Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I press a hand against the wall so I don’t sway from the lust raging in my body. Yes, that was clear, Rowan. That was temptingly, dangerously clear.
A few hours later, I’m still doing my best to keep last night’s appetizer out of my head. In the town square, the snow from a few days ago—topped off by a light dusting overnight—sparkles in the mid-morning sun.
I glance to my right. Eloise is locked in on Mayor Bumblefritz, who stands tall at the gazebo steps in the town square, a red-and-white megaphone in hand. It’s the one her husband’s used in past years. I wonder if he gave her this one—“She’s the Boss” is written on the side, with a heart beside it. Nick sits dutifully at her feet.
“Does anyone know the golden rule of fashion?” the mayor asks, her voice booming through the megaphone.
I bounce on my boots and scan the crowd. Josie’s watching the event, with her dog Pancake at her feet. Fable’s here with her team. Wilder too. Rowan, Oliver, and JJ are off in one corner. Rowan’s arms are crossed—of course—but he’s holding Wanda in his jacket, and my heart tugs at the sight.
But my lady parts do a jig as other images flash by: the hot kiss, the incendiary grind, the sexy lift against the wall. And the dirty words: I could make you come outside.
Do I have outdoor sex fantasies? I steal another glance at him, and a zing rushes through me. What if he pinned me down in the snow?
And that answers that. I, Isla Marlowe, San Francisco’s top matchmaker, am daydreaming about snow sex.
I snap my gaze back to the mayor and laser in on the contest. The mayor waits for someone to answer her question. Twelve teams in all. Surely someone else knows the golden rule of fashion. But no one moves.
I lift my hand, then shout, “Accessorize!”
“That’s right,” the mayor says into the megaphone. “In this year’s snowman competition, we’re going to have a fashion show. You’ll want to grab scarves, mittens, earrings, buttons, ties, carrot noses—whatever you might find. And turn your snowman or woman—”
Nick barks.
“Or dog,” Josie pops in, speaking for the canine.
“Snow dogs are welcome, too, for turning into fashionistas, but they must be accessorized.” The mayor makes a show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got two hours to track down your best accessories and then one hour to build one. Go!”
I grab my teammates and usher them to a corner of the park, gathering them close. “All right, Sugar Plum Ladies. Accessories are my life. I have literally five matching scarves.”
Eloise arches a curious brow. “With you?”
“No, at my parents’ house.”
Aurora snort-laughs. “You’re from the city. You brought five matching scarves on vacation?”
“Obviously,” I answer, completely serious.
“That’s why you’re the leader,” Eloise says.
“Do we use the scarves? I have lots of aprons too, but they’re more ironic and I don’t want the judges to mistake them for domesticity,” I say, inviting their input.
Aurora scrunches her cute, upturned nose. “Mon chéri, I am a baker. I have countless aprons to contribute. But not everyone understands nuance. I say let’s do the scarves.”
Eloise arches a brow. “But we can’t use them as scarves. Let’s turn them into something else. Then we’ll get bonus points for creativity. And I have an idea.”
Eloise brings us closer and whispers her fashion plan. It’s not just fashion. It’s runway genius.
“Your brain is beautiful,” I say, loving my team, and needing them today, so much, to distract me from the line I crossed last night. I can’t cross it again. Really, I can’t. We leave, and I fight the urge to look at Rowan once more.
But…maybe one glance won’t hurt.
He’s setting up camp with his two team members on the other side of the square, his back to me, so I don’t get another glimpse of his captivating eyes—just the broad line of his shoulders, and the jeans that curve over his ass in—
Oh my god, Isla, stop!
Two hours later, Aurora’s tying the red scarf around the snowwoman’s waist, and Eloise is lining up the pink one, with barrettes at the ready. They fasten the scarves together with the hair clips.
“Yes!” I say, urging them on as footsteps grow louder behind me.
Is it Rowan, coming to gloat? I secretly hope so, even though I shouldn’t want that.
I whirl around to find Josie.
“Hey, friend,” she says, then tips her chin to the snowwoman my teammates built. “Nice ball gown.”
“Yes! That’s the look we’re going for!”
“I can tell,” she says, watching Eloise and Aurora wrap the scarves so they look like a tiered gown.
“Snow couture,” Josie says, watching with something like pride but also mischief in her eyes, from behind her cherry red glasses.
“Cute glasses,” I say.
“Thanks. They’re new.”
Eloise and Aurora move onto the corset, crossing scarves over the chest, then add macarons for a necklace. I focus on the scarves. The corset. The macarons. Not stealing glances at the man who nearly made me come through my clothes last night.