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Alice, if I'm right, I'm going to kill you. I don't care if you're already dead.
"Troy tells me you're a little nervous about running the store."
"It's not something I've ever sold before, but selling is selling. I worked on a used car lot when I was sixteen, moved on to Sears' appliances, and eventually into stocks and bonds after I earned my accounting degree. I'll get a handle on it."
The same way she was going to get a handle on this conversation. She wasn't going to be driven by hormones, groundless fantasies or shared grief to encourage this beyond a friendly-but-not-too-friendly, neighborly relationship. She needed to figure out a way to make that clear.
As he moved around the counter with a noncommittal grunt, she tried not to notice how the shirt strained over his broad shoulders. The temptation to reach out and touch the curls of coarse hair at his throat was making her fingertips tingle. What would he do? Would his hand close over hers, stop her, those eyes centering on her face, an unspoken command to keep her hands to herself . . . until she was given permission to touch?
Shit, shit, shit. Seeing the perfect opening to change the subject, she seized it. "I figured someone had sent you a cinder block."
Those attractive lips curved as he fished a box cutter out of a drawer and slit the box open. "Lead. I have customers who pour their own bullets for hunting, self-defense and historical re-enactments, so I keep a supply on hand, along with primers, powder and the like. But there should be something else." His expression brightened. "Right here on top."
He freed the item with remarkable gentleness, revealing a set of antique brass metal hinges. "The supply house for bullet lead also does metalwork?" she asked.
"They're an eclectic enterprise. A mom-and-pop place in Missouri. They even have a blacksmith who shoes horses and makes swords for Renaissance Faires. I've been out there." He glanced up, gave her a distracting wink. "Almost bought an Excalibur replica, but decided on a good wood lathe. The lathe was cheaper."
When he extended the hinges so she could take a closer look, she studied the engraved design. It showed a vine of thorns, interspersed with tiny leaves and loops. "You don't usually see thorns without a rose."
"No, you don't. The potential of the thorns is often overlooked." He set them aside and extended a palm. "Give me your hand and I'll show you."
She curled her fingers, uncertain. This guy was doing weird things to her. She needed to get back to her store. "We haven't even been officially introduced."
"I'm Logan Scott."
She took a step back from the counter before she could stop herself. This was Logan? Trust Logan. Like you'd trust me. Or a soul mate . . . He took care of me until you came.
He'd cared for her sister, all except those last three days? The hospice nurse hadn't mentioned another caregiver, but maybe Alice had told her not to do so.
Goddamn it. She bit her lip. If I hadn't scattered your ashes over the river already, I would mix them in some random cat's litter box, I swear to God.
"Are you all right?"
Tuning back in, she saw nothing in his face that said he knew the contents of that letter. He'd left his hand out, and it would be rude and stupid to act like a frightened deer because of a mysterious reference about him from her sister. But it was way more than that. He had that submissive side of her on its knees, all senses on alert toward his every action. His every desire or demand. Give me your hand.
In the past, it was her own inner yearnings that had led her down unwise paths with men. But this compulsion seemed to be originating from him, a distinct, dangerous difference. She told herself to get a grip. He was going to think she was a freak if she didn't start acting normal.
She put her hand out. Her fingers whispered across his palm as his own closed over them. She'd never thought of a man's touch as unforgettable, but she drew in a breath at the way it felt. Reassuring. Firm and strong. Something that would become a permanent craving if taken away.
"At last," he murmured. "We meet."
The simple statement underlined his close history with Alice, close enough that Alice had talked about her. A courtesy she hadn't offered Madison. Her anger about that couldn't hold, though, not when she saw their contact unlock the abiding pain of deep loss behind his gaze, a pain she understood.
Before that could freak her out--any more than the whole situation was doing--he loosened his grip and turned her hand over. He pressed his thumb against her palm so her fingers half closed over it. With the other hand, he brought the tip of the box cutter to her skin. He paused, watching her adjust to what he was about to do, giving her the chance to draw back. Her pulse was beating higher in her throat, but she didn't pull back. That sent a message so significant, she wasn't surprised to see his eyes darken, his mouth tighten. She relished the reaction.
He pricked her with the point, along the lifeline. He didn't do it hard enough to draw blood.
"A tiny hurt, like the bite of a thorn," he said. "Your fingers twitched, like you might pull away, but when you realized it was bearable, you stilled again." He lifted her hand to his mouth then, brushed his lips over the spot. "Now a reward, a mix of pleasure with pain. It makes you crave a little more of both. Or maybe more than a little."
Giving her a half smile, which didn't lessen the intensity of his gaze, the import of what they'd just both communicated without words, he squeezed her hand before letting her go.
This wasn't flirting, but something way more hazardous. She closed her hand around that touch, put it to her side to hide the tremor in her fingers. "What are the hinges for?" She had to blurt it out, but fortunately it didn't sound as strident as she feared.
"A commissioned piece I'm making. I have a woodworking shop here on the premises. I'll show it to you sometime, if you'd like."
"Okay. Maybe. If it's no trouble."
"Maybe" was an escape hatch, but in truth, she needed a reprieve from all the empty spaces where Alice was supposed to be. She was antsy for human contact, no matter how unsettling. Though she obviously couldn't afford a lot of one-on-one exposure with Logan, she couldn't deny she wanted to find out more about the man Alice had said she could trust.
