by having a kid. No,
parenthood wasn’t for him, no matter how much he loved Jeanne.
He looked at her dark blond waves
tumbling over her shoulders, imagining her hair spread out on his bed, her
bright green eyes looking up at him longingly. Damn, the things he wanted to do
to her.
He finished folding the napkin and went
into the kitchen to get away from the one thing he wanted but could never have.
But she followed him in, creamy skin,
perky nose, and all. "So, I was thinking. Since you forced me into a New Year’s
resolution, it’s only fair I come up with one for you, too.” Her grin left him
tingling in all the right places.
He draped a dishcloth over his
shoulder. "Stop right there. I am not agreeing to the woman of the month club.
I’m all business these days. I told you that.”
Jeanne frowned at him and even looked
cute doing that. "Fine. Then let’s come up with some resolutions for Elegant
Eats.” She hopped up on the counter.
"That’s not a bad idea. What are you
thinking?”
She crossed her legs and leaned back.
"We should aim for ten new clients.”
"Sounds good.” Looks good, he
thought, surveying her long, lean body. Knock it the hell off. He
studied the tile floor but couldn’t get rid of his randy thoughts.
"And booking more parties than Events
Extraordinaire.”
His eyebrows shot up.
"Okay... we could try. But they’re in Whitesville, and
they’ve been in business longer than we have, remember?”
Ignoring him, she continued. "And
finally, landing next New Year’s Eve bash.”
He whistled. "That’s an ambitious list.
Makes Man of the Month look amateur. We should step that up to Man of the
Week.” Only because he liked to make an art of torturing himself.
She whacked him with her towel. "No
way. You’re lucky I was drunk and defenseless when you concocted this fool plan
for once a month. I should have whupped your butt last night just for
suggesting it.”
At the end of the workstation, he
uncovered a tray of desserts prepped for the party that night. "Let me ply you
with sweets as an apology.” He brought a Mexican wedding cake to her lips, the
tip of his thumb brushing her lower lip. It was soft and warm, and he
remembered how nicely it had fit against him those few glorious weeks they’d
dated.
Her gaze fluttered up to meet his. Then
she closed her eyes and took a bite of the powdery cookie. Crumbs of sugar
stuck to her lips. Damn, he loved watching her eat. Sinful. If she were his,
he’d feed her like this every night.
He cleared his throat. "That’s what I’m
going to do every time you complain about this—feed you. That’ll keep you on
board.”
"You’re evil.”
He winked at her. "I know.”
But if he was one hundred percent
honest with himself, this resolution was more for him than for her. Because the
sooner Jeanne was taken, the sooner he’d be forced to move on from the woman
with the lips and the eyes and the laugh that killed him. The woman who could
never be his.
