by Lane, Payton
“I've got a bridge, Nate. I can call you Nate, right? You kissed me. You liked it.”
Lynne sucked in a breath, stepped forward until she could feel the heat, smell the sweat coming off him. The only way to make her point was to tempt herself with the one thing she craved--him.
“You want to do it again.”
Neither of them moved, especially when she saw the words had hit their mark. His gaze moved to her mouth. He was tempted to do it again. Oh, God. She wanted him to, wanted to see if it would make her toes curl. Maybe the first time was a fluke. Maybe she was riding high off winning a battle. Maybe—
The back door slammed, and they sprang apart as if they were caught doing something they weren't supposed to.
“Good morning,” a woman singsonged. “I saw the shipment. Let me put up the coffee, and I can help.” Sylvia blinked. “Oh.”
Nate rubbed a hand over his head. “Ly―Ms. Kelley decided to drop by to see what I was doing.”
“Ms. Kelley?” Lynne said. The formality grated more than it should. “Nate, I'll leave you to continue your pointless venture.”
She nodded to Sylvia and left with her dignity intact. Sadly, the only reason she didn't turn to get one last glance at Nate was that there would have been a witness.
*****
“Nate?” Sylvia asked. “You don't even let me call you that without giving me a look.”
“I don't give you a look.”
She gave him one that put a chill down his spine. It had to be one of his.
“It's unintentional,” he added.
“Probably, but I still do not call you Nate. You didn't even give her a look. I'm starting to think you don't like me as much as you do her.”
“I don't like her.” I have urges. Big difference.
Sylvia snorted. “I'm teasing you, but all of a sudden you look nervous. You have a crush on her. It's cute.”
“I don't do crushes.”
She offered him a cup of coffee. “What color toenail polish did she have on today?”
Some sparkly blue color, and how did Sylvia know he had a thing for Lynne's toes? “I don't know.”
Sylvia stared him down. It didn't matter. He wouldn't give up the fact he knew.
“Get to work and stop wasting time grilling me.”
Nate stepped out on the stoop, finally able to take in a deep breath. Lynne had brought her scent into the stockroom. A fragrance he wanted to bury his nose in, preferably on her neck where he could lap up the taste of her.
See there...empty.
Unable to shake the weight of her words along with the need to taste her again, he frowned. He did have a heart. Just didn't wear it on his sleeve like Lynne.
He climbed into the truck and then grabbed two boxes. Why did he care what she thought, anyway? What anyone thought. He got the job done. Yes, he put people out of work when he bought a business, but he left them with breathing room to pay their employees, and they were businesses that would have gone under sooner or later. He made them profitable and eventually put more people into the job force. He was practically performing a public service.
Climbing down from the truck, smooth calves cut into his line of vision. She stood on her stoop, her back to him. The curve of her neck tantalized him even from a distance.
In that short amount of time she'd ditched the sandals while on the low step. They swung back in forth in her hand. The short stoop was clean, but come on? She couldn't keep the damn things on for two seconds?
He sighed. For all the business sense he had, this woman seemed to be his Achilles' heel. He put the boxes down, started to close the distance and make the second mistake of this deal.
“Lynne,” his voice broke the quiet.
She didn't face him, but leaned her head to the side. “Yes?”
“I wasn't drunk.”
“I know.”
He heard the smile in her voice, but couldn't bring himself to follow suit. “It's still a mistake for us to go there. Not now.”
At his words she turned. “You're right. I know here.” Lynne pointed to her head. “And, here.” She pointed to her gut. She moved closer, until their chests were touching. “And, yet, it doesn't make me itch any less when I see you.”
Nate shouldn't have been pleased with her comment, but his lips curved. “I give you an itch? Like a rash? Or when you scratch it you hum a little?”
She placed a finger on his chest and traced a path down to his nipple. It hardened beneath the thin material.
“You should know, Nate.” She arched a brow, smug and certain, and sauntered back into her store.
He scratched where she had touched him and scowled. Yes, he did know.
CHAPTER TEN
A few tense days had passed but she exhaled with relief when she walked out onto the sidewalk in front of her store. Jeremy stopped ahead of her then shook his his head.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You know, I thought that guy was sharp.”
She followed his gaze and shook her head too. “What is he doing?”
Nate stood at the edge of the curb on full alert. Steam rose from a fancy Tupperware bowl. Lynne took in a breath and whatever it was, smelled good. She understood his tactic, though once again he would lose this battle.
Lynne pursed her lips. “I say forty he eats it when he tries to grab Suzie.”
“That's too easy. Look at his shoes.”
Lynne did. The shoes were shined within an inch of their life. “That is an easy one.” She sat down on the curb and tossed Jeremy the bag of popcorn.
“Oh,” she said. “I have a good one. Let's say when he falls, she uses him like a fire hydrant.”
“Deal,” Jeremy said.
Suzie trotted out of the bushes, her short legs moving fast as though late for an appointment.
Nate took one cautious step forward into the street. Suzie paused, lifted her nose in the air. It was like watching a tennis match. Lynne turned back to Nate. He took another step forward, and so did Suzie.
A car turned the corner and slowed. Her heart jack-hammered. No one was supposed to take this street, not when the call went out. The only saving grace was that no one could miss Nate.
Nate took another step, bending down with the bowl to put the food in the dog's line of sight. Suzie's little legs vibrated.
The driver slowed to a crawl—a tourist. The man behind the wheel waited a few more moments and then tried to go around both man and dog. That one decision finally made Suzie move. She bolted between Nate's legs toward the vehicle. The car stopped inches from the crazy ball of fur. Lynne shot up, a hand to her chest.
Nate tripped over his feet trying to turn around in time. He went down hard, dropping the meat and the bowl. The broth flew up, then down, spattering all over him.
“You should have kept the easy bet,” Jeremy murmured.
Lynne didn't bother to reply as worry filled her instead humor at the situation. Suzie barked at the car, wavering in her goal to get away for the first time. Before Nate could even scramble up, she climbed on top of his of back and stood there until she seemed sure the car wouldn't move.
Lynne edged forward to help but stopped when Suzie brushed her tongue against Nate's face. He reached up and she jumped off his back, picked up the roast, and disappeared into the bushes. The car sped away, leaving Nate dog-licked and soaked with broth.
Jeremy stood with his arms above his head and started to do doing the victory dance.
She dug into her pocket and handed Jeremy the money. “Get back to work, you loafer.”
“Sore loser,” he said before disappearing inside.
Lynne turned to glare at Nate, who had only sat up. Could be embarrassment or humiliation that kept him on the ground. Yes, different words, if only in degrees of, “I can't believe I just did that.” Lynne blew out an irritated breath. She didn't kick people when they were down, literally or figuratively.
Steady legs took her over to Nate, but her heart raced. Why co
uldn't his horns shoot out now so she could feel better about him making an ass of himself?
Horns didn't appear from his head. Only that sure sign of him being the Second Coming would have kept Lynne from joining him with a humiliation of her own. She went to him and leaned down.
*****
“I can't feel my legs,” Nate joked, but everything ached and it felt like something had cracked when he'd gone down. Otherwise he'd have gotten up much sooner.
But something did stir below Nate's waist when Lynne placed a hand on his face. Her fingers, tender but warm, forced him to look up, if only to break the contact.
“I'm not dead,” he rasped. “In case you were hoping.”
“Nothing is that easy.” She tilted her head. “I could have told you it wouldn't work.”
He couldn't explain the need to rescue the dog to himself, much less to Lynne. “I think I have broth in unmentionable places.”
“With me, nothing is unmentionable. I try my best to be honest with myself and others, but sometimes you've just got to lie. Today I'm being honest. You should let the dog be.”
She still offered a hand to help him up. Nate took it. Holding his gaze, her eyes had darkened. He wanted to stare into them until he found all the answers to the world, to his purpose in life. Her eyes held a depth he had never witnessed in anyone else.
The bottom line was he believed her. This woman wasn't what Nate had expected when he first set out to buy the shop. The finances she had plunged into Hart and Style fell into the usual numbers most business owners were willing to invest. Yet her bare feet, her kindness, and her frankness threw him stride off each time. It also didn't help he knew the taste of her was decadent when mixed with scotch.
He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He winced when he saw the appearance of his suit. “Thank you for the help, nonetheless.”
The next beat of silence turned awkward.
“Um, well,” she said, “if you are really determined to catch her and save her life, she should be out here again tomorrow. Around the same time. I think she comes out to get into the trash behind the buildings.” She pursed her lips, and he forced himself to meet her gaze instead of continuing to stare at her mouth.
“I'll be sure to wear my running gear.”
She squinted at him. “Why?”
“Everyone deserves to have a home. A safe place to go,” Nate said softly.
He didn't wait around to see how she reacted. He strode across the street back to his business. He already knew her expression would hold shock and probably sympathy. He'd showed her an unmentionable. Little by little she was crumbling the walls he built around his one weakness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Hello, you've reached the Blake residence.” Her friend and former boss's voice reached through the phone and Lynne closed her eyes, missing Megan. “You know what to do.”
With a frustrated sigh, Lynne sat back in the Star Trek chair in her office and waited for the interminable beep. The same beep she'd been getting for the past week. Her best friend had gone MIA once she had married Aiden.
“You remember all those phone calls where I talked you off the ledge,” Lynne started. “You know the time I helped you realize that you should get the guy. The man you're currently married to. That currently is making you sound chipper for no reason. Yeah, that time. I need some of the same. Call me when you get this message.”
She hung up the phone and laid her head on the sheaf of papers scattered among the desktop. In seven days, she had obsessed about Nate. Forcibly had to tell herself not to obsess, only to obsess about not obsessing. She was going to have to kill him. Nate dominated her thoughts even though he had made himself scarce. It had to be the eye of the storm.
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. Sex was out. Kissing still negotiable. Though what she really needed to do was come up with something more to throw him off his path to world domination. He could counter business moves with ease. She knew his type. Her father was that type. Trying to defeat that type of man with bottom lines was pointless.
If you only knew to protect your queen (not necessarily how to protect your queen), you didn't go against a Chess master in the hopes you could defeat him on skill alone. A smart person would chatter nonstop. Pick their nose. Wonder out loud if they had IBS. People like her father and Nate didn't win because they were smarter or savvier, but because they were focused and prepared. That's was the secret to anyone who succeeded.
The phone rang, ripping her from the thoughts of men like Nate. “Hart and Style. Lynne speaking.”
“This is Beatrice from the Mothers of the Church committee.”
Relief softened her spine and she leaned back into the Captain Kirk chair. “Hey, what can I do for you?”
“It's that time of year again.”
Given they did a million events a year, it took Lynne a moment. With May just around the corner, they'd be rounding up the kids during summer break.
“The bake sale. Sign me up for chocolate-chunk muffins. A dozen.”
“Great. Now I need to try to convince the new guy to chip in. It'll be a great way to invite him into the community. We tried with the baseball team, but he stated the new business kept him tied up too much of the time. Very nice man to be honest about the type of commitments he could make to the community. Baseball is a big commitment, but chipping in for a bake sale shouldn't be too much.”
Lynne sat back in her chair at the words. The man was slicker than pig grease. A smile crept across her face. The “something more” to her devious plan took shape.
“You know, Beatrice.” She crossed her fingers and sent up a silent prayer she wouldn't go to hell for the next words. “I've talked to him about it. He was bragging about...how he can make cookies in the shape of a bow tie. You know, because he sells men's wear.”
She crooked the phone between her ear and shoulder, crossing the fingers on the other hand. “He wants to make six dozen. Maybe eight. He's an overachiever.”
“Are you sure? I should call him and double check.”
“No worries.” I'm going to hell. I am going to hell. “I can go over and do it for you. He's my neighbor and all. We look out for each other.”
“Thanks, Lynne. I can always count on you to be nice.”
Nothing but a brimstone-filled eternity awaited her. “I'll bring my stuff in the morning.”
That was less than twenty-four hours. Nate was prepping his store for a women's section. He'd be strapped for time. If he had to scramble to make cookies , it would at least give her some leeway to come up with a better idea, one that didn't involve either of them getting naked.
The bake sale was for a good cause. Maybe the woman upstairs would give her a reprieve. Since she'd already accepted she was going to be on the dark side, Lynne waited until 4:55 p.m., right before all the bakeries in town closed, to give him a call.
She dialed Nate's store. Sylvia answered. “Craine’s Fashions.”
Perfect. “This is Lynne. Can you remind Nate about the cookies for the church bake sale? I know it probably slipped his mind. Let him know it's for the local kids to go to camp. Everyone in the community contributes. He can call Beatrice to find out the details. Have a good day.”
She hung up before Sylvia got a word in. Lynne jumped up to find the store empty. Lynne would blame Nate and him alone for the current quiet. She didn't feel bad anymore.
Jeremy wore a dreamy expression as he re-folding sweaters. She hated to disrupt him, but...
“We need to close the store pronto,” she said, “and you should ask Sylvia out for dinner tonight.” She perked up at the thought of leaving Nate alone in a kitchen. “Matter of fact, I'll reimburse you. Bring me the receipt tomorrow.”
The dreamy quality disappeared. “What have you done?”
She walked over to him, snatched the sweater out of his hand, and pushed him toward the door. “Nothing.”
“This may sound chauvinistic, but whenever a woman says nothing, it's some
thing. Spill, or I'm not leaving.”
He crossed his arms and the good-evil idea finally took root.
Lynne sighed. “I did something bad, but it's for the good of all mankind.”
“Good for Lynne more likely.”
He was right, but she wouldn't admit it, because in the next five minutes Nate would be storming in. “Seriously, go, so I can close up shop.”
He still didn't budge. She crossed her heart. “I promise. This will be the last time I go over to the dark side.”
The bell above the door dinged and Jeremy grinned. “I doubt it, but I'm leaving.”
Lynne felt the cold draft and knew Nate stood at the door. “I'm so not paying for dinner now.”
Jeremy laughed and left them alone. Nate had a smile on his face, much like the first day he came into the store. Her goose was cooked.
“Sorry, but the store is closing,” she said.
“Eight dozen cookies?” Each step he took, she took one backward, until her butt hit the counter. “Nice try, but all I'm going to do is call a bakery.”
“The town closes at five o'clock on Friday.” He stepped into her personal space and his very masculine scent hit her. She gripped the counter. “I'm trying to help you get accepted into the community,” she squeaked out.
“Really? I'm liable to kill anyone who eats those cookies.”
“I'm sure you won't. You'll do fine.” He took another step. “You shouldn't be wasting time. It's for a good cause. Are you not going to do it?”
Nate placed his palms on the counter, one hand situated on each side of her. She tilted her head back and took in his full wrath. Because she was a sick, sick individual, her blood heated, and every inch his body touched zinged.
“The plan's ingenious in an insidious way,” he said. “If I don't provide the cookies, I'm the bad guy. If I do, I spend countless hours baking, and I'm not plotting out my next point to bring you down. That's really smart, but if a war is really what you want, I'm up to play.”
With him pressed against her, Lynne wanted to play, but a completely different game with less talking and much less clothes. “You've got cookies to bake, Nate.”