White Hot Holidays 26: A Taste Of Honey

by Michele Bardsley

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  A Taste of Honey

  ISBN # 1-4199-0459-0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  A Taste of Honey Copyright© 2005 Michele Bardsley

  Edited by Sue-ellen Gower.

  Cover design by Syneca. Photography by Dennis Roliff.

  Electronic book Publication: December 2005

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  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.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This book has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  A TASTE OF HONEY

  Michele Bardsley

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Formica: Formica Corporation

  F150: Ford Motor Company

  Honda: Honda Giken Kogyo Kabushiki Kaisha (Honda Motor Co., Ltd.)

  Chapter One

  New Year’s Eve

  Jarod McClure stumbled out of the warm, cinnamon-scented house owned by Roger and Cindy Morrison. Behind him, Clay Aiken’s “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” spilled into the cold night air. Thanks to ol’ Clay, what had been a loud and raucous party morphed 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.

  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 be a life-threatening turn, he heard the door slam, immediately muting the sounds of the New Year’s Eve party.

  It sucked that he was leaving before midnight. 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 a long walk to his house and he needed to get there before his Great Dane, Marvin, got impatient and started peeing on furniture.

  He managed the three steps off the porch. He weaved right…weaved left…and fell face-first into the double-D chest of an X-rated snowwoman. Oh yeah. Roger had jokingly made the Snowie the Slut and Cindy retaliated by creating Snowjohn the Stud.

  Laughing, Jarod 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 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, Jarod looked up and saw a beautiful blonde angel.

  She smiled. “You had the eggnog too, eh?”

  Jarod held up two fingers and she chuckled. “I had one,” she admitted. “And 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 Jarod recognized the tune 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 managed.

  Nuzzling under her turtleneck, he said, “Uh-huh.”

  Oh God. She smelled like honeysuckle and tasted like soft 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,” he said. “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.

  “Eggnog and the fates are against us,” he said. “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. “You meet me here tomorrow night—” she handed him a white business card “—and we’ll see what happens.”

  He peered at the card. “The Sex Club?”

  “What’s the matter, sugar? You afraid of a little challenge?” She leaned forward and kissed his throat. “I want to play with you. Eight p.m. Ask for H.”

  “H.”

  “Yeah.” She patted his cheek and sauntered away, leaving him alone in knee-deep snow contemplating the strange card.

  And the beautiful woman.

  Chapter Two

  “Mrs. Conroy, please reconsider. We can discount our services—what?” Jarod rolled his eyes. “No, I won’t ask my employees to do that. Our men are skilled professionals, not strippers. I’m sorry too, Mrs. Conroy. If it doesn’t work out, just give us a call.”

  Jarod dropped the phone receiver into its cradle. “That’s the third customer this week.” He picked up the pencil and tapped it against the papers littering the check-in counter. “Our services are unmatched and we get the job, any job done. There hasn’t been a complaint yet. Sheesh. Where else can you call to get your car fixed, your pipes looked at, and your roof patched?”

  “Honey Do,” answered Ian drolly. “And you’re preaching to the choir over here.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The small office was located in a shopping center, crammed between the dry cleaners and the grocery store. ProCare’s first office had been a garage, the only employees himself and his brother, Ian. They’d spent the last five years carefully building a solid, profitable business.

  Truth be told, his thoughts weren’t on business but on pleasure. He and his brother Ian always worked a full day on New Year’s. Hell, they worked every holiday because they promise
d twenty-four-hour care no matter what. And, well, they had no lives. No girlfriends, no wives and no prospects of either one.

  I want to play with you. 8 p.m. Ask for H. The card given to him by the blonde angel last night was in his front jeans pocket. It had become a talisman. Even without an eggnog-clogged mind, he remembered her scent. Her smile. The feel of her curves. Oh man. He really wanted to explore those curves again. Just a few hours more and his hands would be stroking her skin. He swallowed his groan.

  “We haven’t gotten a new customer since Honey Do opened two months ago and they’re kicking our ass. I can’t believe the shallowness of women. They want to ogle half-naked men.” Jarod looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the cars dart in and out of the parking lot. “They could care less if the job gets done right.”

  Silence met his outrage. He glanced over his shoulder at the desk across the room. His brother, who looked like a grown-up Harry Potter, worked on the computer. He typed fast—the tap-tap of the keys sounded like a machine gun report.

  “We’re losing business,” said Ian. “Our profits are down for the first time in two years.”

  “Are we in the red?”

  “No. But it’s a real possibility.” Ian stopped typing and adjusted his glasses. “Honey Do poses a big threat. It’s not like Clement Falls is a huge city. We have one of everything in this town. Remember when Harry Johnson’s big-shot son came up from Tulsa and opened one of his chain dry cleaners here? Nan’s dry cleaning service closed within six months. She’d been in business for thirty years.” He shook his head. “We’re in trouble.”

  Jarod dropped the pencil on the counter and turned to face his brother. “Do you know anything about Honey Sinclair?”

  “She’s the granddaughter of Odemina Wilson.”

  “Well, shit. Are you sure she’s related to Odie?”

  “Yeah.”

  A moment of terrified silence passed. Seventy-eight-year-old Odemina was sharp as a tack and mean as a hornet. Clement Falls elected a mayor every two years, but the truth was that Odie was the Queen of Everything. Her family had founded the small Oklahoma town one-hundred and twenty-seven years ago and she never let a soul forget it.

  “Since Odie blessed the Earth with only one child…I take it that Honey is the daughter of He Who Must Not Be Named.”

  “According to the gossip at Sammy Jo’s Dinerette, she is the result of Odie’s disinherited son and the stripper he ran off with.”

  Jarod snorted in disgust. “Well, that explains her tendencies to encourage her employees to take off their clothes.”

  “Heard they were killed in a car accident a couple of years ago,” said Ian. “Must’ve been hard on Miss Odie.”

  “Maybe that’s why she invited Honey to live in Clement Falls. That girl’s her only kin now.” He frowned. “It’s got to be illegal to require a man to disrobe as part of his job. Discrimination. Sexual harassment. Something.” Jarod stroked his chin, an idea percolating. “I bet she wouldn’t hire Ernie. He’s a great worker, but I don’t think his wife likes to see him with his shirt off.”

  Ian laughed and shook his head. “Poor Ernie.”

  “What if I could prove sexual harassment?”

  “You’re dreaming. There’s no way you’re going to be able to implicate Odie’s kin in anything nefarious.” Ian frowned. “I know that look. It’s the same look you had when you talked me into sneaking onto old man Tyler’s hen house. I nearly got pecked to death.”

  “It was a character-building experience.”

  “It was a painful experience. What are you planning?”

  “I’m going to prove Honey Sinclair is doing something nefarious.”

  * * * * *

  “Hubba, hubba,” exclaimed the pink-haired female as Jarod entered the small, windowless office. Jarod blinked as the woman gave him a slow once-over that left him with the impression she was imagining him naked.

  “Hi ya, sweet cakes,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. She wore an amazing shade of gold eyeshadow and her fake lashes were glittery. She walked from behind the tall white Formica counter and Jarod stepped back. She was sheathed in a plastic pink dress that should have, by all rights, disabled her ability to breathe.

  Behind the counter, a door opened. “Margo, where are the—”

  A petite blonde dressed in white jeans and a yellow half-top stopped and looked at him. “Hubba, hubba.”

  “Are you referring to me?” he asked.

  She lifted a thin eyebrow. “Wow, he’s articulate. Where’d you find him, Margo?”

  “He found us. Unless Santa Claus forgot to deliver one of my presents.”

  What the hell had he gotten himself into? No one had ever referred to him like a—like a thing before.

  He leaned against the counter, directing his gaze to the blonde who seemed to be in charge. At least, he hoped so. He didn’t know if he wanted to deal with the pink demon perusing the front of his jeans a little too avidly.

  “Don’t you worry about sexual harassment suits?” he asked.

  “Nope,” the woman answered. “If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen.”

  “You advocate sexual harassment in the work place?”

  “No. But I need to know our employees can deal with the…enthusiastic behavior of some of our clients.” She smiled and revealed a dimple at the left corner of her mouth.

  Jarod felt zapped in the pit of his stomach. Whoa. He hadn’t counted on being attracted to her. Get a grip, man. His thoughts leapt to where he’d like to grip Honey—she had really nice…no, no, don’t go there.. He took a fortifying breath to calm his racing pulse. If he didn’t figure out a way to put Honey Do out of business, then ProCare was toast—and that meant a lot of good men would be jobless. His workers didn’t have the muscles or the youth to work for Honey Do.

  The bell above the door jingled and he turned to see who’d arrived. A young man in a wheelchair rolled through, popped a wheelie and skidded to Honey. He grinned, a flop of brown hair covering his right eye. “Hiya, toots.”

  “Charlie, you big show-off. How’d the job for Mrs. Firman go?”

  He withdrew a folded paper from his pocket. “The check’s stapled to the Job Completion Order.” He flashed a twenty-dollar bill. “And she tipped me.”

  “Twenty bucks? What did you do?”

  “I stripped down to my shorty shorts with no shirt and flirted my ass off. It was a simple leak too. I think Mrs. Firman likes me.”

  “You’re a slut.”

  “I know.” He grinned again. “Got anything new, boss?”

  Jarod slipped out of the office and walked to his car. His theories about Honey Do were way off. The owner wasn’t a sleazy, money-mongering exploiter of men. She was vaguely familiar. Had he met her before? A fuzzy memory flitted…then faded. Oh well. What did it matter? The truth was that Honey Sinclair was nice and pretty and kind.

  Damn it.

  * * * * *

  “He didn’t recognize me,” said Honey Sinclair as she and Margo shut down the office. “We shared a mind-numbing kiss at a party. It was magical. He might’ve followed me. And I waited for him. Then stupid Roger came out and dragged him off to a taxi. Sheesh. Despite all that, I still figured out he was Jarod McClure, rival and expert kisser.”

  “Give the guy a break, babe. It was dark and he was sloshed.”

  “Magical,” stressed Honey. “And apparently one-sided.”

  “Doubtful. Maybe he didn’t remember a drunken New Year’s kiss, but I saw the way he was looking at you.” Margo shut off the computer and straightened the files scattered on the desk.

  “If you say so. Are you going with me to the New Year’s party?”

  “The one at the sex club? I don’t think so. Besides, aren’t you worried Jarod will recognize you?”

  “If he didn’t recognize me in a face-to-face, then he’ll be less likely to recognize me with a mask.” Honey locked the deadbolt and chained the front door. Then she turned aro
und and looked at a bemused Margo. “Now, there’s only one question.”

  Margo shouldered her purse and followed Honey out the back door. “Yeah, toots? What’s that?”

  “What ever shall I wear?”

  * * * * *

  “Does it say ‘I’m a slutty snowflake’?” asked Honey.

  “Short and stout,” sang Margo, her pink head popping up next to Honey’s shoulder. “Here is your handle…and whoa, look at that spout!”

  “You’re a pervert.” Honey assessed her barely-there negligee in the floor-length mirror attached to her closet door. Hmmm. She could live with the way her breasts were showcased, held up by the flimsiest of lace bras. And the thong was okay too. Hell, she didn’t even mind wearing the mask.

  The thigh-high white boots were the real problem.

  “Maybe I should switch to high heels.”

  “No way!” said Margo. “The boots scream ‘Fuck me, big boy’.”

  Honey grinned. “I like what they’re saying. I just don’t think I’m tall enough to do ‘em justice. Do you think dressing in all white suggests ‘virgin bride’? Because marriage is so not what I’m looking for.”

  Margo cackled, nearly falling over on Honey’s bed as her laughter pealed. “Anyone who knows you wouldn’t use virgin or bride to describe you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Honey grabbed a fringed pillow and threw it at Margo who dodged it easily.

  “Do you have a decent jacket?” asked Margo. “Otherwise you’ll freeze to death on the way there. On the up side you’ll be the sexiest dead body ever found.”

  Honey rolled her eyes. “Yes, mommy dearest, I have a coat. What I don’t have is a friend going with me. I can’t believe you’re gonna stay home with your new boyfriend and drink champagne.”

  “Don’t forget the part where we fuck like bunnies all night.”

  “TMI, Margo.”