by Marina Adair
She heard a light chuckle and opened her eyes. “Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean you know me,” she teased.
He didn’t laugh. In fact, his smile faded and he let out a slow breath. “I didn’t plan it to go down like that, it just came out,” he said. “Lowen wasn’t buying anything I was selling, McGuire was being an ass, then you started talking about jars, candles, art projects . . . me. Turning what was a shit idea into something amazing and real. So amazing that Lowen became interested.” Adam slid her an uncertain look. “And by association, he became interested in me.”
“So you decided to take that interest and lie to him about being in a relationship with me?” Harper said quietly.
“Slippery slope, remember.”
As if she could forget. That one little lie had complicated an already complicated situation. Then again, it had also given her a chance to get to know Adam, someone she’d known her entire life, but never really knew. The more time she spent with him, the more layers she uncovered, and the more she liked what she saw.
But did he? Or did he find himself in a jam, needed an out, and she was the closest willing female? If so, and this was another one of his on-the-fly solutions, then what?
“What happens when your chief finds out we lied?”
“Who says he has to?”
Harper choked on her cookie, because surely he didn’t intend on keeping up the façade. “Fibbing to a sales rep who lives two hours away is one thing, but lying to the town would be impossible.”
He stared at her for a few beats, then turned to face her, placing one hand on either side of her hips, pressing her between her car and his body. “Then we won’t lie.”
“What do you mean?” she breathed.
“This.” He placed his hand on her hip, and she moved slightly from the spark. “Don’t move, just stand here for one minute.”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“One minute, Harper. That’s all I’m asking.”
She didn’t remember agreeing, but she didn’t move either. Couldn’t. Adam’s hands were cupping her hips. They were standing so close she could smell the sugar from his cookie.
He didn’t kiss her, didn’t give her some sweet line to sway her decision, or sweet-talk his way around her common sense. He didn’t do a single thing from the Five-Alarm Casanova handbook. He just stood there, as the cars passed by on the street and a light breeze stirred her skirt against his thighs, while he silently stared into her gaze. And what she saw staring back made breathing impossible.
It also made saying no impossible.
Respect, humor, friendship, and connection—it was all there. So was hunger. A hunger so intense she could feel it heating her skin until her dress felt constricting and her heart pounded as if to escape.
“Whatever this is between us,” he said, his voice a rough whisper, “it’s real.”
“It’s just chemistry,” Harper said, then wanted to laugh. She hadn’t felt chemistry like this—ever. At least, not reciprocated.
“I’ve felt chemistry before, sunshine, and this is something different.”
For the first time in her life Harper didn’t mind being different. Because whatever this was felt exhilarating. Sensual.
Alluring.
And God knew she wanted to allure, and be confident she could do some alluring on her own. “So I help you with the picnic and you what? Hold my hand in public?”
His face carefully blank, he said, “You want me to pose half-naked for Clovis’s new campaign, and the only way Lowen would ever sign off is if it were done as a favor to you—the town’s favorite sweetheart, who happens to be my girlfriend.”
“Chantel wants you to model for the line,” she said, because, wow, that sounded very contractual, and not the least bit chemical. Or alluring. “Men’s underwear.”
“Like David Beckham for Armani?”
“More like Michael Jordan for Hanes,” she lied, because his expression was turning too smug for her liking, and her heart was a little too soft to agree to this deal. “And I’ve changed my mind. This won’t work.”
Obviously stuck on comparing himself to Beckham, Adam leaned down and licked the caramel off her cookie. “You, me, under the hot lights in nothing but silk undies? It will work, I promise. And if you’re still unsure, I’ll take it slow.”
She set the remainder of her cookie in the box and pushed at his chest—only he didn’t move. “I just said I changed my mind. I told you this won’t work, and your solution is to talk about sex?”
“I’m a guy. Every solution includes sex,” he said, as if that were written on one of the tablets Moses brought down from the mount. “As for this not working out, your hand proves that wrong.” She looked down to find her palm had slid down that stone stomach of his, to tangle in his waistband.
Horrified, and a little turned on, she snatched it back. “You’re not my type.”
“Then you won’t want to collect me,” he said, but something about the way he said it had her wishing she could take back the words.
Five-Alarm Casanova with his panty-melting wink and ladies’ man charm wasn’t her type. But funny, focused, and slightly vulnerable Adam with his quick wit and contagious smile got to her. And that was who she was talking to right then—not the playboy, but the layers beneath.
“Adam—”
“No, it’s okay. The truth is you don’t need me,” he said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “You think you do, but you don’t. You’re so good at reading people, bringing them into your world. Every time, you deliver on your potential. God, you’re so damn real, Chantel will want to re-sign with Clovis with or without me.” He got quiet. “But I need you, Harper. You saw the look on Lowen’s face. I’m bound to fuck this up without your help, and I’m so damn tired of fucking up.”
It had been four days since changing her Facebook status to “In a Relationship,” and the closest Harper had come to sensual was tagging Fireman Saves the Day dildos at the Boulder Holder. A huge order had arrived from their largest “toy” suppliers, just in time for their midsummer sale, and since Clovis was off hosting a Panty Raid, Harper had spent her morning restocking the shelves.
Now she was back at the Fashion Flower, folding Lollypants ruffled bloomers for the front display, her ear cocked toward her phone. She had texted Adam earlier that day that the samples from Lulu Allure had arrived, but since he was still on shift she hadn’t heard back. That didn’t stop people from asking about their “relationship,” though.
Harper couldn’t go anywhere without someone weighing in on her romance status, and the shop had never been so busy. Even her students wanted to know about Hadam. It seemed the only person who hadn’t wanted to talk about her and Adam was Adam.
He’d texted her a few times over the weekend, and she’d swung by the station to pick up the Beat the Heat binder, but other than a few pleasantries, it was as if they’d gone back to normal.
Something that should have come as a huge relief. But it didn’t. Harper had managed to snag herself the hottest catch in town, and it was strictly platonic.
Not that there was an interest in blurring the lines with Adam. But it would be nice, for once, if a man wanted to blur the lines with her. Especially a man who seemed to live to defy the rules.
The shop bell jingled, and in walked Liza Miner. As the founding member of the town’s most prestigious mommy-and-me craft co-op, Crafty Mamas, and owner of Whining, Dining, and Diapers, the top mommy blog in wine country, there wasn’t a toddler trend or kid craze that she didn’t create—or capitalize on. She was sophisticated, driven, and one of the biggest voices in the mommy community. She was also a single mom to Brooklyn, one of Harper’s Sprouting Picassos.
Her intense competitiveness was rivaled only by her black book. There wasn’t a parent group she hadn’t infiltrated or a PTA seat she hadn’t won—and her daughter was only in the second grade. Which made her the perfect outreach mommy for Beat the Heat.
“I got your message during the Crafty Mamas’ meeting today,” Liza said, adjusting her designer clutch and getting straight to business. “We’re interested in running a booth, theme and age appropriate, all proceeds going toward the firefighters’ Back-to-School Pack fund.”
“That’s fantastic.” Harper set down the bloomers and barely resisted the urge to pull Liza in for a hug. “I can’t believe it.”
Liza placed her purse on the front display. “I thought about just e-mailing you, but when I heard you were working here today I decided to see you in person. To ask you a favor.”
“Ask away, I am the favor fairy.” To prove it, Harper put on her friendliest smile.
“Actually, it’s more of a requirement.”
A small part of Harper’s heart sank. She didn’t understand why people couldn’t just do things because it was the nice thing to do. And since when had goodwill become so costly?
“I’m sure whatever it is, we can work it out.” After all, that’s what Harper did. Worked hard to make things work, make people happy, and make them smile—although, she was having a hard time holding her own smile.
“First . . .” Liza held up a manicured finger, and Harper held her breath.
Here come the negotiations. Liza hadn’t become one of the most powerful momtrepreneurs by playing nice. She had markers out all around town, and now she was calling in Harper’s two seconds after she’d doled one out.
“For Whining, Dining, and Diapers, I need to get sole credit for handling all of the marketing and PR for this event.”
“Are you offering to handle all of the marketing and PR?”
Liza snorted. “Lord, no. I’m too busy to handle all of that, but if I’m going to bring in the mommy demographic, then I want to put that on my site when I cover the event for my next post, ‘Goodwill Makes for a Good Jack and Jill.’”
“I have equal access to the mommy demographic,” Harper pointed out.
“You teach finger painting to kids,” Liza corrected.
This was not the first time Harper had heard this, and as long as she was spending her days teaching kids’ art classes, it wouldn’t be the last. Not that Harper didn’t like teaching—she loved it. But she also loved creating her own designs, and she missed combining bold colors with varying textures and light to make sets and displays that came to life. It was one of the reasons she was putting her heart and soul into saving her grandmother’s account. Aside from helping Clovis, of course, Harper was loving the artistic process and getting back to her own roots.
At one time she was considered an up-and-coming set and window designer. She’d started making a name for herself as a live artist who told her stories through people and everyday pieces of furniture, fabrics, and paint.
But there wasn’t really a market for her kind of talent in St. Helena. Besides the Boulder Holder and the Fashion Flower, there wasn’t another clothing shop in town with a big enough window for her to work with. But St. Helena was the only home she’d ever known, and every person in her patchwork family lived there. And that was what was important.
After a lifetime of watching her mother put her art before matters of the heart, Harper knew she wanted a different life. She valued things like connections, security, and love above all else.
“That may be, but giving one person sole credit when there will be so many people helping out doesn’t seem fair.”
Plus, she wasn’t sure what Adam would say to that. Or the department, for that matter. She didn’t mind if Liza capitalized on the event, but she didn’t want to diminish other people’s hard work.
Liza looked at her as if she were slow, and maybe she was. Maybe that was why she was still folding ruffled bloomers instead of pursuing her passion for visual arts. Then again, she didn’t hate her job, but she’d hate herself if she bulldozed over people.
“Well, other people wouldn’t be able to get Vintage Elementary to send out flyers offering extra credit to every student who participates in the event. They also couldn’t get every mommy blogger in Northern California to get on board with a grassroots marketing effort to ensure that parents all over the greater wine country know that this is the family event of the summer.”
Harper was pretty sure, if given the time, she could do the same. But she didn’t have the time. And she’d promised Adam she’d help.
“What’s the second requirement?” Harper asked, and immediately Liza’s face went flush.
“This one is actually a favor.” The woman who was always cool and collected—a Stepford in every sense of the word, sans the wife part—smoothed down the hem of her skirt and self-consciously looked around. “I need advice on picking out something sexy.”
“For Brooklyn?” Because ruffled bloomers was as sexy as the Fashion Flower got.
“For me.” Liza lowered her voice, even though the shop was nearing closing time and there wasn’t another soul in the store besides the two of them. “I’m stopping by the Boulder Holder on my way home, to pick something up. And I needed your advice first.”
Now it was Harper’s turn to flush. “You need my advice?”
“I have a date tonight. A real date. Time with a man who isn’t my brother, father, or elderly relative.” She shook her head. “God, I haven’t been on a first date since I married Brooklyn’s dad, and even then I think he took me to his favorite college pub with his dorm mates.” Liza laughed, a little self-conscious, a little bitter, and a whole lot sad. “Pathetic, right?”
“No,” Harper said, placing her hand on Liza’s. “I think it’s a real situation for more women than you’d think. And wearing pretty lingerie makes us feel sexy, and everyone wants to feel sexy when they go on a first date. It’s not pathetic at all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Harper said. “What are you looking for?”
“Well, that’s why I came to you,” Liza admitted. “My mom was in the shop the other day and overheard Adam talking to you about some bra-and-panty set.” She shrugged. “I figured if he liked it enough to request it by name, then it must be pretty sexy. And I need all the sexy I can get.”
It was an odd statement for someone who carried herself as though she had it all figured out. A woman couldn’t get trendier or more put together than Liza. She dressed for world domination, moved with purpose, and yet she was nervous about what kind of panties to buy. Nervous enough to ask Harper.
Or maybe, like Liza, Harper carried herself differently than she thought. Perhaps the way she perceived herself and how other people saw her didn’t match.
Or maybe, she thought with a secret smile, she carried herself differently since Adam. She felt different. Lighter, edgier, more relaxed.
Whatever the reason, it felt good. Liberating.
Sexy.
“It’s called Honeysuckle,” Harper said, thinking of what her grandmother would say. “It’s elegant without being uptight. Sophisticated without being stuffy. I think it will look lovely with your complexion and will help with your inner goddess.”
“Thank you,” Liza said, the words sounding a little rusty from lack of use. “For the advice and . . . well . . .” And there went the fidgeting again. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be going on a date at all.”
“Why is that?”
“His son is in Brooklyn’s art class,” Liza said, and Harper got a really bad feeling in her gut. “I’ve noticed him looking at me for a few weeks now, but he never approached me. Then the other day after class he asked me to dinner, told me about how you encouraged him to get back out there, make some time for himself.” She waggled a brow. “Cute, sweet, and a doctor to boot.”
Harper felt sucker punched in the gut. She would have let loose a grunt from the pain, except her smile was so tightly frozen her lips couldn’t move.
“Are you talking about Clay?”
“If you mean Dr. Walker, then yes.”
“My Dr. Walker?” Harper asked, her voice a little shrill.
“He’s lots of peopl
e’s doctor,” Liza said, then seemed to realize that wasn’t what Harper had meant. Her eyes narrowed, taking all the warm fuzzies in the room with her. “We’re meeting at the Cork’d N Dipped at seven for wine and a chocolate tasting.”
Okay, so Clay wasn’t Harper’s anything. But she felt as if he were. Even if she hadn’t felt the tingles.
Harper had noticed him first, before he’d lost the dazed failed-marriage look, the outdated goatee, and twenty extra pounds. She’d been there when he’d needed a friend, talked to him at the same wine bar, babysat his son so he could recapture some much-needed alone time. Well, she’d babysat Tommy because she loved that kid, but also because she wanted to help Clay.
And now Clay was ready to carve out a little time for himself—just like she’d encouraged him to do. Only he wasn’t interested in sharing it with Harper. She was just his fill-in friend.
Adam had gone into the new week with a mission: win friends and influence people. Not with his easygoing smile and charm, but through hard work and exemplary behavior—a real nose-to-the-grindstone mentality that spoke past his fast-and-loose reputation and more toward a respected lieutenant-in-training.
It was only Wednesday, and already it had become clear that there was a conspiracy to screw with his mission.
“A condom vending machine?” Adam slammed the request form on the kitchen table in front of McGuire. “Want to explain how this ended up on Cap’s desk?”
McGuire looked up from his bowl of cereal, his expression one of pure confusion. “You told me to fill out a request form for a new helmet, and when I saw your form floating around I thought I’d do you a favor and submit it for you.”
Adam couldn’t tell if the guy was being serious, or if he was really that narrow sighted. “What was it about the phrases condom vending machine and hose safety that made you say, ‘Yeah, Cap really needs to see this completely legit request’?”