Kiss My Sass (Primrose, Minnesota Book 5)

by Mia Dymond

  Kiss My Sass

  Primrose, Minnesota, Book 5

  By

  Mia Dymond

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Mia Dymond

  Published on Smashwords

  Cover photo: Daleen Loest|Dreamstime.com

  Cover by Dara England

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  I am in so much trouble.

  Marnie Carpenter swallowed hard and closed the distance from the front door of Hannigan’s to the corner booth where she just might meet her doom. It didn’t take sixth grade math to figure out what the other four women of DRAMA had in their arsenal this particular evening. Each one sat crammed in their usual booth, legs crossed, all but one with fingers wrapped around a wine glass, and sly smirks painted on glossed lips.

  Trouble doesn’t begin to describe it.

  “Alex beat you,” Dara drawled.

  She chalked up the petite brunette’s sarcasm to her flair for writing best-selling romance novels and gave her an eyeroll. Dara Hamilton could spin a story that would make you sweat bullets and if she even attempted to explain the reason behind her tardiness, the novelist would once again take New York by storm.

  Better to evade. “Yeah well, my ride was late.”

  “Your ride?”

  Another wave of uneasiness rolled over her. She hadn’t really counted on Liberty Prescott’s question. Although the woman was a brilliant psychiatrist, normally she didn’t intrude on her friends’ warped psyches. Marnie sighed. Obviously, pregnancy had strengthened Liberty’s sixth sense.

  “Ryker.” Her third friend answered and then took a sip of wine. “And I highly doubt he was late.”

  Marnie fought the urge to groan out load. Leave it to Alex Jennings, Attorney at Law, to poke holes right through her excuse.

  “I need wine,” she mumbled.

  Dara filled an empty glass with wine and then handed it to her. “Must’ve been an interesting ride.”

  “To say the least.” She swallowed the contents of the glass in three gulps, set it on the table, and then gestured with one hand for Dara to refill it.

  “Why did you ride with him, anyway?”

  “He’s holding my car for ransom.” She swallowed a couple more times, draining only half the glass this time. “He absolutely insisted he and all the rest of his men check it for explosives.”

  “Explosives?”

  “Yep.” She wasn’t surprised by Dara’s widened eyes. “After all the excitement we’ve had, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Like he ever would. Yet in some sort of odd coincidence, she agreed with him. In the last few weeks, she’d played cat-burglar with Dara and dodged a crazed female stalker with Alex. She welcomed the extra security, Ryker just took safety to the extreme.

  The remaining liquid disappeared down her throat. “Thus the resulting twenty-minute argument. The man is such an over-achiever.”

  “Amen.”

  Marnie grinned at the woman who completed her circle of friends. Dr. Sabrina Miller, although psychologist by trade, possessed a unique talent for entertainment, to say the least. Only Bri would use a pole dance to crack a sex slavery ring. Her friend raised her glass in a salute and then downed the wine inside. Nope, never a dull moment around the mischievous redhead.

  Alex reached across her and grabbed a menu. “I think we should order.”

  “Nope.” She snatched the wine bottle and poured.

  “Don’t you have to go to school this afternoon?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Since Bri decided to elope to a tropical island, I have to get my classroom ready early.”

  Alex scooted back the wine glass. “All the more reason to eat.”

  “Whatever.” She sighed. “Just order me a BLT.”

  Alex signaled for the waitress and within several minutes not only had lunch been ordered, a fresh bottle of wine stood in the center of the table. Marnie fought the urge to stuff it in her purse.

  “At least I can stay soused on St. Thomas.”

  Bri giggled. “You’ll have a waiter to bring you rum on the beach.”

  “I dunno, Bri.” Dara smirked. “Ryker may scare him away.”

  She snorted. “Ryker better mind his own business.”

  Although she released the ultimatum with conviction, she knew better. None of the men of Recovery Specialists, Inc. would even consider minding their own business. Ryker Adams had assembled an expert team to save the world from evil, per se, and unfortunately each of her friends had landed right in the middle of evil. Once Jake Rawlings, Mace Turner, and Jackson Stewart were amped up on hero juice, there was no escape. None. Nada.

  And three of her friends had found that out firsthand. The whole reason for the trip to St. Thomas was to witness Jake and Bri’s wedding. Dara had claimed Mace as her own personal romance hero, and Alex, well, Jackson managed to put a ring on her finger without much argument.

  Thank goodness she hadn’t found herself in the same situation.

  Alex cleared her throat, bringing her out of reflective mode. “Guess now would be a good time to tell you we bet on you this time.”

  “Me?” Her eyes widened to the extent tears gathered in the corners. The bet. The dreaded bet. No one escaped the wrath of the bet. Giving it a try, she attempted to redirect the curse to the other two members of DRAMA, not in attendance. Served them right. “Why not Reagan or Annie?”

  “They’re both too busy for men right now. Besides, they didn’t hustle Macho Man at a game of pool.”

  “All of you were in on it.”

  “You would’ve done it anyway.”

  She shook her head in denial. Alex would not coerce her into an admission. “You’re all gonna lose your necks.”

  “We’ll see.” Alex smirked as the waitress set lunch on the table. “Soak up some of that wine.”

  Liberty’s eyes sparkled as she patted her protruding belly. “Since I’m not going to St. Thomas, I’ll volunteer to hold the money.”

  “Done.” Bri reached into her purse and then slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table. Sixty more dollars followed.

  Marnie reluctantly added to the pile. “Fine. I can use this stash for my classroom anyway.”

  “You might actually enjoy having Ryker around,” Alex said between bites of her lunch.

  This she had to hear. “How so?”

  “You may need
someone to buy your alcohol.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re not much bigger than me.”

  Alex shrugged. “You barely look twenty-one years old. No one would ever guess you’re really twenty-eight.”

  “The drinking age is actually eighteen on the island.” Dara grinned. “Ryker better hope she looks legal. Especially since he’s so much older.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, he’s only forty-three,” she grumbled. “Enough already. There’s nothing remotely romantic between Ryker and me nor will there be.”

  “Really?” Bri cocked her head to one side. “Why?”

  For half a heartbeat, she almost second-guessed her denial. The man had sex appeal in spades, all sexy and domineering. No doubt his big, muscled body was built to satisfy a woman and even though her reasoning sounded forced even to herself, she would stick to her guns.

  “Really, and because I refuse to allow a man to question my independence.”

  Bri twisted her lips. “There are ways around that, you know.”

  “Probably.” Again, she opted for redirection. “Are you sure we don’t need to reserve a condo?”

  “Positive. Ryker says there’s plenty of room in his house.”

  Marnie shook her head. Ryker Adams, man of mystery. “Did you even know Ryker owned a home in the Virgin Islands?”

  “Jake did.” Bri’s blue eyes sparkled. “And a romantic beach wedding sounded perfect. Besides, we all need a vacation.”

  “The Caribbean is beautiful.” Liberty glanced at her with a smirk. “They say the tropical sun has a way of making you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

  Her stomach turned over twice. Her friends were not going to give up.

  “Doesn’t matter.” She finished her sandwich then polished off her wine. “I’ve gotta run. I got special permission to work on my room today.” She stood from the booth and then realized she had yet another dilemma. “Anyone want to drive me?”

  “I will.” Alex tipped her glass and finished the beverage. “I’ll question your position on the way.”

  Fifteen minutes and several hundred nerve-wracking questions later, Marnie stomped down the hallway as best she could after four glasses of wine until she plopped down into the chair behind her desk. She released a deep sigh while she checked her watch. Great. Fifty nine minutes and counting until Sgt. Tell-Me-What-To-Do invaded her space.

  Desperate to keep the invasion to a minimum, she pushed herself from her chair and worked at a furious pace. With several swings of her stapler, the bulletin board shouted classroom rules, the white board broadcast homework activities in colorful numbers, and a new, bright orange math book garnished each desktop.

  With fifteen minutes to spare, she scribbled the first week’s lesson plan and then stood to gaze out the windows that lined one side of her classroom.

  The sun shone brightly through each pane in the still afternoon, the playground just beyond empty of children and its usual bustling activity. In the grassy field near the fenced perimeter, a group of boys congregated with football in hand.

  She watched as the group divided into two teams and then lined up to start a game. An object she assumed to be a coin glimmered in the sunlight as one boy flipped it upward, waited for it to land on his palm, and then opened his hand. Another child took the football and his team followed to one side of the field.

  The team took their positions.

  The ball snapped and sailed through the air toward her.

  A scream stuck in her throat as one of her classroom windows shattered and a sheer brute force knocked her to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  For several oxygen-deprived seconds, Marnie swore to high Heaven she’d been flattened by a charter-sized bus. Flat on her stomach and unable to move, she lay plastered to the carpeted classroom floor and desperately attempted to take inventory of her body parts. It was only when she determined everything was intact that she struggled beneath the heap on top of her.

  “Don’t. Move.”

  She paused at the very deep, very low, very familiar voice that rattled her right eardrum. “Ryker?”

  “Sssh!”

  She ignored the flutter in her belly caused by his warm breath as it caressed her earlobe, aggravated by her reaction. Now was not the time to give in to her now-dancing hormones.

  “Get off!” she demanded.

  “Not until I’m convinced we’re alone.”

  “We are alone,” she said through gritted teeth. “No one else is here today.”

  He remained heavy on top of her, his body crowding every single millimeter of her personal space. She felt the force of his heartbeat as it thumped a rapid tempo between her shoulder blades in the silence and fought the urge to melt into a puddle beneath him. At another time, in another place, the rhythm might have lulled her into a wild romp with the mighty stallion, but not now. His presence swallowed her, demanded submission, dared her to cross him.

  All the more reason to escape.

  “I can’t breathe,” she hissed.

  A deep, low chuckle tickled her right ear. “You’re losing oxygen through your lips.”

  She bit back a response while she listened to the gears grind in his brain. An argument was fruitless; she knew from experience he wouldn’t move until he was good and ready. He was in soldier mode, locked and loaded.

  With no other choice, she released a long, hard huff while she lay still against the unforgiving floor and hoped he could complete his analysis sometime in the next few minutes. If not, he may have to render mouth to mouth resuscitation. She paused at that thought, suddenly not too worried about running low on oxygen. And although it wasn’t in her nature to give in, this particular scenario didn’t offer another option.

  Or did it?

  “At least let me turn over.”

  He released a mumbled curse. “Why?”

  “Certain parts of my anatomy are painfully squeezed.”

  The annoying silence took over again but confidence allowed her to muddle through. He was male. Of course he’d agree. She grinned when the pressure eased from on top of her and her body began a left-sided roll. Once flat on her back, she squeezed closed both eyes, stretched her arms over her head, and inhaled much-needed air in through her nose.

  A forced male grunt caused her to open her eyes and stare into the most dangerously-sexy, sinfully-delicious chocolate brown gaze. “Satisfied?”

  Her gaze fell on its own accord to his lean hips, positioned on either side of her body. Not even close. Unable to unglue her tongue, she nodded as she took one more, long sweep up his body until their eyes met.

  “Good.” His gaze left hers and zeroed in on the secret weapons in her arsenal. “Everything seems to have regained shape.”

  “You’re such a guy, Ryker.”

  He gave her a grin that made her fidget and then pushed off the floor to stand. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Insanely grateful – or not – to be free of his hold, she attempted to peel herself from the carpet, stopped in a sitting position by pressure on the top of her head.

  “Stay put.”

  “No, I won’t.” Her hands moved quickly, shoving both his hands and his order to one side. “You’ve held me hostage long enough to realize danger does not lurk in the corners of my classroom.” She stood and folded her arms across her chest. “In fact, by now you should’ve noticed the pigskin missile not more than three feet away.”

  “I saw it.”

  He took the few steps necessary to retrieve the football and then bent at the waist. Her mouth watered. She couldn’t help but appreciate the sheer maleness of his powerful legs and his tight, toned backside. His back muscles rippled beneath his signature black t-shirt, taunting her to touch. And when he grasped the ball in one hand, the size of his grip made her wiggle. This man was built to please a woman. Although she managed to divert her gaze as he stood and extended the object to her, she couldn’t deny her attraction.

  She raised an eyebrow and accepted his offering. “You
don’t want to check it for prints?”

  “Nah.” Again, her breath caught when he stepped close and stuck his fingers in the hair at the base of her neck. Goosebumps danced on her skin and her body hummed while he moved the tendrils, causing the ends to brush against the sensitive surface.

  “Glass,” he said as removed his fingers and tossed the jagged object into a nearby trashcan. “Are you hurt?”

  She gave her exposed skin a cursory analysis. “I don’t think so. Do you see anything out of place?”

  “No.” A grin of pure male appreciation separated his lips. “All your parts are definitely in place, Miss Carpenter.”

  “Thank you.”

  Warmed by his compliment, she tossed the football from hand to hand while she silently begged him to return his fingers to the depths of her hair. Her scalp tingled as she anticipated the tresses wound around each digit, held in his iron grip while he tugged, a silent command for her to roll back her head to expose the hollow of her neck. Lost in her naughty wishful thinking she bit her bottom lip to suppress a moan.

  Her skin heated at the imaginary brush of his lips, caressing, kissing, biting … sucking. Her nipples tightened and blood pounded through her veins.

  Somewhere beyond her lustful fog, she thought she heard his voice but incredible desire demanded she ignore him. Conversation was overrated; they could talk later. In her mind, his lips traveled down the curve of her neck and across one shoulder, the invisible touch threatening to buckle her knees. Suddenly she was very tempted to forget all about the broken window and tear off her clothes.

  “Miss Carpenter?”

  Screeching tires sounded in her brain and she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I’m going to call the police.”

  “Oh, yeah. And I’ll call the principal.”