Read Online The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom by Dixie Browning - Free Book Online
Authors: Dixie Browning
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While hot water drilled down on the tense muscles at the back of her neck and sluiced down her body, she thought about that crazy prickle of awareness that had come over her the first time sheâd seen Curt Powers at the bookstore.
She let the water run cool and then cold. It didnât help. Words and phrases popped into her mind as she visualized the way he walked. Snake-hipped. Tigerlike. Gliding, as though he had a case of dynamite balanced on his head.
She shut off the water and shivered, not from the cold so much as from the awareness that always served as a warning. The awareness of her own femininity. Of what she had denied for so long, but hadnât quite managed to kill. That she was a woman with a womanâs needs. A woman afraid to allow anyone to come too close, because closeness meant getting hurt, and sheâd been hurt too often ever to risk it again.
âFace it, girl, youâre a fraud. Clear case of early malnutrition. Your body grew up, but your brain barely made it past puberty.â Here she had her first three-book contract with a seven-figure advance, with a creep making her life a living hell, and all she could think about was what sex would be like with a man she didnât know, didnât trust and certainly didnât like. A lion of a man into whose den she had just delivered herself.
A lion of a man? Talk about your purple prose.
But it was true. Whatever it was that men had that made women do incredibly stupid things, Curt Powers had cornered the market. Testosterone? Machismo?
Whatever. Chemistry was another area where she was woefully ignorant.
âAnd, Bess, heâs not even handsome, not by male-cover-model standards. Remind me to tell you about the covers we have these days.â She dusted down with lilac-scented talcum powder, sneezed twice and muttered, âBless you.â She didnât know if self-blessings counted, but she needed all the help she could get.
âDid women have biological clocks in your day, Bess? Iâve been reading up on it, and you know what? Iâm beginning to believe itâs more than just a medical myth.â
What if he tried to seduce her, she wondered as she brushed her teeth. Would raging hormones overcome common sense? Where did temptation fit in? Because she was tempted. She didnât have to like himâshe didnât even have to know him, to be tempted.
What if she tried to seduce him? She knew how it was done on paper. On paper, she had done it plenty of times. Even though her books fell into the category of suspense, there was always an element of romance involved. And while personally she went out of her way to avoid temptation, she knew all about it. Even a hardheaded realistcould dream. It was those very dreams that enabled her to do what she did, which was to create lovely, sexy, temporarily dangerous, but eventually happy-ever-after lives for other people to live.
Curt Powers was the kind of man she wrote about in her books and avoided like the plague in real life. She would be safe, she reminded herself as she rinsed and spat, just as long as she remembered the rules. Rule number one, know the odds going in.
Too late, she was already in. She grimaced at the face in the mirror and skipped to rule number two. Run like hell. That was still a possibility. And if worse came to worst, she would have to rely on thumbs, knees, teeth and five-alarm screams.
Â
At nine-thirty the next morning she took one look at the mess stacked in her living room and headed for the medicine cabinet. Somebody had evidently borrowed her head for basketball practice. Either that or she had a bad case of coffee jitters. She kept meaning to swear off caffeine. Kept forgetting to do it.
After three aspirin, washed down with last nightâs stale coffee, she stood in front of her closet and pondered what to wear. One of the skills she was working on was how to dress appropriately for the occasion. Things had been
She let the water run cool and then cold. It didnât help. Words and phrases popped into her mind as she visualized the way he walked. Snake-hipped. Tigerlike. Gliding, as though he had a case of dynamite balanced on his head.
She shut off the water and shivered, not from the cold so much as from the awareness that always served as a warning. The awareness of her own femininity. Of what she had denied for so long, but hadnât quite managed to kill. That she was a woman with a womanâs needs. A woman afraid to allow anyone to come too close, because closeness meant getting hurt, and sheâd been hurt too often ever to risk it again.
âFace it, girl, youâre a fraud. Clear case of early malnutrition. Your body grew up, but your brain barely made it past puberty.â Here she had her first three-book contract with a seven-figure advance, with a creep making her life a living hell, and all she could think about was what sex would be like with a man she didnât know, didnât trust and certainly didnât like. A lion of a man into whose den she had just delivered herself.
A lion of a man? Talk about your purple prose.
But it was true. Whatever it was that men had that made women do incredibly stupid things, Curt Powers had cornered the market. Testosterone? Machismo?
Whatever. Chemistry was another area where she was woefully ignorant.
âAnd, Bess, heâs not even handsome, not by male-cover-model standards. Remind me to tell you about the covers we have these days.â She dusted down with lilac-scented talcum powder, sneezed twice and muttered, âBless you.â She didnât know if self-blessings counted, but she needed all the help she could get.
âDid women have biological clocks in your day, Bess? Iâve been reading up on it, and you know what? Iâm beginning to believe itâs more than just a medical myth.â
What if he tried to seduce her, she wondered as she brushed her teeth. Would raging hormones overcome common sense? Where did temptation fit in? Because she was tempted. She didnât have to like himâshe didnât even have to know him, to be tempted.
What if she tried to seduce him? She knew how it was done on paper. On paper, she had done it plenty of times. Even though her books fell into the category of suspense, there was always an element of romance involved. And while personally she went out of her way to avoid temptation, she knew all about it. Even a hardheaded realistcould dream. It was those very dreams that enabled her to do what she did, which was to create lovely, sexy, temporarily dangerous, but eventually happy-ever-after lives for other people to live.
Curt Powers was the kind of man she wrote about in her books and avoided like the plague in real life. She would be safe, she reminded herself as she rinsed and spat, just as long as she remembered the rules. Rule number one, know the odds going in.
Too late, she was already in. She grimaced at the face in the mirror and skipped to rule number two. Run like hell. That was still a possibility. And if worse came to worst, she would have to rely on thumbs, knees, teeth and five-alarm screams.
Â
At nine-thirty the next morning she took one look at the mess stacked in her living room and headed for the medicine cabinet. Somebody had evidently borrowed her head for basketball practice. Either that or she had a bad case of coffee jitters. She kept meaning to swear off caffeine. Kept forgetting to do it.
After three aspirin, washed down with last nightâs stale coffee, she stood in front of her closet and pondered what to wear. One of the skills she was working on was how to dress appropriately for the occasion. Things had been
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