The Christmas Wedding Swap. Allyson Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ her sweater. Perfect. “I just need to pick up my things, and I’ll be fine.” She opened the shopping bag and started pitching her purchases inside, reaching over the curb into the street where some boxes had landed, giving him another up close and personal view of her round bottom.

      She scuttled around until she faced his direction, humiliation sinking like a lead ball in her stomach. The sexy biker gathered up bags of almonds and placed them in her sack, keeping his eyes focused anywhere but her body. Her hideousness had managed to embarrass a stranger. Just flipping perfect. But she could hear Camilla’s voice in her head. Just because she looked like a frazzled mess didn’t mean she could weasel out of her deal. Allison pulled up her metaphorical big-girl panties.

      She clawed her fingers through her hair, her pinky getting stuck in a knot, and pasted a smile on her face. “Are you new in town? I’m sure I’d recognize you if you’d been here awhile.”

      “Just passing through.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

      “Passing through Pineville, Michigan. Sounds like a bad country song.” Leaning forward she squeezed her arms tight to her sides, the surefire move to give her cleavage a little oomph—and remembered she was wearing a shapeless sweater with Rudolph plastered across the front. She didn’t have the girls to help her out with this one.

      “If you say so.”

      “There are some sights you should definitely hit before you leave town.” Allison searched her brain for something that would interest a sexy biker. “And you know, if you need a tour guide…”

      His eyes widened. In fear, most likely, at what she was offering.

      “Well, there’s always the tourist bureau two blocks over,” she quickly amended. Jesus, no wonder she was single. She was crap at flirting. It used to be simple: an interested smile, a coy line. It had been easy when she’d wanted nothing but a bit of fun. But now that she was determined to find the one, her gift for teasing banter had deserted her.

      She set her jaw. One more attempt before admitting defeat. “And everyone here is real friendly. If you want a more personal touch, I have some time to give you a tour.”

      “Uh, no thanks.” He filled one bag and opened another. “I won’t be here that long.”

      A tingling sensation swept up the back of her neck and across her face, and she squirmed. Okay, she’d officially bombed. It was time to call it. The humiliation was more than she could take on an empty stomach. She’d go to The Pantry, regroup, and get some lunch. A slice of her meatloaf with creamy mashed potatoes could make the hurt from any rejection fade.

      “You sure must like these,” he said.

      It took Allison a moment to realize he was talking about the twenty pounds of Jordan almonds he was shoveling into her bags.

      Was he judging her? Rejection she could handle. But mockery pushed all her buttons. It didn’t help that she’d been at a disadvantage with motorcycle man from the get-go. Or that she was still riled up from losing Caty Cowgirl. Her embarrassment was quickly swept away in a tide of anger.

      Shoving the last box of candles into her other bag, she pushed to her feet. She jerked away from the hand he put under her elbow to help her to stand. “They’re favors for a wedding, not my own personal stash.” She knew she was on the far end of curvy, but did he actually think she’d eat all of them? “Thanks for your help. I’ve got it from here.” She grabbed the bag of almonds.

      “Okay.”

      Slipping his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, he gave her that look again, that quick up and down that assessed her appearance and found her wanting. She shifted in her sneakers. She wasn’t used to feeling out of place. Normally, she was comfortable in her own skin no matter what she was wearing. She owned a coffee shop, a house, and a shotgun full of rock salt to protect it all. She was a self-made woman, damn it.

      But standing in front of the sexy biker looking like a homeless person made her feel about ten inches tall, a feeling usually reserved for family events when her overachieving sisters with their perfect families and perfect lives made hers pale in comparison.

      “Congratulations,” he said. He rocked back on his heels, the leather of his boots creaking. “On your wedding.”

      Allison blinked. It wasn’t for her wedding, but as maid of honor for her friend’s big day, she’d taken on a lot of the planning details—a lot. But sexy biker thought that there was a man out there who wanted to marry her. She was going to go with that.

      “Thanks. And thanks again for your help.” Shoulders back and head high, Allison skirted around the icy patch and marched down the sidewalk to her car. She opened the door, tossed her bags in, and slid behind the wheel. Only once she was seated inside did she let her shoulders slump.

      Stick a fork in her; she was done. She didn’t care what deal had been made with her sister. She wasn’t going through that humiliation again. Camilla was the analytical sister, but Allison was sneaky. She’d find a loophole in their agreement, because one thing was very clear.

      She needed to stop flirting with the men of Pineville before she scared them all away.

      Chapter Two

      Luke Hamilton stared at the black and chrome of his Harley like it was a dying friend. After the mechanic had told him it would be at least a week until the part he needed would arrive, Luke had tuned the man out. It would take a day or two after the part got there to fix the damned thing. What in the hell was he going to do for a couple of weeks in Pineville, Michigan? When he’d driven through the town he had thought it quaint, charming even. A slice of Americana from a bygone year. But when his bike had spluttered, wheezed, and flat-lined in front of the old courthouse, the small-town charm had clogged his throat.

      “…probably gonna run you, oh, twenty-five hundred.” The mechanic ran a rag over a gear. A streak of grease stained the patch on his blue pinstriped coveralls, making the name “Fred” look like “Fled.”

      “Wait. Twenty-five hundred? Dollars?” Luke spluttered. That pulled his attention back quick.

      “Sure as hell ain’t donuts. And that’s if we can get the part through Bertie. If we have to find another supplier, well…” Fred shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic gesture that didn’t look sorry at all. Of course, Fred didn’t have to pay the exorbitant amount. But if it’d get him out of Pleasantville, Luke would pay it. He didn’t have much choice. The tow truck driver who had taken him to Gas and Stuff the day before had told him it was the only shop in town that worked on motorcycles.

      He rubbed his palm against his right eye, trying to ease the stabbing pain that had become an altogether too frequent visitor since his life had turned to crap. Twenty-five hundred bucks. He sighed. What the hell? That was a bill he could actually afford. “Okay, order the parts. And I’ll pay for any rush you can put on it.”

      Fred tucked his rag into his back pocket. “Will do. And I’ll probably get my loaner back in a day or two if you need it.”

      “Thanks.” Luke strode through the large garage door, zipping his jacket up against the biting wind. He didn’t know why he would need to rent a car in Pineville. The downtown was small enough to walk in twenty minutes. He’d found lodgings just a couple of blocks off Main Street, a lot with six small cabins. His unit had a kitchenette, a TV, a single bed, and not much else. But it felt more private than the other motel in town. And СКАЧАТЬ