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He usually liked to be as far from me as possible. But before I could say anything, Maya started her way toward the counter, menu in her hands.
“Counter it is,” she said, not hiding her amusement. Clay moved, and there I went, right with him on the other side of the counter.
“Coffee?” I offered, my voice softer than I was used to. Again, the man didn’t seem to blink when I was around him as his blue gaze penetrated right through me. “I’ve been meaning to headout to West Ranch,” I mentioned as I reached for a mug and grabbed the carafe of coffee.
“Oh?” His manly brow rose, and my fingers itched to trace it. “For what?” he asked. I chewed on my lower lip.
“To look for you, actually.”
“For me, huh?” He did that sexy smirk thing that made my nipples harden beneath my bra, and I was glad I’d worn a padded one.
“I wanted to say thank you,” I mentioned quietly. I set his mug in front of him, poured his coffee, and just as I was going to turn to return the carafe, his hand reached for mine.
“Sugar,” he said. My hands went to grab the holder that held the sugar packets and creamers, but he shook his head. “No. I don’t need sugar. I was calling for you.”
“Oh.” I winced feeling slightly foolish. Nobody had ever called me anything but my name or nickname. No softbabyorhoney. I loved my parents, God rest their souls, but they were never what you would call affectionate.
“You doing okay?” he asked as he pulled his hand away. I missed his touch immediately. I didn’t like it.
The man had driven me crazy from just about the moment our eyes had met. I’d just moved into town, and I overheard him talking about newcomers coming and taking things that didn’t belong to them. I smarted off, and from that moment, we had a tumultuous relationship. But he had been a regular long after I signed the paperwork for the Rose Diner. He might not like newcomers, but Clay West kept coming back.
To argue and charm.
The man was infuriating.
Something I heard was a common trait of the West men.
Whatever was in the water out in Odessey made what seemed all the men here grow tall and handsome as well as stubborn. But that worked to my advantage.
It helped remind me to keep my distance.
He might have been handsome as hell and had a smile that could turn a nun wicked, but there was no way I would give in to the crush I seemed to have developed for the one resident of the small town who seemed to hate me.
Then last week happened.
On the anniversary of my parents’ passing, I’d kept the diner open a little longer than I was used to even though I knew the snow would keep customers away. I didn’t want to head to the apartment upstairs. I didn’t want to be alone, so I hung out and watched the snow slowly blanket Main Street.
I was at the counter, my thoughts miles away from the diner, when he stepped in. Vulnerable and having a moment, I fell apart in his arms and sobbed against his chest to the point I knew I’d ruined his shirt with my tears and makeup.
But he didn’t seem to mind.
No, Clay West was a mystery I wasn’t sure I wanted to figure out.
Like a gentleman, he held me, and when I calmed down, he helped wrap me up in my coat, muttering about how I would need something stronger for the winter, and walked me to my place upstairs.
“Nothing to say thank-you for. Anyone would have—” the man snapped me out of my thoughts. Something came over me, and I covered his hand with mine.
“It wasn’t anyone,” I cut him off. “It was you. And … just thank you. It meant a lot to me. More than you could know, so?—"
“Have dinner with me,” he interrupted, and I blinked.
“Excuse me.” His hand rounded mine and covered it. My eyes immediately dropped to it and widened. His skin was lighter than mine yet still kissed by the sun and marked with freckles that fascinated me. It felt warm, almost hot against my always cool skin. Warm and rough.
The contrast drew my attention.
His hand was weathered from the heavy work he did, and I could feel the callouses against my skin. I had to fight a full-body tremble. All I could seem to do was think about how those hands might feel on my body. Would his touch feel as tender as it did now? Or would it be firmer? As if he thought he owned me.
Owned me.I shook the thought away, and when my gaze rose to meet his, he was frowning.
