Page 9 of The Christmas Arrangement

He’s studying me back with a spark of … something … in his warm brown eyes. I force myself to hold his gaze levelly and pretend not to notice the heat creeping up my neck to my cheeks under his scrutiny.

As a ghostly pale redhead and a certified shy person, everything makes me flush. So it’s not exactly surprising that I’ve been blushing nonstop under the sustained attention of one of the most gorgeous, most famous men on the planet. Unbidden, the image of his bare butt pops into my mind in all its naked glory, and my skin blazes.

What’s redder than Rudolph’s nose? That’s gotta be my face right now.

Part of me wants to flee the barn, jump in the truck, and drive back to town. But most of me is wildly curious. And that part wins.

“I don’t understand are you asking me out? Aren’t you here to announce your relationship with Lia Campbell?”

“There’s been a development.”

“What kind of development?”

“She’s not coming. So there’s not going to be an announcement.”

The low timbre of his voice, somewhere between a purr and a growl, pins me to the spot even as the words register and my excitement at breathing the same air as Dash Pine dissipates.

“What about all this?” I gesture around the barn.

If I have to eat the cost of all these blooms, I’ll be pinching pennies until the Fourth of July. Probably longer. Panic sends my brain into overdrive. Ideas to sell the flowers and recover some of my money tumble around in my brain, colliding into each other and bouncing off my skull—I can set up a flower cart at the tree lighting, partner with Merry for dessert and flower arrangement special, partner with Holly for a bail hearing and flower arrangement special, drive around to the funeral homes in the valley and hawk flowers to mourners, something.

He’s still watching me, so I try to arrange my expression into something other than abject horror. But my facial muscles are numb, like I’ve had a shot of novocaine. Actually, I’m tingly all over.

I must be having an out-of-body experience. Or I’m in shock at prospect of having to load a thousand-plus flowers back into the pickup truck and figure out what to do with them. Yeah, that’s probably it. Shock.

Then Dash says in that same growly voice, “Unless you agree to date me.”

“What?” Even in a single syllable my bafflement comes through loud and clear.

“Only for a week. Just when the cameras are around.”

“Pretend to date you, you mean?”

“Sure, you could put it that way.”

“No, thank you,” I say as politely as I can.

He throws me an incredulous look. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” I assure him.

“I don’t understand the problem.”

“You don’t? Then maybe I don’t understand what you’re proposing. I thought I heard you say you want me to pose as your girlfriend. Do I have that wrong?”

“No, you’ve got it right. Glad we could clear that up.” He turns up the wattage on his smile, momentarily distracting me with his impossibly white teeth.

When I gather my wits, I narrow my eyes. “Hard pass.”

“Why?”

“Um, maybe because you’re dating Lia Campbell. You came here to announce your relationship to the world, she can’t make it, so you’re willing to throw that all away? I’m not about to get caught up in that mess.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’ve had some recent less-than-favorable publicity.”

“Bootygate?” I deadpan.

He groans. “You have heard.”