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“Lastly—and this is tough to say...”
“Yes?” she pressed, though the word was a little breathless because she’d just realized they were now alone in her apartment. And they hadn’t really come here to talk.
“The truth is,” he said, his breath warm against her neck as he slipped up behind her, “I think your bedroom skills need a little work.”
“What?” she cried.
“I know. It’s really one of the main reasons I came back to Jackson.” His fingertips whispered down her bare arms and Veronica shivered. “It wasn’t fair to abandon you in the middle of our lessons. I was thinking I could give you a few more pointers. Try it out again. See how it goes.”
She laughed in scandalized delight. “You really are the worst, Gabe MacKenzie.”
“Really? Then maybe I’m the one who needs a few pointers. In fact, we could start right now. If you’re willing to give me another shot.” Yes, she was willing to give him another shot. She’d risk her heart for this man.
Standing behind her, he slid his arms around her waist and unbuttoned her jeans. Veronica choked on her own laugh. “I guess we could...try it again.”
A few minutes later, she was deadly serious and gasping out instructions. Gabe was an incredibly quick learner. And she was the happiest teacher in the world. The truth was she trusted him with everything. Her body, her heart, her happiness. She didn’t need time.
She decided right then and there to add a new note to the collection on her fridge.
#6—Take a chance on loving Gabe MacKenzie with all your heart.
Maybe her best advice yet.
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from FLIRTING WITH DISASTER by Victoria Dahl.
ISABELLE WEST EDGED her SUV up the steep driveway and winced as she heard a grocery bag tip over. She tried to identify the dull rolling sound that followed. Probably the cantaloupe. But maybe just a can of soup. It’d be a little surprise for her when she opened the hatch and saw what sprang out and tumbled through the snow toward the trees.
She was getting tired of that particular surprise and promised herself she’d order the cargo net as soon as she got inside. She’d been meaning to do it for...maybe two years now. But today she’d remember. She was trying to teach herself to be proactive. Or at least to manage the small things that every other adult seemed to have no problem with.
As she rounded the last curve of the drive and spied her little cabin, she wrinkled her nose. Not because of the cabin. She loved that. It was perfect for her in every way with its dark log walls and big windows and front porch. What made her wince was the sight of the manual garage door past the haze of snow sifting from the sky, a reminder that she’d also been meaning to call about getting a garage-door opener installed. That one had been on her mental to-do list for at least four years. Definitely not five.
“I’ll do that, too,” she said to herself as she pulled close to the garage door and tugged up the hood of her coat. “As a matter of fact...” She dug her phone from her pocket and held down the button. “Phone, remind me to order a cargo net and call a garage guy.”
The phone beeped and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
Gritting her teeth, Isabelle hit the button again. “Remind me to buy a cargo net and call the garage guy.”
“I’m sorry, did you need me to find a mechanic?”
“Fuck you,” Isabelle growled. She ducked out of her car, thankful that the giant, wet flakes of this morning had given way to the dry Wyoming snow she was more used to. The snow sounded like sand as it bounced off her jacket and slid to the ground.
She wrenched up the garage door and got back to her car without getting wet at all. But she couldn’t say the same about her cantaloupe. As soon as she opened the gate of her SUV, it rolled past her outstretched hand and straight into a snowbank.
“Fuck you, too,” she said to the cantaloupe, then felt immediately guilty. It only took her a minute to rescue the melon and dust off as much snow as she could. It hadn’t really caused that much trouble. It took a lot more time to repack the bag that had tipped over and haul it inside.
Next time, she’d remember t
o put the boxes of art supplies she’d picked up from the post office into the back; then she’d have room to store the groceries on the floor of her backseat, where they’d be less likely to—
“Art supplies!” she gasped, and rushed back out to the truck to haul in the boxes of goodies.
She grinned as she set the first box on the kitchen table and slit the tape to reveal the treasures inside. She’d been out of yellow ochre for three days now, and even though she hadn’t needed it, the lack had hovered at the back of her mind like a foreshadowing of tragedy to come. She snatched up the tube and breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster averted. She was whole again.
After unpacking the box and carefully laying out each precious item on the kitchen table, she retrieved the other two boxes from the backseat and went through the same routine. She beamed at the sight of the bounty spread over the table. Seven more tubes of color, a new studio light to get her through the winter, a dozen prestretched canvases and her favorite brush conditioner that smelled like something close to sandalwood. It made the task of looking after her brushes almost soothing. Discovering it last year had been a treat.
Satisfied with her unveiling of the goods, she made five trips to the room she used as her studio, shelving the paints she didn’t need yet and getting the new lamp set up at her current workstation. She played with the LED settings for a while, still dubious about the idea that she could get good color temperatures, but the settings seemed sufficient. Nice, even.
