Lucky 7 Brazen Bachelors Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “It’s D-Day.”

  “And to think, I forgot my helmet.” He smiled as a giggle bubbled out of her. “I don’t recall hearing about an invasion on the news this morning.”

  “Not that D-Day.” As an eager reader pounded on the door, Georgia moved toward the front of the store. “You ready?”

  “For D-Day? Hell no.”

  But with a showstopping smile, she opened the door anyway.

  It Must’ve Been Love: Chapter Two

  The floodgates opened with a jingling bell, and a sea of squealing women pushed forward. They wound around shelves and lined up quickly, snatching books off the table for Grayson to sign. He smiled, laughed, answered questions, and took pictures when they came to stand beside him. He scrawled his name on more books than he could count.

  As Georgia swept by to work the register about thirty minutes later, a hint of her natural scent hit him. She smelled like sandalwood and honey. Smooth vanilla. Tantalizingly sweet.

  Grayson hadn’t forgotten what they were talking about before the swarm of women descended upon them. “What does D-Day have to do with your love life? Do you really leave behind that many casualties of war?”

  “Oh yeah, men are lining up to seduce the bookseller who has her nose stuck in a book.”

  If they weren’t lining up for her, the men in Blue Lake were morons.

  “D-Day”—she smirked, shooting him a teasing glare—“is ‘D’ for ‘Date’ Day.”

  She rang up an older woman who had him sign the book To Penelope: Love you always.

  He was happy to oblige.

  “Every year on the fifteenth of January,” Georgia went on, “the single women of Blue Lake put together a box of clues for what their dream date might be. The boxes are randomly displayed in the center of town tomorrow afternoon, and single men bid on them. Inside each box is a note detailing the meeting place for the date. The men take the women out on the date in the box they bought, and the money is given to charity.”

  Even as she explained Blue Lake’s version of D-Day, she worked the register—giving Grayson a clear shot of her legs in that skirt—and knelt beside him to stack more books—giving him waves of her naturally feminine scent. She was in complete control of every aspect of the store, and had clearly earned the respect of the locals who frequented the shop. When noon crept upon them, she earned his respect by grabbing him a sandwich from the local deli. In one ham-and-turkey on sourdough swoop, she became one of the kindest people he’d ever met.

  “Blue Lake D-Day is fun for everyone involved,” she added as a large group filed out. “And half of the proceeds benefit children’s literacy programs in the area. I can’t not set up a box.”

  If Grayson had heard about Blue Lake’s D-Day before coming into town, he would’ve thought it was a ridiculous idea. Bidding on dates for children’s literacy? Who did that? But now that his interest in a certain bookseller was piqued, it didn’t sound so far-fetched.

  “Do you really think you’re going to find your dream guy from a bid on a box date?”

  She shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

  “Really?”

  “There are a few couples in town who’ve fallen in love after D-Day, and it’s not really a big surprise.” She nodded in thanks to a twentysomething redhead as she handed back her change. “It’s like a blind date, but the men are given clues beforehand. If I want to be wined and dined, I’ll put in a bottle of StoneMill Red and a box of chocolates. If I want someone to cuddle up beside me and read to me on a cold winter night, I’ll put in a fleece blanket and a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.”

  Both of those sounded amazing if Georgia was involved…wearing exactly what she was now. He finished off the last of his sandwich to keep from saying as much.

  “And if I want something hot and heavy,” she continued, “I’ll put in warming lotion and a book on the Kama Sutra.”

  He choked on a bite of ham and then met her eyes. She was dead serious. He went rock hard.

  “Not that I would do that.” She went back to work, slamming the door to the register. “But I could, if that’s what I wanted. D-Day gives the men a clear idea what they’re getting into, and what the women expect. Like I said, it’s a blind date with guidance.”

  What type of guy fired up her engine?

  He had to know.

  “What are you putting in your box?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

  “It’s a secret.” She waved goodbye to an older woman taking away a bag full of books, and answered questions for a woman looking for a reference book on gardening in winter. “Guess you’ll have to stick around another day.”

  “As appealing as that sounds, I don’t think it’ll work,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

  He had to drive to Yosemite for his next stop on the tour, and had reservations for Sunday night. He’d be sitting in his room trying to write while Georgia was out on her date.

  “Oh,” she said, traces of disappointment in her tone. “That’s too bad.”

  Yeah. It really was.

  He may not have been able to bid on a box date, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t go out. He was free tonight. He shot Georgia a smile as he signed the last book. He wanted to write it to her, but he wanted to leave her with more than a simple thank-you or cheesy line. She’d been so thoughtful today—he’d be a jerk not to repay her.

  As readers filed out, emptying the last of the stock Georgia had on hand, an idea struck. “What do you say we grab dinner tonight to celebrate the success of the signing?”

  She straightened a bookshelf, kneeling to reach the books along the bottom. “It was a success, wasn’t it?”

  “Considering this is the last book, I’d say so.” He held the final copy of Dear Rapture high and gave it a shake. “I signed it to you.”

  “Me?” She looked back over her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.” But she took the book from him anyway, opened it up to the title page, and read, “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

  He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “It’s from Hamlet.”

  “Yeah…” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know. They’re my favorite lines.”

  The moment she lifted her eyes to his, something passed between them. Something tangible and fierce. Did the thermostat kick on?

  “So how about that dinner?” he asked.

  “Okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll go. But I have to pick up a few things for my box date first.”

  This was a definite first—dating a woman on Saturday, when she was planning her date with someone else on Sunday.

  Usually it was the other way around.

  “Great,” Grayson said, shrugging into his coat. “You pick up what you need to set up the perfect date, and I’ll meet you back here at six.”

  And then he’d show her how something impromptu could be better than perfect.

  It Must’ve Been Love: Chapter Three

  “Flannel blanket. Check.” A little before six o’clock, Georgia flattened the fuzzy blanket to the bottom of the D-Day box. “StoneMill Red, and a box of chocolates from Laney’s. Double check.” She organized the items for her ideal date, shooting a glance at the classics section of her bookstore. If she included Hamlet, Grayson would know the box was hers.

  Would he bid on it? Was that what she wanted?

  Damn, she was pathetic. He’d flat-out told her he was leaving in the morning, before the D-Day festivities. Yet here she was, packing the box for him, hoping he’d change his mind, stay, bid on it, and take her out.

  She was such a hopeless romantic.

  Better than being simply hopeless, she thought.

  She had a connection with Grayson—she couldn’t deny it. It was…electric. She’d been on edge all day, constantly aware of his eyes on her back and the warm heat flooding her middle. She’d wanted to be close to him fro
m the moment he stepped into the store. Reach out and brush her hand against his when she organized boxes of books beneath his table. And when he glanced at her as she worked the register, waves of luscious heat had rolled through her body. From a single glance!

  She shuddered from the thought of what his touch would do.

  But he was a playboy, she reminded herself.

  She wasn’t any more special than the last woman he dated. Or the one before that. Hell, she couldn’t keep up with his dating record. But according to the articles she’d read, each of the women he’d dated had nothing but good things to say about him. Not a single woman had said he was a jackass or a coldhearted player, even when he’d left them high and dry with a broken heart.

  Now that she thought about it, Casanova’s conquests had felt the same way.

  Would it be so bad to have a passionate fling with the man she’d had a major crush on for the last few years? If she was expecting one night, and prepared for him to leave in the morning, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad when he did…

  “What the hell,” she huffed.

  She climbed the ladder, reached for Hamlet, and pulled it down. She arranged everything in the box again and again, until it was just right. When the clock above the register hit six, Georgia took a deep breath and secured the lid.

  Closing everything down, Georgia looped a scarf around her neck and put on her peacoat. She let Hamlet into her studio behind the bookstore, fluffed up his bed, and gave him food and water. On her way out front to meet Grayson, Georgia clutched the box under one arm and locked up the bookstore.

  Freezing blasts of wind whipped through Main Street, lifting loose snowflakes from the sidewalk and whirling them into flurries. Snow crunched beneath Georgia’s boots as she turned and searched for Grayson across the cobblestoned street. The town always looked so serene after a snowstorm, and it’d really come down last night.

  She was about to take a seat on the wrought iron bench in front of the window when she laid eyes on Grayson, the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen. He strode toward her, his steps over the wood-planked sidewalk confident and strong. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Grayson was even more handsome beneath the amber aura of the streetlights. His shoulders were impossibly wide, his jaw a solid swoop of bone. And damn, his baby-blue eyes—they were the clearest blue she’d ever seen. Like the mountain sky after a storm passed. They were crystal clear. Not a hint of shadow.

  Hello, gorgeous.

  “Hello right back,” he said.

  Had she said that aloud?

  Mother eff.

  Her cheeks heated, and her grip slipped on the box under her arm. She recovered quickly, but he grinned as if he knew the effect he had on her.

  “Want me to take that?” After buttoning his steel-gray wool coat, Grayson reached for the box.

  “And risk giving you a peek?” She jerked away, suddenly shy. He’d know it was hers when he saw Hamlet inside…if he stayed for D-Day. But if he saw Hamlet inside now, he’d know, she’d know, and her cheeks would turn redder than her skirt. “I don’t think so. I need to drop it off at the StoneMill Outlet before we head to dinner. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. I think I passed StoneMill Winery when I came into town.”

  “You did.” She nodded. “My friend Lucy Stone owns it. Business has been booming lately, so she opened an outlet a few blocks over. She’s the one running the D-Day event, so her store is the drop-off point for the boxes.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Winery outlet, and then dinner.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “From here on out, I’m all yours.”

  The thought gave her a full-body shudder.

  “Tell me where you need to go and I’ll get you there.” The pearly-white Ford Mustang GT parked in front of the store bleeped, its lights blinking in tune. “Where to?” He strode around the hood, taking a set of keys out of his pocket as he went.

  “This isn’t—this can’t be…” She gawked at the powerful ride as he moved closer. “This is your car?”

  Something in Georgia’s gut twisted as her gaze caught on the silver Mustang emblem near the passenger door. Mustangs were wild and roamed free—her knight in shining armor would’ve ridden one into town.

  Trusty white steed.

  She’d planned to walk to StoneMill’s outlet; it wasn’t that far. But one look at his car—a Mustang, for crying out loud—and Georgia knew she had to go for a ride.

  One ride. One time.

  She’d missed the sunset, so they couldn’t go riding off into that, but this might’ve been as close as she’d ever get to do the real thing. Grayson was ripped from the pages of a romance novel, after all. He was successful and smart. Handsome and unapologetically womanizing.

  If she only knew how to become like the heroines in his books. Maybe then she’d find her happily ever after.

  After plopping the D-Day box in the backseat, Georgia laughed and laughed, a grin pasted to her face, as she slipped into the passenger seat and held on for the ride.

  *

  By the time Grayson marched around the hood and opened the driver’s door, Georgia’s intoxicating scent had already filled the cab. Before sliding inside, he took a deep breath to ease the clench in his gut.

  It didn’t help.

  “You drive a Mustang.” Shaking her head, Georgia checked out the dash. “Of course you do.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “I bought it the day after I found out I hit the New York Times,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “I’d always wanted one, so it was a present to myself. It’s not the best car for driving through snow like this, but it has get-up-and-go.”

  “You can say that again.” She reached up and grabbed the oh-shit handle as he lost traction around a turn. “The outlet is up there. On the left.”

  The outlet was close enough to the bookstore that they could’ve walked. Was it the freezing cold that had her jumping inside his car? Or maybe the awkwardness of the box in her arms? Whatever the reason, Grayson took another deep breath of her natural fragrance and chanced a glance at her legs.

  He couldn’t have written a more vibrant heroine.

  Hell, at this point, he couldn’t write a heroine at all.

  Somewhere between the end of Dear Rapture and his work in progress, Grayson had lost his touch. He felt drained and worn. As if all of the inspiration flowing through his veins had run dry. There was no story left. No possibilities of “love at first sight” swirling around in his head.

  It was gone.

  He held open the door to StoneMill Outlet and held his breath as she passed through ahead of him.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  His heart stuttered.

  The shop was small and dark, giving the feel that they’d stepped into someone’s private wine cellar. Walls were covered in mahogany wood panels. Vines were draped over shelves filled with deliciously fragrant wine. To top everything off, dim lights meant to resemble candles flickered in each corner, giving the place the ultimate romantic vibe.

  No wonder women liked this place.

  Grayson remembered seeing StoneMill Winery on the way into town. He also remembered reading about concerts playing at the winery. Rock star Cole Turner had played to a sold-out crowd there last year. From what he read, Cole Turner settled in Blue Lake after falling in love with the historical inn owner.

  He’d thought their beginning sounded like it could’ve been plucked straight from the pages of a romance novel.

  “I’m going to take this around back,” Georgia said, and then didn’t wait for him to answer before disappearing behind the register with a cheery-looking young woman. When Georgia appeared again, without the D-Day box in her arms, she had a noticeable bounce in her step. “All right. I’m ready to roll.”

  “You’re already finished setting the bait?”

  “The…bait?”

  “Sure,” he teased, studying a row of merlots. “Isn’t that the point of the bo
x date? Set the bait, lure in a good man, and then—wham!—reel him in?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “That’s exactly how I do it. Except I save the wham part for the really special ones.”

  “I knew it.” His spirit lightened, sparking when her laughter picked up. Keeping his gaze trained on hers, Grayson strode around a towering rack filled with varieties of red wine. “So what’s your pick? Red? White?”

  “Depends.” She shrugged, but only the right shoulder. The move was dainty and cute—he bet she couldn’t re-create it if she tried. “Where are we going for dinner?”

  Grayson moved around racks of bottles, fully aware Georgia followed him. He plucked a bottle of white wine from the shelf, and thought about taking it back to his B&B tonight.

  He’d like to take back a certain bookseller, too…

  “While you were organizing the last of your box, I picked up dinner from Giant Red Burger. I thought we could eat at the skating rink. The storm seems to be holding back and—”

  “I haven’t been to Giant Red’s in forever.” She put her hand to her stomach. “Sounds heavenly. I don’t care where we go to eat it.”

  This woman made it too easy for him. Under other circumstances, in any other town, he would’ve taken her to the ritziest place he could find. He would’ve ordered the most expensive wine on the menu to try to impress her. He would’ve bought her steak and made sure they cooked it right. They would’ve eaten by candlelight, where he could seduce her properly. But the only fine dining in Blue Lake was a place called Angie’s, and it was closed.

  He’d checked.

  The women he dated in the past would’ve been put off by the burger idea. He probably would’ve been eating alone.

  But Georgia’s hazel eyes brightened, and she smiled. She genuinely smiled at the idea of sitting outside in the freezing cold and eating greasy food.

  There was chemistry between them, but no pressure.

  She was a breath of fresh air.

  “How about a chardonnay?” she asked, choosing one from the shelf. “I think it’d pair with burgers all right.”

  He paid for the wine, along with a wine opener and two glasses—although she offered—and then he walked her back to his car. He opened her door, the way he usually did for his dates, and strode around the hood. And then the strangest thing happened. Georgia leaned over and fidgeted with the driver’s door lock. He froze. And then tried the handle. Finding the door unlocked, he swung it open and slid inside.