Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (5 page)

One grin from him and Harper felt her inner goddess strap on stilettos and lace, and strut right over her well-devised plans—which were imperative in saving this meeting, and her grandma’s shop.

W
hat are you doing here?” Harper asked in a welcoming tone that was in direct contrast with the
go screw yourself
glare she was shooting him.

“Good morning to you too,” Adam said, ignoring her daggers and walking close enough to finger the lace edging of the panties. “Parisian peek-a-boos? My favorite.”

Harper felt something strange shift in her stomach. The cause was unclear. Was it some kind of post-traumatic flutters caused from the memory of Adam’s hands on her peek-a-boos, or a growing irritation at how his mere presence could cause complete havoc in her world?

Perhaps it was both.

“You’re familiar with our When in Paris line?” Chantel asked, surprise and excitement radiating from her tone.

Adam looked over Harper’s shoulder and raised a questioning brow at the sight of company. It was good to know he hadn’t interrupted them due to rudeness.
Just ignorance,
she thought. He was having way too much fun at her expense, and the gleam in his eyes told her it was about to go from fun to entertaining—for him.

God!
How could he push her buttons and
push
her buttons with equal measure?

It was baffling.

“Go away,” she whispered.

“And ignore the pretty lady’s question?” he whispered back and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my gentlemanly reputation.”

Harper snorted and he frowned. An honest to goodness frown, as if her reaction irritated him.

“I know the line
intimately
,” he said, stepping completely into the room and grazing Harper’s hip with his hand as he did it, before addressing Chantel like a gentleman.
What a load of BS.
“Although I’m partial to the brighter, party colors.”

“Party colors?” Chantel asked, and Adam flashed one of his trademark grins she’d seen him use many a time on many a woman—including her. Last Friday.

It was clear Chantel, with her big-city sex appeal and I-do-yoga body, was Adam’s type. If Harper didn’t intervene, Adam would likely charm Chantel right out of this meeting and into his bed. Not that she cared who he took to his bed, as long as it didn’t impact her plan.

“He is referring to the Moulin Rouge set,” Harper said, poking him in the back—hard. “Adam, this is Chantel Larue from Lulu Allure.” Harper gave Adam her most intimidating look, the one she used on her students when they needed to keep their hands to themselves, then plastered a smile on her face and turned to Chantel. “Chantel, this is Adam.”

“Would you like some wine?” Chantel offered, pointing to the flight Harper had bought specifically to impress her. Not Adam.

“Nah, I’ve got my coffee,” he said, and instead of behaving, he helped himself to a seat—
her
seat—leaning back as if he were right at home. Which, surrounded by women’s panties and female fantasies, he probably was. “And I’d go with the Parisian peek-a-boos. In fact, I was thinking of picking some up and I wanted to see if Harper could show me her favorites.”

The only favorite Harper was going to show him was her favorite finger. But since this was a meeting, and being professional was of utmost importance, she decided letting her bird fly would have to wait. “I’m a little busy with Chantel right now, but if you’d be so sweet as to wait outside—”

“Ah, but sweet is my specialty.”

Didn’t she know it. And like sugar, he had addictive qualities that were unexplainable.

“You shop here?” Chantel asked, and the genuine surprise that a man like Adam would buy presents for his girlfriend here had Harper snapping back to what was important: her grandma’s shop.

“All the time.”

“Really?” Chantel made a note in her little red journal. “Besides the Moulin Rouge, what sparks your interest?”

Harper held her breath, waiting to see just how bad Adam’s answer would affect her ability to spin this situation. The amusement in his eyes as they roamed around the room at the garments, then over her body, told Harper it was going to be a good one. Only instead of making some offhanded remark about the sex toys in back, he picked up a chocolate-dipped strawberry and said, “I like everything Harper has laid out today. She has a good eye.”

Ignoring the way her thighs tingled, she cleared her throat and in her most professional voice said, “Thank you.”

“But what has me most interested is whatever she’s got on under that dress.”

Harper felt her cheeks flush—and not just the ones on her face.

“What are you wearing?” Chantel asked, as if this were a normal way to sell lingerie.

“Excuse me?”

“I wondered too,” Chantel said. “Do you mind?”

Adam smiled. “Of course she wouldn’t. Would you, sunshine?”

Harper secretly sent Adam a death glare, because,
poof
, just like that, what little spotlight she’d created with her dress and remodel vanished.

Adam had come with his alluring charm and bigger-than-life persona and made Harper an insignificant part of the meeting. Of her own meeting.

“No, of course not,” Harper said diplomatically. “All the employees wear the merchandise. Today I have on the Honeysuckle demi-cup and matching boy-shorts from your summer line.”

“Honeysuckle.” Adam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is it lace like the one you had on the other night that made your boobs—”

“Could you excuse us for a moment?” Not waiting for a response, Harper took Adam by the arm and yanked him out of the chair—not letting go until she led him out of the room.

She marched through the store and onto the sidewalk, her patience reaching nuclear levels, as he slowly strode out the door behind her. God forbid the man actually move at a normal pace. Not Adam.

He was the kind of guy who liked to set the pace—for everything. Even worse, he only had two speeds: Superman and
How you doing?
The former he used to fight fires, and the latter he used when sparking them. But since Harper was itching for a fight, he was wasting his good moves.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He took a leisurely sip of his coffee, savoring it for a moment, while a gentle summer breeze carried the sweet scent of ripe grapes through town. “Helping you sell a Honeysuckle demi-cup and matching boy-shorts,” he said, his eyes dropping to the vee of her dress. He ran his thumb over the edge of her dress near her collarbone.

She swatted his hands away. “She’s not a customer, and I’m not selling her a bra-and-panty set. She is a sales rep and . . .” Her voice trailed off because Adam’s eyes had drifted down. Maybe there was something to the red rule. It was something she could investigate later, after the rep agreed to the original terms.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, this time annoyingly breathless. Which had zero to do with the way his work shirt clung to his chest and arms. Or that he’d arrived at the store on his big red engine, which was glistening in the sun beside them and making him look bigger than life.

“I came for my jacket,” he said, looking into the shop. Harper glanced over to watch the flurry of sunbonnets and man-hammocks swarming the register. “I left it the other night, and I need to get it back. It’s my uniform jacket.”

“Sorry, I haven’t seen it.” There wasn’t an inch in that shop that Harper hadn’t dusted or decorated since last week.

“It was hanging by the dressing-room door.”

“Nope.”

At her easy dismissal, he leaned in slightly and grinned. “Maybe you can help me look for it?”

“I’m a little busy right now.” She pointed inside the store where every bifocaled eye now stared back. A few faces were even pressed to the window.

Completely unfazed, Adam waved to his adoring public, then turned his back on them, getting eye-to-eye with Harper. That’s when the phone cameras came out, arthritic fingers ready to shoot. “How about tonight then?”

Adam’s gaze dropped to her lips, which immediately began to tingle—stupid lips. Even stupider were her feet. Because as Adam closed in, coming so near that she could smell the hot summer morning on his skin—she didn’t step back.

Nope, with a six-foot-plus wall of testosterone and yummy male coming at her, her brain short-circuited, and her feet went the wrong way—they closed the distance instead of creating more of it.

She licked her lips, making the tingling worse, because all she could think about was him licking her lips. Again.

Maybe taking a little nibble of his in the process.

A surprised but positively wicked spark lit his eyes and he laughed, low and rough, as if he knew exactly what direction her thoughts had taken.

Harper resisted the sexual vortex pulling her in, reminded herself of how many ladies his lips had charmed, and suggested, “Why don’t you ask Baby? She may have seen it.”

“I’d rather find it with you.” The man didn’t even have the good manners to look embarrassed.

“Sorry. Busy.”

Adam didn’t look deterred—in fact, he looked determined—but he asked, “Is Baby around?”

“She doesn’t work here anymore,” Harper said, feeling a heavy dose of guilt push down on her. “She was let go.”

Adam’s smile fell and his face went slack. “I got her fired?”

“Baby got herself fired,” Harper said, because even though Adam didn’t help matters, she truly believed people were responsible for their own choices. And Baby chose to put her job in jeopardy. Not Adam. “She was using the shop for personal, uh,
aspirations
, and that goes against shop policy.”

“Baby might have invited me, but I said yes to the after-hours party,” he admitted, his voice laced with disappointment, surprising the hell out of Harper. “I didn’t think it through, and I willingly participated in the against-policy . . . aspirations. And now she’s fired.”

He sounded genuinely remorseful, appalled even—at himself—and that had to mean something. Maybe it was proof that under the life’s-one-big-pillow-fight attitude he had permanently tattooed to his forehead, Adam had a softer side. That his shallow interests in women were nothing more than a cover for hidden depths.

“It all worked out. My grandma wanted her back, but she’d already landed her dream job down the street,” Harper said gently, placing her hand on his to reassure him that he hadn’t single-handedly led Baby into a life of unemployment and debauchery.

Adam looked down at their hands, and suddenly the friendly gesture felt anything but. “Maybe I could get that private showing? Honeysuckle was the style, wasn’t it?”

“Are you kidding me?” Harper removed her hand and studied him long and hard to see if, in fact, he was.
Nope
, she acknowledged as he casually flipped his ball cap around and shrugged. He was dead serious.

“I never kid about lingerie.”

“Except you came here to find your jacket.” That he’d forgotten after getting his pre-party on. “Not tonight’s date.”

He also hadn’t really apologized. For putting her in a weird situation by sneaking into her grandma’s shop for an after-hours playdate with Baby. Or kissing Harper. Or not bothering to call the next day.

Not that it mattered. He’d come with one woman, kissed another, then left alone. Harper had gotten the impression he enjoyed the kiss, but she regretted it all the same.

Clay asking her to babysit Tommy had knocked her off balance, and she’d still been teetering when Adam found her. Otherwise she never would have allowed his flirtations to go that far.

“Problem is, I got distracted by a red dress,” he said, dropping his gaze again.

“That is a problem.” Because tomorrow he’d be distracted by a bartender in a short skirt, and his world would keep spinning. Thankfully, Harper suffered from severe motion sickness, so spinning wasn’t in her best interest. “Just not mine, since I’m not interested in being one of your many conquests.”

Adam’s eyes took a slow inventory of
her
summer collection, then the corners of his mouth lifted slightly and he shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be one of yours.”

Harper almost fluttered.
Almost
. Only right at the first sign of wings in her belly, he smiled, big and smug and so full of himself, and the flutter turned to irritation. “Whatever game you think we’re playing, I’m not interested.”

“Your dress says otherwise.”

“This dress isn’t for you,” she primly pointed out and wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Rule number three clearly stated to maintain direct eye contact—and she wasn’t about to let him win. “It’s for an important meeting, which you are keeping me from.”

“That may be, sunshine. But the hair? Slept-in bed waves, I believe we called it.” He reached out and fluffed it some. “That wasn’t for the meeting, and it’s a game changer. Well played.” His tone was a mix of surprise and respect. “Now, when you go back in there, make sure you’re a little breathless.” His thumb ran along her lower lip, smudging her lipstick, and she felt her pulse skyrocket. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Like what?” she heard herself whisper.

“Like you’re interested.”

A flash went off behind them, someone’s camera phone clicking away. Not that Adam seemed to care. With a wink that had her toes curling, he sauntered off toward the engine parked at the curb, his swagger proving rule number one: being comfortable in your own skin was the key to sexual allure. And Adam didn’t just feel comfortable, he owned it.