by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan
“I do know what I’m talking about,” Faith said. “Which is how I also know you ask Tim the same questions every year when the Tobacco game comes up, just to rile the man.”
Tim pointed at Leon. “You do, every year.”
“That’s because it works, every year.”
Meier was grinning at the exchange and Faith’s smooth control over everyone and everything in the store as he wandered into her peripheral vision. Joe Sheridan came toward the register with a customer close behind and rang up some paint.
Faith’s gaze was on the credit processor waiting for the receipt, when her gaze slid left and caught sight of Meier.
And she smiled. The lift to her lips, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, they made her look cute and sweet and mischievous all at the same time. She knew he was coming in every day to see her, and she liked it. Knowing that gave him the strangest thrill. But the way she kept her interest in him on lockdown frustrated the hell out of him.
“Well, look at that.” She tore the receipt off the machine and placed it in front of Tim for his signature, never taking her eyes off Meier. “Real trouble just blew in.”
He chuckled, crossed his arms, and waited. Faith’s gaze drifted to the bag he held in his hand, then jumped back to his face with a hint of surprise, an edge of question.
“Meier,” Leon said. “You’re a Duke fan, ain’t that right?”
“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Tim told Leon. “Let the boy make up his own mind.”
“My mind tells me to stay out of this conversation,” Meier said.
“Smart,” Joe said without turning from the register.
A young kid wearing a polo shirt with the hardware store’s logo came up to the front, carrying five different wrenches and laid them on the counter near Faith. He was out of breath, sweating, and red-faced with worry. “What about these? Is it any of these?”
Leon and Tim stopped their argument to peer at the group of tools. Joe finished his sale and joined the group, looking over Faith’s shoulder. All of them studied the wrenches like they were some architectural relics.
“No, no, boy.” Leon frowned over at the kid, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Didn’t you listen to me? The left-handed box-end wrench is on aisle twelve, a third of the way down, between the left-handed monkey wrench and the left-handed magnet wrench. It’s right there. You can’t miss it.”
Laughter bubbled up in Meier’s chest, and he had to bite his lip to keep it in. The poor kid wiped at the sweat on his forehead.
“No, Leon,” Joe said. “Aisle fourteen, bottom shelf on the right at the end cap, next to the—”
“Foghorn tuning pipe,” Faith finished, nodding at the kid. Her expression solemn, she patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Drew. Try again.”
As soon as the kid disappeared into the maze of aisles, Leon, Tim, Joe, and Faith broke into smiles.
“He’s a keeper,” Leon said, voice low. “How long has he been looking for that thing now? This has to be a record.”
Faith gave Joe’s shoulder a push. “Put the kid out of his misery, will you? If he doesn’t want to belt you or quit, he can keep the job.”
Leon and Tim said hello to Meier on their way out, and Faith turned to him, her grin still bright from the prank they’d collectively pulled on the new kid. “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Grant. I was starting to think I might have to go a full twenty-four hours without seeing that handsome face. What could possibly need fixing at your parents’ house today?”
That. That “handsome” was one of those mixed messages she tossed out every time he was here. The ones that didn’t say she was interested, but didn’t say she wasn’t. And they were making him crazy. They were keeping him up at night. She was keeping him up at night.
No woman ever kept him up at night.
“I hope there’s something to fix so I have an excuse to come back later. But I won’t know until I get there. I was at the rink working with the kids this morning.”
“Oh, right. Mr. Turner was in earlier. Said Colby had a few extra hockey practices over the break.”
He nodded. Waited. And got nothing. No recognition, no excitement, no indication that she knew anything about him.
Screw the small-town gossip mill. The one time Meier needed it, the damn thing broke down.
“You look good in red,” she said, her gaze on his hat, a sassy little smile tipping her mouth. “Way better than orange. Just sayin’.”
He’d been wearing this goddamned Atlanta Braves hat for four days and this was the first time she’d mentioned it. At first he’d thought the colors were too similar, both blue caps with different brim colors. Sure, they had different emblems, but he was trying to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She had a shit storm pummeling her life, after all. But now he was starting to wonder if that “mind like a steel trap” comment was truer than he realized.
She stepped out from behind the counter and passed Meier with a breezy “I’ve got inventory to stock. Good luck finding something to fix today.”
He was mesmerized by that sweet sway of her hips and the way her ass looked in those washed-out jeans. She wore some type of cowboy boots, and her sweater was a deep, bright pink and cropped, showing her trim waist and flowing curves that made Meier’s mouth water. After less than a week, he was intrigued by her simplistic but authentic and unapologetic style. It fit her attitude and her personality, and Meier found that more refreshing every day.
Which led to today. To showing up spontaneously with no purpose, holding chocolates.
What in holy hell had happened to him?
He followed her as if she were his magnet. “Free for lunch?”
“Nope, too much to do.”
“What if I bring it here?”
“No, thanks. I really don’t have time to stop.”
“Then you might like these chocolates I picked up next door. They’re bite-size, and you can eat them on the go. They’re also part of Jemma’s private reserve.”
Her feet halted, and she stood there frozen a second before she spun on him, took a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him into an aisle.
“Whoa, girl.” He chuckled the words, thrilled he’d finally gotten a reaction out of her. “If I’d known chocolate was the key to getting your attention, I’d be a regular at Jemma’s by now.”
She let go of his shirt and crossed her arms. “You’re playing me,” she said, voice low. “Jemma would never give you access to her private reserve.”
“Baby, I know you seem to be immune to my charms, but not every woman is.”
She leaned one shoulder against a shelf. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
He mirrored her, loving this tiny sliver of her complete and total attention. He’d never had to work so hard to get something so simple in his entire life. But the zing he felt all through his body when they really connected was well worth the effort. “You’re not going to cave, are you?”
She grinned, a sexy, flirty little grin that shocked Meier all the way to the pit of his stomach. “Must be hard for a handsome stud like you not to have every woman drop at your feet.”
“I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to be understood.”
She laughed. Her eyes twinkled. And, God, something really different was happening here. Some wild sort of chemistry he’d never had with any other woman. And he hadn’t even kissed her.
“All right, hot shot, I’ll indulge you in your game. What have you got in there?”
“Just your favorites.”
She shook her head. “Jemma wouldn’t tell you my favorites.”
“The way she wouldn’t tell me about her reserve collection?”
She smirked.
Man, he was having way too much fun. He opened the bag and peered in at the chocolates. The rich, intoxicating scent hit him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm. Damn, that’s better than a drug.”
“Tease,” she muttered.
He opened
his eyes, glanced in the bag, and nodded. “I do have Tease in here. Not too sweet, not too rich, but just right to leave you wanting more.”
She sighed as if she were tolerating him.
“I also have Long, Slow, Deep, Wet Kiss.” He let his gaze fall to her mouth and licked his bottom lip. “Mmm. This chocolate couldn’t compare to the real thing with you.”
She took a deep breath. “Meier—”
“Let’s see.” He returned his gaze to the bag. I suppose it would be appropriate to move on to Nip, Tug, Suckle. Mmm-hmm. And oh, wow, then we dive into the really good stuff.”
Lifting his gaze from the bag, he met her eyes directly, deliberately, and was a little surprised to find her lids heavy, her eyes lusty. He’d begun to believe she was truly unaffected by him.
“This is a little quick for my taste,” he murmured. “I’d rather build slower, savor longer, explore in depth, but I also aim to please, so let’s skip to your next favorite—First Penetration.” He closed his eyes as the idea slid through him in a heat wave. “Mmmm. Damn. Always so good.”
She heaved a sigh. “All right, Meier. You’ve had your fun for the day. I really have to—”
“Long and Slow, one of my favorites, right along with Deep and Hard. Both have so much pleasure potential, don’t you think? All leading to the Peak, the Break, and Ecstasy.”
He was pretty sure he’d done nothing but turn himself on and reached into the bag with the intention of torturing her by eating the chocolate himself. He held out one little dark square decorated with a single yellow flower petal. “But wait, what’s this?”
“Bareback,” she said, her gaze hot, almost challenging, on his. “The ultimate sweet ride.”
A lightning strike of lust cut him straight down the middle. “Ah. Right.”
He pulled another. This square a little lighter and topped with a purple pansy. “And this?”
“Fling.” Her lips curved a little. “Leave your chocolate-commitment fears behind. This bold baby is here to satisfy when you’re interested.”
He held the chocolate higher, like a gem to the light. “Oooo, so much possibility.” Lowering the square, he dropped it into the bag and shook his head. “Too bad it will all be wasted.”
She was grinning, the look a little smug, a little sweet. “Wasting Jemma’s special reserve will earn you a fate worse than death.” She pushed off the shelf and with one quick swipe, grabbed the bag from his hand. “I’d hate to see something like that happen to a guy as thoughtful as you.” She turned toward the back of the store. “Thanks, handsome. Have a great day.”
Meier opened his mouth to argue, but someone called her name.
“Faith, Faith, look.” The kid they’d been messing with jogged up to her carrying a handful of large sheets of paper. His wide eyes darted between Meier and Faith. “Dwayne just dropped these posters off, and look.”
The way the kid was pointing at something on the page but giving Meier those starstruck eyes, he was sure those were the posters announcing Meier’s participation with the festival and the hockey team.
He grinned, his ego inflated. The anticipation of Faith finding out he was a sports star filled him with a ridiculous level of excitement and satisfaction.
“What?” she asked, looking over the poster before telling the kid, “Just put them up in the window where we always put the local promotions.”
“No,” the kid said, then pointed to Meier. “It’s him. He’s…look.”
Faith laughed, the sound light and bubbly and truly humor filled. “God, you are adorable,” she told the kid. Then to Meier, she said, “Give him an autograph before you leave, will you?”
She turned and continued toward the back room. Confusion shocked Meier’s brain still for a long second. He looked at the kid, said, “I’ll catch you on my way out,” then caught up with Faith and slipped his arm around her elbow. “You wait just a damn minute.”
She had a chocolate in her hand and took a bite. Her eyes closed in a look of bliss, and the hum of pleasure that rolled from her throat seemed to funnel blood straight to his groin.
“You know who I am?”
When she opened her eyes, the hint of humor edged the spark there. “Meier Grant, son of Hazel and David Grant. Center for the New York Rangers. Benched for a shoulder injury, but headed back to the ice any day now. Bachelor extraordinaire. And an amazing judge of chocolate. I’ve really got a lot to do.”
When she tried to turn, he pulled her back around. “How long? How long have you known?”
“Since the night you picked up your tree. You didn’t really think you could stir my curiosity like that and then expect me to drop it, did you?” She lifted the bag and gave him a sweet grin. “Thanks again.”
He didn’t let go. “Then why are you still resisting me?”
She laughed lightly and turned to fully face him. “That spotlight has fried your humility. Out here in the real world, not all women fall on their backs just because you’re good-looking, built, and rich.”
“You forgot famous, charming, and funny.”
“The famous part goes against you in my opinion. As far as charming and funny, those traits seem highly variable, depending on whether you’re getting what you want or not.”
He frowned. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“Meier”—she reached up and patted his cheek—“you’ve been in my store three or four times a day for four days in a row. That’s more than I see most of my customers in three months, and I know their life stories. But I have to admit, every time you come in, you make my day. Sorry I’m not speechless over your star status, but we live in small-town North Carolina, for God’s sake. There isn’t a whole hell of a lot else to do in the winter. Everyone here played hockey or ice-skated at some point in their lives, the same way every kid in California learns to swim.”
He planted his hands on his hips. “Not every California kid becomes Mark Spitz.”
Man, she sure thought that was funny. Doubled-over funny. And even Meier couldn’t stay annoyed when she was laughing like that. Her face flushed with color, her eyes sparkled, and he could almost swear the sound of her laughter made him feel five years younger.
“Oh my God,” she said when she finally quieted to draw a breath. “Okay, I’ll give you that. And I’m not trying to diminish your success. I’m really not. I just find it…entertaining, and sort of sad in a way. Sad that you put so much emphasis on your fame to validate your importance when there’s so much great stuff in here.” She tapped his chest with an index finger. “Stuff that’s really important. Stuff that matters way more than your hockey stats or your bank balance or your shiny new Range Rover.”
The woman turned him inside out on a dime. To cover for the strange and uneasy feelings inside, he said, “Whoa. Let’s leave my Rover out of this.”
She chuckled. “I’m just saying that being pretty on the ice isn’t the most important thing in the world.” She pushed at his chest and turned away. “Now leave me alone so I can get some work done. We don’t all get R&R for a shoulder injury.”
And when she opened the door into the back room, Meier stood there staring at the blank white surface, unsure whether he should be angry or happy or impressed or flattered or what. The only thing he knew for sure was that Faith Nicholas was definitely under his skin. And for the first time since he was an awkward teen, Meier didn’t know what the hell to do about it.
He ran a hand over his hair, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Well…fuck.”
Chapter 3
Faith walked the store from back to front, making sure all the aisles were clear, then continued to the door, key in hand. Another long, busy day down on the sales floor. Now came her after-hours work. Pricing, stocking, paying bills, placing orders. Then it started all over again in the morning.
But what kept running through her mind? Meier didn’t come in today.
She refocused on work, approaching the front door. “I feel like an exhausted ha
mster.”
Sliding her key into the lock, Faith clicked the dead bolt closed. Then she closed her eyes, dropped her forehead against the glass, and sighed.
“Rough day?”
The muffled voice jerked her upright. Her tired eyes struggled to focus as she looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from. A light tap on the glass drew her attention to the door and the handsome face grinning back at her from the other side.
Meier.
She exhaled, let her muscles relax, and scowled at him even though her stomach was doing somersaults at his presence. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“You wouldn’t be smiling like that if you were really sorry.”
“I’m smiling because you’re beautiful, even exhausted at the end of a long day.”
The man was a serious die-hard. This was his seventh day of repeated visits despite her blatant disregard for his celebrity status. His parents had to be thrilled to have him around with nothing else to do. He’d replaced their garbage disposal, repaired window slides, replaced their kitchen sink, repaired their fence, fixed loose and broken tiles in a guest bathroom, and replaced faulty outlets.
He was wearing that damn Atlanta Braves hat again. The one he’d picked up somewhere the day after he’d picked up his tree and worn every day since.
“The man deserves a date for that alone.” Lily’s repeated words to Faith over the last week rang in her head now.
Against her better judgment, she was starting to seriously like the man. “What do you need now, Mr. Fix-it?”
“Safety cones.”
She lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Safety cones. You know, the ones they use in road construction. They don’t have to be orange, they just can’t be white.”
Her mind tried to wrangle that into some sort of sense but failed. “And I suppose you need these safety cones tonight.”
He shot that full smile at her, the one with dimples and sparkling gray eyes. The one that made her stomach float.
She gave a heavy sigh, a roll of her eyes, and turned the lock. “Make it fast.”