Not So New in Town (14 page)

“You’re welcome,” Dottie said to the relief written all over his face.

“Uh…”

“Jo Ellen is a sweet girl, and she can flat-out sell some makeup. But ever since she lost Keith Morgan to Bertie Anderson…not that there was any contest,” Dottie whispered behind her hand, “she’s been desperate for a man.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m not in the market for a wife.”

“Hmmm, not for Jo Ellen, anyhow,” Dottie said as she scooped some granola from a nearby bowl into her palm.

“What do you think of my granola? Good, isn’t it?” he said, smiling as he tilted his head and dropped some in his mouth.

She grunted. “It beats Grady’s hot boiled peanuts. Ever since he stopped making them in a fifty-gallon drum over a fire pit and started cooking them in a crock pot.” She shook her head, making her jumbo gold star earrings swing. “Just not the same.”

Brogan had forgotten about Grady’s Gas & Bait’s famous boiled peanuts.

“Somebody needs to offer to make them in the drum again. Grady’s getting too old for all that work,” Vance Kerner said, clapping Brogan on the shoulder. “Hey, Bro. Hey there, Dottie.” He nodded, his dark hair brushing the tops of his shoulders.

“Look what the cat dragged in. Where you been hiding, Vance Kerner? You sure didn’t dress up if you’re in the market for a wife.” Dottie gave Vance a once-over, curling her lip at his ratty torn jeans, beat-up Nikes, and faded black Harley-Davidson T-shirt with “Ride a Hog” over the left breast pocket. Vance gave Dottie a leer as he took a long pull from his beer, looking more like a bad-ass pirate than a best-selling author of two spy war thrillers.

Brogan laughed, reaching for a cold beer in one of the galvanized tubs full of ice set on the table. “You do realize this is Singles Night?”

Dottie humphed. “Of course he does. Nobody needs a wife more than Mr. Bookends. He holes himself up for weeks. Never eats right, and Lord-a-mighty, no telling what that house looks like. Probably hasn’t seen a mop in years.”

Vance gave her a wicked grin, and Dottie’s face flushed to her platinum roots. “Aw, now, that’s not true. About the cleaning. Just last week, Ida Hogg came by and went to town. You can see your reflection in my polished wood floors, they’re so shiny.”

“Who’s cooking for you?” Dottie tried to appear indifferent, but Brogan knew she reveled in the attention Vance paid her.

“That’s why I’m here. For some healthy prepared meals.” Vance’s gaze wandered over the store. “Had no idea you were giving the single women in this town something to get worked up over, Reese. Was this your idea?”

Brogan almost snorted beer through his nose. “Hell no. This was all Lucy’s idea. Part of her marketing plan.”

“The same Lucy I saw you swapping spit with Saturday night?” Vance asked with raised brows.

“Fuh—” Brogan caught himself before he dropped the f-bomb in front of Dottie. “Screw you, Kerner,” he said under his breath. Vance laughed, flashing strong white teeth in direct contrast to his scruffy, dark facial hair.

“Just as I thought.” Dottie pointed a long bright-blue nail at Brogan. “I knew you were after Lucy. You better not break her heart, or you’ll have me and half this town to answer to,” she warned.

“I’m not breaking anybody’s heart. Don’t get your nose all out of joint.” Brogan patted Dottie’s shoulder. “Lucy’s working for me because we need her expertise.” He didn’t elaborate on the rest of the bargain.

“We’ll see about that. I wanna chat with her about helping me with the Toot-N-Tell.” Dottie seemed to be in deep thought as she pursed her lips. But suddenly she cackled. “Look alive, boys. Company is heading your way.”

Sure enough, barreling down aisle two on a mission were five women led by Jo Ellen Huggins and Arlene Tomlin, their sights set on Vance and him.
Damn.

“Thanks for the free beer, Bro. See you around.” Vance saluted with his empty bottle and snuck behind the racks of fresh bread to escape the prowling single women.

Yep. Lucy owed him. Big time.

It was after ten, and Lucy was exhausted from working the busy singles night at BetterBites. Home at last, she propped her feet up on the pink wicker ottoman, enjoying the cold carbonated fizz of the Cheerwine trickling down her throat. Like Coke except better and made right here in North Carolina. She’d purchased it earlier at the Toot-N-Tell, along with a bag of Cheetos. It had been a long, hard day, and her dogs were killing her. Wiggling her toes with the sparkly turquoise-green polish made her smile. Not having Anthony the pinhead possum eater censor her appearance was a downright emancipation. Ahhh, a little celebration was in order as she swigged her soda.

With Parker in football practice, her mornings started early. She had to have him at the field by seven, packed with lunch and a clean change of clothes. Thank goodness BetterBites made the lunches easy, or she’d be in a real dill pickle. Too bad it didn’t offer laundry service. Parker’s dirty practice clothes needed to be washed daily, not because he didn’t own any extra workout clothes, but because the stench almost gagged her. No way could she allow that stinkiness to pile up in the laundry room.

She slumped back on the soft pink sofa, facing the wall of windows in the sunroom. Lucy enjoyed relaxing in this room. The darkened leaves on the big oaks obscured her view, creating a cocoon of privacy. Julia continued to test her patience as she added to her ridiculous list of errands, and annoyed her with endless text messages all morning, but bringing Parker in to spend time with her gained Lucy a much deserved reprieve. In the past two days, Brogan had stopped by around five to take Parker for some male bonding. Once they shot hoops with guys at the Jaycee Park, and once they washed Brogan’s car and cleaned up construction debris around his house.

Parker had seemed okay both times when he’d returned home, but his sullen mask hadn’t completely disappeared, and his attitude toward Lucy could have used improving.

She drank her soda after licking neon-orange cheese flakes from her fingers. On the brighter side, she had enjoyed these last few days, working on BetterBites. She’d been busy setting up new Facebook, Twitter, and other social media accounts to better serve this area, customizing the accounts to appeal to the people of Harmony. And then she talked up Singles Samples night to all the right people and
bam
! It had been a huge success. They’d sold more tonight than BetterBites had sold in the last two weeks.

When Lucy had finally cut out around ten, Margo had her arms elbow deep in bread dough, Javier had his fingers on the calculator in front of his laptop, and Brogan had his hands full with four of Harmony’s finest single women: Jo Ellen Huggins, Arlene Tomlin, and the Ardbuckle twins. A smile cracked wide-open on Lucy’s face as she pictured Brogan nodding and smiling with that deer-in-the-headlights look. If Brogan played his cards right, Harmony’s BetterBites would outproduce all his other locations combined.

Lucy sat up and listened. She thought she’d heard the front door open. Parker. If he was sneaking out again, she might have to
cut
him. She jumped up and raced for the door, when she slammed into a cement wall of muscle. “Gah!” She bounced off Brogan’s hard chest and almost landed on her butt. “You scared the Twinkies right out of me. What are you doing here?”

“Settling a score.”

“Huh?” Lucy brushed the hair from her eyes and raised her gaze to Brogan’s hard, furious face.
Ruh-roe.
This did not look like a guy who’d just had his best night since the opening of BetterBites. Why the hoot not? She’d done a good job. He should be smiling and offering a raise. She planted a fist on cocked hip. “What score?” His aggressive step forward made Lucy back up and rethink her stance.

“How about the score where you tried to pimp me out? You know…where you have me bringing food to Jo Ellen’s makeup party and serving like I’m a boy toy for hire?”
Bump
, the back of her legs hit the wicker lounge chair angled toward the windows.

“Or the score where you signed me up to provide food at the Clippety Do Dah hair salon to a gaggle of crazy women all intent on picking me apart?” Fingers shoved through his already tousled hair, and he emitted a groan of aggravation. “Or the score where you have me and Javier providing the food and entertainment at Mary Pat’s bridal shower? Hell, Lucy, Mary Pat’s eighty-four if she’s a day. Why is she having a bridal shower…with entertainment? What about those
scores
?” By the time he ended his outburst, Lucy had leaned so far back she fell onto the seat cushion with her legs dangling over the armrest.

Brogan didn’t waste any time caging her in with both arms. “Would you care to explain just what the hell you were thinking?” he growled close to her face. Lucy didn’t like this Brogan. She missed the smiling Brogan with the clear green eyes and cheerful attitude. The one who had more energy than any bunny she ever knew, with or without batteries.

“I’m marketing. Just like you’re paying me to do. In fact, begged me to do.” She was doing her job, and she did it very well. She had the numbers to prove it. “You don’t like your results? You don’t want to sell the food stocked in your freezers or taking up space on your shelves? I must’ve misunderstood. I could’ve sworn you wanted to increase traffic and sales. My bad. Must need a refresher course on Marketing 101.”

Her impassioned speech would’ve been more effective if she hadn’t felt like an awkward baby goat stuck in a barrel with only her arms and legs dangling out. Brogan grabbed hold of her shoulders and hauled her to her feet, which meant she now stood within inches of his light-blue button-down and his scowling face.

“Marketing, yes. Pimping, no. Where did you get the idea that I was up for sale? I’m not on the menu. Sell granola, sell muffins, sell chocolate-covered frozen bananas, but don’t sell me.” He shook her shoulders before releasing her.

Note
to
self: start locking front door.
Lucy inched sideways to escape his wrath, along with his exotic smell that always made her want to do something rash, like jump him and suck his neck. “Uh…I understand what you’re saying, but you’re looking at it all wrong.”

Frowning, he folded his arms across his solid chest. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Sure. BetterBites is a great, unique place where you can find off-the-wall stuff like that granola crap or those disgusting seaweed thingies next to the spiced ginger.” Brogan didn’t disguise his exaggerated eye roll. “But it has limited appeal around here.” She held up a finger. “Or it’s perceived as limited. Harmony is not DC, New York, or Atlanta. I figured the best way to get people to buy into all that organic, healthy stuff you want to unload, we have to sell
you
.” She could hear the grinding of his teeth. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got it going on”—she snapped her fingers in a
Z
formation—“smokin’ hot, buffed, good-looking, and yes…single.”

“I swear, Lucy, I’m this close to tanning your hide.” An inch of space showed between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m
not
for sale, and I don’t perform at eighty-year-old’s bachelorette parties.”

“You don’t have to. Just show up at the parties with platters of food. You and Javier wear those BetterBites green logo shirts, unwrap the platters, be nice, smile a lot”—she shook her finger at his face—“not that growling thing you got going on now. Chat them up a little and then leave. How hard can it be? Just tonight we booked three more parties, and that’s not counting the Happy Hookers or the Harmony Huggers already on the schedule.” She waited, hoping for his endearing smile to return.

“Lucy, I want to sell a better way of life…a healthier way of eating.
Not
my unmarried status to every single woman three states over.”

She reached for her Cheerwine on the wicker end table. “Understood. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat. We need to get people to
want
to step in your store…to introduce them to your products. So, we dangle a delectable tidbit that lures them in. Your job is to sell them once we hook them.”

“I’m the delectable tidbit?” The edge had disappeared from his voice.

She nodded, sipping her drink. “Sex sells. It’s a proven fact.”

“Uh-huh. This is how it’s going down.” He ticked off on his fingers. “For every stupid makeup, hair-curling, knitting, or geriatric sing-along you schedule, you have to book a guys’ event too.”

“Like a male salon party where guys get haircuts and shaves?”

“Hell no. Like poker night or fantasy football or hoops night. Look for some sports events to sponsor.” He gestured in agitation.

“Already working on it. I’ve put in a call to Keith Morgan. We might be sponsoring one of his tournaments.” She placed her drink back on the table.

“Good. Make sure we do.”

Somehow his chest filled her vision. Lucy dug her toes into the cotton braids of the rug covering the tile floor. Suddenly she realized she’d been arguing about marketing techniques, wearing only her yellow daisies sleeping boxers and green tank top, braless. How did this happen? She’d been settling down for a night of chillaxing with her favorite junk food and ended up defending the philosophy of “sex sells” in her skimpy PJs.

“Sex sells, huh?” he said as if reading her mind in his gooey caramel voice, the one that made Lucy’s heart beat double-time and her knees shake. He reached for a hank of hair and tugged until she leaned into him. “You buying, Little Lucy?” he whispered, lowering his mouth.

Lucy turned her head in the nick of time, and Brogan’s lips brushed her cheek. She pushed on his rock-hard chest. “We had a deal.”

“I never agreed to any deal.” He stalked her with hungry intent, backing her up as her mind scrambled for something…anything.

“I’m your employee. This isn’t proper. Uh…we need to think of Julia.”
Bam-o.
He stopped. She mentioned Julia’s name, and all the sexy yearning and desire directed at Lucy vanished faster than ribs at a Rotary Club barbecue. The subdued light from the one lamp washed over him but didn’t soften any of his features, from his long legs, flat stomach, and wide shoulders to the scowl pulling at his mouth.

“This has nothing to do with Julia.”

Didn’t it? Everything in Lucy’s world had something to do with Julia. Being back in this house with Brogan definitely had to do with Julia.

“The deal was I agreed to work for you, and we don’t”—she circled her hand between them—“do this.”

“That deal is bullshit. I have a better deal.” Goose bumps covered her bare arm as he slid his hand up to the side of her neck, imprisoning her with his hot stare. He pulled until her breasts rested against his chest. “You prove your sex-sells theory to me…right now. Right here.”

His lips hovered above her mouth. The unfaithful part of her disregarded Julia and her history with Brogan. And the stupid side of her ignored Brogan’s feelings for Julia and Lucy’s fear of ending up hurt.

The instant their lips touched, raw desire ripped straight through to a place so deep, she’d never known its existence until Brogan. His arm tightened around her waist, lifting her on her toes. Brogan drew the very breath from her, making her dizzy. He kissed as if she fed his soul. She felt engulfed. Devoured. Delicious. And she wanted more.

Brogan followed her down on the sofa and growled, “I’ve pictured you here.” His mouth covered hers as she skated her hands up his strong back, loving the feel of his bunched muscles through his shirt.

“Here? On this pink sofa?” she managed to mumble before attacking his lips again.

She felt his smile. “Not exactly. Basically, anywhere with me on top of you.” He kissed his way along her jawline until he found her ear, which he nibbled as if tasting a delicacy.

Lucy squirmed and tried squeezing her shoulder up, but his head blocked the way. “That tickles.” She sighed, and then giggled. “Stop.”

Brogan lifted his head, wearing a pleased smile. Finally. She could live the rest of her life glowing from his lovely smile, and she’d be happy. It had that kind of effect on her.

“Good to know. Now, where was I?” He gripped her waist, shifting her up the sofa cushions, but stopped at the sound of a loud crunch. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Lucy tried pulling his head down so his lips could go back to kissing and not talking. Shifting her again, the crunching sound grew louder. His hand fumbled behind her head. “There’s nothing up there. Don’t you want to grope a little lower?” She shimmied her hips against him.

He held up an orange Cheeto. “Seriously?”

“I’m off the clock, Dr. Oz. I can eat whatever I want.”

Brogan hauled Lucy up and peered down at the smashed bag of Cheetos lying on the cushions. She could feel a lecture on the benefits of healthy eating about to commence. Nothing killed her lust-filled mood more. She wanted to be smooching and touching and feeling and getting all orgasmic. Not listening to the perils of bad nutrition.

She pressed fingers to his mouth. “Don’t start.” She brushed the bag to the floor, mourning the loss of her favorite snack for only a nanosecond. “I promise never to get caught eating them again if we can get back to what we were doing.”

He gave her a carnal grin. “And what was that?”

“The good stuff. My proof on the sex-sells theory.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting his heat and hardness where it belonged…between her thighs.

“Still not convinced. I guess you’ll have to show me,” he murmured before eating his way down her throat the same time his hand slid beneath her top and cupped her bare breast.

“Oh! Um…” She squirmed under his touch. Her nipples grew even harder. Desire and need slammed into her, making her want more. She wanted his mouth everywhere. Brogan’s impatient hand shoved her top up, and his hot, wet mouth latched onto her nipple—right there. She spasmed from the shock of it. He sucked, swirling his tongue, creating an ache between her thighs. Brogan paid her other breast the same fervent attention as his rough palm slid down her waist, over her belly and hips. He slipped his hand under the band of her boxers. Lucy squeezed his shoulders as she moaned. His fingers moved across her slick flesh, and lights danced before her eyes. He lifted his head, and his gaze burned with the fire of dark, smoky sex. Heart pounding inside her chest, she fought to breathe.