A Fine Romance (4 page)

A shuffling noise at the back of the store brought her head up with a snap. Either they had supersized rats here in Chicago, or another person was in the store with her. Her fight-or-flight response bobbled back and forth as adrenaline juiced her like a thousand volts of electricity. Oddly enough, she landed on the side of running from a rat, but staying to fight a burglar for her store. A drawer swished open, then slammed shut. That negated the possibility of a rat, so Mira crept forward on tiptoe.

On top of what must be the sales counter sat a crystal vase, filled with tall, sweet-smelling stock and roses. Probably a welcome-to-your-new-store present from Ivy. Thoughtful and pretty, the bouquet just might be her best weapon. After all, she couldn’t use a packing box in self-defense, which were the only other things Mira saw scattered throughout the store.

Behind the back counter, a figure stood, his back and broad shoulders to Mira. This could be her best chance. Running the last few feet, she hefted the vase overhead before slamming it with all her might onto the intruder’s head. Flowers and water cascaded everywhere, and the man swayed, but didn’t crumple to the floor as she’d hoped. Undaunted, Mira lifted the vase again for a second thwack. At the last second he spun around and grabbed it from her. The outrage in his scowl was as frigid as all the lake-effect snow she’d been warned about.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Oh no. Definitely not a burglar. Instead, she’d bashed in the skull of one of Ivy’s closest friends. Sam Lyons stood in front of her, soaking wet, with blood gushing from his head. All of Mira’s fear-based adrenaline melted from her system, leaving behind only a lead ball of guilt in her stomach. Mouth dry, she knew she’d have to stammer out a doozy of an apology, and cross her fingers that he wouldn’t press assault charges.

Except...what gave him the right to be so mad? Apart from the whole streaming blood issue, of course. Although cuts on the head always seemed to bleed twice as much as anywhere else. As manager, she had every right to be here, baseball bat in hand, if necessary, to protect the place. Sam was the trespasser. How did he even get in—the front door had definitely been locked when she entered.

“Why’d you clock me in the head? God, I know I forgot to pick you up at O’Hare, but I don’t think that gives you the right to inflict bodily harm.” He kept hold of the vase, as if worried she might snatch it back and hit him with it again. His other hand lifted to his head, gingerly assessing the damage she’d wrought.

Wasn’t it obvious? Gosh, how badly had she scrambled his brains? She should scoot closer and see if the pupils of his brilliant blue eyes were enlarged. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“You’d be in a world of hurt by now if I was a burglar. Some kid, keyed up on meth and looking for cash, isn’t going to be stopped by a bang on the head.”

Now he was just being pissy. But with a bleeding head wound, she’d cut him a little slack. “You’re not a meth-head. I presume Ivy wouldn’t have roped you in to play chauffeur for me if you had a drug problem.”

“I could be. You certainly didn’t know one way or the other when you barged in here instead of doing the sensible thing and calling the police. If you plan to make a habit of being stupidly brave instead of a smart coward, you should take some self-defense classes. Maybe aikido—there’s a studio just a few blocks away.”

Mira refused to stand there and debate her choice to hit him on the head. Especially because a little voice in her head whispered that he was probably right. She should have gotten out and called the police. His rightness irked her even more. “Keep your unsolicited advice. Why did you break into my store?”

“I didn’t break in.” Sam put down the vase, tore off a length of paper towels and pressed them to his head. “Geez, you really see me as one step above pond scum, don’t you?”

“Pond scum doesn’t skulk around, uninvited, in the shadows.”

“Ivy gave me a key.” Sam fished it out of his pocket and twisted it in the air with all the melodrama of a blood-stained knife being exhibited at a trial. “So I could accept all the deliveries. Boxes have been coming in at a steady clip for about a week now.”

She didn’t understand. Once, sure. But to do it for a week? That was a favor of enormous proportion. “You just drop everything and pop over?”

“Sure. Not an inconvenience to walk ten steps and unlock a door.” He pointed across from them at a door she hadn’t noticed yet in the middle of the wall. “My shop’s right through there. I hear the doorbell, and I take a five-minute break. No big deal.”

“You can come and go, into my store, whenever you like?” The idea of someone essentially trespassing at will snapped her back teeth into a grind. Even if that someone stood more than six feet and had biceps that bulged out of his T-shirt.

“I call it being neighborly.” He shrugged, then immediately winced. Blood still dripped at a shockingly steady rate down his neck. A guillotine victim probably had less blood stains than Sam’s shirt. The poor man might need stitches, or even have a concussion. Guilt swamped Mira. Her privacy tirade could wait. She’d inflicted the injury to him, so it fell to her to clean him up. Just like she’d have to clean the red smears on the beautiful pine floor.

“I’m sorry I hit you. And I’m worried about how much you’re bleeding. Let’s get you to the bathroom and assess the damage. Maybe I should take you to a hospital?”

“Thought you didn’t have a car.” He sounded a little sulky, but calmer.

“I don’t. But I’m not going to let you bleed to death on the floor, either. Calling a cab is not outside the realm of my abilities.”

Sam waved a hand in the air as if erasing the suggestion. “I used to play hockey. This is just a scratch. Slap a bandage on it and I’ll be okay. Although I might have to add in a couple of drinks tonight to offset the massive headache that’s settling in.” Groaning, he bent over and grabbed a first-aid kit from under the sink. Great. He even knew his way around the place. Mira didn’t know they owned a first-aid kit, let alone where it lived. Sam was single-handedly taking the brand-new luster off of her shop.

Remembering the layout from the floor plan Ivy had sent, Mira tromped down the hall to the bathroom. With Sam in and out on a daily basis, she assumed the electricity was, indeed, working. A flick of a switch illuminated the tiny room, painted crimson with black trim. It dripped with all the dark sensuality of a vampire’s lair. Sam loped in behind her and took a seat on the black toilet lid.

Up close and in full light, the injury looked worse than she’d realized. A long gash slanted diagonally from his temple to just below his ear on the back of his head. On the plus side, it did give her hope that one more good swing would’ve taken him—or an actual burglar—down. Mira popped open the box he handed her and pulled out a fistful of gauze.

“Hold this on your head while I get the antiseptic.”

“Hang on.” In one smooth yank, Sam pulled off his shirt. She understood why. It was wet and sticky with his blood. What she couldn’t understand was how she was supposed to help him when all she could do was stare at the... God, the magnificence he’d revealed. Dark hair dusted each manly pec. Biceps that were too big to wrap her hand around rose to thickly muscled shoulders. Tanned skin stretched across tightly defined abs, bisected by a thick, dark, sexy line leading straight into the waistband of his black running shorts. Sure, she’d seen him shirtless just yesterday, but the impact today was just as powerful. Maybe more so, since he sat a mere two inches away. Close enough that she caught a faint whiff of cinnamon sugar again off his skin.

Mira wanted him. Not just because she’d spent the last two months at a camp full of nothing but teenage girls, and he was the first man she’d seen unclothed in twice as many months. No, she wanted Sam because his chest was the most arousing and appealing she’d ever seen. She was drawn to his skin, yearned to rake her nails down the middle, and then circle her palms over his nipples, just to start. Touch wouldn’t be enough. Tasting him, that would be next on the list. Licking every inch of that cinnamon sugar tan until he shivered beneath her tongue. Without conscious thought, Mira reached out a single finger and stroked a soft line down the side of his corded neck.

He jerked away, as if she’d trailed a red-hot skewer across his skin. “What are you doing?”

Good question. Making a fool out of herself? Making an already awkward situation ten times worse? Stroking a man she barely knew and could barely resist in the hopes he’d stroke her back? The red walls closed in on her. In a room this small, if she tried to look at anything besides Sam, she’d catch her red-faced reflection in the ebony-framed mirror. Neither visual appealed to her.

“Just wiping up some blood.” Mira thrust her finger into a wad of paper towels, pretending to dry it. “Let’s get you tidied up.”

Embarrassment slowed her movements. She fumbled in the box, dropping the bottle of antiseptic spray on the floor. They both bent to pick it up. Mira’s shoulder banged into Sam’s knee, and he grabbed her arm to steady her. His palm seared her skin, big and rough and with a ridge of calluses at the base of his fingers. How good would that roughness feel, stroking across her breasts? God. She had to get out of this bathroom, away from the wall of naked sensuality that sucked every bit of air out of the tiny space.

“You have a shop next door?” Mira asked. Nice, innocuous chitchat. Her mother always said, when in doubt, make small talk. The sink acted as a handy barrier. As long as she stayed in front of it, she couldn’t accidentally brush against his strong, muscular thighs. It strained her back to lean over far enough to clean his wound, but it was a small price to pay. Maybe ask Ivy to share one of her fancy yoga moves to stretch it out tomorrow.

“Not just me. Lyons Bakery belongs to my family.” He shot her an inviting smile. “Come on over any time for a sugar rush.”

Nooooo. Not fair. Nobody should be forced to work next to a bakery or a coffee shop. The temptation was too constant, too great. Mira itched to grab her planner and add
find
a
gym
to the top of her to-do list. “A family business? They say many hands make light work.”

“Not so many, unfortunately. My parents used to run it, but Dad died a few years ago. Now I’m the only one to help out my mom. But if either of us needs to—” He broke off. Opened and closed his mouth, as though starting to speak but then re-choosing his words. “—take some personal time, it leads to long hours for the other one. Well, you run a shop. You know what I’m talking about.”

Sam shifted, wincing as she dabbed at the edges of the cut. A few stitches might not be out of place, but she didn’t want to insist on a trip to the E.R. and annoy him any further. Any scar would blend into his hairline, so as long as he kept it covered, it should be fine. He leaned an elbow on the sink. His hand floated onto her hip. To steady himself? Or something else? Something...flirtier? Warmth seeped into the sliver of skin between her pants and shirt where his thumb rested.

“My sister’s supposed to be here by now, pulling her weight.”

“Where is she?” Mira asked.

He shrugged, sending a waterfall of ripples through his muscles. Mira caught her breath, then swallowed hard. “No idea. Somewhere in Europe. Depends on the day of the week, and which exotic accent catches her fancy. Sorry, I won’t bore you with our family drama.”

“Don’t stop. It sounds like an interesting story.” Any family drama interested her—as long as it wasn’t
her
family. That’s why she adored reality television. Those shows gave her glimpses into other people’s wildly messed-up or (less often) staidly normal lives. Mira hungered for family, since hers contributed almost nothing to her life.

“Interesting to an outsider. Nothing but a pain in the ass to live through.”

“Doesn’t everyone feel that way about their family?” Mira shook the bottle. “This might sting a little.”

Sam caught her wrist, stopping her from spraying the antiseptic. Midnight-blue eyes locked on hers with the magnetic pull of a tractor beam. “If it does, will you blow on it?”

First the touching. His blunt fingertips gently curving into the top of her ass. Now...what
was
that? A come-on? An invitation? A biological response to the pheromones she must be pumping out at an astronomical rate? Or should she take it at face value, as a simple, teasing question with no seductive double entendre? Mira flipped through the options, didn’t see any of them as viable enough to act on, and merely squirted him without further comment.

Predictably, like all men, he hissed and growled as if she’d lopped off a toe instead of just sterilized a cut. Mira slapped tape across a couple of fresh gauze pads and hustled out of the room. When he followed, he was still shirtless. Weren’t bakers supposed to wear chef’s coats? Or aprons?

Great. Now her mind went
there
. She pictured him completely naked. Lots of ripped muscles covered by velvety skin, except for where a long white apron covered the strategic bits. Mira paused at the kitchen counter, braced her palms on it and took a few deep breaths. This was the man who abandoned her at the second-largest airport in America, in the middle of a monsoon. This man who intruded into her store and completely ruined her first morning in her new little kingdom. And yet, none of those facts diminished her physical attraction to him in the slightest.

“What were you doing when I found you? Why are you here?”

Sam tossed his ruined shirt in the trash can by the sink. “We’ll be working side by side. I wanted to smooth over our rough start from yesterday.”

Sweet, but misdirected. “Mission not accomplished. Scaring me half to death doesn’t go a long way to making me feel warm and fuzzy toward you.”

“Trust me, I didn’t intend to frighten you.” Sam pointed at his bandage. “This wasn’t in my plan for today. I brought you a present, a peace offering.”

Who didn’t like presents? Perhaps she had misjudged his apparent skulking. “I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t have to bribe me into maintaining a professional relationship with a neighbor.”