Buch lesen: «Kiss And Makeup»

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Extract

Copyright

1

“DOYOUWANT me to kick the crap out of that seat back and tray table for you?”

Chloe Masterson looked over at Window Guy, the man that the Goddess of Economy Airline Seating had seen fit to plaster against her right side. The upper-arm contact had started in Seattle and lasted until Chicago. Thanks to bad weather, their scheduled forty-five-minute layover in the Windy City was now pushing two hours, and had featured a long wait in the plane deicing line and then a “that didn’t sound good” thunk. The plane was now sitting motionless on a vast expanse of snowy tarmac and they’d officially hit the six-hour mark of their touching-a-stranger marathon fifteen minutes ago.

It wasn’t his fault, really. Window Guy had broad shoulders, so the contact was incidental and, in a weird way, kind of comforting. She liked that the sleeve of his gray wool suit was soft and warm against her skin.

And okay, maybe she was leaning against him a little more than was strictly necessary. Not because he smelled of spicy soap and warm man—which was a pretty wicked combination—but because he smelled better than the guy to her left. The gag-inducing aroma of stale sweat, onions and something else she couldn’t quite place but preferred to leave a mystery had worn her down about twenty minutes after boarding. That’s when Chloe had decided that the comfort of her left elbow wasn’t worth permanent olfactory damage and had conceded the battle of the joint armrest to him.

Damn middle seat.

“Sorry?”

Despite their close confines, she and Window Guy hadn’t exchanged more than the official “that’s-my-seat” gesture of air travelers the world over before he’d awkwardly shuffled past her to sit down. After that, he’d pulled his laptop out and tapped away at the keys like a good little company automaton while she’d worked her way through a few chapters of a gently-used Stephen King novel. She’d been so engrossed in her book, she hadn’t noticed that at some point he’d put the laptop away and moved on to reading the offerings from the seat pocket in front of him.

And that wasn’t all she hadn’t noticed.

Now that she was actually looking at him, his breach of their companionable silence was even more surprising. Because Window Guy was kind of sexy. Bedroom eyes the color of whiskey and twice as potent. A strong jaw and a straight nose. His brown hair was short enough to be business-appropriate, but long enough to get mussed up under the right circumstances. And that mouth! As she took her fill of him, it pulled slightly up at the right corner in an easy smirk that was hot as hell. He was the clean-cut kind of handsome that came with no visible neck tattoos and an expertly-knotted blue silk tie that bespoke gainful employment.

Men like him didn’t talk to women like her. He was way too...corporate. And she was...not.

At her question, he raised his chin at the worn gray vinyl seat back in front of her. “You’ve been giving that chair dirty looks for the last twenty minutes, and then you sighed,” he explained.

“I did?”

Window Guy nodded. “The sigh was pretty loud, actually. It disturbed my reading.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry that my sigh threw off your concentration.” Chloe sent a meaningful glance toward the airline safety pamphlet on his lap.

“The damage is done.” He picked up the tri-fold piece of card stock. “It was just getting good, too. After the cabin depressurized, the plane crashed and the passengers were proceeding in an orderly fashion for their lives!”

Huh. She hadn’t expected funny. Hot guys rarely had to develop such plebeian talents. “Sounds intense.”

“You’re telling me. I was really enjoying it until the author got all kinky and made the heroine take off her high heels before she used the inflatable slide. I think he might be a foot fetishist.” He shoved the pamphlet back in the seat pocket in front of him before he met her gaze with a teasing glint in his amber eyes. “Wow. Spoiler alert. I hope I didn’t give too much away.”

“No, I appreciate the recommendation. I’ll be sure to tell my book club about it.”

His grin was practiced, but appealing. “I’m Ben.”

Uh-oh. Time to nip this in the bud. “Well, Ben. You’re a very handsome guy, and I appreciate the effort, because I’m sure that maneuvering a sober pickup with only a safety card, an in-flight magazine, and an airsickness bag as props is a challenge that few men could meet. But don’t waste all your sweet, panty-dropping material on me. Save some of that A-game for Stewardess Barbie over there.”

They both looked at the perky blonde flight attendant who’d been making doe eyes at Ben since he’d boarded. Right on cue, she twirled her ponytail and glanced away coyly.

Ben shifted, trying to arrange his large frame more comfortably in the tiny chair—a futile cause. “Let’s get one thing straight here, if this had been a pickup, we’d already be—” he eyed his Rolex—so cliché “—three minutes into you becoming an airplane-bathroom sex convert. Let the record show that we are both still safely buckled into our designated seats, ipso facto, I clearly wasn’t flirting with you.”

Ignoring the frisson down her spine—legal jargon always had that effect on her—Chloe raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Okay, I was kinda flirting. But, it was completely recreational. Minor league stuff.”

“Oh, please! Foot fetish references? That is gateway flirting. If I hadn’t called you out, you’d have escalated to the hard stuff—asking me my astrological sign and telling me how beautiful my eyes are.”

He laughed, and Chloe ignored the flare of pride at having elicited the sexy, rumbling sound. Not that she was flirting, either, mind you.

“Well, it’s hardly my fault that your eyes really are beautiful. Emerald green, with golden flecks that sparkle when you roll them like that because you think I’m being cheesy.”

“Oh. Well that’s probably because you are being cheesy. At least the safety pamphlet pickup was original.”

“Original enough to get your name?”

“Chloe,” she relented.

“Nice to meet you, Chloe.” He offered his hand again, and this time she accepted it.

His palm was wide and his fingers were long. He didn’t molest her hand; it was just an acceptable, firm shake between new acquaintances. Even so, a phantom warmth lingered after he’d relinquished his grip, the kind that buzzed up her arm and sort of made her wish he had molested her hand, at least a little. Chloe rubbed her tingling palm against the thigh of her jeans.

His gaze held steady on hers and his focus was flattering, almost seductive. If you went for that whole slick-successful-businessman-in-a-five-thousand-dollar-suit look. Which, she reminded herself, she didn’t. Not anymore.

For the most part, her tiny diamond nose stud and purple highlights were enough to warn corporate wunderkinds that they had nothing in common with her.

But then she remembered that she no longer had purple highlights. She’d dyed her piecey, deconstructed bob for her sister’s wedding. Right now it was a respectable, boring, normal shade of mahogany that skimmed her jaw before angling a bit lower in the front. The dye job was her attempt at a peace offering to her family. She just hoped it would be enough.

“...so if you look at it that way, cheese could be considered a high form of flattery, you know?”

Ben’s voice snapped her out of a flashback of the most recent guilt-laden, middle-name-invoking phone call with her mother.

“What? Sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

Ben’s grin was endearingly self-deprecating. “Tough crowd.”

“It’s not you.” Chloe shoved her offensively monotone hair behind her ears. “Going back to Buffalo has put me in a rotten mood.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. What’s Buffalo ever done to you?”

The derisive laugh slipped out before Chloe could stop it. “Now there’s a loaded question.”

Ben cocked a questioning eyebrow.

“I’m going to see my family.” She didn’t add “for the first time in four years,” because that was the scary part, the part that turned her stomach into a churning pit of nerves and dread. “My little sister’s getting m-married,” she said, forcing the word out. Man, was it hot in here? She reached up and twisted the overhead air vent open.

“Oh! Well, that should be...” Ben paused in a way that let Chloe know she hadn’t managed to hide her true feelings on the matter. He corrected midcourse, “no fun at all. Rings are like tiny shackles. Screw love. That’s what I say.”

It was a sweet attempt at a save, but Chloe was too far down the well to grab the rope.

“Weddings...” Suck. Wreck relationships. Ruin lives. She flipped through her mental thesaurus before going with, “aren’t really my thing.” She tugged at the front of her black T-shirt, but couldn’t quite shake the sudden sensation of a phantom Swarovski-crystal-encrusted, sweetheart-necklined noose tightening around her rib cage.

Oblivious to her cold sweat and racing heart, Ben continued to aim for small talk. “It’s a good thing you decided to fly in to Buffalo a few days early. This storm is really wreaking havoc on our arrival time.”

Chloe shook her head. “I’m not early. She’s getting married tomorrow.”

Instead of the nauseating cheer that announcement had been garnering since her sister had started flashing her showy, four-carat diamond engagement ring around social media, Ben had the decency to look puzzled. Chloe appreciated that.

“Your sister’s getting married on a Thursday in January?”

“You are only surprised by that fact because you’ve never met her,” she informed him. “Anyone who knows my sister would expect nothing less from her than to inconvenience her entire network of family and friends by making them take a day off of work. Can’t let a petty thing like the schedules of four hundred people interfere with her narcissistic, lifelong fantasy of having a winter wonderland-themed wedding on her birthday.”

Ben nodded. “So you and your sister are close, then?” he deadpanned.

Chloe’s smile caught her by surprise, but at least she could breathe again. He’d talked her down without even being aware of it. “You’re a funny guy, Ben.”

“It’s a gift.” He shrugged with faux modesty and loosened his sapphire-colored silk necktie. The hint of dishevelment made Chloe’s breath hitch, but this time it wasn’t the result of a chest full of anxiety. This feeling was warmer, and a little bit tingly.

She hadn’t dated a man in a suit since Patrick—hadn’t even looked at one. She preferred bad boys, the disreputable kind that parents didn’t approve of. So why was Mr. Future Businessman of America giving her a serious case of the wobblies?

She didn’t get a chance to scrutinize her odd reaction further. They both glanced up as an electronic chime sounded from the speaker above Chloe’s head.

“Good evening, passengers. This is your captain speaking. Due to a mechanical issue and the impending storm, our scheduled flight has been canceled.”

A collective groan filled the plane.

“Your flight crew will be handing out discount cards valid for a stay at any Value Inn location, a proud partner of Jetopia. Your boarding pass will be valid for tomorrow’s rescheduled flight to Buffalo, weather permitting. If you have further questions or are unable to make the 8:00 a.m. flight, please speak with a member of your flight crew. Again, we thank you for choosing Jetopia, and we apologize for the inconvenience.”

“What does he mean, tomorrow?” There was a definite note of panic in her voice, but Chloe was proud she’d managed not to shriek.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess he means the day after today.”

“Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“That thing I said about you being funny? I take it back.”

He waved it off. “As long as handsome panty-dropper still stands.”

She couldn’t even appreciate the joke—reality was seeping in. “I can’t be stuck in Chicago. I need to get to Buffalo. Tonight.” The wedding rehearsal and dinner were this evening. Her family would be expecting her.

Ben directed her gaze to the small oval window behind his head, and Chloe caught an ominous glimpse of the snow flying outside. “Better start walking then.”

Chloe took a deep breath of musty cabin air tinged with eau de Aisle Guy’s pits. Trapped. She glanced over as Ben liberated his iPhone from the breast pocket of his suit, thumbs flying over the screen as he, like so many other passengers, shared the details of this latest development with whoever was on the other end of the text message.

Chloe couldn’t bring herself to do the same. She hadn’t even arrived yet and she’d already failed to meet her family’s expectations. Not an auspicious start to her big reunion tour.

With another sigh, she flopped back in her chair, glaring once again at the seat in front of her.

She was stuck in Chicago.

With boring hair.

And an angry clan of Mastersons ready to pounce on her for the latest example of how she was ruining the hallowed family name.

This day could not possibly get any worse.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” she asked, her eyes never wavering from the cracked vinyl seat back.

“Sighing maniacally,” Ben explained.

“You seem awfully intent on the emotional health of complete strangers.” She slanted him a look that bordered on caustic. “You’re not a shrink, are you? Because my talking to a shrink would make my mother ridiculously happy.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

In a defensive maneuver, Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, fine. You’re a little funny.”

Ben pumped his fist in silent victory.

“And for the record, I was thinking about how Neil Diamond has ruined my life.”

He shot her a surprised glance. “Really? I was wondering what he was up to these days.”

She tipped her head in Ben’s direction without breaking contact with the headrest. “It’s a very sad story about a crappy alarm clock, a pathological hatred of ‘Sweet Caroline’, and an unfortunate mix-up involving the buttons marked off and snooze.”

Ben leaned back in his own chair. “Fucking Neil Diamond,” he said, and it was so understated, so unexpectedly perfect, that she laughed.

“You’re pretty calm about this.”

“About taking Neil Diamond’s name in vain? Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m surprisingly controversial.”

Chloe shook her head, refusing to admit she was charmed. “Can’t you just be pissed off about the flight being canceled? Like a normal person?”

His shrug was philosophical. “We’re not getting to Buffalo tonight. Not worth getting worked up about if it’s out of your control.”

“That’s very Zen of you,” she said, though it wasn’t a compliment.

“Fortune cookies,” Ben sermonized, “are not only delicious, but full of extremely practical wisdom.”

At that moment, Stewardess Barbie appeared beside Aisle Guy and her massive breasts exerted a gravitational pull on the eyes of the entire row, Chloe’s included.

How did anything that top-heavy stay upright?

The flight attendant glanced down at her clipboard and Chloe couldn’t help but notice that her glittery pink eye shadow was creased and caking.

Chloe fought the urge to tell her about the new eye shadow primer that Titanium Beauty had just come out with. It was oil-free and did an incredible job of keeping shadow in its place all day. And that glitter was best saved for evening events because mattes and neutral shimmers worked best in daylight or fluorescent light. Also that with her skin tone, peachier shades would be much more flattering than pinks..

“Gordon Hinky?”

Aisle Guy’s gaze was stuck in the general vicinity of their messenger’s more...pneumatic assets. Rolling her eyes at the predictability of testosterone, Chloe held her breath as he raised his arm.

Barbie sped through the “sorry for the inconvenience” script in a bored monotone before flicking her gaze to more promising territory. “And that must make you Benjamin.”

Gak.

At least Ben had enough class to meet her eyes when he confirmed the obvious. “It’s just Ben.”

“Well, Just Ben, here’s your Value Inn voucher.”

Ben reached past her to accept the glossy slip of paper and Chloe caught the clean, masculine scent of him.

“It’s good for fifteen percent off. There’s a map on the back detailing the closest locations to the airport. Someone will be at the gate to direct you to the taxi and shuttle stands, but if you need any help finding your way or, you know, with anything, just say the word. I’d be more than happy to help you.”

The breathy offer was very Marilyn Monroe.

“Jetopia apologizes for the delay, but we hope you’ll give us the chance to make it up to you. We’d love to have you fly with us again.” After a long moment, she tore her gaze away from Ben and focused on Chloe.

“And you’re...” She glanced back at the list and her face fell like she’d just seen someone kick a puppy. “Oh.” Her eyes darted between Chloe and Ben for a moment. Finally she said in a normal tone, “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I’ll need my voucher,” Chloe reminded her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Masterson, but there’s only one voucher per couple.”

“Oh, I’m not a couple. And it’s Miz. There’s no Mr. Masterson.”

“Actually...” Ben interrupted.

She twisted in her seat to find her handsome seatmate looking amused.

“I’m Mr. Masterson.”

“What?”

“My name is Ben Masterson.”

She stared at him for a long moment before turning back to the flight attendant. “I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”

Ben chuckled. “More like a Mrs.-understanding.”

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe exclaimed. “A pun? Now?”

“Just trying to keep my sense of humor intact,” he returned, unperturbed. After a beat, he added, “Dear.”

“We just met,” she pleaded, not trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. Chloe figured that an early-twenties poster girl for enhancement surgery probably understood a little something about desperation. “There’s no way we’re staying in the same room.”

“My goodness!” Chesty McLookatmyboobs’ attention focused on Ben with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, and her smile was one of renewed hope.

So much for girl power.

“I’m terribly sorry for the mix-up. I saw Ben Masterson and Chloe Masterson seated together on the passenger manifest and assumed... Well, let me find out what I can do for you.”

“Give me a voucher of my own and we’ll call it even,” Chloe suggested.

“I’m afraid I can’t just hand them out. For tracking purposes, I’ll have to assign one to you in our system. It’ll just take a second. I’m really sorry for the mix-up,” she said again, more in Ben’s direction, and sounding anything but sorry.

Chloe watched the flight attendant sashay down the aisle and disappear behind the first-class curtain before she swiveled to face her last-namesake.

“This is your fault, you know.”

He smiled apologetically. “I did set my weather machine to blizzard before I left Seattle.”

“You’re the one who rejected business class and deigned to sit with the common folk. No one would have assumed we were married if you and your Gucci suit had just stayed where you belong in the land of complimentary champagne and leg room.”

“Hey, statistically, the seats in the back of the plane are safer than the first seven rows. And how did you know this suit is Gucci?”

Chloe ignored him and his designer suit, unaware that she was nibbling at her right thumbnail.

Her mother would not be pleased when she found out Chloe wouldn’t be arriving until the day of the wedding. It was customary for the bride’s family to present a united front at the rehearsal dinner. Especially if a certain daughter’s absence would be duly noted and gossiped about.

She took a deep breath. Ben’s fortune cookies were right. Dwelling on the disaster wouldn’t change anything. Accepting that fact didn’t change her mood, though. “So your last name’s Masterson, huh?”

He nodded.

Crossing her arms, Chloe thunked her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Fucking Neil Diamond,” she said.

* * *

ASITTURNEDOUT, issuing another voucher did not “just take a second”. The conspiracy theorist in her was convinced Boobzilla had purposefully slowed the process to make sure Ben was miles away by the time Chloe entered the terminal. Not, Chloe was embarrassed to admit, that she hadn’t looked for him at the baggage claim when she finally made it there twenty minutes later, voucher in hand.

After grabbing her suitcase, she’d braved the icy roads in a crowded shuttle and was currently occupying the coveted “next in line” position in one of seven queues in the lobby of the Value Inn. Being this close to a shower and a bed had gone a long way toward taming her impatience. At least until the family of six ahead of her was told there was no room at the inn.

Chloe did a quick mental tally. Judging by the number of weary travelers still clogging the reception area, there were going to be a lot more disappointed people heading out into the snow tonight in search of shelter.

Chloe’s grip tightened on the strap of her purse.

Please don’t make me one of them.

When the balding desk clerk smiled at her, she stepped up to the counter.

“Welcome to the Value Inn. How can I help you tonight?” His voice was shockingly pleasant for a man dealing with a bunch of crabby, stranded nomads.

“Hi. Do you have a room for me?” They had to have a room left. She wasn’t picky. She’d even settle for access to a sink and a cot in the hallway.

“Let me check what I’ve got. What’s your name?”

“Chloe Masterson.”

The clickety-clack sound of his typing stretched her nerves taut, reminding her of a countdown clock on a bomb. “Here we go. And that’s for one night, correct?”

“Yes.” The word came out like a sigh, heavy on the s, and Chloe’s shoulders dropped to their normal position. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been.

“Okay, we’ve got you in room 224. Do you want a swipe key?”

Chloe raised her eyebrows. “I’ll probably need one to get in the room.”

Her sarcasm was lost on him. Nonplussed, he ran a plastic key through the card reader and handed it over with a smile. “Your room is on the second floor. Turn right when you exit the elevator.”

Chloe paused in the act of unzipping her purse. “You don’t need my credit card? Or my voucher?” She pulled the crumpled slip of paper from her coat pocket and held it out to him. “Because I went through a lot to get this.”

“That won’t be necessary. Your bill will be issued when you check out in the morning.”

Unbelievable. “Oh, okay.” Cursing Boobzilla’s name, she shoved it back in her pocket. “Great. Thanks, then.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

She’d no sooner stepped away from the counter when the inevitable happened.

“Excuse me, folks,” the clerk announced to the crowd. “I’m afraid we are all out of rooms for tonight.”

Finally, something had gone right for her today. She hurried away from the outraged mob and into the elevator. The door slid closed behind her, and she was in such a good mood that she didn’t even mind that the Muzak version of “Song Sung Blue” was playing during the short trip.

The room was as easy to find as Mr. Sunshine had made it sound, and she shoved the card in the door, ready for a shower and a bed, in that order.

Instead, she opened the door to find a hot guy pulling a white T-shirt over the most spectacularly muscled back Chloe had had the privilege to see this side of a movie screen.

Oh, yum.

The forgotten door banged shut behind her.

He turned and she caught a glimpse of six-pack abs before the white cotton swallowed them up. Then she raised her eyes to his face.

Her suitcase slipped from her fingers and landed with a muted thud on the carpet. They stared at each other for an infinite moment—both the longest and shortest seconds of her life.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

A full-fledged grin spread across Ben’s face. “Honey, you’re home!”

* * *

“I SHOULDHAVEKNOWN! The second that clerk didn’t want my credit card or the stupid voucher I should have known.” She stomped into the room like she owned the place, abandoning her suitcase where it had fallen, and then her purse and coat beside it. “Why does today suck so much?” she asked before flopping onto his bed, her feet still flat on the floor as she stared up at the ceiling.

Ben was pretty sure she wasn’t talking to him. Which was fine. He was content just to look at her. To be honest, he’d hung around the baggage claim area for ten minutes after he’d grabbed his luggage, just in case she showed.

Ben had to admit, the pinup-girl-with-an-edge thing Chloe had going on—like some twenty-first-century Bettie Page—was working for him in a big way. Goth-rockers were not usually his type. As a general rule, he dated women who were soft and positive, not really the adjectives that came to mind when he stared at the pissed-off pixie glowering up at him.