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Not that I’ve imagined it, or anything.
He’s got thick black hair, full lips, and a neatly trimmed beard. Brown skin, brown eyes, drool-worthy body. His biceps are the size of melons, but he moves like a dancer, especially in the kitchen. Watching him cook is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. He’s totally in control. Masterful.
He makes amazing chai tea, courtesy of his mother’s Indian heritage. I discovered this when he made me a thermos full of the deliciously spiced drink, unprompted, simply because he noticed that I liked drinking chai more than coffee.
So, not only is he beautiful, burly, and unimaginably sexy, he’s also thoughtful, his kiss made my knees weak, and at one point, he thought it was hot that I’m a nerd who likes to bake.
Me, the nearly celibate ex-computer scientist who has an unhealthy obsession with being a high achiever. He thought I was sexy.
But he also invited his ex-girlfriend to town, let her stay at his place even though she was clearly pining after him, and called me a coward when I refused to date him. Then he walked away.
So…I’m not sure where that leaves us.
Fallon clears his throat, his eyes on the timber floorboards beneath our feet. “I went to Four Cups this morning.”
“Why? You don’t work there anymore.”
He lets out a huff and lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “Maybe I wanted a coffee, Jen.” His eyes drop to mine, brow arching.
I nod, chewing the inside of my lip. “Fair point.”
“Maybe I wanted to see you,” he grates.
My head jerks. “Did you?”
“Would that be so surprising?”
“Um…” I tilt my head. “Yes?”
The aggression in his stance softens, and Fallon does something I don’t expect. He smiles. His eyes gleam, and it looks like he’s about to say something. Maybe tease me the way he used to before the kiss. Before Amanda. Before the whole mess between us.
But instead, he just clears his throat and the glimmer fades from his eyes. “Anyway, Gus was in line behind me. I overheard him saying your partner broke both her legs.” Fallon is staring at me, eyes serious, chest just a few inches from me. “I volunteered to take her place.”
“You…volunteered?” I’m just repeating his words, but I can’t manage much more than that. A murder of crows just tried to kill me. I’m about to embarrass myself on television. Fallon is standing in a shaft of sunlight and he looks like a god. Give me a break, okay? I can’t quite seem to focus on a single thought, especially when Fallon reaches over and takes my hand. His palm is broad, warm, and it feels like magic against my skin.
Then he pauses. “What the hell happened to your hands?” He grips my chin and tilts my head to the side. “And your head?”
“Crows.”
“Crows?”
I close my eyes. “Yes. A murderous murder of crows. It was an omen.” My head throbs as if in response to my words.
“You don’t believe in omens.” His voice slides over my skin like silk, thumb making slow sweeps across the back of my hand.
It takes me a few moments to find my voice. “Now I do. I’m going to leave. I’m going to quit this thing. It was stupid of me to agree to this competition anyway.”
“Jen,” Fallon says, and my knees wobble at the sound of my name. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes.
“You’re not going to quit. You’re going to win, you’ll expand your bakery, and you’ll fulfill every dream that ever entered that thick-skulled, rational, logic-oriented head of yours.”
A spasm grips my heart. No one—and I mean no one—has ever given me that kind of blind, unwavering support. Then I tilt my head, frowning. “That last part kind of sounded like an insult.”
Fallon huffs a laugh and squeezes my hand. “Jen.” His eyes warm, and my stupid, unreliable knees start wobbling again.
When he says my name like that, it makes me want to tear my clothes off, spread my arms, and scream, TAKE ME NOW!
