Then he leaned forward slightly, and a beam of soft, white light caressed his face.
How about that? I managed something between a squeak and a cough, afterwards my voice was gone as well.
This was too much stimulation in a short period of time.
He was too much.
I mean, seriously?
What lab did he escape from? There was no way genes like his existed in the wild. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the population.
His skin was a rich, golden brown, so smooth it didn't seem real. The even shade stayed consistent over every inch of him I could see, including the crown of a bald head revealed by the black beanie he wore pulled down over his ears.
I followed the line of his profile down to a square jaw covered by a neatly trimmed beard that shone with how well-taken care of it was, and also managed to somehow not conceal the masculine frame of his face in the least.
His bottom lip was full, pink, and tempting. Meant to be tugged at by teeth. Made for the amused twist he held them in.
The slight dent in his sloped nose and the raised scar bisecting one dark brow almost had me jumping with excitement to have finally come upon a flaw.
Except then I got to his eyes.
His walk had been enough to dream about.
A sensible impulse I should've listened to urged me to cover my face.
To look somewhere else while there was still time.
To do anything but meet his gaze directly.
But temptation was a whisper.
A plea.
A red-hot cattle prod to the beast of rebellion I thought had been put to sleep five years ago.
So I looked straight into twin orbs of decadent chocolate and knew without a doubt they would haunt my waking moments, lingering right on the edge of reality.
“If you're going for a record in silence,” he said in a voice that matched those amazing eyes. Warm and deep and sensual. Not diminished in the least by the bags beneath them. “Then I hate to break it to you, but we've already got a reigning champ in the area.”
What?
I blinked, or at least I'm pretty sure I did. My face felt halfway frozen from standing there in the cold.
And I might have kept standing there until I caught a cold—which would be the epitome of stupid—if he hadn’t done something outlandish enough to break the holy hell how is he so attractive trance I was in.
“Well, this is fun and all but I’m freezing my damn ass off here,” he said, making my nose wrinkle with his choice of vocabulary.
Then he pulled huge hands from his pockets, easily grabbed hold of the boxes I’d been struggling with, lifted them into arms that bulged beneath his leather jacket, and turned on his heel.
“Hey!” I called to his back, following closely behind him. “That’s mine!”
He didn’t turn, but he did toss an, “obviously,” over his shoulder while letting himself into my shop as if he owned the place.
Striding inside with that same purposeful walk that said he didn’t go anywhere or do anything he didn’t want to do, he looked around briefly before stopping in the middle of the floor.
Heat curled in my chest and I embraced my swiftly climbing temper with both hands.
Assholes were assholes no matter where you were. If he thought he could get away with whatever he wanted just because he was good looking and had annoyingly wide shoulders, he was so, so wrong.
“Put those down,” I demanded, coming around to stand in front of him, folding my arms across my chest. My hip jutted out almost by itself, and I could hear my foot tapping an angry beat against the tiles.
I might as well have been a mime for the attention he paid me.
He continued his slow perusal of the shop, long fingers steadily balancing the load in his arms. “Tex told me someone new was renting this spot, but he didn’t say who.”
“Hello?” I tried waving a hand in front of his face. “Look...guy. If this is some kinda joke, I'm telling you now it isn't funny.”
Look. Guy. Holy cow, could I sound any less threatening?
His head dipped down, and though it was too dark in the shop to clearly see his eyes again, I felt his attention on me. He stared, saying nothing. Long enough that I stopped tapping my foot and took a single step back instead.
The silence was intense, and I was suddenly very aware of how little I knew about the man standing in front of me.
Biker. Handsome. Rude.
Those filled in the total of who he was to me.
Serial killers can be attractive too, my unhelpful brain reminded me.
But only his words followed my casual retreat as I took another step for good measure.
“Does the name Palazzo mean anything to you?” he asked quietly.
“Sounds like it could get me a lot of points in Scrabble,” I blurted. “Other than that, no.”
“Huh,” he grunted. The weird pressure hanging between us disappeared, and I stopped fumbling with the phone in my pocket. “So, where do you want these?”
Is it bad that I suddenly wished for a final destination style moment where he somehow slipped on the floor and everything he was holding came back down to land perfectly between his legs?
An irritated noise surfaced from the back of my throat before I could stop it. “You could do what I told you to do in the first place and put them down. No one asked for your help.”
“You looked like you could use a hand.” The barely hidden laughter was back.
I still didn’t find anything about this funny.
“Yeah? Well, I didn’t,” I muttered peevishly. “But since you’ve already barged in here after watching me like a creep, you could do us both a favor and leave. After you set those down.”
He stepped closer to me and I got a hint of something that reminded me of fresh pine, mixing with leather.
Because of course he smelled good at sun-hasn’t-even-come-up in the morning.
Freaking. Figured.
His lips curved. “I already said sorry for startling you.”
“And you didn’t mean it, so it doesn’t count.”
“You always this combative?”
I folded my arms again. “Only after white knights ride in to save the day in spite of their help not being wanted or needed.”
“Hit a light, would you?”
Next time I saw Dad and Lawson, I was going to throttle them both for always taking such good care of me. It sounded illogical, but my reasoning was sound.
They’d left me totally unprepared for encountering someone who didn’t react to me at all.
Nails digging into my arms, I stomped towards the switch and hit it, bringing the shop to life with soft, yellow light spilling from the paper lanterns along the ceiling.
A low whistle had my head turning to my unwelcome intruder, and he glanced around once more before looking back at me. Feeling a dual need to both preserve my irritation and be petty at the same time, I didn’t meet his eyes.
Instead, I placed my whole focus on the dent of his nose.
“You’ve done a hell of a job with this place,” he said. “Finally brought it into this century. No disrespect to Mrs. Caldwell, but the last time I was in here I felt like the only thing missing was a spittoon.”
My pissed off stance eased. Somewhat. My glare went nowhere. If my soft, “Thanks,” had to be pulled from between my teeth, then so be it.
He was an asshole with taste.
Good for him.
This time, he didn’t bother to hide his low chuckle, and I hated how the sound bounced all around me, impossible to ignore.
“Look,” he said slowly. “I didn’t mean for us to get off on the wrong foot. How about you point out where you want these, and we’ll go from there?”
My mouth opened.
“And don’t say right here on the floor.”
My mouth closed.
“You’ve obviously got everything where you want it already,” he continued. A smirk shifted the lower half o
f his face and I stared harder at his nose. “No reason for you to have to move these again when I’m right here.”
“You always this pushy?” I asked, throwing his words back in his face.
His smile was a camera flash. Bright white. There and gone as if it never existed. I blinked and almost wondered if I’d imagined it.
“Only when stubborn women are involved. And I promise I’ve cracked tougher eggs than you.”
I shook my head. “I won’t say I hate to break it to you, because I don’t. But no eggs are getting cracked today.” Looking away from him, I threw the door to the storage room open, revealing the other boxes I’d finished earlier. “Put them anywhere in there, then you can go.”
I wasn’t completely sure why I was making such an effort to be bitchy, but I couldn’t help myself.
Humming to himself, my unwanted knight headed into the storage room, passing close enough to me that his fresh smell invaded my nose again.
Holding my breath, I considered him for a moment. Then immediately decided that was a bad idea when he started moving things around and the muscle contained by his jacket and dark jeans made itself known.
Watermelons are out of season, right? What the hell is he stuffing his biceps with?
Groaning at the horny devil on my shoulder, I made a quick escape, practically throwing myself under the partition that separated the bar from the customers.
Being closer to the stainless-steel implements calmed me. They were a reminder that I was here to make a name for myself, not lust after sneaky bikers who moved too quietly for their own good and couldn’t take a hint.
“Think you’ve got enough blenders back here?” he called.
Because of course I needed to add snooping to his list of sins.
Of.
Freaking.
Course.
I didn’t bother with an answer while I made myself look busy. The idea was that he would realize I had better things to do than entertain him.
Wasn't that the universal translation of running a rag over an already clean surface?
Except when he emerged from the back, he came right up to the other side of the counter and leaned on his hands, splaying those long fingers that seemed capable of wrapping around my entire thigh. A possibility that was going to stay purely hypothetical.
“Unless I'm pulling at the wrong thread,” he said, ignoring my attempted cold shoulder. “I'm gonna say...smoothies?”
“I don't have a bell to ring if that's what you're waiting for.”
I caught the flash of a smile again from the corner of my eye.
“There's no way you're this mad about me scaring you and offering a helping hand.”
“What makes you so sure?” I didn't chance a direct glance his way. “Maybe those are the two things I hate the most in the world.”
“Bullshit,” he laughed. “Come on, you can do better than that.”
Ugh. It seriously burned how right he was.
I was full of it.
Other than scaring the bejeezus out of me and providing unsolicited assistance, he'd been nothing but friendly. Yeah, those two things had annoyed me. But there was more to my caustic mood and I knew it.
I just hadn't wanted to admit it.
During the many, many arguments I had with Law and Dad about me coming down here, I swore up and down about how ready I was to do this.
How prepared I was.
How careful I would be.
Yet it had taken all of a week for life to point in my face and laugh at my efforts, giving strength to the kernel of doubt slithering around, asking if I really was ready for this.
Ready to fend for myself.
Ready to run my own business.
Ready to live life without having my family there to stand me back up when I fell.
This is it, I reminded myself on a deep exhale, releasing fingers that had curled into anxious fists. I’m on the path I set, and I’ll walk it even if it kills me.
“Make me something,” the stranger said. My jump of surprise was an internal event. The only outward sign I gave to his sudden demand was a twitch of my eyelid.
“Make you something,” I repeated dumbly, risking a glance at him.
His dark eyes were calm. Serious. He shrugged, lifting shoulders wide enough to block my vision. “Might as well see what you’re about while I’m here. You could be planning to poison the whole town one drink at a time.”
My lips started to curve so I thinned them into a line. He wouldn’t amuse me. Nuh-uh. “That doesn’t seem like a great business model.”
“Which is why I’m volunteering to be a guinea pig for the good of the community.” He reached into his jeans and pulled out his wallet before placing a twenty on the counter between us. “Look at that. You’ve got your first customer.”
Who is this guy?
I squinted at him, trying to discern what game he was playing. But there wasn’t much on the board to choose from.
Other than standing near the truck, watching me for an indefinite amount of time, he hadn’t said or done anything inappropriate.
I should’ve been overjoyed to be on the verge of making my first actual sale to an actual paying customer. One who seemingly wasn’t trying to use this as an opportunity to get in my pants, no less.
Those were good things, right?
I wasn’t actually standing here feeling sorry for myself because a super attractive guy I’d just met wasn’t trying to have sex with me, right?
Why would he try? Did you forget you’re dressed like a homeless teenager?
“I don’t have change,” I said lamely, picturing a line of dancing puppies in a marching band to get away from those other thoughts.
Those big shoulders lifted again. “Consider it gratuity.”
Gratuity. People seriously called it that in real life?
I debated for another moment, which was silly. There was already a bundle of excitement springing to life in my chest, doing annoyingly perfect flips and cartwheels.
My hands itched with the urge to go through the familiar motions I knew so well. So, so well I could probably make anything on the menu blindfolded. And while finishing my grocery run was on the list for later in the day, I had enough in the fridge to make do.
“Fine,” I said finally, turning away to go to the sink.
He didn’t make a noise to signal his victory, but that didn’t stop the sense of it from wafting in the air between us.
Passing my cupped hand beneath the soap dispenser, I turned on the tap and got busy cleaning under my nails. The odds of him secretly being the health inspector were slim, since I’d already met with her, but I refused to run some gross establishment in the first place.
After drying my hands, I crouched down and opened the small fridge where the essentials would be once I opened. Picking out the ingredients was second nature, and I stood with an arm full before spreading them out on the counter and getting to work. Dicing the apple and banana were finished and going in the blender when I reached for the spinach and-
“Whoa now,” came rumbling from the man behind me. “I like my leafy greens as much as the next guy, but I don’t know about spinach in a smoothie.”
I packed it in on top of the rest, adding fat-free yogurt, a bit of orange juice, maple syrup, and plenty of ice cubes. “You asked for a smoothie without specifying, so you get one of my favorites.”
“That’s your favorite?”
My gaze lifted to the ceiling, begging for patience from any source that might be listening. There wasn’t time to be picky.
“I’ll have pretty much all the normal options once I open,” I told him, ignoring the sting of his disbelief. “But my focus and passion are about providing something that still feels like a sweet, enjoyable treat to those who can’t handle the stuff that’s normally in these things while keeping the whole thing healthy.”
He was quiet, and I squeezed my eyes shut, putting the blender back in place by feel. I only thought about stic
king my head inside it for a moment while it sank in how much I’d revealed.
Here it comes, I thought, bracing for the ridicule.
It was amazing how big a deal people made out of others either not wanting to eat the same things as them, or simply being unable to. As if there was some kind of offense to be taken simply because you wanted something different than the norm.
Then there were the small group of girls—not including my darling Lynn and her sister, Maria—who I thought were my friends until I told them about my idea.
They thought it was some stupid gambit to blow up on social media with cute little pictures and videos and hashtags.
Except the only thing my stranger said was, “Spinach. Huh. Wouldn’t have been my first choice.”
I shot him a look over my shoulder that said, do you want the damn thing or not?
And after he waved me on, I quickly turned back around and hit the button to start everything going so he wouldn’t notice the small smile I was wearing or somehow pick up on the pleased warmth spreading through my frame.
The blender was incredibly loud for nearly a minute, then it was over with and the moment of truth had arrived.
My hands felt clammy when I grabbed the plastic cup, briefly admiring the stencil of a tiny sun coming over the horizon.
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and poured, careful not to spill a drop. Eventually, I knew something was going to hit the floor and it would likely be followed by me slipping on it and also hitting the floor.
But that day wasn’t today.
I turned back towards the biker— customer?—grabbing a lid and a straw before sliding the whole thing across to him.
For a moment, he seemed intent on me instead of the drink in front of him. Too bad for him, I was back to staring at his nose.
It didn’t stop me from reaching up to tuck a few stray hairs behind my ear, but it did keep me from doing something dumb like drooling.
Right when I was beginning to wonder if he was going to stare until the whole thing melted, one huge hand with knuckles I was just noticing were covered in tiny scars lifted the drink from the counter.
His motions were smooth, lacking any hesitation whatsoever. He stood to his towering height, popping the straw in, and I had to look up and up to find his face again when he brought it to his mouth.
Tempted by a Sinner (Seven Sinners Book 4) Page 5