Page 18 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

She swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand and dug her spoon into the ice cream, listening to the sound of Kismet at night. The chirp of crickets filtered in from the open window, an owl hooted in the distance. The house was just a few blocks down from Goldmine Street, where the majority of Kismet’s businesses were located, but the town was so small most people closed up shop early. No noisy traffic like in the big cities.

Kismet was so small they only had one main road. It used to be an old mining town back in the eighteen hundreds. Once the gold rush ended, Kismet managed to carve out a new life as a tourist stop. With the latest hipster trend booming only half an hour away in Denver, people frequently stopped in town to purchase their farm-grown veggies, stock up on organic, grass-fed meats, buy the handcrafted jewelry of the many town artisans—herself included—and partake of the famous liquors at the Jackson Family Distillery.

At the reminder of the distillery, Cassie shoved a large spoonful of cold, creamy cookie dough ice cream into her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting the flavors melt over her tongue. Why couldn’t men be more like ice cream? Delicious, comforting, and always there when you needed them? No. Instead, they had to be rude, disgusting, and propose outlandish…proposals!

How could Del think getting married would be a good idea? The whole thing was absurd. Okay, yes, it would solve her I need a husband problem, and sure she could invest in his restaurant idea. Truthfully, it sounded kind of great. Kismet only had three restaurants. A breakfast place that closed after two, a small diner that made decent food, and a fancy dinner hall so pricey most townsfolk left it to the tourists or special occasions.

It would be nice to have another eatery in town to choose from. It would also be nice to have some food along with the wonderful alcohol selections at the distillery. She could see how it would profit the business. The Jackson family could significantly up their game financially.

“But why do I have to marry Del?”

She didn’t. She could keep going on disaster blind dates, hoping the next guy would be marriage material. Del could keep plugging away at investors. They could continue on their hard roads or…

No.

She couldn’t marry Del. For one, he was her best friend’s little brother. Besties’ siblings were off-limits. Everyone knew that. And she was older than him by two years. Not a huge deal, but something in her recoiled at being the older woman. Especially with society’s insistence of calling women who go for younger men cougars. Blech! Society could take a flying leap. If she wanted a younger man, she’d get one, and it didn’t make her a predatory feline. It made her a confident woman.

That being said, she still didn’t want Del…did she?

Another fortifying sip of wine left her brain fuzzy and her body relaxed. It would be a lot easier if they just threw in the towel and got hitched. Del would get his start-up money and she would get her home. They didn’t have to let anyone know it wasn’t a traditional marriage. In fact, they couldn’t let anyone know. If she wanted the house, her home, they had to make it look real or it could all be taken away. Mandy had made that clear at the will reading. Her cousin fully intended to contest any upcoming marriage, so she had to make it look real. If the lawyer determined Cassie got married just for the house instead of for love, the house would go to Mandy.

Could she actually marry Del? His easygoing, fun-loving attitude wouldn’t be hard to handle. Though it might get tricky dealing with anything serious. Del was notoriously allergic to serious. She had no doubts he could clean and balance a checkbook; he was, after all, in charge of the tasting room. But what about life insurance, 401Ks, wills?

She laughed, shaking her head. If they did go through with this thing, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of that. It wasn’t like the marriage would be real. She didn’t need to worry about Del and her future beyond getting what they wanted. They only had to make it appear real. Just for a short while.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she let her mind wander to what being married to Del for real would be like. He made her laugh with his jokes—when she wasn’t the butt of them—and he was kind. She knew he coached the town’s little league team voluntarily. He said he did it to look good to the single moms, but she knew better. She saw the light in his eyes when a kid hit their first ball. The sheer joy when they made a run. Del could protest all he wanted, but she knew he worked with those kids because he loved building their confidence. He was good at it too. Del could make anyone smile with a simple compliment. The man didn’t give out false praise.

Yeah, she could stand to be married to Del. His personality wasn’t totally abhorrent. Plus, his physique was absolutely drool worthy. Over the years of her friendship with the Jackson family, they’d gone camping, swimming, and a number of other activities where she’d seen all the family members in various states of undress. No full-on birthday suits—thank goodness, talk about awkward—but the last few summers at the lake she’d definitely noticed how well Delta had grown up. The man wasn’t as built as his ex-military older brothers, but he had a sleek, tight tone to his sculpted body.

She placed her wine glass on the coffee table, eyes still closed as she pictured Del’s half-naked body in her mind. A strong broad chest with just a smattering of dark brown hair that trailed down his scrumptious-looking abs only to end somewhere beyond the waistband of his trunks. At night, when she was alone, and no one would ever know, she’d often wondered about the end of that happy trail. What was Del hiding behind those shorts that drove all the women he’d dated wild?

And no doubt about it, Del drove them wild. She’d been on the unfortunate receiving end of some very explicated bragging one night when a woman she didn’t know sat next to her at Jack’s and proceeded to regale Cassie with her previous night’s exploits with “the sex god bartender.” She’d been both uncomfortable and intrigued. Poor woman had been looking for a repeat, but Del didn’t do seconds. He was a one and done type of guy. Or so he told her once when she asked why he only dated tourists.

The woman’s vivid descriptions stuck in her head. She imagined Del doing those things to her. His long fingers running over her neck, down her shoulders to stroke her breasts. Her nipples tightened at the thought, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Dream Del’s lips caressed her cheeks, gliding over her heated skin as he peeled her clothes off excruciatingly slowly. A deep throb ached low in her belly. Heat gathered between her legs. She clenched her thighs together to relieve the tension, but it didn’t work.

Her imagination took off without permission. Del doing wicked, naughty things to her, things that had her moaning, writhing on her couch, wishing he was actually here to help sate this growing desire. She brushed her hands over her breasts, grasping and squeezing. Good, but not enough. One hand slid down her stomach, making its way to the spot between her legs, begging for attention.

Just before she slipped her fingers below the waistband of her pants, a knock sounded. Startled, she froze. Another knock. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shook her head. Who the hell was at her door at two in the morning? And holy crap when did it become so late? How long had she been lying on her couch fantasizing about Del?

Embarrassed, frustrated, and a little bit pissed at having her Me Time interrupted, she rose from the couch and headed to the front door just as the knock came again.

“Who is it?”

“Open up, Sassy.”

Oh crap! Speak of the devil. What was Del doing here at two a.m.? Nothing good, she would bet on it, and considering how badly she’d lost her last bet that was saying something.

“What do you want, Del?”

“I want you to open the door.”

He wasn’t going to go away unless she did. Knowing he could out-stubborn her any day of the week, she sighed and opened the door. He stood, hands braced on the top of the doorframe, hair slightly mussed as if he’d spent hours running his hands through the dark strands.

“You have to marry me.”

“Wow, the proposal every woman wants. Is that why you came over? The answer is still no. Goodnight.”

She started to close the door, but he stepped forward, placing a hand on it, stopping her from slamming it in his face. He pushed into her front entryway, shutting the door softly behind him. It put them within inches of each other. She could smell the fresh mint on his breath. From his nightly closing mojito, no doubt. Her body still trembled with unfulfilled need.

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