The final book in the Book Nirvana Trilogy released 4/24. Want a peek at Elmer & Margot’s snarky, spicy love tale? Edition 1 won the IDA Award for Best Erotic Romance, and Edition 2 is even better!
Margot is working at Book Nirvana, helping her elderly friend and mentor Maxie, who’s got matchmaking on her mind as she introduces another of her artistic protegees, Elmer Byrne.
That fuzzy, flame-colored beard of his must tickle. What would it feel like brushing against my bare skin or nestled between my thighs?
I bite my lip hard. Gotta get my head, and the rest of my horny body, out of the red room.
The guy turns toward me and grins. Is it just my imagination, or do his eyes flash when they meet mine? Warm hazel eyes, thickly lashed and sparkling with playful energy.
A happy little vibration twitches the corners of my mouth upward—until I recognize him.
Oh, yuck. This guy. I’ve seen him hanging around the shop, flirting with my co-worker Laurel, all swaggering, macho bullshit. I recall how Dalton, Laurel’s boyfriend, tensed like an angry stork and glared at the shorter, buffer man.
Maxie waves. “Margot, you remember Elmer? He gave me a ride.” She nudges him with her bony elbow. “Isn’t he cute?”
Yeah, real cute. And he knows it.
“How’s it going, Margot?” His grin widens as his gaze flicks over my body.
Creep.
But there’s no way to avoid his extended hand without offending Maxie, so I take it. Warm, callused, his grip firm but not too tight. A tattoo of a foaming beer mug adorns his wrist. Pretty muscles flex beneath the copper hair on his forearm.
Feet on the ground, DuPont. You’ve got no time for flirtatious fuzz-beards.
Maxie’s merry gaze flicks from her ginger friend to me. “He’s exhibiting at the Rainbow Center on Saturday.” She grins up at him. “Margot helped Laurel design that poster for the art show.”
His eyebrows rise. “That’s your work? Really nice.”
I shake my head. “It’s Laurel’s work. I just helped with the graphic design software.”
His freckled brow rumples. “Graphic design? Like ads and words and stuff?”
Curling my lip, I prepare for battle with yet another snooty artist who looks down his precious nose at graphic arts, like nothing with words or photos could ever count as real art.
“I make stuff everyone sees, not just rich people in art galleries.” I step closer, glaring. “Posters for community events, book covers, the logo for this shop, and its website and signage and—”
He raises both hands and backs away. “Relax, angry elf. I wasn’t putting down your work, okay? I said I like the poster. Jeesh.”
Maxie’s painted-on auburn brows rumple. “Margot, I’m surprised at you.”
That stings. I guess I’m still smarting from the whole interview debacle. I stare glumly at my boots. “Yeah, well, I’m sick of snobby artists.”
Elmer crosses his athletic arms over his impressive pecs. “I’m not one of them.”
My face flushes hot. “Okay, cool. Sorry I snapped. So, um, what are you exhibiting at the show?”
“Ceramics. Beer steins, mostly. Donated a dozen to the Rainbow Arts Center.” He winks, my dig seemingly forgotten. “If someone likes my stuff, maybe they’ll order a complete set.”
Beer mugs? Definitely not snooty.
Embarrassment drills deeper into my skull while the pretty potter smooches Maxie’s cheek.
“Well, gotta shove off. Max, I’ll pick you up at ten on Saturday. Ladies.” He pantomimes lifting a hat brim, then ambles toward the door.
Maxie prods my boot with her cane. “Why’d you bite his head off? He’s a nice boy. You should ask him out.”
I lower my voice, since Ginger Muscles is taking his sweet time to exit the bookshop. “Max, I’m not looking to date right now. Especially not that guy.”
“What’s wrong with Elmer?”
“I’ve seen him in action. He flirts for sport. I’m not gonna be anyone’s plaything.”
The doorway bell tinkles as Elmer exits the shop. Laurel looks up from wiping the counter. “You want to wait in the café, Aunt Maxie? I’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course, doll.” Maxie totters toward the coffee shop next door.
I join Laurel behind the counter and watch through the plate-glass window as Elmer crosses the street and unlocks his rust-bucket pickup. “Pain in the ass, isn’t he?”
Nice ass, though. Firm and crunchy.
Laurel chuckles. “Oh, he’s not so bad. I think he just flirts out of habit, like some people nibble their nails or twiddle their hair.” She straights a pile of flyers. “Margot, do you—um…”
“What?”
“Do you date guys?”
What’s she up to?
“Sometimes. Why?”
Laurel glances at Elmer’s truck, now chugging up Willamette Street. “On his way out, he asked about you.”
“Oh, so I should date him, get him off your back?” I scrub my fingers through my hair. “No thanks.”
“Well, I hope you’ll come to the art show anyway. I’m running the race at ten, but I’ll be helping with the set-up beforehand.” She cracks a crooked smile. “I’ll do my best to corral Elmer. But I’ve gotta warn you—once he sets his mind on you, he’s persistent.”
“Don’t worry.” I square my shoulders. “I can handle pushy guys. I know how to push back.”
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