I Dream of Amy
by Kira Barcelo
Amanda Brindle's scheme of landing an account by dressing up as an ice cream mogul's logo— a scantily dressed genie—goes awry when she's delivered to the wrong address. Now she's snowed in with hunky Sheriff Jonah Vogel, who's got definite ideas about how to warm up during a blizzard!
Out of the box stepped, of all things, a genie. The only thing more scorching-hot would have been her bursting out of one of those crazy bachelor party cakes. His Coke, his book, his late dinner of a frozen pizza, all that peace and quiet he’d yearned for, that all got shot to hell as those little shoes with the curled-up toes brought her closer to him. Jonah stared at the curvalicious little refugee from a male fantasy, this golden-haired harem girl with her blue chiffon pants, see-through veils and coin-trimmed waist scarf. She stepped right up to him, holding something in the crook of her left arm, and gave a little bow. Up close, he could see she was holding a carton of Mint Chocolate Chip Delight Ice Cream.
Her lips parted in a naughty smile. “Don’t you wish you had some…ice cream?”
That question, together with her full and rounded bosom nearly popping out of that genie costume top, inspired a couple of very innovative uses for the frosty dessert. Any flavor, he didn’t care. He hadn’t been with a woman in some time, and this one had every nerve ending in his body fired up.
He cleared his throat. “Wow….”
Jonah could almost tell the very moment reality dawned on that sexy little kitten. He saw her look around, her smile fading, that hint of horror in her eyes.
“You’re not Mr. Whitley, are you?” she asked.
“Okay. So—so—who are you?”
“I’m Jonah Vogel. Sheriff Jonah Vogel.”
“Sheriff?” He watched her swallow hard. She was also shivering from the cold. Jonah supposed genie costumes weren’t meant to be worn in impending snowstorms. “Where’s Simon Whitley, the ice cream magnate?”
“In his home, I guess.”
“In his home? Where’s his home?” That was one flustered little genie.
“About half a mile, uh, that way.” Jonah pointed toward the north. “I think your friends dropped you off at the wrong house, Miss…uh…Genie.”
“Are you cold? Why don’t you come in the house and warm up?”
She ignored his offer, instead flinging the ice cream carton into the crate angrily. He was fascinated, watching her pat her sides and the pants’ waistband.
“Looking for something?” Jonah asked.
“My cell phone. I hope I didn’t leave it in the truck.” Groaning, she slapped her forehead. “Oh, I left it in the truck! Shit!”
Jonah flinched slightly. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he’d never gotten completely accustomed to women swearing, especially one as comely as this one.
“It’s not a big deal. You can come into the house and call them on my phone.”
“I can’t do that, either.”
“Because Bradley’s number was programmed into my phone. I don’t know it by heart. I know my boss’ by heart.”
“That’ll work. So call him.”
“Her,” the genie corrected him testily. “And I can’t do that. I can’t tell her this got all screwed up. That I screwed up. I can’t tell her that.”
“What got all screwed up? And where do you think you’re going?”
“To catch that truck before it gets any farther!”