An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Lickety Split
ISBN 9781419919893
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Lickety Split Copyright © 2009 Amarinda Jones
Edited by Helen Woodall
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book Publication August 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Lickety Split
Amarinda Jones
Dedication
Dedicated to those in the endless pursuit of ice cream. So many flavors, so little time.
And to my editor Helen Woodall and Captain Kirk. One is excellent value, the other is a habit.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Cinderella: Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Ken doll: Mattel Inc.
Lassie: Classic Media, Inc.
Mr. Frostee: Mr. Frostee Inc.
Nancy Drew: Simon and Schuster, Inc.
Sex in the City: Home Box Office, Inc.
Chapter One
“Fucking men and their stupid words,” Waverley Astor cursed as she scanned the available options before her. All of them looked good and each in their luscious own way would make her feel better. Even though it was bloody cold in the walk-in freezer section of the supermarket, she knew she had to make the right choice or end up with a Jonathon again. “Smarmy bastard wanting me to lose weight,” she muttered as she blew warm air on her cold hands. “Thank God I never slept with him.” But then he hadn’t wanted to sleep with her until she lost her “irresponsible weight” as he called it. “Ignorant, arrogant asshole.”
Waverley picked up one carton after another and assessed each of them critically. She had an important decision to make. What she did now would have an effect on the rest of her evening.
“Call me thunder thighs? I don’t think so.” He was never going to be offered the chance of seeing her thighs again. In fact, no man would. She held the carton aloft in the air, placed her other hand on her heart and did her best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. “I swear on this tub of double caramel pecan swirl ice cream that no man will see these thighs again.” Waverley expected a crash of thunder and maybe a bolt of lightning for dramatic effect yet all she heard was male laughter. Great—one of them was in the freezer section with her. “All men suck,” she muttered in contempt of their kind. Because of this unwanted male intrusion, she felt justified in adding a carton of French vanilla bean ice cream as well. They made me do it.
“That’s a hell of an oath to take,” murmured a deep, smoky-sounding voice. “What did he do to make you so angry?”
“He was a man. Isn’t that enough?” Waverley grabbed the two cartons of ice cream and started to head out. “But it’s okay now as I am giving men up for good.” She could hear the man’s footsteps on the other side of the packed shelves of frozen goods.
“Thinking of batting for the other side?”
“No, going to invest in lots of batteries and hard vibrating plastic,” she responded, stopping dead when she saw him. That would be right. The gods were testing her vows already by sending her temptation. The man was tall, dark-haired and broad-shouldered. Just my kind. He was smiling as if he was pleased by what he saw. The pleasure was reluctantly mutual. Waverley’s eyes roamed the strong face before her. It was almost like it was carved out of rock. High cheekbones, dark hooded eyes, a large nose that would have looked weird on someone else and a mouth that was so beautifully shaped that it was a sin just to look at it and wonder at the taste. Waverley looked down at his hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands and this man was definitely not her type. In his hands he carried a plastic store basket filled with several bags of frozen vegetables. No ice cream lover this one. But definitely a lover. Those eyes screamed sin and sex and everything in between. Waverley mentally slapped herself. Hello? You are over men. Remember?
“Vanilla, huh?” His eyes read the label on the cartons she carried.
Waverley was already defensive when it came to men, questioning her ice cream flavor choices just pissed her off further.
“Got a problem with that?”
“Not at all. Did you know that different flavors mean something?”
Waverley blew out a tired sigh. “I’m not here to be picked up.” Yet she was wondering why she was pausing as long as she was to tell him that.
“Vanilla means hidden passions that are yearning to be free.” He tapped the lid of the container with one long finger.
“Vanilla means lunch and caramel means dinner tonight.” If they had stocked the cherry coconut she loved, then that would have been breakfast. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am freezing my ass off in here.” If only it were possible to freeze flab off. She moved to the glass entry door and pushed. It did not open. Waverley tried again. The same thing happened. She looked at him.
“What?”
“The door won’t open.” I do not need this. I need ice cream and a male-free area to eat it in. Waverley glared at him.
“What?” he arched his eyebrow at her in amusement. “You think it’s my fault it won’t release because I’m a man?”
Yes.
“Well, at least do something masculine and kick it open or rip it off the hinges.” Now that was something Waverley would like to see. There was an undeniable sexiness about a powerful man. And watching a strong man do manly stuff was not breaking her thigh vow. But then this particular man was sexy just holding a shopping basket. Be still my heart if he kicks the door.
“Would you like to see me do that?” he asked in a deep, throaty voice as if guessing her thoughts. He dropped the plastic basket to the floor.
“I want out so do whatever you have to.” Waverley stepped back to allow him to get to the door. The spicy sandalwood smell of him as he passed made her almost drop her ice cream.
He pushed against the door hard. It refused to budge. “It seems it’s stuck.”
“Oh great.” Just what I bloody do not need. It was midsummer. She had not dressed to be trapped in a freezer. Her thin t-shirt and knee-length shorts were appropriate for the sub-tropical Brisbane heat outside but not the icebox she found herself in. Waverley pushed past him and kicked at the door several times. She only succeeded in bruising her toes. Kicking in doors required boots and not flat-soled Indian sandals. Waverley turned and looked at the man who grinned at her. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Calm down, precious.”
“Don’t patronize me, vegetable boy.” Waverley dumped the c
artons of ice cream on a nearby shelf. Her hands were freezing from holding on to them. Two questions were uppermost in her mind. What do I do now? And why don’t I have a spoon in my handbag? It was always times like this that you never had what you really needed. Ice cream was her thinking food. How am I supposed to deal with this literally cold turkey? Some days just suck. Waverley stamped her feet.
“That’s cute.” The man laughed and hit the red alarm button beside the door. “You’re cute.” A minute later, a teenaged employee came to the door. There was a look of panic on his face.
“They probably never had an emergency procedure for this.” From what Waverley could tell by his frightened hand signals, he was either going to get help or pretending he was a chicken, his arms were flapping wildly. “Great, where is Lassie when you need her?” That dog would have understood straight away, bringing back a rescue team bearing hot chocolate and cookies. However, surprisingly a couple of minutes later, three other panicked-looking employees came back to stare at them through the glass door. They were like goldfish stuck in a bowl. The employees were mouthing something Waverley could not make out. She turned to the man beside her and looked him up and down. Would it indicate something other than being cold if she plastered her body against his, hugging him to her for warmth? “What are they saying?” She wrapped her arms around her body and hugged herself tightly.
“I can make out ‘air lock’, ‘not supposed to happen’ and ‘thirty to forty minutes’,” he responded with a sigh.
Waverley threw up her hands in frustration. “We’ll freeze to death.” She jumped back as the man moved in close toward her. “Back off, mate.” She wanted away from him and the gawkers staring at them through the glass.
“You’re cold and I’m cold so we need to conserve body heat wisely—and don’t worry I don’t expect to see your thighs—yet.” He grinned as she opened and closed her mouth in surprise. He gave her no further time to think as he wrapped his arms around her shivering frame. “I believe under the circumstances introductions are in order. My name is Tor.”
Waverley looked up in the strong face above hers. It was a face that bespoke trust. That, coupled with the sudden heat from his body was wonderful. She felt under the circumstances it was okay to collapse against him. I am trying to survive after all.
“Seriously? Tor? Like the god of thunder?” Oh God, he feels good. She hugged Tor to her.
“That’s Thor not Tor.” He looked down at her as if waiting for something.
“Oh I see. Um, I’m Waverley.” And you smell divine and I am rethinking the whole I-hate-men thing.
“Seriously?” Tor mimicked, hugging her closer. “Waverley is a beautiful name.”
The sound of it on his lips certainly made her think so.
“No one can spell it properly.” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. He’s just a solid hunk of man. There’s nothing to get excited over, woman. He is your survival. “How tall are you?” He had to be at least a foot taller than her.
Tor seemed to find this amusing. “I’m six three in bare feet.” His hands massaged her back. “You’re delightfully cuddly.”
Waverley narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you saying I’m fat?” That was all she needed—another perfectionist of a man making judgments on her short, chunky frame.
“No, what I am saying is I have this intense desire to see all the curves I am feeling in the flesh.” His eyes locked on her mouth as his hands moved down to her hips. “But you have that vow.”
“And it was made over something I love and believe in, so it’s for life.” Waverley felt his hot breath against her lips and a promising erection pushing at her stomach. For a moment she wondered what it would felt like to have him heat her up inside as well as out. Forehead slap. Sex with a handsome stranger? You could be so lucky.
“Things change,” he murmured, his lips almost touching hers.
“Vows made over ice cream never do.” Waverley felt the overwhelming need to touch her lips to his.
“May I kiss you?” Tor asked, his need matching hers.
“I don’t think we should.” His warm breath on her face was intoxicating. When was the last time I was drunk in lust?
“Why not?”
“Because I…ah…” There were so many reasons but who could concentrate with him looking at her like she was the only woman in the world for him. Before Waverley could stammer further, Tor kissed her. Instant, wild heat shot through her veins. She slumped against him and gave in to the moment. She was kissing a stranger and yet he wasn’t a stranger. Tor’s mouth on hers felt too deliciously right to be wrong. Then his hands slid down to cup her ass and she felt his cock jerk hard in his jeans. She kissed him back with a passion that she was unaware she even possessed. So maybe vows made on chocolate ice cream would be more binding.
“You taste great.”
Waverley was surprised at the rampant hunger she had for this man. She had never felt this way before. He was so delicious that he was bound to be fattening.
“We have to stop.” She was starting to feel a long-forgotten sensation of moisture between her legs and her hormones were jumping with excitement, egging her on to do more.
Tor lifted his mouth and looked into her eyes. “Why? Because of your thigh declaration?”
“That and we’re in a public place.” Was anyone lurking over in the frozen pie section? They had been so caught up in each other that she had not thought to look. And for Pete’s sake the door was glass. What the hell am I thinking?
“No one else is here and no one can see us.” Tor’s words were reassuring as he placed soft, slow kisses on her lips and maneuvered them away from the door. “We’re trapped and it may be the last time we have sex.”
That sounded so dramatic. So strangely exciting. Waverley felt a shiver run down her spine. Sex? Here? With him? Why doesn’t that sound like a bad idea?
“Oh please.” She pushed his mouth back from hers. “You’re making out like this is the end of the world.”
“But what if it is and we’re the last people left and we may never have sex ever again?”
Tor’s words sounded so cataclysmic to her that Waverley could not help the giggle that escaped her.
“You’re crazy.” And cute. If she had to be trapped with the last man on Earth, she would want it to be this handsome stranger.
Tor lifted up her hand and kissed it.
Waverly almost sighed. There was something so sweet about a man who kissed your hand.
“I believe what you need, precious, is uncomplicated sex with a man who thinks you are gloriously full-bodied and beautiful. Besides I promise I won’t look at your thighs.”
Waverley pushed back from him slightly. “You’re saying I need a good fucking?” Okay I do. That was the truth of it and the only reason she had contemplated the ridiculous Jonathan. The need to feel something with someone if only for a moment had overcome her. But she wasn’t about to let this man know that. Waverley might have her desperate moments but she wasn’t a total slut. “Is that a line you use on most women?”
“Actually I have never used it before and I doubt I’ll ever use it again.” His eyes were soft on hers. “Come on, Waverley, the world is about to end. Come let us share something special before it does. Give a dying man his last wish to be with a beautiful woman.”
“I’m hardly beautiful and you’re not dying.”
“Yes, you are beautiful and the man who made you feel less than you are was a fool.” His hands wrapped around her body once more. “And I could quite easily waste away knowing I missed out on the one chance I had to be with you.”
Waverley blinked several times at his words. They were exactly what she wanted a dream lover to say but could she give in to this fantasy? It was wrong on so many levels. She did not know the man who had his hands on her ass once more. They could be freed at any moment. But all that paled beside the need to feel something, anything. For the last three days she had been so pissed off. Lust beat the
hell out of anger.
“Um…” Waverley knew she should so no but yes seemed so much more logical. And seriously, what would it hurt? She wasn’t looking for long-term romance with this man. A ten-minute, passionate love affair was exactly what she needed. I want to feel something.
“Well?” His voice was soft but not pushy. He was making it clear it was completely her choice and he would abide by it.
“I don’t want us to repopulate in case this is a false alarm.” She stiffened as she realized what she had said. That was a “yes” if she had ever heard one.
“I have a condom.”
“I can’t believe I am doing this but as the world is ending…” And as fantasies went, this was hot and who would ever know?
“It will if I don’t have you.” Tor removed his arms from around her body. “Take your panties off.”
Waverley felt her knees wobble at the way he said it.
“Take them off me.” She had never asked a man to do that before but she figured if she was going to hell for this, then she wanted to go first class without stopping.
“My pleasure.” Tor’s hands went to the snap of her shorts. His eyes never left hers. In no time at all her shorts hit the floor, followed by her panties. His hand slid between her legs. “You’re so beautifully wet.”
Waverley’s head dropped back as he toyed with the curls of her pussy. She was standing bare-assed with a stranger in a locked freezer. Anyone could burst in on them at any time. This was dangerous. Forbidden. Yet other than the cold, this was exactly what she needed. Uncomplicated sex. No emotion. Just giving in to need and enjoying the moment. She eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist when Tor lifted her into his arms. He stopped suddenly.
“I know I’m heavy but—”
“Hey, I’m not him—what his name?”
“Jonathon.”
“No real man is called Jonathon. That alone should have been your first warning you were dealing with a boy. Real men are different, precious.”
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