Read Online The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom by Dixie Browning - Free Book Online Page A

easier back when she’d worn whatever she could swipe from other people’s clotheslines. Now she fought a constant battle between her personal desire for anonymity and her publisher’s insistence on exposure. They’d even given her a Web page, for gosh sake, and she wasn’t even online. Lily the writer wore silks and strappy high heels. The real Lily dressed down. Way down.
    She opted for baggy slacks, a man’s shirts, and a pairof sneakers—the discount store variety, not the name brand. This was a working trip, not a publicity tour.
    â€œYou trying to prove something, Lily?” she asked, all innocence.
    â€œDamn right I am!” she growled back at the mirror.
    And that was another thing—she’d have to try to remember not to talk to herself while she was at Powers Point. At least not out loud. And definitely not to talk to Bess.
    He was early. Her doorbell rang at one minute to ten. Armor firmly in place, Lily opened the door, silently daring him to comment on her baggy eyes, her baggy slacks or any other bags he happened to notice.
    â€œRough night?” He noticed, all right.
    â€œCaffeine,” she snapped.
    â€œRight. Any more gifts?”
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it.”
    He lifted his brows in a silent challenge, which she chose to ignore. “It’s your choice. Did you tell anyone where you were going?”
    â€œWell, sure I did. I called the president, and he said he’d have the FBI and the CIA keep an eye on my underwear drawer.” She wished she’d taken the time to camouflage the shadows under her eyes. Knowing she looked like hell gave him the advantage. “Could we just get this show on the road?”
    Something about the way he was looking at her made her regret her attitude. If she didn’t know better, she might even believe he cared. Another thing she wasn’t very good at was apologies, but she felt compelled to give it a shot. “I’m not at my best early in the morning, okay?”
    He glanced pointedly at his watch. It was one of those ugly ones with all the bells and whistles that did everythingbut tie your shoelaces for you. She’d had one once, but she’d never been able to figure out how to set it.
    They were standing there by a ton of stuff that was going to have to be dragged downstairs and loaded into her car. Sleep deprived or not, if they didn’t get moving she was going to lose her nerve, and then she’d be right back where she started—stuck with all the flakes, weirdos and other vermin. Her stress level registered at least a 6.8 on whatever scale such things were measured by. No wonder he was looking at her as if he didn’t know whether to run or throw a hammerlock on her. She could have told him that he himself was a large part of the problem.
    Trouble was, he was also a part of the solution—at least on a temporary basis.
    He smelled of shaving cream. Not cologne, but plain old, drugstore shave cream. Gold watches, tasseled loafers, heavy cologne and Italian suits she could have handled easily. Clean, rumpled khakis, faded black knit shirts, ancient deck shoes on a plain, unadorned male might be a little harder to deal with.
    â€œLook, are we going or not? I have to be back by the end of the week to start on a new proposal.”
    He shrugged as if to say it was her call. Which it was. And then he reached for the box on the top of the stack, winced and set it down again.
    â€œI’ve got a handcart there beside the sofa.”
    â€œI wondered how you managed to get this stuff up here.”
    â€œI’m not exactly stupid,” she told him. He looked as if he might argue the point, but instead, he slid the top box off onto the handcart, then reached for the next one.
    Lily took one last look around inside, thought of all the reasons to go and all the reasons not to. It was the promise to Bess that tipped the scales.
    Sure it was. A promise to a