No Choice at All (EBOOK)

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Chapter One

“Morning, killer.”

My ankle wobbles and my heel catches on the seam in the sidewalk. I glance between my coffee and the concrete. Which should I save—my dignity and possibly some scrapes and bruises or the specialty coffee I’ve been dreaming of all morning and finally indulged in?

A muscular arm slips around my waist and steadies me while a tanned hand whips the cup out of my fingers. I slap my palm against a solid chest covered in black cashmere and glare up at Ian Flannigan’s smirking face.
He pulls me flush against his body.

I try not to notice how all our key parts line up perfectly as I jerk out of his hold. He lets me go, but his hand squeezes my hip first.

“Must you persist in that ridiculous nickname? I dispatched one spider. You act as if I murdered a colony of rabbits or something.”

“It’s the way you got rid of the spider. You brandished your shoe like a serial killer in a horror film wielding an axe.”

I roll my eyes. So sue me, I don’t like spiders.

“And that’s not why I call you killer.”

I narrow my eyes. Do I want to know? Probably not. It’s bound to ruin my mood for the rest of the day. Ian gets way too much enjoyment out of pushing my buttons. The sad fact is I know this, yet I still can’t help reacting when he does it.

His sea-blue eyes stare down at me, patiently waiting for me to ask. They’re not your typical blue eyes. Oh, no. They’re the color of the Caribbean Sea–turquoise one minute and a deep blue the next. It’s really not fair for him to have eyes like that. Or the long black lashes framing them.

“Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

I step to the side. I’ll walk around him—ignoring Ian often works best.

He side steps in front of me.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? Your flower shop is that way.” He points behind me. “Or are you so flustered by my presence you’ve forgotten where it is?”

I close my eyes and start counting. One. Two. Three.

“Fantasizing what I look like naked?”

His tan, naked, chest with a sprinkling of dark hair pops into my head. My fingertips tracing each ridge of muscle on his abdomen.

My eyes pop open. Damn it!

I growl and stomp past him, muttering, “I have the worst taste in men.”

He falls into step next to me. “So you admit you’re attracted to me.”

Do not engage. Do not engage.

I increase my stride. If I ignore him, he might give up. At least for today. Then he’ll start over the next time I have the misfortune to run into him.

His long legs easily keep pace with mine. I slow down. It’s not like I can win a race with him in this skirt and heels, and I’m sure as hell not going to give him the impression I’m running away from him.

“So, Becks…”

I stop and wave my finger under his nose. “Do not call me that. Ever!”

One imperious deep brown eyebrow shoots up.

Shit! I just gave him ammunition. Now that’s probably all he’ll ever call me.

“Got it. Rebecca it is.”

He looks sincere. He could be setting me up, but his telltale smirk is missing. I spot my coffee cup still in his grip.

“Give me that.” He holds it up over my head when I reach for it. I could snag it out of his hand, but then my coffee would spill.

I plant my fists on my hips. “What are you, five?”

There’s the smirk.

“It’s a little late to be asking how old I am, isn’t it? You’ve already had your way with me.”

Only a handful of people are strolling along the sidewalk, and they’re too far away to hear him. Hoods and hats cover several heads, hiding identities and muffling sound further. No one glances in our direction.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder and fold my arms under my chest. His gaze drops to my cleavage.

“Eyes up, Flannigan.”

He grins as he raises his gaze. “Can you blame me? Especially when I’m aware of what’s under all that camouflage?”

“What camouflage?” I glance down at my white silk blouse under my wool blazer and the gray pencil skirt covering me to my ankles. There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed. It’s tasteful and professional. The April weather is still rather brisk, but this is New England. It could change in an instant. My wool suit seemed like a good choice this morning, but I hadn’t anticipated sprinting down the sidewalk to avoid Ian, either.

He steps closer. “Tell me, you’re wearing sexy lingerie under those clothes, aren’t you? White lace? A thong?”

I grit my teeth. Nailed it on both counts. Lingerie is my weakness.

“You will never find out.”

His gaze rakes me from head to toe. “That’s okay. I have my memories to sustain me. For now.”

A shiver skates down my spine. Me too.

Nope, not going there. “Hand over my coffee.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“No.”

“Why? It’s just dinner. You’re not dating anyone else. What’s the harm?”

I tilt my head to the side and tap my toes inside my shoes. “How do you know I’m not dating anyone?”

His smile fades. “Are you?”

I should tell him yes. Only, then I’d have to come up with someone because Ian will insist on knowing who. He doesn’t have a shy bone in his body. Why should he? He’s probably had women falling at his feet since he left the cradle. He’s just too damn good-looking.

“I don’t date.”

“Why not?”

“That’s none of your business. You asked. I said no. That’s how our little drama works, isn’t it? Now can I please have my coffee? I have an appointment.”

He hands me my coffee. “Here you go, Queenie.”

“Let me guess, as in Queen Bitch?” He wouldn’t be the first.

“I would never call you that.”

“Why not? I know I’m a bitch. I don’t see it as a terrible thing.” My mouth waters as I inhale the nutty aroma of the coffee safely back in my grasp.

“My mother would smack the back of my head if she ever heard me call a woman a bitch. Besides, I don’t think of you that way at all. You’re determined to resist my charming personality, but you aren’t nasty about it.”

I narrow my eyes. “That can change.” I guess I have to be harsher in my rejections of his advances. Good to know.

He chuckles and slides his hands into his pants’ pockets. The gray material pulls against his thighs. I snap my gaze back up to his face.

“Queenie was this Boston Terrier I had as a kid. She would bark and growl at any dog that came near her.”

“You’re comparing me to a dog.” And here I thought the day couldn’t go worse.

Ian smirks. “She was a great dog.”

“Uh-huh. Goodbye.”

I look both ways before stepping off the curb onto the crosswalk. Granite Cove doesn’t have any traffic lights in this part of the village. During the summer, the locals avoid driving down Main Street when it’s jampacked with tourists and summer residents. Otherwise, it can take a half hour just to traverse the half mile through the village with all the stops to let people cross. It provides good business for me and the rest of the shops located here, though.

Ian steps onto the opposite curb with me. I look up the street to his bar. That might be his destination instead of following me, but Flannigan’s Pub is on the opposite side of the street. He should have crossed at the last crosswalk. Now he’ll have to walk past his bar to the next crosswalk.

“Are you following me?” Go ahead, deny it.

“Yup.”

I stop, turn to face him, and take a sip of my coffee, not caring if it’s still too hot and burns my tongue. I need the caffeine kick. The late morning sun shines in my eyes as I squint up at him.

“Why?”

“You admitted you’re attracted to me, so you’ve strengthened my resolve. My persistence will pay off. You’re going to say yes eventually. So why not save us both some time and say yes now?”

“I say ‘I have terrible taste in men’ and you translate it as ‘I’m attracted to you’?”

His lips twitch. “Pretty much.”

I roll my eyes and stalk down the sidewalk. He’s never going to stop. Is he right? Will I eventually give in? I grit my teeth and swing around.

He’s only a step behind me.

I wave my coffee in the air with my finger pointed in his direction. “Listen closely. You were a mistake. I don’t repeat my mistakes. I learn from them. Leave me alone.”

Ian frowns and leans his head down so his nose is almost touching mine. “You know why I call you killer? It’s short for man-killer. Have a nice day, Rebecca.”

He crosses the road even though the closest crosswalk is half a block away. His posture is stiff instead of his usual casual strut.

I bet he thinks I’m a bitch now.

Mission accomplished. He won’t be asking me out anymore, and I won’t be tempted to say yes.

I sip my coffee as I stride over to Dress to Impress and swing open the door. The doorbell chimes a fairy tales trill.

“Right on time.”

Kelly dresses a mannequin in the window display. She glances out the window and back at me. “Everything okay?”

How much did she witness? I point to the blue dress she’s draping. “That’s gorgeous. One of yours?”

She stares at me for a moment. The debate she’s waging whether to press for details or allow me to change the subject is clear by her slightly wrinkled forehead, narrowed eyes, and pursed pink lips.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” She steps down and walks over.

“What are you doing here in New Hampshire? Why aren’t you a famous fashion designer in New York or Paris?”

“I did my stint in both and couldn’t cut it. This suits me better.”

I glance back at the dress in the window. The stitching is invisible. The material shimmers. I can easily picture a model wearing it strutting down the runway.

“You’re so talented. I believe you can succeed anywhere you want to.”

She presses the tips of her fingers against my forearm. “Thanks, but Dress to Impress is all I need. It satisfies my creative outlet, and I get to buy beautiful clothes to sell as well.”

“I do love coming in here. Every time I do, I see so many things I want to try on.”

“That’s exactly the point.”

I laugh as I follow her to the rear of the store, past rack after rack of beautiful clothes. There’s a circular raised platform in the center. Thick white curtains drape over the dressing rooms on the left side of the room. A white and gold loveseat and chairs occupy the right side.
“You’ve really got a ‘fairy tale princess’ vibe going back here. I like it.”

Kelly glances over her shoulder. “I have a weakness for fairy tales, and what bride doesn’t want to feel like a princess on her special day? Or a teenager going to prom? Or even dressing up for a special dinner and wanting the perfect dress? I kept the decor simpler in the front so the clothes are the chief attraction, but back here I indulged.”

“It works.” There’s a tall golden urn on a pedestal in the corner. “You know, hydrangeas and some long grasses would look great in that urn. We could do silk if you don’t want the expense of replacing them often.”

“That would be great. Can you work up a proposal for me?”

“Absolutely.”

“I have your bridesmaid dress hanging in here.” She stops next to an open dressing room. The light blue dress fills the entire lower half of the cream wall.
“Did it get bigger?”

Kelly laughs and glances at the dress. “No, but it will once you put it on with the train and puffed sleeves.”

“Lord, when I told Franny she should have her dream wedding and not worry about finding bridesmaid dresses we could wear again, I never envisioned this would be the result.” At first, she had insisted the bridesmaids all choose their own dresses as long as they were the same shade of blue. Sky blue like the eyes of Mitch, her fiancé. But Lucinda knew Franny wanted to recreate a wedding set at the turn of the nineteenth century. Sisterly love or the job of the wedding planner slash maid of honor? Either way, once she’d told Olivia and me what Franny really wanted, we could hardly refuse. After all, it’s the responsibility of the bridesmaids to help ensure the bride’s special day is perfect.

I step into the dressing area and set my purse on the white corner shelf.

“I’ll take that.” Kelly removes the coffee cup from my hand. “You’ll get it back after you try on the dress.”

I frown and snatch back the cup and chug the rest. “There, the dress is safe.”

She shakes her head and takes the cup I hold out. The rings at the top of the curtains rattle against the gold-colored metal rod holding them up as she slides them closed.

I’m down to my skivvies and pulling on the special slip when a throat clears outside the dressing area.

“So, now that I know you’re not going to bolt, what is the deal with you and Ian? No one can miss the bantering between you two at the business meetings, and I saw you talking to him outside.”

I pause mid-step with the slip half on. Kelly and I are what I’d call friendly acquaintances. I like her well enough, but I’m not ready to divulge all the sordid details of my relationship with Ian Flannigan.

“Nothing to tell.” If I didn’t believe attending the town’s small business group meetings was so vital to my business, I would’ve quit the first time I’d walked in the door and spotted Ian. I’d nearly fallen on my ass. I’d grabbed the door frame of the conference room and was on the verge of hyperventilating. I’m sure my eyes had bugged out of my face like a cartoon character while I debated if it was too late to move back to New York. His gaze had landed on me and widened with recognition. When he grinned, I’d let go of the door, raised my chin, and did my best to ignore him.

“None of my business, huh?” She sighs. “The way he stares at you when you’re not looking makes me want to fan myself. If a guy looked at me like that, I’d be grinning like the Cheshire Cat.”

I yank the dress off the hook. “He’s available. Why don’t you ask him out?”

A soft snort sounds outside the curtain. “There’s an interesting idea.”

The dress snags over my raised arms and head. I can’t grab it with my hands, so I wiggle and scrunch my shoulders. It doesn’t budge an inch. “Damn it!”

“Problem?”

“I’m stuck.”

Kelly pokes her head in and chuckles. She steps in and tugs the dress down into place. I stare at the top of her light brown head while she fluffs and smooths the skirt of the dress. She’s an attractive woman. Ian would be a fool to turn her down if she asks him out.

My stomach clenches.

If the two of them started dating, then he’d stop asking me out—exactly what I’ve been telling him I want for a year and a half.

She fastens the dress while I stare into the gold-framed mirror in the corner of the dressing room. It’s a beautifully elegant dress with a detailed floral design. Delicate lace accents the top. My brown hair just grazes my jaw line—I’ll have to wear it up to stay in style with the dress. I should suggest a floral spray to clip in our hair to Lucinda and Olivia.

Kelly’s an inch or two taller than me and gazes over my shoulder at our reflection. They’d be a stunning couple.
I grind my back teeth together and clench my hands into fists.

Why the hell does the image of Ian and Kelly together make me want to punch something?