“I’m getting a cold,” whispered Daphne. She wiggled her nose as though trying to prevent a sneeze.
“You can’t get colds, Daphne. You’re immortal.”
“I got tree rot once.”
Aphrodite turned toward her and lifted one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Do I look like Demeter? Save your plant disease talk for her. She loves conversing about tree rot and acidic content of soil and the perfidies of Kudzu. Ugh.” She studied her friend and executive assistant’s black leather tank top, yellow neon skirt, and those gorgeous wedge high heels. “It’s not like you’re dressed for Oregon weather anyway. You know it’s winter, right?”
“That’s no reason to let a good outfit go to waste. Have you seen my awesome shoes?”
Aphrodite nodded. “They are quite spectacular.”
“Right?” Daphne took a second to admire the wedges. “So. Anyway. Speaking of plant diseases … how long are we going to hide in the bushes? I thought we were searching for the apple.”
“We were. We are. But I have to stick around until I figure out why I have the Tingle.” Aphrodite snuggled more deeply into her Burberry coat, flipping up the collar to provide some warmth to her cold cheeks.
“I wish your love buzzer worked for the apple. Three months, Di. We got nothing. Nada. Zip.”
“I know. I know. We have couples breaking up and divorcing all over the place. That’s why I financed that little … project.”
“The sex club?”
Aphrodite grimaced. “You make it sound tawdry.”
“No, I make it sound fun. The seeeeex club.”
“We all know that getting humans into sexual frenzy is the fastest way to increase the love mojo in Broken Arrow. Remember the orgies I used to throw back in the day?”
“Oh, I remember.” Daphne grinned. “Penises and vaginas everywhere.”
“Thank you for the visual. The important part, however, was the love and marriage and babies that came afterward. I’m using the same concept—with less public orgy, of course—for the Cupid Club.”
“I’m sure Eros was thrilled with your name choice.”
“He doesn’t like to be called Cupid, so it hardly matters.” Aphrodite stilled. Then she pushed down the Oregon grape’s leaves, dislodging the snow onto Daphne’s bare legs.
“Jeez! Really?”
Aphrodite ignored the nymph’s grousing. Her gaze riveted on the house just a few yards away. “Hush, you. The couple who’re causing the Tingle are about to meet.”
ADAM REDMONT STUMBLED out of the warm, cinnamon-scented house owned by Roger and Cindy Morrison. Behind him, the melodic voice of Patsy Cline followed him onto the porch. The bittersweet song had morphed the loud and raucous party into a lovey-dovey-kissey-wissey affair. Blech. The partygoers had split into slow-dancing couples and made him all too aware that he wasn’t part of a twosome or threesome or anysome. And he hadn’t been for a long, long time. Adam stopped short of the stairs, unintentionally swaying to the music as he tried to gather what was left of his wits.
Shit. He’d left open the front door, but wasn’t sure he had enough motor control to turn around and shut it. Before he could attempt what might a life-threatening turn, he heard the door slam, immediately muting the sounds of the Patsy Cline and the New Year’s Eve party.
He was leaving before midnight. Sad, really. Even without a steady girl to smooch on, chances were good he could’ve found someone to lock lips with at midnight. Oh well. It was about a mile’s walk to his house and he needed the time and the cold air slapping at his face to sober him up. Besides, if he didn’t go home soon, his Great Dane, Marvin, would get impatient and started peeing on furniture. Then the damned dog would eat it. The couch had never recovered from the last bout of the Dane’s separation anxiety.
Adam managed the three steps off the porch. He weaved right...weaved left...and fell face-first into the double D chest of a lingerie-clad snow-woman. Oh. Right. Roger had jokingly made Snowarella and Cindy had retaliated by creating Prince Snow.
Laughing, Adam sucked a lungful of snow, and the stupidity of doing that made him laugh harder. He extracted himself from the icy breasts—the purple lace bra clutched in a triumphant fist—and fell ass-first into the snow-blanketed front yard.
“I’ll give you points if you did that clasp one-handed,” said a melodic female voice.
Blinking away the buzz gained by a mere two glasses of eggnog so potent people were getting drunk just smelling it—Adam looked up and saw a beautiful blonde angel.
She smiled. “You had the eggnog, too, eh?”
Adam held up two fingers and she chuckled. “I had one,” she admitted. “I’ve been seeing double ever since.”
She extended her hand and he grabbed it, attempting to pull himself up. Instead, she was thrown forward, on top of him. Delighted with this turn of events, he wrapped his arms around her. “Angel,” he muttered.
From the house, a cheer went up. Then Adam recognized the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.”
“Midnight,” he said. “Happy New Year!”
“Whoa, sugar. What are you—?”
His lips took hers in a gentle caress. Her mouth was so cherry-hot he found himself unable to stop lip-locking her. She didn’t protest…so he kissed her until the snow melted around them.
Finally, reluctantly, he let go of her lips to explore the shell of her ear. Such a delicate, pretty ear. Like a butterfly’s wing.
“We’re sorta inebriated,” she whispered.
Nuzzling under her turtle neck, he said, “Uh-huh.”
Oh God. She smelled like honeysuckle and tasted like freshly baked bread. She was warm and wiggly and holy shit he really wanted to see what was under that parka that hid her body from him.
“It’s probably unwise to think about continuing this fun somewhere less cold,” she said.
“Definitely unwise. But I’m sure we can find an unlocked car.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she said with a laugh.
They rose on unsteady legs. She held onto his arm and he to her waist and just as they decided to move forward, they fell into a heap all over again.
“This isn’t going to work,” she said breathlessly.
“Eggnog and the fates are against us. Give me your number. Your name. Your zip code. We’ll have a New Year’s Day brunch...in bed.”
“Tell you what,” she said. She unclasped her purse, withdrew a pink notepad that had a tiny pencil attached to it. “You meet me here tomorrow night—” she scribbled on the paper, ripped it from the pad, and handed it to him—“and we’ll see what happens.”
He peered at the paper. It was so pink. “The Cupid Club?” He blinked, his foggy mind clutching at the words. “Wait. That’s a real thing? In Broken Arrow?”
“It’s real. Go about a mile past Beautiful Beaux. There’s an apple farm sign—make a left there.”
“You mean the dirt road that goes to Gutson’s old place? There’s nothing out there. I mean, the apple trees are still there. But the only building left is—oh. The barn.”
“Yes. The barn.” She leaned forward and kissed his throat. “Eight p.m. Ask for T.”
“T.”
She patted his cheek and sauntered away, leaving him alone in ankle-deep snow contemplating the crumpled pink note.
And the beautiful woman.
“WELL! THAT COULDN’T have gone better!” Aphrodite stood up and extricated herself from the Oregon grapes.
Daphne followed with less grace—given the unwieldiness of her fantastic shoes. “You mean the woman who just rented office space from us and the guy who runs ProCare is a match?”
“It helps that she hasn’t been in town that long and he’s been single since he started that handyman business of his. No relationship juju to poison.” Aphrodite slogged through the snow until she got to the sidewalk. “And with our help, their connection will stay strong and hopefully combat Nemesis’s stupid spell.”
“Did you try talking to her again?”<
br />
“There’s no talking to her. She’d rather rot in Tartarus than tell me where the apple is.” Aphrodite marched down the sidewalk. “Let’s get back to the office. And let’s find out where Eros and Psyche are. I’ll need their help to cement things between our lovebirds.”
BROKEN HEART & BROKEN ARROW BOOKS
The Broken Heart and Broken Arrow series are somewhat intertwined. Interspersed between the longer tales are short stories (designated with *) and the anthology Broken Heart Tails. Below is the suggested reading order of all the stories. For the most up-to-date list of available titles, visit my website: MicheleBardsley.com
I’m the Vampire, That’s Why
Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire
Because Your Vampire Said So
Wait till Your Vampire Gets Home
Over My Dead Body
Come Hell or High Water
Cross Your Heart
The Early Girl Gets the Blood Wolf *
Must Love Lycans
Broken Heart Tails (Anthology)
Only Lycans Need Apply
Valentine’s Day Sucks *
Some Lycan Hot
Naked Disclosure
Harry Little, Leprechaun *
Sex on a Plane
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michele Bardsley is a national bestselling author of paranormal, romance, and mystery fiction. She lives in Texas with her husband (The Viking), four dogs and two cats. She loves watching “Supernatural,” consuming chocolate, crocheting hats, reading books, and spending time with her husband.
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http://www.michelebardsley.com
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Broken Heart: Visitor's Pass (Paranormal Boxed Set) (Broken Heart Paranormal Series Book 0) Page 10
