Sexy Lips 66
Page 31
“We take you shopping. You have two hours to buy what you’ll need and a budget the size of two of your paychecks. This is a new twist they added, sort of a catch-you-off-guard thing. It’s happening to the contestants too.”
“Well, the contestants don’t need anything to wear but a Speedo! I mean all it is—is some suntan lotion and a thong.”
Linda laughed at her obvious anxieties. “Those are the rules and,” she looked at her watch, “you have five more minutes to give me an answer. Your flight leaves tonight.”
“But my stuff at the hotel…”
“We’ll send someone to get it. Four minutes…”
“And my rental car…”
“Staff will take it back for you. Three and a half minutes.”
“My fern…” Tara said weakly.
“Can’t help ya there. Two minutes.”
She grabbed Linda’s arm and covered her wrist watch in frustration. “Oh, all right! I’ll go!” Tara grabbed the pen Linda held out and signed the release, scribbling her name quickly before she freaked out. “There,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone, “now what?”
Linda smiled. “Now you get whatever you have in this car and come with me.”
She lost her focus on Linda for a moment as she caught the large body of that August guy weaving between cars in the parking lot. Damn, he was hot.
Tara popped open the back door and began digging around for her spare pair of shoes. Her thoughts were jumbled and her head ached. How the hell was she going to put this all together in her head in one plane ride to Hawaii?
Could one plan in enough time—on a flight to Hawaii—to destroy someone?
* * * *
August Guthrie swaggered in and out of the cars in the studio parking lot and paused, trying to remember where the hell he’d left his rental twelve hours ago.
Damn, he felt stupid. Well, his best friend Greg couldn’t say he didn’t take him up on his dare. Greg had triple-dog dared him to try out for the show when he’d found out from his cousin that Kelsey Little was on it. August couldn’t help it if the people responsible for helping him make this dare happen didn’t want to play.
Henry Abernathy had grilled him like a piece of shrimp on the barbee. What kind of question was what makes your heart sing?
Yes, he’d known Kelsey in high school. Lying about that would have sunk him like the Titanic because it was easily checked. Yes, he was a competitive man. No, he didn’t need the money the show offered.
Locating his rental car, August ignored the replay of his interview with Henry in his head and took a few more weary steps toward it. Maybe he’d just go back to the hotel, sleep and drive back home. He hated to fly. He needed time to think about this newest rejection in a long list of them where Kelsey Little was concerned.
Some guy was leaning on the trunk of his car, legs crossed, dressed perfectly and eyeballing him as August went to the driver’s side and ignored him.
“August Guthrie?”
August turned to stare at him. “Yep.”
Tall, dark and Hollywood held out his hand. “I’m Darren, Mr. Abernathy’s assistant.”
August’s face registered recognition. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first. It’s all kind of hazy, ya know?” Like coming off a two-day bender.
Darren chuckled, “Yeah, I do know. It’s a long couple of days going through all of the tests and interviews, but I think you’re going to find it’s paying off for you.”
August cocked his head. “Huh?”
Darren stuck out his hand and slapped the other across August’s back. “You’re in.”
He was in? In as in—in the final cut in?
Darren read his mind. “Yeah, you’re a contestant on ‘Whose Bride Is She Anyway?’.”
August’s eyes flew open. “Wait a second. I thought they weren’t choosing anyone for weeks?”
Darren’s dark eyes smiled. “It’s a new twist we kept close to our chests and here’s the real catch, you have to leave today.”
“What?”
“Watch my lips,” Darren said and pointed to his mouth, his pinky ring glistening in the sun. “If you want to be a contestant on the show, you have to leave today.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
August began pacing the length of the small parking space, his head filling with a “to do list”. How could he friggin’ leave today? He had a business to run and a goldfish to feed. He didn’t have enough clothes with him for a month. Or a plan to win Kelsey. How could he practice winning her if he didn’t have time to do anything but get on a plane? You couldn’t win a woman without a plan—he had to get his head into the game first.
He stuttered, “But…”
“It’s now or never,” Darren assured him.
“My rental…”
“The staff will get it.”
“Um, clothes?”
“Bought and paid for by the show. You don’t need much, a few bathing suits, some T-shirts, sandals.”
“My goldfish, Jerry…”
“He has water.”
August finally laughed. “Can I call home? I’d have to make some arrangements.”
“Yep, one call.”
“Like jail?”
Now Darren laughed, “Yeah, like jail.”
Well shit. If he didn’t do it, Greg would call him a chicken-shit bastard. If he did, he could well be on his way to getting married in front of a live audience. He gulped for the first time since he began this crazy venture, his throat was tight.
Marriage to Kelsey Little. Holy hell. And there was no backing out either. If you signed you couldn’t leave unless you were voted off by the jury. There were clauses and crap in that contract.
August saw the value of the show catching them off guard. It made you make snap decisions you might not if you had more time to rationalize. That was what the show was all about, wasn’t it? Making a life-altering choice in a month. What was the worst that could happen? He’d lose and go home. No big deal. Losing wouldn’t be as bad as backing out on Greg’s triple-dog dare.
“You have like five minutes, August,” Darren warned, “and then I need you to sign this contract. The one you reviewed before the final interviews.” He pulled it out of his back pocket and slapped it in the palm of his hand.
Five flippin’ minutes? Who decided to leave town in five minutes? For a month, no less? Didn’t these people care that he had a life—a company to run? And most importantly, a goldfish to feed? Of course they didn’t. They cared about putting you on the spot and dangling the Kelsey carrot in front of your interview-weary eyes.
August walked toward the front of the car and sighed, absently watching a woman in tight jeans, three rows ahead of him, ass end out of the trunk of her car.
Nice ass…
He straightened immediately. What kind of thought was that to have when he was pondering boarding a plane to compete in a reality show for the woman of his high school dreams? Jesus…
August Guthrie, you are swine, even if she does have a nice ass.
“So…we on?”
He turned back to Darren, determination all over his face. “Yeah, you’re on.”
Note from Dakota
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About Dakota
Dakota Cassidy is a USA Today bestselling author with over thirty books. She writes laugh-out-loud cozy mysteries, romantic comedy, grab-some-ice erotic ro
mance, hot and sexy alpha males, paranormal shifters, contemporary kick-ass women, and more.
Dakota was invited by Bravo TV to be the Bravoholic for a week, wherein she snarked the hell out of all the Bravo shows. She received a starred review from Publishers Weekly for Talk Dirty to Me, won a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Kiss and Hell, along with many review site recommended reads and reviewer top pick awards.
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eBooks by Dakota Cassidy
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Interview With an Accidental—a free introductory guide to the girls of the Accidentals!
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9. The Accidental Dragon
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1. Kiss and Hell
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The Plum Orchard, a Contemporary Romantic Comedy series
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4. Talking After Midnight
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2. Burning Down the Spouse
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Chapter 1
Kelsey Simmons assessed her appearance in the full-length mirror. She could swear the dress hadn’t looked quite so outrageous in the boutique. Held up with spaghetti-thin straps, it dipped low in the back, exposing a liberal V of honey-hued skin and rendering a bra infeasible. The bodice revealed an eye-popping amount of cleavage where it stretched taut and low across her otherwise unsecured breasts. The sensuous fabric skimmed her hips and the twin splits in the hem exposed her thighs.
She looked…available. Very available. She also looked like she was about to fall out of the damn dress.
“Remind me again why I bought this, Gabby,” she told her best friend.
Gabrielle Murray stepped forward to view the dress in the mirror, the bulge of her pregnant stomach forcing Kelsey to move over. Gabby combed her hands through Kelsey’s neatly styled hair, sending the thick locks into disarray. “Because it complements your coloring and makes you look like sex on legs. J-Lo,” she said with a click of her fingers, “eat your heart out.”
Kelsey smoothed a hand over her messed-up hair. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure what kind of reaction I’m going to get out of Stefan if I wear this.” As obvious as she thought the dress was, Stefan Henley hadn’t thus far shown himself to be a great interpreter of women’s signals—at least not hers.
“If there’s any hot blood pumping beneath that composed exterior of his, you’ll get just the reaction we’re looking for.”
Kelsey wasn’t convinced. Stefan had always been almost painfully reserved around her. Despite the enjoyable, although not steamy, kisses they had shared during their regular evenings out over the past six months, he often reverted to treating her more like a friend than a potential lover afterward. She couldn’t help but wonder at the reasons behind his hesitancy.
She believed Stefan’s assertion that he wanted to take things slowly with her—he had been raised by conservative parents and was innately shy. But occasionally insecurity raised its ugly head. Perhaps Stefan just wasn’t all that into her.
Gabby, ever Kelsey’s staunch supporter, had declared that nonsense and suggested Stefan might not believe in sex without serious commitment. That was why she had devised “operation seduction”, corny name and all.
“When Stefan sees you in this, one of two things will happen,” Gabby began, outlining the main objectives of her plan to spur Stefan into action. “He’ll either race you to the nearest bedroom or the nearest altar—and I suspect the latter. Both would be even better.”
“Agreed. I’m not in this just to…you know.”
“Get laid?”
Kelsey arched a brow at her friend’s blunt contribution. “Right. I want a relationship, Gab, in every sense of the word. I won’t settle for less.”
Despite her fervent words, Kelsey wondered what she would do if Stefan offered sex before commitment. Only to herself would she admit that the admirable restraint he had shown had started to get somewhat frustrating. Lord knows, it was years since she’d been with a man.
Determinedly, Kelsey shook off the thought. Her self-imposed state of celibacy was just that—self-imposed. Past disasters had given her good reason to steer clear of relationships, particularly the kind based on sexual attraction alone. Deprivation was not the reason she wanted to move things along with Stefan. Kind and sweet, he understood her dedication to her real-estate business and made no unreasonable demands on her time. He fit her lifestyle perfectly. He was perfect. Mr. Right, actually. Kelsey felt sure of it.
But did she look like Miss Right in this dress? “I don’t know Gab. I think it’s too much.”
“We need a man’s opinion. We’ll ask Frank when he comes,” Gabby said.
“Why Frank?”
“Because he’s perfect. He’s happily married, an experienced, older man.” As though on cue, a knock came from the front door. “No time to argue, he’s here. I have to go to the bathroom, again. Meet me in the kitchen. I’ll put some coffee on.”
Frank Brevan had agreed to come around this morning and give Kelsey an estimate for the renovations she wanted done on her newly purchased house, a high-set, four-bedroom Queenslander that was structurally sound but had seen better days. Hiring Frank was a foregone conclusion. Reliable handymen didn’t exactly crowd the streets of Holly Hill. And she’d been more than happy with his work last time she bought an old house to renovate. Resale had produced a tidy profit and Kelsey expected this venture to be just as successful. Still, she needed to know how much she was up for before work began.
Kelsey supposed Gabby was right. Frank could give her a man’s point of view. Was the
dress seductive or just plain slutty? If he wouldn’t want his daughter wearing it, if he had one, it might go back to the boutique.
That decided, Kelsey went to answer the door. Almost before she spotted him, Kelsey realized her caller was not the non-threatening, middle-aged Frank Brevan.
Where Frank was no more than medium height and rotund, this man was long, lean and limber. His back was to her as he rested his weight on the porch railing, surveying the view.
The house stood on a hill, the valley below carpeted in varying shades of green. The small Sunshine Coast town of Holly Hill was a cluster of buildings in the foreground, the sparkling Pacific Ocean a brilliant blue backdrop.
The outlook was spectacular, but for the first time Kelsey hardly noticed. Her attention snagged instead on an equally spectacular view of taut rear end and narrow hips encased in well-loved, faded denim. A broad back was nicely displayed by the fitted cotton of a light blue T-shirt she suspected was as old as the jeans. At the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, the man straightened and turned.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped in the process of dipping his battered hat to stare. His gaze roamed over her, from toe to head, and he took his sweet time about it. She felt the unmistakable heat of his perusal like millions of tiny pinpricks that raised goose bumps over her skin.
Unnerved, Kelsey wanted to say something icy that would put him and his roving eyes in their place, yet when she tried, all that came out was a rasped, “Yes?”
She detected the barest hike of his dark eyebrows and the glint of a smile as he stepped toward her, the heels of his worn boots thudding on the wooden planking of the porch. “Miss Simmons?”
“Yes,” Kelsey said again, her voice still not running on full power. He was tall, definitely over six feet. With the breadth of his shoulders and the wide-brimmed hat, she had the sense that he towered over her.
That, she didn’t like. At only a few inches taller than her five-feet-three-inches, Stefan suited her just fine. She was not into feeling dominated. Not even by easy-on-the-eyes and—Kelsey felt herself gulp as she struggled to keep her composure as steady as her gaze—sexy men.