Rules Of Engagement

19

Originating somewhere just south of my belly button, an intense wave of heat spreads throughout my body, crackling over my skin and lighting every nerve on fire.

Auntie Waldine awakens with a snort.

“Hoo!” she declares, sending me a pointed look. “It’s hotter’n Hades in here all of a sudden!” My voice comes out strangled. “Must be that flu going around.”

“The flu?” She cackles. “Oh, child.”

At that exact moment, Bettina Walters saunters past, booty swaying. She never fails to arrive late so she can make a grand entrance, because why bother with church if you’re not going to be seen?

And seen she is. An entire congregation of eyeballs swings in her direction and follows her as she makes her way slowly up the main aisle to her favorite spot in the front pew.

Her dress is electric purple, low cut, and so clingy she might as well be wearing plastic wrap for all it leaves to the imagination.

At the end of the aisle, smack dab in front of the altar, she drops her glittery little handbag.

“Oh!” she cries, then leans forward to pick it up—without bending her knees. Which means her big purple bottom is thrust out lewdly like a pair of overripe plums for all the males in the sanctuary to gape at.

I have to stop myself from shouting, “Come on!”

Beside me, Mason watches Bettina’s rump with eagle eyes, sharp and unblinking.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I WILL NOT care.

Only I do care, though I’m loath to admit it, and I know exactly why.

Bettina Walters is the kind of woman men can’t resist. She’s sexy. Flirty. Luscious, and knows it. She’s everything I’m not, from the top of her highlighted head to the tips of her expensive stilettos. She’s a cherry red Ferrari and I’m a pre-owned Subaru: reliable and economical, practical and dull.

Boring.

Auntie Waldine leans over me and whispers to Mason, “That there’s the lady I was tellin’ you about, Mason.”

I mutter, “Lady. Pfft.”

Ignoring me, Auntie Waldine goes on. “Bettina’s mighty pretty, don’t you agree?”

Mason replies with a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

Hmm my butt! He thinks she’s the hottest tamale he’s ever seen.

I snatch the bible from the pocket on the back of the pew and flip through it like I’m searching for the psalm the pastor’s reading so I can follow along, instead of looking for a distraction from my growing aggravation with my meddling aunt.

We’re going to have a nice, long talk later on about her role as my office assistant and how it doesn’t include her taking matchmaking matters into her own hands.

I glance down at the page the Bible fell open to and have to suppress a dark laugh when I see the commandments. Thou shalt not kill jumps out at me like a personal warning.

God must realize I’ve begun compiling a list.

The rest of the sermon is a blur. I stand when I’m supposed to, sing along when I’m supposed to, and bow my head at the right times. Only I do it all on autopilot, my brain preoccupied with thoughts of Mason falling prey to the evil clutches of Bettina.

Even if he doesn’t believe in love and only wants a wife to help his career, he doesn’t deserve a woman like that. Nobody does.

But I can’t stop the meeting, and I can’t stop Bettina from being catnip for men, so the only thing I’m going to be able to do is stand by and watch as Mason sticks his foot right into her bear trap.

His foot and other body parts.

By the time mass is over, I’m completely depressed.

“Yoo-hoo! Oh, Bettina! Come on over here, hun!”

As the congregation files past us out the doors, Auntie Waldine stands on her tippy toes and waves her handkerchief frantically, grinning like an i***t as she tries to flag her target down. Mason and I stand silently beside her at the end of the pew and watch as Bettina catches sight of us.

When she notices Mason, she does a double-take so sharp I’m surprised her head doesn’t snap right off her shoulders.

“Here we go,” I say under my breath as Bettina starts to shove her way through the crowd, her eager gaze pinned on Mason, her smile shark-like.

Mason says cheerfully, “She sure looks friendly.”

“Oh, she’s friendly all right. Make sure you double wrap your carrot before you stick it in that dip.”

He doesn’t respond, but his smile looks mysteriously smug. Probably because he’s remembering he just bought a brand new package of condoms and stashed half of them in his wallet. The beast.

Cool it, Maddie. If the man wants to ruin his life, that’s his business.

“Well, hellooo,” purrs Bettina, sidling up to Auntie Waldine but making googly eyes at Mason.

“So good to see you again, Waldine. Who’s your handsome friend?”

Completely ignoring me, Bettina bats her lashes at Mason. So hard she’d probably take off, if it weren’t for her substantial cleavage weighing her down.

“This here’s Mason Spark. He’s a friend of Maddie’s.”

Bettina’s glossy red lips part. Her baby blue eyes widen. She puts a hand to her throat and says in a thrilled whisper, “The Mason Spark? Of the Pioneers?”

Her astonished, starry-eyed expression has its intended effect: Mason looks like a cat stroked down its back.

“The very same,” he drawls. “Are you a football fan, Bettina?”