“I—I’d tell you but—”
He held up a hand. “Yeah, I know how that one goes, but just so you know—”
He glanced past me as the door opened and an elderly man walked out, carrying with him the sounds of clinking silverware and chatter before the door closed behind him. Harley-guy’s expression disappeared on me again, all caught up in that building.
“Hey, don’t let me keep you,” I said. “If you have to get to work or something—”
His gaze snapped back to me. “What?”
I widened mine. “You said you were coming here for work? And you can’t get enough of the view of this diner, so—if you need to go in there, go ahead. I’ll—figure out what I’m doing in a minute.”
“Don’t you want to go clean up?” he said.
Awesome.
Just kick me in the face, already.
I smiled and averted my focus down the street. To—more of the same. Another little town pretty much like mine, where everyone knows everyone and nothing is private or personal. I swiped under my eyes and mentally groaned at the black on my fingers.
“Sure,” I said.
“And call someone?” he added.
I slid my raccoon eyes up to meet his. “No phone.”
He sighed and rubbed at his neck. “Of course not,” he muttered.
“I’m not asking to use yours,” I said.
“And I’m not offering it,” he quipped. “Again—I have my own shit to deal with, lady. I don’t need a pissed off jilted lover tracking me down and making me have to hurt somebody.”
I blinked and shook my head. Men.
“Let’s just do this,” I said, turning toward the door and then pivoting back and holding out a hand. “Thank you again if I don’t see you when I come out of the bathroom.”
Harley-guy looked down at my hand and took it in his. It was warm and protective and gave me all the good feelings I needed to run from.
“You gonna be okay?”
I took a deep breath and licked my dry lips. “I’ll land on my feet.”
“Do you have a name I can put with this story one day?” he asked, letting go of my hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Or do I just call you Miss Runaway?”
“Roman—” I began, automatically going into business mode, and too late thinking I needed to not tell anyone I was Micah Roman. “-off,” I added.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Roman-off? As in Romanov?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it, going with a nod.
“First name Anastasia?” he asked.
Cute.
No, not cute. Nothing was cute.
“Sure,” I said.
“Well, Anastasia,” he said. “In case I don’t see you again, the next time you’re plotting a defense, here’s a tip. Start with what’s on you.”
“On me,” I echoed.
“You have heels on those shoes that can put an eye out, and five hundred pins holding up your hair,” he said. “With enough force, any one of those pins can puncture an eardrum and bring a man to his knees.”
“Wow,” I said as my eyebrows probably moved up there with the bobby pins. “That’s—a lot of observation.”
He didn’t blink. “And that boulder on your finger?”
I glanced down at Jeremy’s ring. Funny how I always thought of it that way. Jeremy’s ring. Never mine.
“That thing could open a jugular,” he said softly toward my ear, brushing against me as he headed toward the door.
“Okay,” I said, turning with him, almost magnetically. As if being plastered to him for the last hour had bonded us and now there was this arc of electricity pulling at me. “And you, Mr. Scowling-Harley-guy? Do you have a name?”
“Leo,” he said as he kept walking. “Leo McKane.”
About the Author
Sharla Lovelace is the bestselling, award-winning author of sexy small-town love stories. Being a Texas girl through and through, she’s proud to say she lives in Southeast Texas with her retired husband, a tricked-out golf cart, and two crazy dogs. She is the author of five stand-alone novels including the bestselling Don’t Let Go, the exciting Heart Of The Storm series, and the fun and sexy new Charmed in Texas series. For more about Sharla’s books, visit www.sharlalovelace.com, and keep up with all her new book releases easily by subscribing to her newsletter. She loves keeping up with her readers, and you can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram as @sharlalovelace.
Once a Charmer Page 25