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“Flatterer,” he says.
“No, I mean—”
“Don’t go ruining this particular fantasy that’s playin’ in my head right about fuckin’ now, Princess.”
I look about, and it’s silent in the bakery. On the street.
We’re in the doorway of the establishment. Every set of eyes are pointed right at us, at me.
“Mack, everyone is staring.”
“Yeah, I know. We just gave this sleepy little town a whole lot of nothing to wag chins over. They needed a bit of a shake-up. They’ll forget it soon enough. So, grab your pastries, and I’ll take you home.”
* * *
My squashed pastries are currently in Mack’s truck.
The man’s so bossy I’m trying to find it in me to be annoyed at his chauvinistic pushing me about. Trying and failing.
I sit on the bed with my spinner case next to me and bury my face in my hands, letting out a groan.
I’ve been whatever the kissing version of dickmatized is. It’s the only explanation.
Well, that and he’s taking me to the cabin, where I can stay for free because the parts are still held up in transit for my car.
In a way, I guess I’m glad. If someone is in town asking about me, then my running is something they might expect. This cabin is as good a place to hole up as any.
I take a breath and get up, swinging my bag over my shoulder, pushing up my glasses, and wheeling the case out the door.
In the foyer, Mack is leaning against the counter, flirting aimlessly with Sarah. I met her fiancé last night, and oh, man, is she right about this town. Maybe there’s something in the water because her Leland is gorgeous too.
Sarah’s laughing, and then Mack leans in and says something. She stops laughing and nods. “Really?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m sure Dakota won’t. And just . . . if anyone comes around, asking you, any of the staff, no one fitting Sidney’s description has been here, okay?”
“Sure—” She stops, looks up, sees me, and smiles. “You good there, Sidney?
I shoot a narrowed-eyed glance at the broad back of Mack. “Peachy.”
“I’ll leave you both to it. And we’ll all take care of you. Right, Mack?”
“Sure thing.” He turns then, and the look he gives me, slow, hot, smoldering, leaves me breathless. “C’mon, Princess.”
He gives Sarah a wave, takes my case, and saunters out, the spinner trailing him.
With a sigh, I follow, wondering how the hell this man manages to make pulling a powder blue case on wheels look so sexy.
When we’re outside, he puts the case in the back of the truck and lets me settle in, and I clutch the ruined croissants as he drives.
“So,” he says in that way he has, of starting a conversation like we’re already knee-deep in it. “My brother and his deputy have already dropped Christine at the cabin. And do you want to tell me who the fuck the rat-dude is?”
My head spins. “Rat . . .?”
We skirt the edges of town, away from where the fire was, and up and around a windy road. “Yeah, he looked like a rat. Rattish. Fuckin’ glad you’re not marrying him. Sure, he might be a rich prince and just likes to dress the part of a guy with no taste and bargain rack in a bargain sale that’s been held in the dark, but I’m thinkin’ of the children. You’re real fuckin’ pretty, but c’mon. Your kids might take after their dad.” Mack pauses. “Maybe he’s the Rat Prince?”
“What is wrong with you?” I glare at him and clutch the pastries.
“What’s wrong with you, getting engaged to him? Kissing me? I get the kissing me part, but him? Pick a lane, Princess.”
