The whole point behind hiring a closing manager was so that her grandma could work fewer hours, let someone younger lift heavy boxes and stock the store. Clovis needed to stay off her knee so it could heal from its most recent replacement surgery, but if Baby wasn’t keeping the store working at night, then her grandma would have to put it in order before opening. Which defeated the purpose.
Frustrated, Harper grabbed the stain cleaner and a rag from the closet and walked over to the large gilded mirror on the wall at the far end of the dressing rooms.
Normally being in her grandma’s shop, surrounded by all of the bright fabrics and bold designs, could erase even the worst of days. The shop was every girl next door’s haven—sexy with a touch of sophistication, and a brilliant kaleidoscope of intimates from time periods usually forgotten. A new adventure to be found on each hanger.
Not tonight, she thought, taking in the image staring back at her in the mirror.
Tonight, Harper felt like a big, stupid banana in a specialty candy store.
“Think of the bright side,” she told herself, pulling her arm out of her dress and slipping it off so she could get at the stain easier. “At least he friended you before you showed him your panties.”
The ability to see the bright side of even the worst situations was Harper’s gift. It was how she’d made it through her eclectic childhood—and how she kept her smile genuine. And being thought of as a babysitter didn’t even touch Harper’s worst list.
“If you’d gone at him in those panties, I bet he’d have forgotten all about curfew,” a distinctively male voice said from behind her.
Harper spun around, the scream getting stuck in her throat along with her heart, which had lodged itself there first. Acting on reflex, she threw the only thing she could reach at the tall, dark—emphasis on the dark—and dangerous-looking shadow. Only the shadow’s reflexes were skillfully honed, because he caught the flying object with one hand. Leaving her nearly naked and him holding her favorite daffodil-colored dress.
“Whoa,” the unfamiliar and unwelcome voice said from the dressing room doorway. The male face, though, all it took was two seconds for that to register.
Harper’s fear turned to immediate embarrassment, because standing in her grandma’s darkened shop, holding her dress and a slinky red robe, four hours after closing, was the only man in town who hadn’t put Harper in the friend zone. Because he was the only man in town who Harper hadn’t bothered to friend.
St. Helena firefighter, bro of the year, and legendary ladies’ man—Adam Baudouin.
“What are you doing here?” Harper demanded, looking up at him, and he could see the fire lighting her eyes.
A good question. One Adam had crafted a great answer to when she’d first turned around in that pink, teal, and gold-embroidered number with the tiny matching thong, which looked as if she’d recently escaped the Copacabana. Then she’d tossed her dress at him and things had gotten interesting. Little Miss Sunshine wiggled a lecturing finger his way, which caused everything in silk and lace to do a little cha-cha in its own way, and Adam’s mind went to a bad place.
An incredibly good bad place.
Oh, Harper was all sunshine and freckled up top. But she was a secret freaking bombshell below. High breasts, tiny waist, curvy hips, long, lush legs that went on for miles. All that silky skin and willowy allure was as surprising as it was intoxicating. Who knew she kept all that hidden under her Rainbow Brite attire?
Not the dildo with the kid who’d ask her to babysit, that’s for sure. Because if he’d seen the view Adam was privy to, the guy would have taken her inside the shop—and right up against the wall.
“Apparently, I’m just in time for the show,” he said, looking down into her face. With her pert nose, twinkling blue eyes, and wild mass of waves piled on top of her head, she was cute, he decided. The crazy kind of cute.
“There’s no show,” she said. “And what are you staring at?” When he looked his fill in response, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “They’re called boobs, Adam.”
“Oh, trust me, I know, Sunshine,” he said, stepping closer and, being the expert on that subject, sized her up in a single glance. Firm, perky—the perfect little handful who wished she was a C. That explained the creative clothing choices. “Just wasn’t sure if you knew, with your outfit and all.”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“You look like a yellow crayon who stepped in grape juice.”
She looked at him in disbelief, then outrage. “I do not! That dress revealed more secrets than Victoria’s new catalog.”
He held up the dress and she grimaced. “Secrets or not, the only thing you’re going to attract with this dress is honeybees, not a hookup.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for a hookup,” she mumbled, snatching her dress back. And because he already knew that, just like he knew one more frustrated huff would have her popping right out of that bra, he let her take it. Even turned his back when she slipped it back on. Because getting a boner for Pollyanna wasn’t a smart move.
“But if I were . . .” she said so quietly he turned back around. She was once again in the yellow jumper, zipped up to her sternum, and fiddling with the little silver heart charm dangling from her necklace. “Are you saying I have to change how I look to get a guy?”
“No.” He actually liked the crazy cutie exactly like she was. Her blinding fashion sense was loud, quirky, and kind of adorable. Except, he remembered, those of the adorable-crazy-cuties variety tended to want more than he was willing to give. So he checked himself, then gave a silent lecture that she wasn’t asking about his preferences, but Dr. Dildo’s. “However, if you want that guy with the kid, then yeah, you got to up your game.”
She looked so incredibly confused he reached for the front zipper of her dress to show her.
She smacked his hand away. “Hey.”
“You asked for my help, so let me help,” he said, grabbing a red belt off the silk robe and tying it around her waist, cinching it in and showcasing her flat stomach. When she no longer looked like a chewing gum wrapper, he tugged the zipper south, far enough that the collar of the dress opened and slid down one arm.
Her shoulder was now exposed as well as a nice hint of her Copacabanas. “You need new lipstick.”
“My lipstick is not the problem. This is the third color I tried this month and the saleslady at the drugstore said it is the perfect shade.”
“First problem with what you said was drugstore, since we both know that the saleslady in question is Mrs. Peters, who hasn’t changed lip color since Carter left office.” He undid her hair, which was held up by a chopstick. Not a decorative one, but a wooden one from the takeout place down the street.
“My curls are out of control, I wouldn’t do that,” she said, her hands coming up to her head. He intercepted them mid–helmet pose and set them back at her sides, squeezing her wrists so she knew to leave them there. And miracle of miracles, she actually listened.
“You have slept-in bed waves, not curls,” he corrected and, yup, one pull and all of those melted-chocolate waves came tumbling down to her midback. Like walking sex, he thought. “Back to the lipstick. Are you really wearing pink with glossy shine and glitter?”
She shifted on her feet. “So?”
“So it’s a problem.” He handed her a tissue and waited while she wiped it off. Then he put his fingers in her hair and gave it a little shake and stepped back to study his work. “Better. But still missing something.”
“Wow, you sure know how to sweet-talk a woman,” she mumbled, and that’s when he realized what it was. Sunshine was looking self-conscious, which he’d never seen before. She usually marched to her own beat and flashed those pearly whites at anyone who looked at her strangely—her version of flashing the bird. Only good-girl style. But right then, standing there looking bed rumpled and sexy as hell, she was uncomfortable.
So Adam did the only thing he knew would work. Okay
, the second thing, since what he wanted to do wouldn’t be appropriate—she wasn’t looking for a hookup. So he slid his fingers deeper into her hair and kissed her.
And holy shit, Harper Owens with her warm smile and rainbow dreams might look like the kind of girl one would bring home to Sunday dinner at the parents’, but she kissed like she’d rock your world on the car ride over.
And back.
She made a soft little mewling sound that drove him crazy, because it was half-surprised and wholly aroused. Without warning, she pulled his lower lip with her teeth, sucked on it for a good minute, and he manned up in the most embarrassing way. But then her hands were on him, threading through his hair, playing with the ends at the back of his neck, and he forgot what the problem was.
Forgot why crazy cuties were a bad idea.
“Adam?” she purred, and he started walking backward into the dressing room when he realized she wasn’t moving with him. She also wasn’t kissing him anymore. In fact, she looked all prickly.
“Adam?” a sultry voice teased from the other room. “Where are you?”
Harper cleared her throat and took a step back. A big step back. “He’s out here, Baby.”
Four things hit Adam simultaneously. First, he’d come here tonight with the stacked blonde he’d met at the bar for a private lingerie show and a fun game of Spin the Spinner. Second, he’d almost had sex with a girl named Baby. And third, he’d just made out with the weird art teacher—and he’d liked it.
Hell, based on the tent in his pants and the way he was gasping for breath, he’d more than liked it. His lips still tasted like some kind of fruity umbrella drink, and he wanted another sip.
Which brought him to the last revelation of the night. Harper Owens was a closeted hottie. And if she’d disliked him before, which he could only assume since she’d never looked twice at him until tonight, then she’d hate him now.
Her hair was magically back up in its messy twist, her dress was zipped to the neck, and she was shooting glares frosty enough to cryogenically freeze his nuts for decades to come.
“Oh, hey, Harper,” Baby said, stopping at the entry to the dressing room. She was in stripper heels, fishnets, and three leather straps that strategically crisscrossed her body. Her hair was ratted, her lips ruby red, and she should have had him revving to go. Only Adam was too busy watching Harper. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
about the author
PHOTO © TOSH TANAKA
Marina Adair is a #1 national bestselling author of romance novels. Along with the St. Helena Vineyard series, she is also the author of Sugar’s Twice as Sweet, part of the Sugar, Georgia series. She lives with her husband, daughter, and two neurotic cats in Northern California. She loves to hear from readers and likes to keep in touch, so be sure to sign up for her newsletter at www.marinaadair.com/newsletter.
Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) Page 26