Nerd Gone Wild (Nerds, #3)(6)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

“Me?” Clyde got red in the face and drew himself to his full height of at least five-four. “You’re calling me insensitive? I put aside an excellent caribou steak for your dinner! And now you’re leaving!”

“Did I ask you to do that?”

“Yes, you most certainly did. This morning when I saw you over at Heavenly Provisions.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Did not. Clyde, I’m leaving now. Ally and Mitchell, let’s go.”

“Did, too!” Clyde called after them. “Standing right by the smoked salmon on special!”

Ignoring him, Betsy led the way out of the Top Hat. Ally had the presence of mind to grab her backpack from the corner where she’d stashed it before she followed Betsy out the door. At first Betsy blocked some of the wind, but once she moved away from the door, the arctic blast belting Ally in the face made her gasp.

Ducking her head, she leaned into the wind.

“Jesus!” Behind her, Mitchell came out the door and it slammed behind him with a heavy clunk. “How does anybody stand this?”

Ally wondered the same thing. The wind brought tears that froze to her cheeks. But she’d never admit to anyone, especially Mitchell, that she found the weather intimidating. This was her first full day. She’d get used to it. By next winter, she’d spit in the face of a wind like this.

But not tonight. And not literally. Anybody who spit into this wind would get stabbed in the eye when that spit came back as an icicle. She’d never been so cold in her life.

She’d be willing to eat roadkill moose-meat pie for the privilege of getting warm again. Even more significant, she’d be willing to end up in a kitchen alone with Mitchell if she were guaranteed a toasty place with zero wind.

Ah, Mitchell. What a dork. She hated the idea of hurting the tender feelings of any human being, but Mitchell had to face facts. Despite his delectable-looking mouth and his sense of rhythm, despite the glint of humor that had made him seem semi-sexy for a split second, he was still Mitchell the Nerd. And she would never, ever, in a million, trillion years, be his main squeeze.

* * *

Mitch wondered what he’d done to deserve this—plowing his way through nut-numbing wind and snow so that he could dine on roadkill. He’d tried to live a decent life, pay taxes, contribute to charity, and support the Dodgers, win or lose. He recycled. He’d thought his reward for all that had been Madeline Jarrett hiring him. It appeared that, instead, he was being punished for some unforgivable transgression.

He should be working on whatever story he planned to tell Ally once they were alone, but his brain was frozen solid. Madeline had made it very clear that he was not to reveal that he’d been hired to guard Ally unless her life was in immediate danger. A woman like Ally, Madeline had said, would hate the idea of a bodyguard and would sabotage his efforts if she knew about them.

This damn weather was enough sabotage to deal with. If he had to live in a place like this—which would never happen, but say he was forced at gunpoint by aliens with superhuman strength—then he’d construct a series of heated tunnels between buildings so that he never had to go outside in the winter.

He trudged along behind Ally, who seemed to be using Betsy as a windbreak. Mitch didn’t blame her. As the tallest member of the three blind mice, he caught the gale full in the face, or what used to be his face. He couldn’t feel his lips anymore. When he finally got inside, they might crack and fall off.

After what seemed like about a hundred years, Betsy opened the front door of the Loose Moose and they all funneled inside, stomping their boots on the mat in front of the door. Stomping was good, Mitch decided. If he stomped hard enough, he might get some circulation back in his toes.

“Hang your coats on that rack by the door and stick your boots underneath the bench.” Betsy unzipped her coat and flipped back her hood. “With you two being the only ones in the lodge, you might as well use that spot for your stuff, instead of letting it drip all the way up the stairs. I’ll go on back to the kitchen and turn on the oven.”

Ally’s teeth chattered as she took off her coat and draped it over a brass hook by the door. “I wonder if I c-could c-crawl in the oven with the moose-meat pie.”

Mitch itched to tell her I told you so, but he didn’t. He needed her to like him a little bit so she wouldn’t dig in her heels at every suggestion he made. “Does Betsy have a dog?” He hung up his coat beside hers. God, it was orange. It hurt his eyes every time he looked at it.

“I haven’t seen a dog since I’ve been here.” Ally sat down on the bench and tugged off her boots. The extreme cold seemed to have sobered her right up. “Why?”

He lowered his voice. “We need a way to make the moose-meat pie disappear.”

“I’m thinking the garbage disposal. But then what will we eat? I really am hungry.”

“Yeah, me, too. Maybe we can find some bread and peanut butter in her cupboards.” He was a little sorry to watch tipsy Ally being replaced by in-control Ally. She might be more of a problem for him under the influence, but she sure was funny.

She thought he’d been paralyzed by humiliation back at the Top Hat, when in fact he’d been clenching his jaw to keep from laughing. When she’d sent her loaded question sailing right into that moment of dead silence, he’d nearly lost it. Talk about hilarious.

Now that he was thawing out, he could appreciate it all over again, except he had to be careful not to start smiling for no apparent reason. People tended to get nervous around that kind of behavior. He sat down next to Ally and began taking off his boots, too.

“Whatever you do, don’t let on that you’re not looking forward to eating her special dish,” she said.

He was offended that she’d even feel the need to warn him. “You think I’m that much of a social klutz?” Then he realized that she probably did think so. And he had made that remark about roadkill, which had popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“I just want to make sure we don’t insult Betsy’s cooking,” Ally said.

“Don’t worry. I won’t insult her cooking.” An aroma that wasn’t half bad drifted into the hotel lobby. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll like it.”

Ally shuddered. “I’ve never eaten anything that was hit by a logging truck.”

“I know what you mean. Personally, I’d rather stick with the stuff that was hit by a Toyota.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide. Then she broke into a slow grin. “I’ll be damned. You just made a joke.”

“Is there a law against that in Alaska?”

“I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Geez, that sounded awful. I meant to say that I’d never seen that side of you. You’re always so serious.”

“I’ve been dealing with serious business.”

“True.” She gripped the edge of the bench and swung her feet, which were covered with thick white socks. When she looked at him, her gaze was assessing, as if she’d never really observed him closely.

He fell back on nerdspeak. “Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been particularly appropriate for me to walk around the mansion cracking jokes.”

She nodded. “Although I probably could have used a few. Still, I see your point. When someone is handling an estate that size, he probably has to be careful about being funny.”

“I figured that.” He realized they’d never sat this close to each other, or spent this much time gazing into each other’s eyes. He should interrupt the moment before it got too cozy. But he didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever said this, but I’m grateful for the way you took care of all the details after Grammy died. I couldn’t have. I was a real basket case. Your calm attitude helped to keep me steady.”

Maybe that was why he’d continued to sit here, because he’d wanted that validation from her. Sure, he got paid well, but he liked knowing that he’d been of help. “I think she anticipated you would be very upset, which is why she brought me in.”

The longer they sat there, the more he found himself staring at her soft cheeks, tinged pink by the wind, and her full mouth, which had been rubbed free of all lipstick. Her eyes looked very green. It occurred to him that he was within kissing distance. The fact that he even thought of that showed how much trouble he was in.

Ally nodded. “She was always watching out for me. And a good part of the time I resented that.”

“You were all she had.” Unable to stop himself, he drifted closer to her.

“I know. And I did understand, but…”

“You felt smothered.” Not much distance remained between his mouth and hers.

“Yeah.” She didn’t move away. For some reason, she was acting as if she wouldn’t mind being kissed.

“Moose-meat pie is ready! Come and get it!” Betsy’s command galloped out from the kitchen, stampeding the possibilities starting to gather around the bench.

Ally smiled and stood. “Moose-meat’s on. We wouldn’t want to let it get cold.”

“Nope.” Mitch looked into her eyes and wondered if she felt the tiniest bit frustrated, too. “God knows I need something hot right now.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze simmered. “Me, too.” She turned and sashayed into the kitchen.

Mitch had to take a moment to control his reaction before he could stand up and follow her. Wow. So much for platonic.

* * *

Chapter Five

Kurt Jarrett stood nak*d in his bedroom in Anchorage, listening to the TV weather report and muttering to himself.

“Come on, Kurt, baby.” Vivian walked in front of him in full dominatrix gear, her boobs sticking out of their leather harness, her long legs encased in thigh-high boots with a four-inch heel. She wore a studded belt, but her crotch and ass were conveniently bare.

He wasn’t interested. “I don’t wanna.”

“But you will.” She jingled a bit and bridle. “Time to give mama a ride.”

“I don’t feel like it, Viv. This blizzard’s ruining everything.”

“Not ruining, Kurt. Delaying. Now quit whining and get on the floor.”

“What if Ally loses interest? I want to call her up at that lodge. Why can’t I call her?”

“We’ve been through all that.” Vivian tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder. “We don’t know how this will shake out, whether we go with Plan A or Plan B. If it turns out to be Plan B, we don’t want a bunch of phone logs showing up someday, now do we?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right. But if I can’t call her, then I need to drive up to Porcupine right away, while she’s still in the mood to let me help her with this photography thing.”

“Let’s talk about my mood.” Vivian flicked the tip of the reins sharply across his butt.

“Ouch!”

“I’m in the mood for a ride.” She snapped the tip of the rein, catching him again, but harder this time.

“That hurts, Viv!”

She laughed. “That’s the idea. You know you want it.”

“No I don’t.” But he did, and nobody knew that better than Vivian. “I can’t lose out on this money. She’s vulnerable right now. I can probably talk her into anything. But I need to strike while the iron is hot.”

“What a concept.” Vivian whipped both reins across his stinging butt. “On your knees, now!”

“I want it to stop snowing.” He slowly lowered himself to all fours. “My knees hurt. I’m too old for this.”

“Shut up and arch your back.” She stepped astride and settled herself. Then she forced the bit into his mouth and adjusted the bridle around his head.

He tried to act like none of that affected him, but the taste of metal made him hard. She was everything he wanted in a woman—tough, unshockable, insatiable… and refined. No matter what things she did to him, she never talked dirty. Kurt hated a foul-mouthed woman almost as much as he hated his dear departed stepmother, Madeline Jarrett.

Vivian pulled back sharply on the reins, stretching his mouth. Then she brought the reins down hard on his butt. “Buck, you wild stallion! And make it good or no treat for you!”

As she continued to whip him, he took her around the bedroom, bucking and arching his back while she rocked back and forth, whooping and hollering, getting her jollies until his backbone was slippery from all the fun she was having up there. The harder she whipped him, the more he felt like coming.

But after two years of playing these games with him, she knew right when to stop. Although she could come all she wanted, he wasn’t allowed until she told him he could. Sometimes she’d forbid him to come at all. Then he had to masturbate in secret and hope she didn’t find out. Once she’d caught him at it and he’d had to spend two days with his hands cuffed behind his back.

This time he thought she’d let him come, if only to cheer him up on account of the blizzard. Standing, she took off her studded belt and wrapped it around his neck with the studs pressing against his throat. Then she pulled the bit roughly from his mouth and tossed the bridle aside while she kept a firm grip on the belt around his neck.

Sitting on a leather ottoman, she spread her legs and used the belt to jerk his head into position. Her voice was harsh. “Do me!”

Her juices made the cuts on his mouth sting, but he knew better than to complain. If he did this part well, she might give him a treat. He set to work.

She tightened the belt around his neck. “Faster!”

He could barely breathe, but he licked faster, and she started to holler. He thought she might choke him to death, but finally she loosened her hold on the belt.