Feels So Right. Isabel Sharpe
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“Good luck, Bonnie,” Jack said. “You certainly deserve a normal experience.”
“No kidding.” She rolled her green eyes. “It’s been one disaster after another.”
A snort from Seth, who was at the refrigerator. “Anyone else need anything?”
“No, thanks.” Angela opened a folder on her lap. “But I have an idea I want to share with you guys. Actually Melissa got me thinking about it.”
“Uh-oh.” Jack’s dark eyes turned warm. He was totally hot anyway, and looked even hotter when he thought about Melissa. Demi wouldn’t mind some guy turning liquid on her behalf. She’d had one long-term boyfriend in college, one a few years after, then some casual dating but nothing for a while. At twenty-eight, she was starting to wonder about settling down, having babies, the whole deal. Too bad she couldn’t just snap her fingers and find the perfect mate. That’s what her older brother and sister had done, once again demonstrating their ability to sail effortlessly through life. She had no idea how they did it. Everything she accomplished seemed to require superhuman effort.
“Last summer Melissa had that idea about making Come to Your Senses a one-stop bridal-pampering place, remember?”
“I loved the idea.” Bonnie nodded enthusiastically. “Flowers from me, cake or pastry from Angela, a portrait by Jack and music from Seth, our very own YouTube sensation.”
And …? Demi sat silent, not able to tell if the omission was deliberate, unsure whether pointing it out would make things better or worse.
“And a massage from Demi,” Angela prompted gently.
“Right.” Bonnie thwacked her forehead. “Sorry, Demi. I forgot you.”
“’S’okay.” Demi kept her eyes down. The closest she and Bonnie had gotten to friendliness was when Angela and Bonnie bumped into her on their way to go dancing one evening last summer and had dragged her along. It had been one of the most fun nights Demi’d had in a while. She loved to dance. That night alcohol and circumstances had made Bonnie actually pleasant, a start Demi had hoped they could build on afterward.
Not so much.
“So, anyway.” Angela broke the awkward silence. “I was thinking we could take the same package idea, but have it available as a holiday special from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. We can charge a flat rate and sell certificates people can buy for themselves or as a gift. What do you think?”
“Wow. I love that idea!” Bonnie grinned, eyes alight, and looked at Seth and Jack for their reactions.
“Same here,” Jack said. “Get us new business and reward our existing customers. Win-win.”
“I was talking with Daniel about it last night as a wedding package and whining that we’d missed the summer bridal rush and then it came to me … the holidays!”
“I love the idea, Angela.” Demi smiled at her. She looked so amazingly happy these days. Last spring she’d fallen for a guy who’d come into her bakery for white cupcakes to commemorate his late fiancée’s birthday. Angela had sneaked in a chocolate cupcake to cheer Daniel up, and ended up doing a lot more than that. On her right hand she wore his diamond promise ring. “It’s brilliant.”
“I’ve got the perfect jingle.” Seth got a faraway look in his narrow gray eyes, then cleared his throat and started a jazzy tune. “Spend holiday money on your sweetest honey. The cash you’ve paid will ensure you get lai—”
“Stop!” Angela and Bonnie yelled at the same time, then tried to restrain their giggles.
“What? What did I do?” Seth dropped his innocent look for a grin and squeezed Bonnie’s shoulder. “Okay, maybe it needs work.”
“We should plan this out.” Angela started counting on her fingers. “Make posters, work on a jingle for a radio spot—G-rated, thank you, Seth. I also think it’s time to bite the bullet and come up with a communal website. Right now we each have our own. What do you think?”
There was general assent, lots of joking, lots of constructive brainstorming and thorough planning. Demi was, as always, impressed by the quartet she’d signed on with. They worked hard and had all done well, though she wasn’t sure about Bonnie, who always went oddly quiet when the others discussed their good fortune. She’d also dropped quite a bit of weight in the last six months or so and never seemed terribly busy in her shop. Demi hoped she was just angsting about her romantic life. Maybe she’d fall in love with a nice rich guy. Demi’s sister had done that. Boy had she. And didn’t let anyone forget it for more than twenty seconds.
The meeting broke up; Demi left the four of them still chatting. She was tired, anxious to get to bed, a little flustered at the idea of seeing Colin again the next day. Often she’d dream about whatever she concentrated on at night, powerful dreams that affected her the whole next day. Tonight before she went to bed, she’d imagine him toothless with bugs crawling all over him. That way she might be able to turn him into an object of disgust.
Yeah, and if that worked, she’d try walking on water next.
Half an hour later, she was snuggled in bed, listening to the October rain tap on the window, concentrating on Colin, not the way he was, but the way she wanted to dream about him.
Big brown eyes—make those piggy, puffy red ones. His fabulous male scent—now eau de skunky hangover. His rare smile—brown and broken. His build—flabtastic. Plaid pants, platform shoes. Flowered shirt unbuttoned to his waist.
Gold chains …
She gave a huge yawn and nestled deeper under the covers, smiling faintly.
Long, greasy hair.
Another yawn. Take that, Colin …
Morning already? Couldn’t be. Somehow Demi was in her office suite without getting out of bed. Her waiting room, normally a cool, refreshing blue-green color, had been repainted violet with rainbows and pictures of clowns. She glanced at her watch, not the gold one she’d bought for herself, but pink glowing plastic with a picture of Barbie on it. Noon! Colin was about to show up.
A knock on the door. She tried to say, “Come in,” but couldn’t make a sound. The door opened. Colin! Except he was about four foot five, wearing a clown costume—white with huge red dots and yellow ruffles, floppy black shoes, giant red nose.
This must be her dream. Perfect.
Lie down, she told him without sound. I’ll work on you.
“Sure.” His voice emerged without problem, deep, resonant, very sexy. Oops, she’d forgotten to change that to an appropriately girlie squeak.
You can keep your clown suit on.
“No.” He moved his hands to the back of his suit.
She tried to say yes, but couldn’t make herself understood, and frowned at him instead, frantically gesturing that he should stop.
Wait, was he growing taller? He was, no! Taller than she was, up to his real height, just over six feet.
Bad clown, bad.
The silly suit melted off. Instead of proper clown underwear, he was wearing boxer briefs that molded to a decidedly not flabby body. The violet walls changed to trees, and suddenly Demi and Colin were lying in a meadow on a blanket, picnic basket nearby, holding glasses of champagne.
Uh-oh.
Then the champagne was gone and he was kissing her tenderly, his body warm and solid against the length of hers … which no longer had any clothes on it. And his briefs were gone, too.
Oh, no.
His mouth tasted hers languidly—upper lip, bottom lip, this corner, that. Then he pulled back and gazed at her from under his brows, causing her blood to race, her body to arch toward his.
Oh,