Blush

by Nicola Marsh

  In her scenarios, their first meeting after a decade didn’t involve nipple pasties. Or a smoother-than-whisky voice that made her palms sweat, her skin prickle and her inner bombshell want to strip on the spot.

  “Hey you.”

  Not quite the scintillating opening gambit she’d imagined. Then again, having this big, bronze Aussie cross the room to stand less than a foot away had thrown her brain into chaos and her body into meltdown.

  “Nice tassels.”

  His fingertip toyed with the nipple tassels hanging limply in her hand and she stiffened.

  In the past, she would’ve responded with a blush. But after what he’d done to her? The way he’d humiliated her? Not a chance in hell she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing her cave again.

  She held them over her breasts, vindicated when those impossibly green eyes widened, the pupils constricting. “Care to see them on?”

  He took a step back. “Don’t play with fire.”

  She took a step forward. “Maybe I’m in the mood to get hot?”

  He swore. “You and me? Not going to happen.”

  “So you’ve said before,” she drawled, giving the tassels a twirl for good measure, reveling in his discomfort as he tore his gaze away from her breasts. “But a decade is a long time.”

  “Not frigging long enough,” he muttered, casting a desperate glance at the door.

  So she ramped up the tension.

  “These?” She waved the tassels in his face, deliberately taunting. “Tip of the iceberg in my new wardrobe. You should see me in the purple suspenders and sheer, crotchless—”

  “Enough.” A low, warning growl she had no intention of obeying. “Is this the way you treated your fiancé? Not surprised he bolted.”

  Just like that, her bravado faded, replaced by the dogged insecurity that tainted her botched relationship with Max, and fury at Jack for judging her.

  “Fuck you.” She eyeballed him, willing away the incriminating tears stinging her eyes.

  That’s when she saw the glimmer of victory in his eyes and knew he’d deliberately insulted her to push her away, like he had ten years earlier.

  He turned and headed for the door, but not before she heard his murmured, “Babe, you have no idea how much I wish for that.”

  Another snippet, this time from ARRA finalist & bestseller, Crazy Love, available at all e-retailers.

  CRAZY LOVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cupid’s Dating Tips for the Enlightened Male

  Acknowledge you don’t look like George Clooney (and get over it.)

  “I’m in love.”

  Sierra Kent ignored her loquacious BFF Belle and focused on her PC, her French manicured nails flying over the keyboard as she entered Love Byte’s latest batch of dating applicants. “Sure you are, hon. It’s where we live and it’s—”

  “What makes the world go round. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before.”

  Belle Adamson, her best friend since grade school, wandered behind the desk to peer over her shoulder. “Save the BS for your clients because I’m not buying it. Besides, I only said that to get your attention.”

  Sierra paused, surprised by Belle’s bitter tone.

  “What’s up?”

  Belle ignored the question, her green eyes widening as she stared at the computer screen.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The agency’s latest applicant.” Sierra glanced at the photo she’d downloaded and wolf-whistled. “Pretty damn hot, huh?”

  Belle fanned her face. “Any chance of matching me with him?”

  “What happened to being in love?”

  “I meant our town, obviously.” Belle grinned, her gaze riveted to the screen. “Now start matchmaking.”

  Sierra laughed and erased the image of applicant 8049 with a tap on the delete key. “This is a dating agency, not a matchmaking service.”

  Belle arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “The difference is?”

  “Fill out the forms like everyone else, let me input your info into trusty Cupid and his megabytes will statistically find you a suitable date.” She snapped her fingers. “And hand over the hundred dollar fee like everyone else.”

  “What do I get for the matchmaking service?”

  “A bottle of tequila, a push-up bra and free entry into Venus for a night?”

  Belle screwed up her nose and perched on the edge of the desk. “I’m sick of the cowboys and out-of-towners in that joint. Besides,” she patted the sides of her DD breasts and smirked like a woman well aware of her assets, “I get by on what the good Lord gave me. Though the tequila sounds like a plan.”

  “Mexican? My place at seven?”

  “We talking food or a tall, dark, handsome stranger from south of the border?”

  “That applicant was blond. Nice to know you’re not fussy.”

  Belle slid off the desk, tugged her pastel pink beautician’s uniform over her lush curves and picked up her handbag.

  “With my luck lately I’d settle for a Martian.”

  “I hear it’s not the size of the antenna that’s important, it’s the way the Martian wiggles it.”

  Belle performed an imaginary drum roll complete with cymbal crash. “An oldie but a goodie. Later, babe.”

  As Belle strolled out of the office working her hips, Sierra wondered why her gorgeous friend hadn’t found love yet. Curvy, stacked blondes were always the rage yet Belle hadn’t been serious about a guy since…ever.

  Sierra put it down to the intimidation factor. Guys took one look at Belle’s hot bod and movie star blonde bombshell attitude and bolted for the nearest cold shower and porno flick, not necessarily in that order.

  And despite her interest in Love Byte, Belle had never let Sierra input her data into the computer. “I’m not a desperado. Yet.” Was her usual spiel but now she’d turned thirty, who knew?

  Besides, it was difficult coping with single-dom when surrounded by Love. Ask the town’s twelve thousand inhabitants who happily touted the emotion to anyone willing to listen.

  And people did. Crowds flocked to the only place in the good ol’ US of A that promised the often unattainable for those lucky enough to visit.

  Personally, Sierra preferred LA for its hip vibe. Instead, she was stuck an hour south of the City of Angels, surrounded by kitschy reminders of an emotion she touted for a living but didn’t believe in.

  Dolores Kent did, which is why Sierra had been here since the age of ten, when her dad ran off and her mom settled in the hope of finding the fabled love the town promised. It never eventuated and Dolores now resided in Nepal trying to find nirvana on a higher plain.

  Despite Sierra’s initial loathing, the place had grown on her. Thanks to a stint on Letterman a few years back Love had blossomed with lonely hearts flocking in droves, eager to test the theory the town lived up to its name.

  With Sierra’s input, it did. She loved computers and loved people, and her passion for matchmaking had created Love Byte, one of California’s largest Internet dating sites.

  People thought it romantic to be matched in Love. She found it corny yet lucrative and she’d proudly watched her business grow from working out of her back room with a single computer and a few local applicants to an office, a plethora of virtual assistants and enough work to keep her in the designer gear she coveted.

  It hadn’t hurt when Hollywood’s resident bad-boy Porter Davey, researching a part in his latest blockbuster romantic comedy about dating in the twenty-first century, had stumbled across her website. He’d plugged his name in as a joke, filled out an application and been totally blown away when matched with Jaime Sutton, the darling of the Australian tennis world.

  Jaime, whose coach was a born and bred Lovernian, had entered her data into Love Byte’s computer as part of a promotion to coincide with her first sponsorship deal with a Silicon Valley mega corporation, and Sierra hadn’t removed it.

  Neither Porter nor Jaime had minded her gaff and when the two met at her offic
e where she’d called an emergency meeting to apologize for the mistake, they’d taken one look at each other and fallen head over heels.

  She’d milked every drop of PR from the Davey-Sutton match and as a result had enough business to last into the next decade.

  Sipping at her cappuccino, Sierra opened her sixtieth email for the afternoon, her attention momentarily snagged by yet another gorgeous guy with come-get-me eyes and a dimpled smile. Her job was tough but somebody had to do it and she tilted her head to one side, wondering if the picture had been Photo-shopped.

  As she leaned forward for a closer look, the outer bell rang and she winced as the first few bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” pealed out. The tacky factor always made her cringe but the customers loved it. And what the paying patrons loved she provided. She’d wasted enough years rebelling against the town and all it stood for before finally realizing if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.

  “I’ll be with you in a sec,” she called out, hitting ‘save’ before leaving her PC, having learned diligence the hard way via a computer crash in the early days that left her manic for a week.

  Though it hadn’t been all bad. The computer geek from LA had turned out to be anything but and they’d created a few wham-bam crashes of the horizontal kind while he’d been in town. Something she didn’t usually do but hey, she’d always been a sucker for a kindred spirit and Mr. Motherboard had been a loner, one with nice pecs and dimples to boot. They’d flirted, they’d danced, they’d fooled around a bit.

  The memory brought a smile to her face, which widened further as she caught a glimpse of her visitor.

  Pity Belle hadn’t stuck around because the guy inspecting the photos of married couples on her wall was the clichéd tall, dark and handsome in a big way.

  “Can I help you?”

  He turned, his piercing gaze making her skin prickle like she’d consumed an ocean’s worth of shrimp, guaranteed to bring her out in hives.

  His eyes were dark as coal, Superman eyes, able to penetrate concrete and women’s outer layers of clothing with a single stare.

  “I hope so. Nobody else in this town seems to know the meaning of the word.”

  Uh-oh. Not easy to place, these ones. They got a ten in the looks and body department but most women wanted a pleasant conversationalist too, not a grizzly with a temperament to match.

  “I’m looking for the matchmaking woman. Is she around?”

  O-kay. Make that grizzly with a sore tooth.

  Mustering her best placating smile, she held out her hand. “I’m Sierra Kent, owner of Love Byte.”

  He ignored her outstretched hand, his gaze flicking from head to foot as if assessing her credentials. “Figures.”

  Her hand dropped and she amended her summation to grizzly with a sore tooth and a bad case of PMS. Surely her credentials weren’t that bad?

  Only one way to handle an old grizzly: bait him further. Besides, she was all out of honey.

  “You aren’t here to fill out an application?”

  The frown tattooed between his brows deepened. “I’m not here for a job, if that’s what you mean.”

  Maybe old grizzly was plain dumb as well?

  “This is a dating agency, Mr.? That’s right, I didn’t quite catch your name. Must’ve missed it along with the introductory hand shake.”

  His lips twitched with amusement. Nah…that would mean the guy actually had a sense of humor and from his dour expression, she doubted it.

  “Marc Fairley.”

  Fairley? Surely he couldn’t be related to the sweet lady her Uncle Hank was courting?

  “I hear you’ve brainwashed my mother into believing the bull you spout here.”

  Great. Not only was Mr. High and Mighty related, he was Olivia Fairley’s son?

  Interfering relatives she could do without, especially ones that threatened her uncle’s happiness. Hank was the one guy who had never let her down and if she could repay him in any way she’d do it.

  He’d asked her to help organize the wedding, the first time he’d ever asked her for anything and she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

  As for grizzly, he’d have to get used to the fact his mother and Hank were tying the knot and butt out.

  She gritted her teeth and forced a polite smile. “Mr. Fairley, I—”

  “Call me Marc.”

  She hated interruptions, adding rude and condescending to his growing list of faults, and continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “I’m not sure what you’ve heard but I run a respectable business here. Your mother approached me in search of companionship and I’ve provided that for her.”

  “Save the spiel. I’m not one of your gullible singles.”

  “Your wife must be so proud,” she muttered, resisting the urge to pick up the nearest object, which happened to be one of the elephants she collected, and fling it at him Frisbee-style. Nothing like a good tusk in the eye to prove a point.

  He stiffened and thrust his hands into his pockets. “I’m not married. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  She sauntered to the front desk, throwing in an extra hip wiggle for the fun of it, picked up a folder and held it out to him.

  “Making people happy is my business and if my services lead people to marriage? Bonus.”

  He didn’t take the folder so the placed it in front of him and tapped it. “I can see where your problem lies. You’re single and not enjoying it so check out my brochures, fill out the forms, and I can rectify that little problem for you in a second.”

  She snapped her fingers, struggling to keep a straight face as his lips compressed, his dark gaze hard and uncompromising. She hadn’t had this much fun in ages and baiting Marc Fairley could easily become a new pastime.

  “Promise not to think you’re gullible.”

  His face reddened, his neck muscles tensed and his eyes narrowed to angry slits. However, just when their discussion promised to get interesting, he surprised her.

  “Fine. I’ll look over your information and get back to you.”

  He grabbed the folder and stalked out the door, leaving her slightly disappointed. She’d expected more of a fight but grizzly had sheathed his claws and retreated.

  Men like him, stimulating, challenging, with enough arrogance to keep her interested, didn’t drop by every day and she’d hoped to get a few more barbs in before he left.

  Shaking her head, she headed back to her desk and a pile of applications waiting for Cupid’s expertise.

  If a grumble-bum like Marc Fairley had sparked her interest she needed some serious downtime, preferably with a guy that wouldn’t look down his snooty nose at her business or bite her head off every time she opened her mouth.

  Or better yet, she could immerse herself in work, her usual panacea for all ills, including the lonely bug that crawled under her skin on the odd occasion.

  She rummaged in her top drawer for a pen and came across an old Post-it note where Belle had scribbled “GOLF” and stuck it to the bottom of the drawer. Her friend’s motto of “Guaranteed Orgasmic Laid-back Fun” hadn’t steered Belle wrong so why couldn’t she do the same?

  Work was Sierra’s usual excuse but if she were completely honest she didn’t go for laid-back fun, Belle’s euphemism for one night stands. Too brief, too impersonal, but isn’t that what she wanted? Anything more was too complicated and if there was one thing she wasn’t good at, it was complication. Her childhood years had been testament to that.

  Besides, falling for a guy was not on her agenda, especially not now when her business was starting to take off. She had an enterprise to build and a seven-figure goal for her nest egg. No use relying on some guy to come along and provide her with security, a sure fire way to end up broke and alone when he ran out.

  She’d watched her mom struggle financially and emotionally and it wasn’t for her. She’d make her own way in this world and if a worthy gu
y came along to tempt her into thinking happily-ever-after, she’d consider it—before bolting in the opposite direction.

  She could peddle love, she could live in a town where it slapped her in the face every day, she just couldn’t go there herself. And when a first-class jerk like Marc Fairley walked into her office and she started thinking laid-back fun, she knew it was time for a major distraction, something to fill her time other than work.

  Her fingers toyed with the Post-It. Maybe she should change her philosophy and give Belle’s GOLF motto a try? Being in control and man-free had kept her sane, kept her grounded and warded off any potential threat to her ordered life for the last few years but was she satisfied?

  She had great friends, a comfortable house, a successful business and Ripley, her beloved mutt—part Dane, part wolfhound.

  A girl didn’t need anything or anyone else, though the occasional date, drink, meal and GOLF might go a long way to staving off the loneliness that threatened occasionally. A girl couldn’t live in Love and on fresh air alone.

  Only problem was, she’d auditioned most of the half-decent guys in town for a GOLF game and had stopped well short of a hole-in-one every time. Apart from some heavy fooling around with Mr. Motherboard and a date with Belle’s cousin Myron from Miami when he’d been in town an eon ago, she hadn’t done much to hone her GOLF game in the last two years.

  Pathetic, for a twenty-first century girl who collected more than elephants. Her stash of condoms had started out a joke but like anything else she did in life she liked to do it well. Despite her infrequent use of the product, she hoarded rubbers like some people saved stamps.

  Belle had started the trend when a client had asked for a condom, and though Love Byte provided an all-inclusive dating service to its customers, Sierra had been unprepared for that request. Keen to remedy the situation, Belle had ordered an assortment of rubbers for the most discerning of daters and a new hobby had been born.

  Belle was her major supplier, picking up the latest in condom couture whenever she hit the road on a buying trip for her salon. Sierra’s current rubber raincoat stash? 367. Elephants? 105. No prizes for guessing where her priorities lay.