Chapter 5
When I get my hands on you Jared Mitchell . . .
Lucy’s imagination flooded her with images. Jared pulling her close . . . only this time he would release her gloved hand and place his palm in the small of her back. Jared’s gaze skimming the neckline of her dress . . . Jared leading her away from the party, commandeering a bedroom, a bathroom, a closet—anywhere he could kiss her, whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to her in her ear.
She tripped over a rise in the pavement and fought to regain her balance before she landed on the sidewalk.
That’s what you get for thinking about Jared Mitchell’s kisses while running.
She reclaimed her rhythm. Then, she kicked the pace up a notch as she turned away from the Intracoastal Waterway and sprinted up her block.
Her eyes narrowed as she approached her front porch. If she got her hands on Jared Mitchell, she would shove a six-pack of mixed berry juice boxes into his waiting arms and demand he put an end to this ridiculous game.
She stopped by the front steps and scooped up the juice. Pouches this time. The note read: Drink on the beach?
She crumbled the slip of paper. Then she pushed through the front door and quietly tiptoed down the hall. After Emma caught her smuggling Jared’s gift into the house on Monday, Lucy had rescheduled her morning run for sunrise. Her friends felt compelled to comment on all aspects of her dating life. And while she appreciated commiseration—her ex was the biggest jerk on the planet—they didn’t need to know a billionaire was dangling a juice-box date in front of her.
And she was tempted to say yes just to see his lips wrap around the straw.
Hold your slippers, Cinderella. He’s not your prince.
Only a billionaire playboy looking for someone to entertain him for a while would woo her like this. Real men brought flowers.
She frowned and walked into the kitchen. Her ex had sent her flowers. All the time.
Along with notes handwritten by the florist explaining why he had to cancel their date, or how he had to spend the night at the hospital. After he’d moved to Boston, she’d realized he had sometimes considered his new girlfriend’s apartment the “hospital.”
I should update my dating profile. No flowers. And no presents.
She slipped into the pantry. Cradling the six-pack of mixed berry pouches, she closed the sliding door until a thin beam of light poured into the walk-in space lined with shelves. Another inch and the door would squeak and ruin her plan to hide this morning’s offering. She turned to the shelf and moved one of the large, plastic, airtight containers to the side. Then she deposited the juice on the shelf.
“You can hide your loot behind the sugar, but Nicole and I are on to you,” Emma called from the kitchen.
Busted. Lucy sighed and opened the pantry door.
“And we’re keeping count,” Emma added. “That’s the third set of boxes this week.”
Lucy stepped into the kitchen. “He sent pouches this time.”
“Who? The Juice Fairy?”
“Jared.”
“You have a billionaire juice fairy?” Emma reached for the coffee pot and filled her mug. “I don’t suppose you could turn him into the Tinker Bell of champagne? If he’s going to leave something on our doorstep each morning, I vote for Dom Perignon.” She raised her mug to her lips and grinned.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not asking him—”
“Jared Mitchell, the Dom Fairy.” Emma’s bottom lip brushed the edge of her mug. “Your personal Dom Fairy.”
“He’s not mine.” Lucy sat on a barstool and rested her elbows on the counter. “We shared a moment at Hope Morgan’s party. He thought he rescued me. I spewed nonsense about wild sex, and he asked to share another juice box.”
Emma set her mug on the island with a thunk. “You discussed wild sex with Jared? Tell me everything.”
“Wild, tantric shower sex.” Lucy closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against her palms. “Which was stupid, ridiculous, and impossible. We were in Mr. Morgan’s home. I was working.”
“That’s why it was impossible? The location?” Emma shook her head. “We’ll get back to that. I want to know why Jared Mitchell, a walking, talking advertisement for orgasms, is wooing you. After you mentioned shower sex, did you tell your brother’s gorgeous and uber-wealthy friend that mixed berry juice is the way to your heart and your bed?”
“No—”
“Because if you did, I’m taking over your dating life. You clearly can’t be trusted.” Emma held out her hand. “Give me your phone right now. I’ll start by reviewing your profiles on all those apps you’ve joined.”
“I didn’t ask Jared to leave me presents. It’s just a thing. I gave him one the other night. We talked. And now he has this crazy idea that he’s my hero.”
“He’s not,” Emma said flatly.
“You think he’s toying with me.” Lucy met her friend’s gaze. They’d bypassed teasing about fairies and champagne. “He’s back in Florida and looking for a distraction.”
“I don’t think he would intentionally hurt you,” Emma said slowly. “He respects your brother.”
“But if I share a juice with him and then wake up one morning a month from now and discover he’s leaving mixed berry boxes on someone else’s porch, I’ll be crushed.”
“All joking aside, he plays in a different league, Lucy. Look at the way he pounces from one deal to the next,” Emma said.
And one girlfriend to the next.
“You’re right.” Lucy glanced at the pantry. Four early morning deliveries hid behind the sugar. And she suspected he’d personally dropped off each one. She doubted he’d trust one of his employees to swing by her house before dawn and leave a child’s drink with a handwritten note inviting her join him for a box.
If she agreed, he’d deliver fireworks on their first date. After the way he’d drawn her close at the Morgan party, she knew his kiss would be magical from start to finish. There was no doubt that Jared Mitchell checked a handful of boxes on her mental list.
But does he want to get to know me? Not as his friend’s little sister, or the party princess, but as the woman drowning in hope that she will find her happy-ever-after. Even though I have every reason not to believe in love.
“Of course, I’m right.” Emma held out her hand again and wiggled her fingers. “Now hand over your phone so I can get to work on your dating profiles. We need to find a guy that will help you forget all about Jared Mitchell.”
Impossible.
But she handed over her phone. “Just so we’re clear, I still want a man drawn to the idea of wild sex.”
Emma didn’t look up from the screen as she typed. “Looking for a gorgeous man who wants to have shower sex with me every day for the rest of his life.” She glanced up. “If we publish this, I bet every guy in south Florida looking to hook up for a night or two will contact you. We need to get creative. Subtly reference that your dream date needs to deliver in the bedroom.”
“But before the clothes come off, I want to see his true colors. Kind, smart, funny.” Lucy stood and headed for the fridge. “I’ll break out the bubbly and make mimosas. We can sip while you write.”
An hour later, Lucy’s finger hovered over the publish button. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No, I’m pretty certain there are laws about creating a dating profile while under the influence.” Emma was sprawled across the loveseat. Her head rested on the arm, and her legs dangled over the opposite edge. She twirled a champagne flute between her fingers. “But as your dating advisor—”
“My what?” Lucy reached for her glass and drained the last of the bubbly drink.
“I feel this profile makes what you’re looking for abundantly clear,” Emma continued.
Lucy frowned. “Fifteen minutes ago, you said I sounded like a sex addict who hates men.”
“We fixed that part.” Emma swung her legs down. “Go ahead and send it out to the world. You’ll see. Your prince will come. And he’ll show up ready to make your dreams a reality.”
“Or I’ll find myself eating dinner in Minny’s kitchen five nights a week to escape my future dates,” Lucy said dryly, her finger still hovering over the publish button.
“There are worst fates than free tacos and fresh guacamole.”
Lucy lowered her phone and met her friend’s gaze. “Don’t you ever wonder how all this became so hard?”
“You mean dating?”
Lucy nodded.
Emma swirled her remaining bubbly. The mixed berry juice gave the drink a surreal purple color. “Honestly?” Her friend looked up from her drink. “When Barrett broke your heart and shattered your trust. Your ex opened your eyes to the fact that even the ones we think we know can’t be trusted.”
“So dating is a piece of cake for you.”
“No.” Emma returned her gaze to her drink. “But my heartbreak is not as fresh. And it helps that I don’t want the same things you want. Except for the shower sex. I want that. Once you find the love of your life, maybe I’ll take your billionaire for a test drive.”
No. He’s mine.
She silenced the thought. He wasn’t hers. She didn’t want the playboy.
“I’m kidding, Lucy.”
She exhaled and allowed the relief to wash over her.
Emma rose from the loveseat and plucked the phone from her hand. “Are you ready to hit publish? Or should I raid the kitchen for another bottle?”
She stared at Emma’s finger hovering over the submit button on her new and improved profile. She wanted to believe that in the end, it would all be worth it. The bad dates. The awful men. The liars and cheats. The heartbreak.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Do it. Publish the new and improved Lucy Linden profile.”