The Art of Running in Heels Read online

  “Yeah.” She raised her hands and pulled the first of many bobby pins from her hair. Lexie had been raised around hockey players. Powerful men with big muscles and chests. At a young age, she’d been exposed to toxic levels of testosterone. She was immune to all three: powerful men, big muscles, toxic testosterone.

  “Is that a ‘yeah’ you have a crown? Or ‘yeah’ you want a drink?”

  “Both.” Her fingers pulled more pins until she was able to pry the veil off her head. “More tonic than vodka.” As a kid, she’d loved hanging out with her dad and the Seattle Chinooks. For the past few years, though, she’d paid less and less attention to the ice arena. She’d never admit it to her dad, but she hadn’t seen a game this season. She’d focused most of her time on expanding her company, adding new sections and subsections to her business plan, which now included opening her first brick-and-mortar store.

  “Hey, Lex.” Jimmy looked over his shoulder at her, and green light from the instrument panel washed across his profile. “That was epic. Reminds me of the time I had to save you and Marie from Tony Bruno’s houseboat.”

  That had been one of the few times she’d acted on impulse, and it served as a reminder that impulsive behavior had consequences, but high school shenanigans paled in comparison to today’s spectacle. “Thanks for helping me out.” Jimmy was steady and reliable and, more importantly, headed for Canada.

  “Been a while since I had to rescue you two.”

  Lexie was ashamed to admit it, but other than two real occasions, she and Marie had only pretended that they needed rescuing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they’d called Jimmy because he’d had a car, parents who were never home, and they’d needed a ride somewhere. They’d justified their behavior by telling themselves that it was okay because they were getting nerdy Jimmy out of his house. As an adult, she felt guilty about that and she’d been secretly trying to make up for it whenever possible by sending business Jimmy’s way—no matter his latest scheme.

  “I think the last time was when someone stole Marie’s wallet and you two didn’t have cab fare home from the mall.”

  While Lexie hadn’t been drawn to crazy impulses, she had been a huge liar, but she was a mature woman with her own business now. She was responsible for a dozen employees. She had an image to protect. She might lie by omission to spare someone’s feelings:

  Marie’s combat boot.

  Jimmy and his aviator cap.

  She prided herself on telling the truth. She hadn’t concocted lying schemes in seven or eight years now, and she never gave in to crazy impulses.

  Until today. Or rather the day she’d tried out for Gettin’ Hitched. That one crazy impulse had ultimately landed her in the Sea Hopper wearing a dress that looked like a meringue kiss.

  “I got a new business you might want to invest in.”

  Jimmy always had a new business. In tenth grade, it had been selling the pot he’d grown in his parents’ greenhouse in Medina. In the twelfth grade, he’d been a bookie. Jimmy’s businesses always thrived until the cops showed up. Even though she owed Jimmy for past lies and present peccadilloes, the last thing she wanted to do was listen to his latest scheme.

  He told her anyway. “It’s called Scooter Subs. I have three couriers who deliver sandwiches and chips on red Vespas retrofitted with metal coolers on the rack behind the seat. Food delivery is the future. You and Marie should get in on this one.”

  No thanks.

  “Is Marie seeing anyone special?”

  In middle school, Jimmy had developed a deep and abiding crush on her best friend. Too bad for him, Marie had never returned his feelings. Not then, not now. “Not at the moment.”

  He smiled, and she was afraid she’d given him false hope. “How long is the flight?” she asked to change the subject.

  “Three and a half hours.” He returned his attention to the controls in front of him.

  Three and a half hours? It didn’t take three and a half hours to fly anywhere in Vancouver. “Where are we going?”

  “Moresby Island.”

  Lexie had never heard of Moresby Island, and she repeated herself, “Where?”

  “Sandspit,” the man with the big shoes and pecs answered.

  Lexie glanced up at him as he dropped ice into a clear cup. “Sand what?”

  “Exactly.” He chuckled, but this time humor didn’t crease the corners of his eyes, as if he found no pleasure in his destination. He opened a short bottle of tonic, and the water fizzed and bubbled over his fingers.

  For a few seconds, she wondered who he was and why he’d hired Jimmy to fly somewhere he didn’t seem happy about going, but she had her own problems. At the moment, Mr. Handsome’s happiness wasn’t one of them. She turned her attention to her lap and the veil her mother had helped pin in her hair. A fresh wave of anxiety rolled through her from the toes up. Her mother had hated the veil. Her mother had been right to hate it, but Lexie would rather have stabbed herself in the eye with a blunt stick than admit it. “I’ve done it this time,” she whispered. A quiver in her heart worked its way to her chin. She frowned at the pile of tulle in her lap and pushed it down with her hands. It sprang back up. “I made a fool of myself and my family on live television.” She tucked and smashed and tried to roll it up like a sleeping bag. When she was finished, it looked like a big Pillsbury crescent roll. She punched the middle to flatten it more.

  “It’s dead, princess.”

  Lexie looked up into the green eyes looking back at her, watching as if he couldn’t quite figure out what he was watching. Not that she blamed him. It probably wasn’t every day a runaway bride boarded the guy’s chartered flight.

  He shoved the clear cup filled with ice and a healthy dose of vodka and tonic at her. His free hand motioned for her to hand him the veil. A chartered flight to somewhere called Sandspit. Lexie had never heard of Sandspit, and the way Mr. Handsome had said it, he’d made it sound like maybe Sandspit was next to Siberia. Lexie hoped their destination wasn’t anything like Siberia. Siberia probably didn’t take Visa, and she didn’t have a coat. Plus the cold gave her dry skin and chapped lips.

  “Thank you.” She traded him the cup for the tulle crescent. It kind of burst open in his face.

  “What the Christ?” He leaned behind him and wrestled the whole mess from the seats.

  Lexie rested her head back and took a drink. It tasted like rubbing alcohol, but she didn’t care. She liked the way it burned a path across her tongue and down her throat. It burned away the quiver in her heart and the ache in her stomach. She took a few more sips to settle her chaotic nerves and kicked off her shoes. Alcohol wasn’t a solution to her problems, but at the moment, it helped.

  Now, if she could just move a little and get comfortable. The layers of net and crinoline petticoat beneath her dress were constraining and itchy, and she didn’t want to sit on the floor for the next three hours. If it was possible to get out of the underskirt, she’d have to contend with a dozen or so yards of satin and lace and crystals that dug into her skin, but at least she’d be able to move and sit in the cozy leather seat.

  Mr. Handsome, aka Mr. Unhappy Helper’s attention returned to the YETI and he pulled out another cup. She watched his long fingers unscrew the little bottle of tonic, then she turned to look at the back of Jimmy’s head and that ridiculous helmet he always insisted on wearing. He was a good friend but a tragic fashion victim. She wondered if the Sea Hopper had autopilot and if that meant Jimmy could leave the cockpit if it did. She thought of no one in control of the plane and got a little light-headed.

  “Does the plane have autopilot, Jimmy?”

  He laughed. “No. Just me.”

  The sound of ice cubes in a plastic cup made her attention return to the guy with the green eyes and big shoulders. Beneath the dome light, his dark brown hair shone. The kind of shine that came from good products. A chunk of his hair escaped the comb job that looked like he’d done it with his fingers, and curved over his forehead as he looked do
wn at the bottle in his hand. He had beautiful eyes, good hair, and nicely defined lips. The uni-brow practically crawling across his supraorbital ridges could use a pair of tweezers. He looked up as if he’d read her mind. He smiled and she thought, Holy crap.

  She took a sip from her glass. She didn’t know anything about him, other than he’d chartered the Sea Hopper, drank vodka, and had a smile that was pure trouble. He’d helped her out with the veil—even if he didn’t look too happy about it. All she really knew was that he was a vodka-drinking unhappy helper. He could be a prison escapee on a cross-country killing spree, for all she knew, but needs must. She held out her hand toward him. “Lexie.”

  He shoved the vodka bottle back inside the cooler, then looked into her face. His gaze ran down her shoulder and bare arm to her hand. He hesitated for several heartbeats before he took it in his. “Sean.”

  She hadn’t realized her fingers were cold until she felt the warmth of his skin. His palm was almost hot against her, and she had an urge to shove her hand beneath the sleeve of his jacket and steal heat from his wrist. Instead she pulled away and kicked her shoes from her feet. “Well, Sean, I need to ask you something,” she said through a sigh as her toes were freed.

  “What’s that?”

  “How much experience do you have undressing a girl?”

  Chapter 3

  •love needs time; desire needs opportunity

  Tiny bubbles got caught in Sean’s throat and he forced himself to swallow. “Come again?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He’d heard of beer goggles. Maybe he had vodka ears.

  “Geez, Lex. What are you planning?” Jimmy asked.

  Sean wanted to know the same.

  “We need to unbutton the back of my dress so we can get to the zipper on this stupid petticoat. It’s big and itchy and driving me crazy.”

  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a petticoat, but he was sure he shouldn’t see one now. Not in a small seaplane, and not with Kowalsky’s daughter. He and the Chinooks coach tolerated each other out of respect for the organization, but he knew he probably shouldn’t undress John’s baby girl. “Do you have a knife, Jimmy?” Maybe she could cut her way out without his help.

  “Negative. I might have some toenail clippers in my duffel.”

  Toenail clippers? What the fuck? Three hours wasn’t all that long to sit on the floor in a big itchy dress. She might be uncomfortable but she wouldn’t die. Sean set his glass on his knee and stared hard into Lexie’s big blue eyes. He used the kind of hard stare that intimidated defensemen on the ice and sent little dogs scurrying from the room.

  The corners of her red lips turned up like she didn’t notice. Her smile looked kind of pouty, or maybe it was just her full lips. He’d been wrong about Lexie Kowalsky; she hadn’t been photoshopped at all. At the moment, she wore too much makeup, probably due to her aborted television appearance, but it didn’t matter. She was beautiful. She was real. She was sitting in front of him like she’d been dipped in whipping cream. Her father wasn’t his biggest fan, and she was asking him to undress her.

  “Thanks, Sean,” she said as if he’d agreed.

  Like she didn’t have a clue who he was.

  “You’re a sweetheart.”

  He lifted his gaze from her mouth to her eyes again. Her clueless blue eyes. She didn’t recognize him at all, and he smiled. Maybe if he’d had a clearer head, he would have told her right then and there. Maybe his smile wouldn’t have turned into a silent chuckle if he hadn’t felt a reprieve from the possible showdown with Coach Kowalsky.

  She scooted herself until she was on her knees and presented him her back. A mass of blond curls fell to the middle of her back, and she slid a hand behind her neck and pulled them to one side. “I appreciate your help.”

  The back of the headset rested against smooth skin, and she smelled like expensive perfume. Tiny buttons closed the back of the dress, starting between her shoulder blades and running down her spine to somewhere below her behind. Everything about her looked soft. From her hair and skin and eyelashes, to the smile she gave him over one shoulder.

  “Sorry I don’t have a buttonhook.”

  Sean couldn’t remember a time he’d ever undressed a woman without taking her to bed. He shoved his cup in the cup holder between the seats and raised his hands to the first button. It slipped through his fingers, and his knuckles brushed her skin. He tried again with the same results, but the third time, he managed to pinch the little button through the loop.

  She was beautiful and soft. She was chaos and madness. She was a real pain in the ass. The second button was more difficult than the first, and he swore beneath his breath as he pinched hard.

  “I know I’m a pain in the ass,” she said; apparently his aggravation had been picked up by the mic at the side of his mouth. “Sometimes.”

  Through the earphones, Jimmy chuckled as if he agreed. “How’d you end up on Gettin’ Hitched, Lex?” the pilot asked. “I was surprised to see you on that show. I just never figured you for a woman desperate to get married.”

  “I’m not.”

  Sean’s fingers were too big and he fumbled with the third button. He looked down the long row of all those slippery buttons and tiny loops and wondered if he should just rip the dress down the back.

  “I tried out for the show because I thought it would be great free publicity for my business. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She shook her head, and a curl escaped her hand and fell down her back. “I needed to do something big. Something to increase my brand and get greater exposure.” Sean picked up the lock of her blond hair to move it out of the way. “Yum Yum’s Closet is online retail only,” Lexie continued, “and can’t compete with big retail chains. I plan to open my first retail store in Bellevue near the mall and I needed to get the word out.”

  Sean stilled as her soft hair fell across the back of his hand once more. Yum Yum’s Closet? Sounded like a sex shop to him. Like Naughty by Nature or Frisky Business or Cox in a Box.

  “Did it work?” the pilot wanted to know.

  “Ten minutes after the first episode aired, my Web site got sixty hits per thirty seconds and crashed. Online sales are up fifty-eight percent in just three months. Most of my Fabulous FiFi line is sold out.”

  Fabulous FiFi?

  “I never knew pet stores were so dog-eat-dog.” Jimmy laughed at his own pun.

  For reasons unknown to Sean, disappointment lowered his brows as he pushed her hair aside once more. “You own a pet store?”

  She looked over her shoulder and her blue eyes gazed up into his. “I manufacture and sell animal couture.”

  “You sell dog clothes.” It was more a statement of disbelief than anything. Sean had an aversion to yappy dogs. Especially yappy dogs in leather jackets and biker hats.

  “Yes, but I’ve expanded the business to include toys and beds and safety items.” She shrugged one bare shoulder, and the lock of hair fell down her back again. “Most anything an animal might need.”

  “Animals don’t need clothes,” he pointed out, and brushed the curl aside again. It got stuck on some rhinestones or crystals or whatever and stayed there.

  “They don’t need special parks and condos, either, but I never hear anyone badmouthing dog parks and cat condos.”

  “Don’t get Lexie started about dogs,” Jimmy warned.

  Sean tugged and pinched and managed to get the fourth and fifth buttons through the little loops. The silk fabric parted and a red imprint from the tight dress creased her flesh. He brushed his thumb across the welt on her perfect skin. He’d probably been a real tool for thinking she should stay in an uncomfortable dress that pinched her skin for the next three hours.

  “I love all animals.” Her cheeks flushed a soft pink and she ducked her face. “And I have a talent for animal couture. My mother said I come by it naturally, inherited from my great-grandmother, who had a fondness for making clothes for her chickens. Although why she wasted her talent on chicken clothes is
a mystery. Chickens are messy and end up on a rotisserie.”

  What the hell? Someone in her family made chicken clothes? Was she crazy?

  “When I was young, I made clothes for all my stuffed animals and even my Chia Pets. Then my daddy bought me my first dog, when I was seven. I’ve made all my dogs’ haute couture ever since. After Pongo, I had Lady and Tramp. Now I just have Yum Yum. She’s a Chinese crested and very yummy.”

  “Geeez-us.” All her bizarre rambling about dogs and clothes and chickens was just crazy. A whole lot of crazy wrapped up in a beautiful package. A beautiful package with smooth skin that invited a man’s kiss. On the side of her neck where she smelled so good.

  “A few months ago, I made a Superman cape for an iguana. It was a special order, of course.”

  Despite being crazy, his body responded to her. A hot yank in the pit of his stomach that spread to his groin. A totally natural response, given that he was undressing a beautiful woman. He didn’t fight it, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. He didn’t enjoy getting hard-ons for crazy women bound to create chaos.

  “This isn’t working,” he said. “My fingers are too big and those buttons are too small.” She looked up at him, and he added, “I’ll have to rip it down the back.”

  “Oh.” She stared into his eyes for several heartbeats. “I don’t know. The producers might want it back.”

  Sean grabbed the open sides of the dress and gathered as much silk as possible in each fist. Several buttons whizzed past Sean’s head and peppered the fuselage as the sound of ripping cloth filled the cabin. One final yank and the dress lay open, exposing smooth skin, more ugly red welts, and white corset. Sean lowered his gaze down the lacing, to the indent of her spine at the bottom of her corset. Without being asked, he reached inside the dress, pushed aside the itchy net stuff, and pulled a metal zipper down as far as possible. Then he raised his hands like a calf roper and sat back in his seat.

  “Oh my God, that feels wonderful.” She reached behind her and scratched a red mark in the small of her back. “I can almost breathe.” She wiggled back and forth and tried to stand. With her hands at her breasts, holding up the dress, it took her several suspenseful minutes before she was able to stand as much as possible.