Smittened (2 page)

Six months ago, she wouldn’t have fought temptation.

But six months ago, she hadn’t yet met Ted, and he hadn’t yet
borrowed
her life savings. “Of course,” she said. “The cats will be happy to share it with you.”

His corner smile dropped. He pulled his cap off, ran a hand over his smooth head, and took another glance about the practically empty room before shoving the cap back on.

Dahlia practiced her yoga breathing and tried to slow her racing heart. She truly didn’t want him to stay—she was
so
done with charity cases, losers, and playboys—but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seek Billy’s help through a proxy.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to ask him to strip for charity. She simply needed him to sample some special ice cream and tell a few—hundred—people about it.

She wanted to howl. She’d turned into the kind of person who usually took advantage of
her
.

But The Milked Duck needed help, and she’d be failing all the little kids of Bliss who spent their summers stopping in for ice cream treats if she had to close the shop because she went totally broke this winter.

“The kitchen’s stocked for the basics; the spare bedroom has clean sheets; and there’s plenty of hot water. And you could definitely use a shower.
Phew
.”

Those gray eyes slid back to her. “Your shower big enough for two?”

“Yes, but the cats don’t like to get wet. Neither does the guinea pig. But you might have some success with the lizard.”

Bad, bad move. Because
both
corners of his mouth were getting in on the smile action. He moved them one at a time, first the right corner, then a slow follow from the left corner.

And then he showed his dimple.

Trump card every time.

Ducks
, she was a mess.

“Whose lizard?” he said.

“My iguana,” she clarified, intentionally ignoring his
you want to see my lizard?
eyebrow wiggle. “Hank. He’s a rescue, an old boyfriend left him here, but he’s a total sweetie. Would you mind closing the door? The cats shouldn’t be out when your house is burning.”

His cheek twitched, and he eyeballed the chair again, where Dean had paused in humping the tennis ball long enough to join Sam in eyeing Mikey back. But Mikey stepped all the way into the house and shut the door carefully. The red lights still flashed through the front window, and the hint of smoke would probably linger inside for days, but the bigger problem now was having this tall mass of hot, unfiltered maleness alone with her in her house.

No doubt about it.

She was sleeping with her bedroom door locked tonight.

“You can help yourself to anything in the fridge,” she said. “But the freezer is on the fritz—every time it’s opened, there’s a humidity imbalance that makes the defroster malfunction and leak all over the floor. So if you could leave the door shut, that would be awesome. I can probably treat you to an ice cream cone, but you’ll have to come down to the shop tomorrow to get it. I don’t bring the goods home from work or I’d weigh like eight hundred pounds.”

Lying wasn’t her favorite pastime, but she hoped the visual would make him quit eyeing her as though
she
was the ice cream cone, and that her flimsy reasoning was enough to discourage him from snooping in her freezer.

“Right,” he said. “You’re the ice cream lady.”

She sucked in a lungful of courage. “Yeah. I have this tasting going on Saturday after next. It’ll be—” Fun? Sexy? Her last chance at solving her money problems? “A great time. You should come.”

Mikey shot a glance at the chair again as if he hadn’t heard her. “The ice cream lady with a zoo.”

“With a home,” she corrected.
 

And, apparently, with the gift of being too subtle.

Or he recognized the invitation to the flavor tasting as a personal favor she had no right asking, and he was ignoring it.

She was
so
not good at asking for help.

She gave him a quick tour of the kitchen, which didn’t take long considering it was as minimally stocked as her living room.

Only the necessities. Everything else had been sold to pay last month’s rent.

Two years ago, she had inherited The Milked Duck Ice Cream Shoppe in downtown Bliss from Great Aunt Agnes. After getting her degree in sociology and then bouncing around the country, waffling from job to job and one relative’s couch to another, she’d finally found where she fit: creating and serving happiness to the locals and the destination wedding tourists in Bliss. Two winters ago, she’d learned the importance of saving summer profits to survive the slow winter months, because even perpetual weddings and the smell of love in the air didn’t bring people in for ice cream as often in the colder months. This year, Dahlia thought she had everything under control, but then Ted happened.

Swooped in and stole Dahlia’s heart. They talked for hours about animals, about ice cream, about Bliss and its Knot Festival and weddings. Because one couldn’t move to Bliss and
not
talk about the primary function of the quirky little town. And then Ted had shared his passion for books. He was an academic with both a love of the literary and an analytical mind, and so he’d decided to launch a book recommendation service online. Because there were
so
many books to choose from in the digital age, he said.

He’d been so smart about all of it—the Internet, the market, the method of determining which books were the best to recommend to the reading public. He simply needed capital to invest in building the Web site and newsletter. Because graphic designers were expensive, he said. And people wouldn’t take his recommendations if he didn’t look like he knew what he was talking about, he said. And he needed money for marketing to get start-up attention, he said. And then, with the income stream from affiliate programs and the paid advertising from authors, Dahlia’s investment would make itself back threefold in a matter of weeks. It all made brilliant sense.

And because Dahlia was a fool, she had loaned him the money.

It had been three months since she’d heard from him. Two months and three weeks since his cell phone had been disconnected.

She had to make it only to May. Just another four or five months. Then business at The Milked Duck would pick up again. She’d be super smart this time, and everything would be fine.

Until then—she’d figure out a way to get Billy to her risqué flavor tasting event.

She watched Mikey poke in her refrigerator—the only thing well-stocked in her house—then eye Hank in his cage in the corner, and then survey the rose-print wallpaper and original 1950’s cabinets in the little house Dahlia rented.

Living at The Milked Duck would be a smarter option. She could save a lot of cash while she waited for summer to roll around if she put a sleeping bag in the corner of the kitchen.

Except then she’d have to find temporary homes for her pets, because they couldn’t live with her at the shop. And surrendering their care to someone else for an indeterminate amount of time simply wasn’t an option.

Once Mikey was done in the kitchen, she led him back to the bedroom. “And this would be your room,” she said, trying desperately not to look at the bed dominating the otherwise empty room—taking a roommate was one of her ideas to save cash—or to think of him stripping out of his clothes, or to think of him sliding his naked body between the rose-colored satin sheets—who was she kidding?

She could
so
use a romp to let off some steam. And he looked as though he could help her let off a
lot
of steam.

Except Ted hadn’t been the first guy to take Dahlia for a ride. So she was off men. Even men who presumably had money in their bank accounts. And who weren’t making any false promises of staying. And who were eyeing her cats again as though they could infect him with a fatal case of fleas simply by looking at him.

“Looks mighty comfy,” Mikey said with a nod at the bed.

Dear sweet holy ducks, that husky note in his voice might make her orgasm on the spot.

She backpedaled out of the room. “So I’ll let you get comfy. Breakfast is at seven-thirty.”

“Wait,” he said. “Two quick questions.”

No, waiting was bad. Waiting with him using the
I want to lick you like an ice cream cone
look on her was worse. “Yes?” she said.

He dangled his phone in the air. “You got a spare charger?”

“I’ll leave it on the counter in the kitchen.”

“Thank you much, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea
. It should’ve been so demeaning. But her impressionable little heart happy-sighed. He’d given her a nickname.

One he probably used on every other pulse-bearing female on the planet, but her heart had never been the best judge of character.

“And your other question?” she said.

“Yeah. That other question.” He flipped his ball cap off, ran a hand over his smooth head again, then put the hat on backward. And if she’d thought she was getting the ice-cream-licking smile before, she got a triple-scoop-with-caramel-fudge-and-a-cherry-on-top whopper this time.

She may have whimpered.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I, ah,” he said, “forgot your name.”

Of course he had. Self-absorbed country rocker band guy. Why would he need to remember little old Dahlia’s
name
?

Still, Dahlia’s wretched little sense of self-worth wanted to reach out and pet him. Offer up a little
That’s okay, honey
.
You had a bad day.

Except that’s what the old Dahlia would do, and the new Dahlia needed to command some respect. She cocked her head and smiled back at him. “That’s a shame. It’s well worth remembering. I recommend meditation. It helps improve memory function.” She let her gaze drift south. “Among other functions. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And the new, improved Dahlia Mallard marched down the hall to her own bedroom, where she shut and locked her bedroom door, then collapsed in a heap like the hot mess that she was.

Chapter Two

MIKEY DIDN’T sleep well. Being in Bliss, the fire, the feisty, curvy lady with the glasses and the red streaks in her dark hair whose name he
still
couldn’t remember—it kept his mind humming and his body wanting
something
to take the edge off.

Sleeping with his hostess wasn’t an option. One, while he rarely declined female attentions and ministrations, he
always
knew their names. And two, he didn’t do opportunists. She’d swooped in mighty fast with her offer of a place to stay. She had an agenda, and he suspected it had to do with her ice cream tasting.

He was used to being asked for handouts, and even more used to seeing people ask Will for handouts. Like all the guys in the band, Mikey was good at deflecting the requests. But he’d been freaking cold outside, and worse, he’d been alone.

Mikey wasn’t big on being alone.

Which brought him to the third, and probably biggest, reason he wouldn’t sleep with his hostess. She wasn’t Mari Belle. Most nights, he could get past that, but tonight, Mari Belle was on his brain.

Mikey’s first memory of her was of her standing over him and Will, a stringy-haired doll in hand, lecturing them about being more careful where their Hot Wheels were flinging mud. Irritated him then, made him smile today.

He remembered one spring afternoon hanging out at Will’s Aunt Jessie’s house, tossing a baseball with Will, throwing it way far off the mark when Mari Belle walked out of the house in a fluffy pink prom dress. When Will had heckled him about the throw, Mikey asked when Will’s sister had turned into a girl.

Pretty girl at that, though Mikey hadn’t said it aloud.

Then Mari Belle going off to college, bringing a boyfriend home. Getting engaged the Christmas before she graduated. Coming home after spring break that year, the year she’d dragged Will along, and coming to see Mikey before she had to head back to college.

He’d been sure she’d come to tell him she’d broken things off with the guy, but no.

She’d said Will got his heart broke on their trip. Got his heart tore to shreds, matter of fact, and Mikey would be doing Mari Belle a big ol’ favor if he kept an extra close eye on her brother.

Would’ve done it anyway, but he liked having a reason to talk to her.

About tore his own heart to shreds watching her get married though.

Mari Belle, she had a plan. And she’d done it. Got the college degree, got the job, got the husband. Then came the baby. Everything she’d ever wanted, hers forever.

Didn’t have room for Mikey, so he went on and found the next best thing.

All
the next best things.

Once he and Will hit Nashville, Mikey got popular with the ladies. Enjoyed his life a hell of a lot ever since, even if he did battle being lonely from time to time.

And then Mari Belle got divorced.

Mikey thought he’d had a chance with her once or twice, but soon as he worked up the nerve to try something, he chickened out.

Every time.

Only secret he’d ever kept from Will.

Will, his best friend.