Operation Sizzle Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Darcy Lundeen and…

  Operation Sizzle

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  “You have a drop of water hanging from the tip of your nose.” She smiled at him.

  He brushed it away and moved closer to her. “And you have drops of water all over your face.” He smiled back, then he brushed the tips of his fingers against her cheek. The movement was soft, slow, gentle, as though she were a precious thing to be handled carefully.

  She stopped smiling and stared at him, and he stopped smiling too and came a step closer, boxing her in with her back against the wall.

  She held her breath as he slipped his hand under her chin and tilted her face toward him. Then his thumb stroked upward along her jaw, making her heartbeat throb fast and hard throughout her body. The touch sent goose bumps shivering across her skin and made her yearn for things she knew she could never have.

  “Matt,” she said as he smoothed hair away from her brow.

  He nodded and continued stroking her hair. “Yes?”

  “I—” She stopped abruptly, not knowing what else to say.

  I’m starting to feel strange around you, and I don’t know why. I only know it’s making me nervous and that can’t be good.

  Praise for Darcy Lundeen and…

  FINDING YOU AGAIN:

  “By no means was this quite what I expected when I selected this story to review. Yes, I knew I would get a rekindle of a past love but it was so much more than I ever dreamed and all in a wonderfully delicious way.”

  ~You Gotta Read

  ~*~

  “Loved the book, and all the characters, along with the twist at the end that allows them to get back together.”

  ~Manic Readers

  ~*~

  ADORE ME:

  “I adored ADORE ME, pun intended. This romantic comedy had a few twists, and a sexy, intelligent hero you’ll fall head over heels with. It kept me laughing and turning the pages until I finished it in one sitting.”

  ~Romancing The Book

  ~*~

  “Strong characters, smooth dialogue, and a sweet plot fill the pages of this short story…A cute Valentine story perfect for reading any time of the year.”

  ~Between The Pages

  Operation Sizzle

  by

  Darcy Lundeen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Operation Sizzle

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Darcy Lundeen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2304-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2305-3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my Cambridge “sisters”

  (Jean, Jo, Mary K., and Sue)

  And my New York “sisters”

  (Barbara, Marion, and Ro):

  Even after all this time the happy memories remain.

  ~

  A note of special thanks also goes to

  Editor Extraordinaire E.L. Felder (ELF),

  who has patiently overseen countless iterations

  of this book.

  Through it all, she has always been

  a consummate professional who made perceptive suggestions on the best way to improve the story,

  pointed out the places where things made less than

  one-hundred-percent sense,

  worked hard to deal with my habit of adding tags

  to almost every line of dialogue…

  and who managed to do it all with remarkable sensitivity, tact, and good humor.

  Chapter One

  Betsy Kincaid held her nose and slurped down her third tequila shot in the last forty-two-and-a-half minutes. God, she hated the taste of booze. Even the drink she held in her hand, diluted until most people would think it was just funky water, still tasted like hundred-proof petroleum sludge to her. But if you were in the worst depression of your life, it was the only way to go. And that’s just what she was in…the worst depression of her twenty-six-year existence.

  It was all because of her best friend. If not for him she wouldn’t have met Tyler. And if she hadn’t met Tyler, she wouldn’t be going through this fit of terminal gloom. She wouldn’t have had to struggle to find a way through it, either. Sadly, her choice had been a tossup between drowning her sorrow in watered-down tequila or smothering it in several thousand calories worth of the chocolate-truffle-mousse cheesecake she had in the fridge.

  A coin toss had chosen the tequila, so there she sat choking on vile-tasting alcohol instead of obsessing about the five unwanted pounds of extra fat the cheesecake would inevitably deposit on her hips.

  And it was all her best friend’s fault. So she’d get him for it.

  Betsy released her nose, thumped the empty glass onto the coffee table, and picked up her fourth drink.

  They were lined up in front of her like bowling pins ready to be knocked off en masse. Or in her case, guzzled down sequentially until she was so smashed she forgot about Tyler. But not about her best friend. Him she was definitely going to curse out.

  Of course, when you were on the verge of reading someone the riot act, the least you could do was warn him about it. After all, it was the polite thing to do. And she was nothing if not polite, even in the face of terminal despondency. So she pulled out her cell phone and tapped his speed-dial key.

  There was a buzzing on the line, then a click sounded, signaling pickup at the other end, and she immediately let go, snarling out just what was on her mind. “Rob McConnell, I’m gonna get you.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m not Rob McConnell,” someone answered.

  Betsy cut a quick glance at the number in case she’d made a mistake and accidentally called her Uncle Robley or her GP, Doctor Robards. But she hadn’t. It was definitely Rob’s number, but the guy who’d answered was right. No way was he Rob McConnell. Different voice entirely.

  “Unless by ‘get,’ you mean something other than hurt.” The Voice paused for a moment, then deepened suggestively. “Something nice and friendly. Then I think I’d like to be him.”

  “Hurt.” Betsy mumbled the word and slid lower on the sofa, whi
te-knuckling the cell as the heat of embarrassment prickled through her skin, making her want to crawl into the nearest hole.

  The Voice made a tsk-tsking noise of tongue against teeth, sounding truly disappointed. “Oh, that’s a pity. Guess my original comment stands, then. Rob’s not here. Want me to give him the message?”

  Betsy shook her head no-no-no, realized he couldn’t see her—thank God—and blurted out a frantic denial instead. “No, sorry, wrong number.”

  “So you’re not Betsy Kincaid?” His tone held an undercurrent of sheer gotcha—half amused, half victorious at having outed her.

  Betsy cringed as waves of heat suffused her face. Humiliated again by a man, and this time one she didn’t even know. “Huh?” It was the only thing she could think of to say, and it sounded just as lame as she felt.

  “Betsy Kincaid. That’s what caller ID says. Look, if you’re afraid you got the wrong number, don’t be. I’m staying with Rob, and we accidentally switched phones, so until he gets back, he’s got my phone and I’ve got his, and his phone says you’re Betsy Kincaid and your number is one-eight-one—”

  “Yes!” Betsy fumbled with the phone, desperate to end the call before he pried any more information out of her. “All right, tell him I called. Goodbye.”

  “Hey, wait—don’t go. I—”

  It wasn’t going to happen. No way would she wait for whatever else he wanted to say. She smacked the end button to disconnect the call. Then she groaned, held her nose, and chugged her fourth drink, more despondent than ever. She’d just made a fool of herself to a perfect stranger. Even worse, to a male stranger. It was the second time she’d messed up in front of a guy in the past four hours.

  Damn The Voice, damn caller ID, and definitely damn Rob for stupidly switching his phone with some stranger’s.

  ****

  “Hey, wait—don’t go. I just want to talk,” Matt Pollard cried to the vaguely slurred, but really sexy, voice at the other end of the phone. He paused to wait for an answer.

  Nothing. Only silence. Matt sighed.

  All he wanted was for her to stay and chat a while. But would she listen? Of course not. She had simply severed the connection.

  Well, giving up had never been his style, so he immediately tapped the number again and let it buzz until her voicemail kicked in. Then he clicked off the call and repeated the same silly process over and over again. He must have done it close to a dozen times. Okay, so he could be slightly obsessive and more than a little stubborn on occasion, but that’s what had helped make him the pit-bull lawyer he was. He tried making another couple of calls before finally admitting that the lady with the sexily slurred voice was even more stubborn than he was and had no intention of answering.

  Blowing out a frustrated groan, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, wishing he’d never bothered taking Rob’s damn call. How the hell had he and Rob stupidly managed to switch phones in the first place? Even more important, why wasn’t Rob here by now? He was supposed to be back at least an hour ago. If he’d arrived on time, he could have taken this Betsy Kincaid’s call himself, and then Matt wouldn’t be sitting there wondering what she looked like and how he could get close enough to check her out in the flesh.

  He pulled the phone out again and tapped into Rob’s contact list, scrolling down until he reached her name. Fine. If he couldn’t convince her to answer a phone call, at least he could check up on her actual whereabouts.

  “Betsy Kincaid. Home address: 1040 Weston Terrace. Work address: 12333 Tolliver Street. Work Phone: two-five-two—” He broke off as the scrape of a key turning in the lock jolted him to attention.

  Rob.

  Shoving the phone into his pocket again, Matt got up from the sofa where he’d been lounging and aimed a sour expression at the front door. Good old getable Rob had graciously deigned to return. Finally.

  The door burst open, and Rob strode into the apartment, arms loaded down with two large canvas shopping bags, and face wreathed in a great big what-an-unbelievable-time-I-just-had grin. He dumped the bags on a table and lifted a hand in greeting when he saw Matt. “Hey, Matthew.”

  Matt jabbed a finger at the digital clock on the mantel as his own expression turned even more sour. “Hey yourself. What happened? Car break down, and you had to walk all of five blocks from the supermarket?”

  Rob gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m a little late, huh?”

  “Try an hour late.”

  Rob pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. “Sorry. While I was browsing the produce aisle, this cute guy asked me my opinion of casaba melons versus honeydews, and we just started talking. I completely lost track of time. You know how it is—sometimes you meet someone new and start talking and completely lose track of time.” He flashed a triumphant grin. “His name’s Arlen. We’re meeting for drinks tomorrow night.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. The old pickup-at-the-melon-display routine. How original.” He was acting like an S.O.B., but something about Rob’s successful guy-guy connection and his own unsuccessful guy-girl one made him feel unusually surly.

  “Feeling a little jealous, are we?” Rob reached into one of the canvas bags and started humming a happy tune under his breath as he pulled out chips, deli meats, a box of cookies, and two six-packs of beer.

  “Not of a guy named Arlen…or any other kind of guy for that matter.”

  Still humming that same inane tune, Rob nodded and began emptying the second bag. “Wonderful. Then he’s all mine.”

  “Be my guest.” Matt paused, cleared his throat, and forced his voice to sound matter-of-fact. “Who’s Betsy Kincaid?”

  Rob cut the humming and turned to him, a casaba melon in one hand, a honeydew in the other, and a massively puzzled expression on his face. “Bets? How do you know about her?”

  Matt shrugged, still trying to seem casual, even though by now he couldn’t get the memory of her sexily slurred and flustered voice out of his mind. “She called while you were out.”

  “She called you?”

  “Since she doesn’t know me, the answer to that brain-twister is no. She called you on your phone.” He pulled Rob’s cell phone from his pocket and held it out to him. “The one I was left with after you accidentally walked off with mine when I stupidly left it on the kitchen table near yours.”

  Abandoning his groceries, Rob took the phone and turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Sorry about that, but they’re the same model, so it’s sort of easy to get confused.” He shook his head. “Actually, I knew something was strange when I noticed I suddenly had a bunch of legal apps on my phone that touted subjects I have zero interest in.” He grinned and pocketed his phone. “Except maybe for the one advertising that group of young kick-butt, take-no-prisoners lawyers. Those guys sound like they could be a lot of fun. But when I saw the apps, I basically figured out what must have happened. Besides I was too busy with—”

  Matt snorted. “The enchanting Arlen.”

  “Our discussion about melons.” Rob issued a derisive snort of his own. “So I really didn’t care.” He pulled Matt’s phone from his pocket and shoved it into Matt’s hand. “Here ya go. All straightened out now, and everything’s right with the world. So what did Bets want?”

  Matt grinned. “To tell you about a plan she had.”

  Rob nodded as he pulled out his phone again and began tapping keys. “Guess I better call her, then.”

  Matt held up a hand to stop him. “Wait. Before you do, tell me something about her.”

  Rob abandoned his call and smiled at Matt. “Why? Interested?”

  Rob’s gleeful smile immediately triggered a galling memory, and Matt bit back an aggravated groan. Okay, he’d asked for this. It was the same gloating expression Rob always gave him whenever he showed any interest in a member of the opposite sex. Rob had been doing it since fifth grade when Matt had his first crush on a girl, a cute little redhead named Sally. Matt scowled. Now that he remembered it, Rob had spent the better part of a
semester making his life miserable with that damn smile. God, sometimes family could be a total pain in the ass. He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug as though he couldn’t really care less. “She has a nice voice.”

  Rob nodded, his face apparently stuck in that miserable gloat. “The rest of her’s pretty nice, too. Least I think it would be to a straight guy. About so tall…” He put his hand at chin level, and since Matt was a little taller, that would have put her somewhere around his shoulders. “…light-brown hair, blue eyes. She’s one of my best friends.”

  Matt made an unpleasant sound. “Ah, yes, the gay best friend. God, what a cliché you are.”

  “Hey, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have heard her nice voice.”

  All right, that much was true enough, so time to drop the snark and act like a civilized person. At least until he got what he wanted. “I guess that address you have for her is up-to-date, right?” He kept his tone nonchalant as he fished for more information. “And I assume she doesn’t have…you know…a roommate.”

  Rob narrowed his eyes, his gloating expression giving way to a vaguely suspicious one. “You planning on putting moves on her?”

  Matt quickly channeled the best innocent-little-boy smile he could muster. “Of course not. She just sounded sort of down, so I was thinking I’d introduce myself and try to cheer her up.”

  Rob shook his head. “You are so transparent.” He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, buddy, she’s not married or living with anybody, if that’s what you wanted to know. And, yeah, her address is still 1040 Weston Terrace.”

  Matt punched the information into his contacts list, shoved the phone into his pocket, and headed to the hall closet for his jacket.

  “Hey.” Rob came after him, raising a hand to get him to stop. “Before you go, what was Betsy’s plan?”

  As he pulled on his jacket, Matt turned to him with an evil grin. “To get you”—he opened the front door—“and not in a good way, either.” Breezing out of the apartment, he slammed the door shut behind him.

  ****

  Betsy sat in a corner of the sofa, knees pulled up to chest, as she stared at the coffee table where her cell phone lay. Should she just turn the damn thing off to shut it up?