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What he wanted, more than anything, was to be there when she figured out how to make her store a success. She had a great shop and obviously she possessed a lot of talent. Her heart showed up in her eyes whenever she spoke about the place. All she needed was a little time, a little luck, and a little help. Something he could give her—but only if he didn’t come clean just yet. If he did, she’d paint him with the same brush as his brother and discount everything he said. Worse, she might assume he was trying to sabotage the store.
He couldn’t let her risk her business that way, not when he was certain she could—they could—make it work. And if her success goaded Cory, so much the better. His brother claimed he enjoyed competition, didn’t he?
After the store was on its feet again, he’d tell her the truth. Maybe she’d even be grateful he’d fought his own instincts to reveal all to help her. Yeah, so maybe not, but at least she’d have her store, whole and strong and in the black.
And he would have her, if only for a short time. Perhaps he’d even rediscover his own love for business by working on something that wasn’t Value Hardware. Something smaller, and more personal.
She looked up at him with her glossy blue eyes and his stomach flipped over. Whether his plan was good or not, it didn’t even feel like he had a choice in the matter anymore. He was pretty damn invested, both with Alexa and with her store. Bystanders didn’t suffer a spike in blood pressure the way he just had simply from a look.
“Did you want a card? You’re not looking at them.” Her cross expression shouldn’t have made him hard. Nor should’ve her disturbingly erotic fragrance, especially in light of where he was. Floral scents surrounded him, yet he could pick out Alexa’s unique perfume without hesitation.
Man, he was in trouble.
“I’m looking at you.” How could he look anywhere else?
He expected her to sneer at his cocky declaration, and she did just as he’d hoped. “Think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Mr. James?”
“Just stating the facts, ma’am.”
Her pupils dilated, leaving just a fiery ring of blue to highlight the dark. “You never said who the flowers were for. A crush, perhaps?”
He fought not to grin at her obvious irritation. Jealous much? “As a rule, Ms. Conroy, I don’t get crushes. When I want someone, I go after them. At all costs.” She didn’t need to know how long it had been since he’d felt that way. It was both humbling and a little disturbing. “Even when I know I shouldn’t.”
“Maybe that’s part of the appeal.”
Holding her gaze, he ran his tongue along his lower lip. She mirrored the gesture, though he was sure it was unconscious. “I’m a contrary bastard. Knowing someone wants to put me off only makes me want them more.”
“So it’s just the thrill of the chase to you.”
As her hand strayed to that damn necklace, he let his stare sear her flesh. The subtle tightening of her top across her breasts proved the look worked. A little too well, since his jeans had gone tight too. Painfully so.
“A chase is only as good as the prize.” He cocked his head as her breath quickened. “I like to work for it.”
Lust flared in her eyes before her veil of curly lashes swept down to hide his view. “Dillon, we agreed it would only be one night. You know this can’t happen again.”
Keep trying to convince yourself, darlin’.
“It already is.” As Travis ambled into the shop, Dillon slipped back and flashed her a smile. “I’ll take the bear. I think my grandmother will like it.”
…
Alexa came home that night to a perfectly functioning sink and a clutch of pink-and-white mountain laurel in a mason jar on the windowsill, but no sign of Dillon. She didn’t even notice the flowers at first in her haste to search for signs he’d been there. He’d left nothing behind, not even a stray boot print.
But he had left her the laurel.
She couldn’t help sighing at the sight of it, limply leaning against the glass rim. Simple or not, the gesture was sweet. So sweet that she refilled the water glass and added half an aspirin in the futile hope of staving off the flowers’ demise a little longer.
They were obviously handpicked, which made them even more precious to her. Imagining Dillon’s big hands picking through them, searching for just the right blooms…
She sighed again. God, the man must be a frigging expert archer, because he’d just nailed her square in the heart.
The next night when she returned home to the smell of fresh paint, she found another bunch of laurel, this time with a note.
Sorry I didn’t ask before stopping in, but there are some things that need taking care of around here. If you want a rundown of what, or if you’d like to yell at me for invading your privacy—and insulting your sense of aesthetics with my pathetic flowers—my number is 201-8801. D.
The smile came before she could stop it. Holding the note to her chest, she followed the paint scent to the bathroom. He’d painted two walls a cheery lake blue. Patches of white decorated the third wall as if he’d done some prep work to finish tomorrow.
She could smell him, a hint of his pine aftershave and soap. If she drew deeply, maybe the slight tang of his sweat, layering lightly over the rest. It had been a hot day, and the small window he’d forgotten to shut didn’t offer much breeze. The inadequate AC would suck this summer, though oddly enough it seemed to be working better now.
