Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 (38 page)

“Sean.”

“Mm-hm.”

“It’s morning. And you’re here. With me.”

He drew back to look at her, his expression bemused. “I’m here every morning. And why are you smiling like the Cheshire cat?”

“I just told you,” she said, beaming. “It’s morning. And you’re here.”

“Better get used to it. I don’t want to wake up anywhere else.”

“You know what this means, right?” She offered him a sultry look and set her hands to exploring, pleased with the dusky deepening of his eyes when she found what she was after. Her mouth touched his and she smiled against his lips. “This point goes to me, Counselor.”

The End

If you enjoyed

Love to BELIEVE

keep reading for a sneak preview of

Love to WIN

Book 3 in the Fireflies series

CHAPTER 1

“Take the Dare, take the Dare!”

The chanting of the crowd inside the Lump & Grind coffeehouse blasted through Brenna Kinkaid’s head. She blamed it for the rhythmic throbbing at her temples that reinforced her new hatred of Saturdays.

Brenna, owner of the Lump & Grind, stared at the scrubby slip of paper in her left hand on which one of her customers had scribbled:
Truth--are you the one who got Mrs. Feinbacher high on pot brownies in high school?
In her right hand she held a torn scrap of lined yellow paper daring her to
kiss the first man who walks through the door
. Neither owning up to the brownie incident--which she had certainly spearheaded, but
for the love of God, Mrs. F, it’s been thirteen years, let it go
!--nor kissing some random redneck stopping into the L&G for a cup of joe, held the slightest appeal.

Damn the mayor of Bright Hills and her Truth or Dare campaign, anyway. So what if it was for a good cause? Brenna thought it was ridiculous, but when every other shop owner in town had agreed to this harebrained idea, what could she do but be a good sport and go along?

The rules of play were simple enough. During the week, customers dropped suggestions into the Truth or Dare jars at their favorite businesses, along with a dollar for the privilege of doing so. Every Saturday, the business owner pulled one suggestion from each jar and read them aloud. Patrons put money toward their preference, and whichever collected the most was what the owner had to do, resulting in often-hilarious results. Last week the Truth had collected more money than the Dare, and Brenna had been forced to admit that her first kiss had taken place behind the Bright Hills Middle School bleachers with a boy named Hugh. Hugh, by happenstance, was seated at a table enjoying a vanilla latte with his boyfriend, Milton, and had regaled the crowd with his version of the kiss, teasing that it was the reason he decided to come out of the closet.

Yet, as ridiculous as this fundraising campaign was, it appeared to be working. Brenna had collected nearly three-hundred dollars in just six weeks, her weekend business had doubled, and the residents of Bright Hills, Georgia, were reaching into their wallets to support the drive toward having their own police department. Bright Hills was growing, and though the Truheart County Sheriff’s Department did a good job of patrolling, it was past time that Bright Hills had its own top cop. All the money collected in the Truth or Dare campaign would go toward this cause, and the business that collected the most money by the end of the fundraiser would win a trophy to be put on display in their place of business.

No one expected the collections to fund a police department, but it was a start toward community awareness and involvement.

And, as with everything she did, Brenna intended to win.

“Hold on, hold on. Just give me a minute and let me think about this.” Brenna lifted her eyes from her hands to regard her patrons, all of whom had shown up for their Saturday purchase of designer coffee and to watch her squirm. “Unless one of you wants to toss in more money to break the tie, I have to decide which one of these is the least likely to scandalize my mama.”

“I believe your mama wants to know if you’re responsible for the brownies.” The gruff voice belonged to a shrunken crone in purple stretch pants and an orange smock with a row of geese embroidered across the front. Her lips formed an uncompromising line, and she hid what Brenna suspected were disapproving eyes behind a pair of cat-eye sunglasses, embellished with faux gemstones the color of lime Jell-O.

Brenna ignored the woman, much as she had done while suffering through her chemistry class in high school.

“Here’s another ten bucks for the Dare jar.” A man waved the bill over his head and stepped up to the counter.

Brenna forced a smile for him when he stuffed the bill into the plastic collection container. One of her regular customers, he sported a bushy beard and John Deere cap snugged over his balding head, and Brenna thought it would be nice if the big lug would look at her eyes instead of her boobs for a change.

“Thanks for your donation, Duke.”
Eyes up here, asshole.

He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “Maybe I can step out and then step back in again, be the first man to walk through the door.” He leaned his apish forearms on the counter and forced his eyes upward for the purpose of giving her a broad wink.

Brenna held her smile, and temper, in check. Beating the hell out of a customer via a verbal tongue lashing would be bad for business, and if there was one thing Brenna protected, it was her business.

She leaned in as he had done and sugared her tone. “I don’t think your wife would approve.”

Duke blinked and dropped his gaze back to Brenna’s chest. “She wouldn’t care.”

Brenna gritted her teeth.

“I’ve got another five for the Dare jar.” Brenna’s childhood friend, Raelynn, who had grown up to be the best hair stylist in the county, stepped up to the counter and moved Duke out of the way with a solid body chuck. She adjusted her pink-tinted bangs with a toss of her head. “Moron.”

Duke made a show of adjusting his cap before he shuffled away to wait for Brenna to make good on her Dare.

“You ever think about playing hockey?” Brenna asked.

Raelynn grinned. “How many more Saturdays do you have to do this?”

“Through the end of July.” Brenna waved at the crowd to quiet them down and raised her voice to be heard. “There is no longer a tie. The Dare jar collected the most, unless anyone wants to put fifteen dollars into the Truth jar to tie it up again, or twenty to beat it.” She raised her brows at Mrs. Feinbacher who deepened her disapproving frown and clutched her patent leather purse close to her chest. Brenna sighed. “No? That’s it then. I guess I’m kissing the next yahoo that walks in.” The crowd clapped and whistled, and Brenna lowered her voice and said to Raelynn, “Honest to god, honey, this every Saturday morning Truth or Dare thing is getting old fast. And you should see some of the suggestions I have to throw away. What’s wrong with all these people that they come out and actually pay good money for this?”

“Bubba-Jo’s has a big crowd, too, and Dante’s Bistro is packed right now, thanks to this Truth or Dare thing.” Raelynn’s dimples popped out when she smiled. “Last week Dante’s Dare won, and he had to prank call the mayor. Omigod, it was hilarious. He called her private number, put on a Northern accent, and pretended to be a Boston detective trying to solve a murder.” Raelynn laughed, a boisterous sound that traveled above the chatter of the Lump & Grind crowd. “He really played it up.”

Brenna frowned. Raelynn, like everyone else in this town, thought the owner of Dante’s Bistro was all that and a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s. Why, she couldn’t understand, because she thought he was as annoying as an eye tic. “What did he pull out of the jar this week?”

“No idea. I came here when I saw Mrs. Feinbacher coming in.” She cast a glance at the old lady and looked back at Brenna when Mrs. Feinbacher wagged a finger at her. “She’s scary. And she has a memory like an elephant.”

The bell on the L&G door jingled and the crowd whooped and clapped. Brenna looked past Raelynn to see who had come in, and her chest constricted. Of all the men in Bright Hills, why did
he
have to be the first one to step through her door?

“Speak of the devil.” Raelynn fanned her face and gave Brenna a look. “As Dares go, you could do a whole lot worse than kissing Dante Caravicci.”

The man in question glanced around at the noisy crowd. It was apparent that their delight was aimed at him, and he played it up and gave them a bow worthy of a royal court.

“Hey, Caravicci, the Dare won. You have to kiss Brenna!” someone called out.

Dante straightened and shot a bemused look over the collection of people, then modified his expression into a comical leer. “Reaaally?” He wriggled his brows and twisted an imaginary mustache. The group went wild, clapping and whoop-whooping.

Brenna rolled her eyes.
Why, oh, why, oh why?
But she wanted to win this thing, and winning meant playing along and having every possible person in this town on her side, so she brightened her expression, came around the counter, and put her hands on her hips. Vamping it up for the best Mae West impression she could muster, she flashed her dark-lashed dusky blues at Dante. “Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Dante dropped his head back and laughed along with Brenna’s customers. The infectious humor seeped into her, and she found herself laughing with them, feeling both ridiculous and pleased that her supporters were getting such a kick out of her goofy role play. This would translate into a bigger crowd next Saturday, and Brenna would never complain about more people coming into her little place to order their designer brew.

“Well, c’mon.” She wriggled her fingers in a
come here
gesture
.
“The Dare is that I have to kiss the first man who walked in, and that’s you. Let’s get this over with.”

Dante stepped up to Brenna and smiled down at her. “I’m taking Cal to lunch to keep him busy before the wedding. I just dropped by to see if you need any help.”

“Thanks, no. You just keep Caleb out of our hair. He’s not allowed to see Maddie before the ceremony.”

“I know. Maddie already gave me my marching orders.”

“You gonna kiss her, or what?” someone hollered.

“Keep your pants on,” Dante said over his shoulder and, a moment later, he grabbed Brenna and swung her into an unexpected dip.

Brenna gasped and clutched his shirt while The Lump & Grind exploded with approval. Wide-eyed, she watched his face lower toward hers, and panic whooshed through her. She didn’t want to kiss Dante Caravicci. She especially didn’t want to suffer through it in front of an audience. Never mind that the man was a special kind of eye candy. He had the whole sexy-Italian-male thing going for him, the bastard--hair and eyes the color of rich espresso, and olive skin that made him look like he’d just enjoyed a few hours at the beach. At the moment, the lower half of his face bore just enough growth of beard to tell her he’d shaved that morning, but too early in the day to keep him smooth for the evening wedding. His Mediterranean heritage, she figured, was to blame for the sexy stubble.

Damn it, she hated giving him a positive critique.

When he was close enough to hear her lowered voice, she said, “Listen to me, Neanderthal. If you stick your tongue in my mouth, I’ll bite it off. Understand?”

Dante smiled and shook his head. “You have no faith in me at all, Brenna. Relax and enjoy making your customers happy.”

“Don’t you dare--”

“I would never,” he assured her in a silky voice that sounded a lot to her ears like a promise that,
Oh, yes, he absolutely would
.

Dante touched his mouth to Brenna’s, a mere hint of a kiss, a feathery touch. She clutched his shirt tighter and braced herself for what she expected to follow. And how would she handle it?
Make the decision now
, she told herself,
whether you’ll let the jackass have his kiss and please the crowd, or follow through on the threat to make him bleed.

Kissing Dante Caravicci was not something Brenna had fantasized about.
Much
.

She didn’t like the man, whom the Fates had decreed would live next door to her, and then made them neighbors again with their downtown businesses located on opposite ends of the same block like a pair of mismatched bookends. A perfect metaphor, she’d often thought, for their relationship. They’d been at odds right from the start, and no matter how good looking he was, or how his lips moved over hers now with a skillful pressure that raced tingles across her skin, he was still the jackass Neanderthal who irritated her beyond reason just by breathing.

Breathing. Hers faltered when he captured her lower lip between his and increased the pressure, drawing it in ever so slightly for one, two, three seconds before releasing her mouth altogether. He executed one more tender brush of his lips against hers and, a moment later, she was upright again, shaky, and surprised that he’d not pressed his advantage.

Smiling down at her, he took her hand in his. Following his lead, and to the delight of her customers, they took a flourishing bow.

“Encore, encore!” someone yelled.

Everyone laughed, and then that became the chant. Brenna wagged her finger at the crowd, included a negative shake of her head, and moved back behind the counter.

“Sorry, y’all, but Truth or Dare is over for this week. Be sure to drop in suggestions for next Saturday.”

Dante rested his arms on the counter. “So you’re all set, then? You don’t need anything from me?”

Just the sight of you walking away
, she thought, but her mama had raised her better than to say something rude like that, especially since the man was being so pleasant. She allowed more agreeable words to claw their way past the sarcasm. “No, but thank you for asking.”

“You sure? Stuff for the cake? Something else for the reception?” He leaned closer and flashed her a sexy grin. “Or I could kiss you again, but do it up right this time.”

Though the mischievous gleam in his eyes softened his deliberate leer, her kind view of him fled. “And there you go, reminding me why I think you’re a jerk. No, I don’t need anything. Tell Cal I said hello, and I guess I’m stuck seeing you later.”
So much for manners.