by Alice Bello
Oh brother. I so didn’t want to start down this road… and certainly not with him, Mr. Swaggering Peacock.
“The secret to your coffee,” I said, irritation clear in my voice.
“Oh, well… my mother taught me this secret when I was but a little boy—”
“So just a couple years ago, huh?” I smiled at him. Come on, I couldn’t just let that one slide. “I’m surprised you’re allowed to play with hot things.”
He didn’t move, and nothing about him seemed to change…
But all of a sudden the look he was leveling at me was scorching hot, hungry, and spine-tinglingly predatory.
Slowly he took in a breath, and then said, “I play with hot things all the time. You should try it sometime.”
It felt as if the temperature of the room had spiked to a hundred and ten, and even though he hadn’t moved a muscle—any of his simply yummy looking muscles—it felt as if he was too close, way too close…
And part of me didn’t seem to mind.
My next breath came in a gasp, and I broke eye contact with the bastard.
Not going to happen… I was not going to go down that road.
I closed my eyes, searching for the darkness it usually afforded me—but there he was, that predatory look in his eyes. That look made him the biggest, baddest wolf on the planet, blowing Billy’s glower right out of the water.
It was like the difference between a roaring fire in your fireplace, and a forest fire.
Oh boy, was I in the wrong damn place with the wrong-est man alive.
“So, what smells so good?” I said, walking away from him and looking at a long loaf of some kind of bread cooling on a shiny metal rack. The rack was suspended in the air with four identical white coffee mugs.
Didn’t the man own a mug that didn’t belong to a matching set?
My mind drifted on a fun thought, of buying him a novelty mug, probably from Spencer’s, probably an insulting one.
“That’s zucchini bread.”
My nose wrinkled up at the thought.
“It’s my mother’s recipe… with a few, minor changes.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll bet.”
He pulled a perfectly white, perfectly plain dish from his cupboard—the thing was filled with those bland, boring dishes—and then pulled out an eight inch bread knife.
I gulped seeing such a big, dangerous looking thing in the man’s hand. It was just yesterday that he’d been trying to chainsaw down my sycamore tree.
He caught my unease. “Nervous?” he teased.
I shook my head and took another drink of his amazing coffee. What the hell did he put in there?
“Just surprised you feel you need to overcompensate on every front, whether it’s your car, your hair,”—I glanced up at the semi Mohawk on top of his head—“or your bread knife.”
“That’s just style, chica…” he said, his tone serious and even. “It has nothing to do with content.”
That… wasn’t the comeback I had expected.
“So,” he said as he sliced off a thick piece of the delectable smelling, but gross to contemplate zucchini bread, slid it on a plate and handed it to me. “What upset you so much you forgot you hate me,”—he gave me a knowing look—“and sent you over here to mooch coffee off me?”
I glowered at him as he sliced off another piece and pulled it apart with his long, strong fingers…
What did he do for a living again? Did it have something to do with those hands?
Well, duh! Almost every job on earth involved the use of your hands.
I glared one more time and then took a nibble of the bread.
Oh god it was good… it was really, really good. I took another, much bigger bite, and chewed slowly, savoring the warm, lovely explosion of taste on my tongue.
I looked at him. He was waiting, that infuriating smirk firmly fixed on his face.
Damn him. How could I hate someone that could make such good coffee, and bread this yummy!
I rolled my eyes. “Work.”
He pursed his thick, soft looking lips.
Bastard was so much prettier than I was.
Wasn’t freaking fair.
“Bette tells me you’re a photographer.”
Bette? The traitor!
I closed my eyes and bit my lip. I so wasn’t going to tell my woes to this… this…
“You aren’t going to have a stroke or anything?”
My eyes snapped open, and he was giving me that look you give the mentally challenged.
“No,” I said tartly. “I’m just wondering why the hell I’m telling you anything.”
He did this shrug thing, which between his subtle body movements and his placid expression, said nothing and everything all at the same time.
Good god, this man was maddening!
“Out of nowhere my boss has decided to hold a little party, in one of the Hilton’s big old ballrooms, where I’m going to be on display—with my work—to try and lure a bunch of bestselling authors to the publishing house.”
“And?” he said, cutting me another piece of zucchini bread.
I bit my lip. Why was I telling him all this?
I let out a long, slow breath. “I’m an artist… a photographer.”
He nodded.
“I’m not some kind of performer. I can’t sing these people a song and charm them into anything.”
He smiled wryly, “You’re right on that count.”
Oh, screw you!
“I… I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Janine’s counting on me.”
“Janine’s your boss?”
“Yes. And somehow she’s gotten it into her head that I’m going to be able to get these women to leave their rather successful self publishing careers and sign with her.”
“And you’re feeling some performance anxiety?”
I glared at him. He and Bette could make anything sound perverted.
“You could say that.” I let my head fall back as the other weight pressed down on my shoulders. “Plus one of the authors is bringing her personal cover artist with her. And… he’s famous, and successful, and utterly brilliant at what he does. A real artist. And if I don’t wow the crowd more than he does…”
I just couldn’t say it.
“Then he might replace you.”
My head fell so far forward that my chin touched my collarbone.
“Pretty much.” I took another mouthwatering bite of zucchini bread, and mumbled, “I’ve gotta find a sexy dress and a sexy date by next week for this party too.”
He nodded.
Oh god this was hopeless.
But the zucchini bread was getting better with every bite. “Can I take some of this home when I leave?”
He nodded again. “Sure. I was saving those bananas for tomorrow,” he pointed to a bowl that held—ick!—some rotten bananas.
I looked to him, horrified. “I don’t want you to have to eat rotten fruit.”
His eyes went wide.
“I can go buy you some more food if there’s a… a problem?”
He started to smile, and then he started to laugh. “No, I’m not out of food. You just have to let the bananas get over ripened before you can make them into banana nut bread.”
Oh…
“You don’t cook much, do you?”
I shook my head. “But I’m great with a phone and a carry out menu.”
He stood there for a beat, just staring at me. “I’ll bet.”
I had to remember to breathe. I took a step back.
He chuckled.
“I can’t help you with the dress. Maybe Bette… or one of my sisters could take you shopping.”
“That’s a good idea.” And way better than trying to find one myself.
“But I can help you out with your other problem.”
I stared at him, waiting, but he just stared back.
“What other problem?” I finally asked.
“Finding a sexy date f
or the party,” he said.
I still just stared. “Who?” I hoped he wasn’t considering hiring one of his construction crew to take me to the party.
His brow furrowed and he made a fairly displeased sound.
“I meant me.”
I blinked, suddenly not understanding simple English. What on earth was he saying?
“Huh?”
He scowled and tilted his head, looking at me like I was mentally challenged, crossing his un-tattoo adorned arm over his tattoo adorned arm.
I licked my lips just watching the muscles in his forearms—his biceps and triceps—flex enticingly.
Then I looked up into his gorgeous face. Dark brown eyes—almost black—accented by the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man or woman. Flawless deeply tanned skin that seemed to glow with health, and the most kissably thick, curvaceous lips.
Then it hit me what he was saying.
I closed my eyes, inwardly saying every curse word I knew. I couldn’t take him to the party. Except for the last ten minutes he had been the biggest asshole I’d ever met. If I let him anywhere near my career he’d find an excruciatingly evil, painful way of ruining it for me.
Or, the sexy bastard might just go off and have sex with someone, maybe even one of the authors, and then what would I do? I’d be humiliated to the point I’d have to quit.
“No way,” I blurted.
He added some pique to his scowl. “Why not? You said you need a sexy date.” He opened his arms and gestured to himself like he was a prize on The Price is Right. “Don’t I fit the bill?”
Danger, danger!!! Obviously he was, but I was not, not, not going to tell him that I thought he was. No way in hell. The sneaky bastard would find some way to use it against me.
I gulped, bit the inside of my cheek, and then took a deep breath.
“Thank you for the offer, but I can find my own date for the party.” See, I can be diplomatic… even when talking to a gorgeous, attempted-tree-murdering maniac.
“Aha…” he said, his eye brows rising in a clear sign of not believing me.
“Yeah, sure. I know at least five guys that would love to go out with me.” Lie, lie, lie… I knew no one, especially a sexy guy that would go out with me if I asked them.
Wait, maybe I should go to Wal-Mart…
But a shockingly detailed mini movie trailer of my recent failure in the love department of Wal-Mart flashed through my head. It actually made my chest hurt.
“So what day is this party?” he asked.
I had to think. Oh sweet Jesus, it was in five days.
“Five days,” I mumbled.
He smiled and reached for his coffee, taking a languid sip.
“That’s plenty of time to find someone. I’ll probably have a guy by this afternoon.”
He shook his head pitiably. “So you’re going to call an escort agency, is that it?”
How the hell did he know about Vinny?
Oh, wait. He didn’t mean a model agency, he meant…
“You see,” I said, plunking my now empty coffee cup down hard on his polished granite counter—nice counter space, by the way. “I could never take you anywhere, especially anywhere near the people I work with. I’d have to quit on the spot just from the humiliation you would cause me.”
“You think I can’t behave myself in a public environment?”
It was my turn to scowl, planting my hands on my hips. “You can’t behave yourself for the duration of a cup of coffee.”
His dark eyes darted to my empty cup and back to me. His lips quirked in a smirk.
“Fine, you made it through an entire cup of coffee, but you lapsed right back to your… your smart-assed ways right after. You’d have to be good for hours. You really think you can do that?”
He took a step closer to me, making it so I’d have to look up at him even more.
Why, oh why, was everyone taller than me?
I could smell him. Not cologne, but whatever primal scent he naturally exuded. A couple of sniffs and I started to feel hot all over.
He was too damn close.
“You’ll find, if you’re very lucky, that I can do many things… for hours at a time.”
I gulped again, and took a step back… and tried to pick up the aroma of the zucchini bread to wash his scent away with.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat while I took another step back. “T-that’s okay, really. Thanks again for the offer. But I’ll be fine.” I ran into the counter, not watching where I was backing up into.
I jumped, and made a little squealing sound as I whirled around to make sure it was just the counter I’d run into. You never knew, he might have another homicidal maniac just like him roaming around the house.
When I turned back Raphael had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand casually covering his infuriating smirk. But he was chuckling: I could see his shoulders and chest rising a falling in little jerks… the big jerk!
I took a big breath, luckily getting a lungful of zucchini bread scented air instead of infuriatingly sexy man smell.
They should make that into an air freshener for your car… in the shape of, well, him…
But then I’d never be able to drive my car. I’d be sure to have an accident if I inhaled too many of the man’s fumes.
Ha! I smiled at that. The man’s fumes…
“Thank you for the coffee, and the offer… but I’ve got to go back home now.”
I turned and dashed for the back door, grabbing the knob like it was a life preserver and I was sinking on the Titanic.
I turned the knob, well, tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. So I tried to just pull the door off its hinges. Which didn’t work… I’m not the Hulk.
“It’s locked,” he said slowly, as if he were explaining it to a small child. “If you turn the little thingy in the middle of the knob, it will unlock.”
I nodded my head and shot him a rueful, totally fake smile. I got the little latch thing to turn on the first try and yanked the door open, making it bang noisily against the nearest counter.
I jerked and winced at the sound. I was just lucky I hadn’t broken the glass in the door with that.
I had one foot out the door when he said, “Hope, wait.”
I stopped, frozen, as if I were a deer in headlights. I turned and looked at him.
He had the knife in his hand again… and a large dish. With practiced skill he used the knife to slide the remainder of what was left of the loaf of zucchini bread onto the plate—which was most of a whole loaf—and with a careless nonchalance he pulled some plastic wrap out of a drawer and wrapped the dish over with it.
He stood there and held out the bread to me. “You forgot your bread.”
Shiiit…
I so didn’t want to get one step closer to the man. I didn’t trust him… I didn’t trust myself either.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, fuck!
How do I get myself into these kinds of fixes?
Easy, you came over here.
Whose side are you on, anyways?
I shook my head. This was a no brainer. I would just turn back around and leave. I had plenty of bread at home…
But that wasn’t just bread; that was one of the most delicious things I’d ever had in my mouth.
Way to double-entendre yourself!
And you don’t even need Mr. Winky…
Shuuuuuut… Up!
I edged slowly toward him, with ever step ready to jerk away and run for the door.
Finally I was close enough to reach out and take the dish from him. I had my eyes trained on him, so I didn’t watch where my hand was going, so when I took the bread from him our fingers grazed each other.
An electric shock went through me and I jerked back and used that momentum to head for the door. I wasn’t even going to close it behind myself, I just wanted out of there and as far away from Raphael Morales as possible.
“And Hope?” he said just as
I was about to pass out of his kitchen. I stopped but didn’t look back. I could tell he had that smirk on his face. “Call me if you don’t find a date for the party. I’ll leave that night open for you.”
I closed my eyes and felt a dark doom fall over me. What if I didn’t find a date in time? What would be worse, taking him, or showing up alone?
I opened my eyes and walked through the doorway, pulling it shut behind me.
Chapter 9: Jake
I’m not a stalker. And I hadn’t intended on doing a drive by, not initially. I was just taking the little Escort I’d slipped an alternator into for a little test drive, just to make sure it charged right before I sent it off with its owner.
But since I was out, and somehow I’d driven all but a couple blocks toward Hope’s neighborhood, and I was in an unknown car—okay, that does sound kind of suspicious…
I turned onto her street and immediately wanted to turn around. This was crazy obsessed stalker shit, and I was too damn old—almost thirty—to be pulling the infatuated teenager routine.
I drove forward. Making a U-turn would only attract attention. If I just zipped down the street and didn’t stop to gawk at her place, maybe I could just forget I’d even come here.
Passing by her new neighbor’s (the asshole) house, I looked over to it and hit the brakes.
Shiiit… there she was, walking straight toward his backdoor.
What the hell?
She looked upset too.
Hope disappeared around the back of the asshole’s house, and I just about flipped out, ready to jump out of the little car and follow her. I was so going to punch the living daylights out of that guy.
But I thought she hated him? They’d looked pretty quarrelsome the yesterday…
Yeah, but that was passion too. Passion could change from hate to lust like flicking a switch.
I’d pulled the Escort over in front of the asshole’s house, and was just about to get out and head for his backdoor when I spotted the sleek white of Bette’s immaculate Cadillac.
I ducked down behind the dash, keeping an eye on the advancing Caddy. Maybe she’d been too far away, or distracted, to see me sitting here.
As the Caddy swung around and into her driveway, she didn’t show any sign that she’d seen me. Bringing the luxury automobile to a tire screeching halt, she popped out of the driver’s side door, balanced delicately on stiletto high heels. She sashayed to the back of the car as the trunk popped open, and then bent over at the waist to retrieve some multicolored shopping bags.