Jinxed!

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  She turned her face toward him and with a growl he covered her mouth with his. Any thoughts he might have entertained that the sparks flying during their earlier kiss had been a fluke were instantly erased. He felt as if his circuits had been hooked up to a nuclear reactor and someone had flipped the switch.

  He leaned into her, pressing his hardness against all that gorgeous, feminine softness and everything faded away except her. The way she felt in his arms-all curves and warmth. The taste of her in his mouth-cookies and frosting. The scent of her filling his head-sugar and peonies. With a deep groan, he ran his hands down her back, pressing her closer, kissing her deeper, his tongue exploring the satin of her mouth while he filled his palms with the round fullness of her bottom.

  She squirmed against him, and his erection jerked, vibrating a ragged moan of pure desire in his throat. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman this badly. A desperation he didn’t recognize had him firmly in its grip, and apparently whatever insanity had come over him afflicted her as well because her hands were suddenly all over him. Inside his robe, coasting up his back then down to his ass, pulling him tighter against her.

  A red, steamy haze of lust engulfed him and he lifted her onto the counter. She gasped an approving sound against his mouth and spread her legs. Evan stepped between her splayed thighs and trailed his lips across her throat while his hands tugged down the stretchy neckline of her dress. Her breasts sprang free, and he filled his hands with their warm fullness, teasing her already hard nipples between his fingers. His mouth cruised lower, circling the aroused peak with his tongue, then drawing the tight bud into his mouth.

  “Evan…” She uttered his name in a passion-filled, husky groan and arched her back. She jerked the robe off his shoulders then ran her hands over his chest, down his back, setting bonfires on every inch of skin she touched.

  His hands skimmed downward, over her incredible curves, to her silky smooth thighs, then under her dress. Where he encountered nothing but bare skin.

  “No underwear,” he growled, the discovery spiking the fever raging through him and he pushed the stretchy material up to her waist. Dipped his hand between her splayed thighs. Found her wet and hot.

  She gasped as he slid two fingers into her silky heat. “Didn’t think I’d, ahhhh, need it.”

  “You don’t. Believe me, I’m not complaining.”

  Panting, she tugged his boxers over his hips, freeing his erection, then stroked her fingers down its length. He sucked in a hissing breath and thrust into her hand.

  “Condom,” she said, leaning forward to nip his neck.

  “In my wallet. On the other side of the room. Damn it.”

  “My purse. It’s closer.”

  While he continued to stroke her, she reached behind her and dragged her wet purse forward. Something clattered to the floor. They ignored it. Muttering an impatient sound, she dumped her purse upside down, spilling an assortment of feminine stuff on the counter. He spied the condom and rolled on the protection as quickly as his unsteady fingers allowed. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he entered her in a single, deep thrust.

  Their mutual groan filled the room. Her wet heat gripped him, and he withdrew nearly all the way, then sank deep again, experiencing the slow glide into pleasure he’d wanted since the moment he’d stepped into her store. Again, and again, the erotic pull of her body rendered him oblivious to everything except the intense pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back, and he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming need to come. When she threw back her head and gasped, he let himself go, thrusting deep, his orgasm rocketing through him.

  When the shuddering ended, he tipped back his head and struggled to regain his breath. She dropped her forehead limply against his heaving chest, her ragged breaths pelting his skin.

  A beeping sound broke through his postcoital fog, and he raised his head. And frowned. That beep was familiar.

  “Is that a beeper?” Lacey asked, lifting her head. She looked as dazed and glazed as he felt.

  Beeper. That noise was his business beeper going off. Reality returned with a jarring thump that felt like an anvil falling on his head. Jesus. What the hell was he doing? He’d just had sex with a tenant. He never had sex with tenants-it was one of his hard-and-fast rules. But one look at Lacey in that dress had morphed his hard-and-fast rule into a bout of hard-and-fast sex.

  He stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “My business beeper.”

  She stared at him for several seconds. “Business? At this hour? On a weekend?”

  “It’s my boss. He’s in London this week. It’s the afternoon there now. Doesn’t matter that it’s a weekend-he works seven days a week.”

  She didn’t reply, but based on the chill that filmed over her expression it was clear that she’d just filed him under the category of soulless clone. Without a word she handed him a wad of paper napkins, then slid off the counter.

  “Listen,” she said, adjusting her dress while he pulled up the silk boxers, “I’m not sure what came over me, but what just happened between us…that isn’t normal behavior for me.”

  “Believe it or not, it’s not for me, either.”

  “Things just got…out of hand.” She looked at him and he barely suppressed a groan. With her tumbled hair and moist, parted lips, she looked like living, breathing sin. “I’m pleading temporary insanity.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “This isn’t going to happen again.”

  He knew he should agree, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to be uttered.

  “In fact,” she continued, “we need to forget it happened this time.”

  Before he could reply, a knock sounded and he swiveled his head toward the door. A man wearing a tan jacket proclaiming he was from the American Car Association tapped on the glass.

  His interlude with Lacey was officially over.

  And it occurred to Evan that maybe he really was cursed.

  7

  AT TEN O’CLOCK Tuesday evening, Lacey locked the door to Constant Cravings and headed across the courtyard. Sales had been unusually sluggish Sunday, Monday and today, and she’d spent the bulk of her time baking to fill cookie platter orders. Not good, as that had left her with too much time to think, and her mind had remained firmly focused on the one thing she desperately wanted not to think of.

  Evan Sawyer.

  Okay, the two things she desperately wanted not to think of-Evan Sawyer, and that bout of mind-blowing sex with Evan Sawyer.

  You’d think the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they’d parted company late Saturday night-technically Sunday morning-would have been enough for “out of sight, out of mind” to kick in. But no. Instead, she’d thought of him about every three seconds or so. Sometimes more frequently. The feel of his hands and mouth on her, the sensation of him buried deep inside her, the deliciously potent taste of his kiss, his skin pressed against hers, all seemed to be tattooed onto her senses. They’d all given her libido a jolt equal to a nuclear blast. Three days later and she was still hot and bothered.

  Yet more than hot and bothered. He’d not only turned her on, he’d surprised her. And disarmed her. With his revelations about his family and his non-English-speaking dog. He’d been amusing and intelligent and, well, likable. Extremely so. Unsettlingly so.

  She hadn’t expected to see him on Sunday, but when he hadn’t come into the shop yesterday or today, it was clear he’d taken her “we need to forget it happened” words to heart and was ignoring both her and the explosive attraction that had flared between them.

  Which was for the best. Definitely. Still, despite that he was only doing what she’d asked, if she were brutally honest, she had to admit his complete and total brush-off unreasonably pricked her feminine ego and, damn it, annoyed her. Clearly he hadn’t found her as amusing, intelligent and disarming as she’d found him. And the fact that she was annoyed really annoyed her. So why couldn’t she write him off and stop thinking about
him?

  Well, she’d almost succeeded today-had gotten to the point where he’d only invaded her thoughts every six seconds or so-when she’d checked her e-mail during a quick break. And discovered a message from him. Just seeing his name in Constant Cravings’ in-box had set her heart aflutter, a fact that thoroughly irritated her. After clicking open the note, she’d read his brief message: Would appreciate it if you’d stop by my office before going home tonight. Doesn’t matter what time-I’ll be working late. Evan.

  The impersonal tone and complete lack of details had only served to fuel her mind with questions that had plagued her for the remainder of the day. Why did he want to see her? Had he been thinking about her? Did he want a repeat performance? Did he want to find out if making love would be as explosive the second time around?

  Not that it mattered if he wanted that or not. Because she didn’t. No way. Absolutely not.

  Okay, damn it, she did want that. Desperately. Wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, thrusting into hers. Taste his drugging kiss. Run her hands over all those lovely muscles. Discover if the powerful sparks had been real or just a figment of her imagination.

  But giving in to that temptation…definitely not a good idea. Just because he’d been intelligent and amusing didn’t mean he was her type. Still, it wasn’t as if she had to marry the guy. Nothing wrong with just having him put out this damn fire he’d started. No, nothing wrong with that, but she wasn’t convinced it was smart, either.

  Drawing a bracing breath, she adopted her best aloof manner and entered the west section of the building, then took the elevator to the fifth floor, where the property management offices were located. After a quick mental pep talk to remain calm, cool and collected, she knocked on the oak door bearing a brass plate engraved with Evan’s name. Several seconds later the door opened, and calm, cool and collected melted into a puddle at her feet.

  She’d been prepared to see him wearing his usual prim dress shirt, proper suit, boring tie and perfect hair. But “prim, proper and boring” wasn’t the Evan who answered the door. No, this Evan sported rumpled hair and a stubble-darkened jaw that lent him a dark and slightly dangerous air. The suit and tie had been replaced with a black T-shirt that made her fingers itch to test the breadth of his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that, based on the fascinating set of fade patterns, were old favorites. He looked rumpled and casual and sexy and utterly delicious and, damn it, he wasn’t supposed to!

  “We need to talk,” he said, opening the door wider.

  His abrupt words jerked her from her stupor. Not even so much as a hello. Arrogant jerk. Had she really wasted three days fantasizing about him? Actually, she was glad for his abruptness as it effectively cooled any flames he’d lit.

  She lifted her chin and sailed into the office. After putting a safe distance between them, she turned to face him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him close the door, refusing to acknowledge that the rear view was a good as the front view. And that she knew exactly how great his ass felt beneath her palms. Then he turned and leaned his shoulders against the door and regarded her with an unreadable expression.

  When the silence stretched into what she considered the uncomfortable zone, she said, “You wanted to talk? I’m listening.”

  He studied her for several more seconds, his eyebrows drawn into a frown, then asked in a very serious voice, “How are you, Lacey?”

  She blinked. “Uh, fine. You?”

  “I’m…not sure. The past few days have been…strange. I was wondering if you’d experienced anything unusual since we last saw each other.”

  Yeah-I can’t stop thinking about you. But then an odd tingle shivered down her spine as she mentally flicked through the weird series of mini-disasters that had occurred over the past three days. “A few things, I guess,” she admitted.

  “Like what?”

  “A flat tire-”

  “Me, too.”

  Another odd tingle shivered down her spine. “My dishwasher broke.”

  “My refrigerator died.”

  “Some kid must have put a red crayon in the dryer at my apartment complex’s laundry room, and I ruined an entire load of clothes.”

  “The dry cleaner lost all my suits and dress shirts.”

  “Sales have been off at the store.”

  “Two clients decided not to renew their leases.”

  Lacey slowly set her purse on the floor. “Let’s see…the timer on my stove quit and I burned two batches of cookies. The heel broke off my favorite pair of sandals at the supermarket and I fell into a display of oranges, knocking a bunch of them down on me. I locked myself out of my apartment, dropped my mail in a mud puddle and…” had several highly erotic dreams about you “…had a couple of weird dreams. You?”

  “My microwave suffered some sort of hiccup and spewed leftover moo shu pork all over my kitchen. Sasha suddenly decided that she liked the taste of leather and chewed up every pair of shoes that I own. I locked myself out of my house, and my neighbor who has my spare key naturally wasn’t home. Sasha also gnawed a couple holes in my mail.”

  Stunned, she stepped back several paces and leaned her hips against his desk. “Okay, that’s bizarre.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed.

  She attempted a laugh. “At least you didn’t have any weird dreams.”

  “Oh, I had dreams. But I don’t think weird is the right word to describe them.”

  “What is?”

  His gaze, which had remained steady on hers up until now, cruised slowly down to her feet then back up again. “Erotic.”

  She suddenly felt as if she stood in a ring of fire. Before she could think up a reply, he pushed off from the door and walked slowly toward her. “Wanna guess who was prominently featured in my X-rated dreams, Lacey?”

  She had to swallow to find her voice. “Carmen Electra?”

  He made a sound like a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer.” He didn’t stop walking until less than an arm’s length separated them. Lacey curled her fingers over the edge of his desk to keep from giving in to the overwhelming temptation to touch him.

  “You,” he said, his eyes filled with a heat that all but singed her. “You were the woman in my dreams.”

  Even though her better judgment told her to shut up, curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did any of your dreams involve a nineteenth-century pirate ship?”

  He nodded slowly. “I was the captain.”

  Her heart began to pound in slow, hard beats. “You kidnapped me from my ancestral home.”

  “Because you belonged to me.”

  A heated flush engulfed her. “You cut off my gown. With your knife.”

  “You liked it.”

  “I had nothing else to wear.”

  “We both liked that.”

  “You made love to me,” she whispered.

  “Every chance I could.”

  “Every chance you could,” she agreed. Another wave of heat swamped her as images from her dreams flashed through her mind. Of Evan over her, under her, deep inside her, his hands and mouth everywhere…relentless…

  His gaze searched hers. “Maybe the other stuff could be explained away by coincidence, but the fact that we had the same dream? That just convinces me that my idea is sound.”

  “What idea?” she asked, hoping it had something to do with making that dream come true. Every cell in her body wanted to reach out and grab him, but she was afraid that once she touched him she wouldn’t be able to stop. Was that why he hadn’t touched her? Was he afraid of what would happen if he did? Was he suffering from the same “should I, shouldn’t I?” dilemma as she?

  Instead of telling her his idea, he said, “I paid Madame Karma a visit today.”

  She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You did? Why?”

  “I wanted to talk to her about my sudden run of bad luck. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised, and told me it was because I was fighting fate. She predicte
d that you’d suffered a similar series of unfortunate events. Based on what you’ve told me, she was right.”

  “Did she have any suggestions?”

  “As a matter of fact she did. She told me the only way to fix my cursed karma was to stop fighting fate. And the only way to do that was to spend time with you-which would also fix your karma problem. So that’s my idea. That we spend some time together. Worst-case scenario is we won’t be any worse off than we are now. Best-case scenario is we’ll undo our karma curse and our lives will return to normal.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in any of that karma or fate stuff. Called it a bunch of nonsense.”

  “I didn’t believe in it, and I’m not sure I do now. But there’s no denying the oddball things that have happened to both of us since Saturday, and I’m at a loss to explain them. Frankly, I’m exhausted from this spate of bad luck and am willing to try just about anything-no matter how off-the-wall it sounds-to end it.”

  “Including spending time with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s certainly not the most romantic offer I’ve ever received.”

  Instead of looking abashed, he appeared amused, which she found highly irritating. “Do you want a romantic offer?”

  “Certainly not. You’re not at all my type.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and shot her a quizzical look. “Not that I’m arguing that point, because, to be blunt, you’re not my type, either, but what is it about me that you find…unacceptable?”

  Lacey studied him for several long seconds, debating how honest to be with him, then decided what the hell? No point in sugar-coating anything. He’d been blunt with her, and it wasn’t as if she were trying to impress him.

  “I’ve always avoided getting involved with soulless clones. I see them every day. They come into Constant Cravings at the crack of dawn for their caffeine fixes, already talking business on their cell phones, tapping on their laptops, completely consumed with their work, never taking a moment of downtime. I see them sitting in the courtyard at lunch, hunched over reports, never so much as looking up to enjoy the sunshine.” She shrugged. “You’re one of them.”