Jinxed!

7

AT TEN O’CLOCK Tuesday evening, Lacey locked the door to Constant Cravings and headed across the courtyard. Sales had been unusually sluggish Sunday, Monday and today, and she’d spent the bulk of her time baking to fill cookie platter orders. Not good, as that had left her with too much time to think, and her mind had remained firmly focused on the one thing she desperately wanted not to think of.

Evan Sawyer.

Okay, the two things she desperately wanted not to think of-Evan Sawyer, and that bout of mind-blowing sex with Evan Sawyer.

You’d think the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they’d parted company late Saturday night-technically Sunday morning-would have been enough for “out of sight, out of mind” to kick in. But no. Instead, she’d thought of him about every three seconds or so. Sometimes more frequently. The feel of his hands and mouth on her, the sensation of him buried deep inside her, the deliciously potent taste of his kiss, his skin pressed against hers, all seemed to be tattooed onto her senses. They’d all given her libido a jolt equal to a nuclear blast. Three days later and she was still hot and bothered.

Yet more than hot and bothered. He’d not only turned her on, he’d surprised her. And disarmed her. With his revelations about his family and his non-English-speaking dog. He’d been amusing and intelligent and, well, likable. Extremely so. Unsettlingly so.

She hadn’t expected to see him on Sunday, but when he hadn’t come into the shop yesterday or today, it was clear he’d taken her “we need to forget it happened” words to heart and was ignoring both her and the explosive attraction that had flared between them.

Which was for the best. Definitely. Still, despite that he was only doing what she’d asked, if she were brutally honest, she had to admit his complete and total brush-off unreasonably pricked her feminine ego and, damn it, annoyed her. Clearly he hadn’t found her as amusing, intelligent and disarming as she’d found him. And the fact that she was annoyed really annoyed her. So why couldn’t she write him off and stop thinking about him?

Well, she’d almost succeeded today-had gotten to the point where he’d only invaded her thoughts every six seconds or so-when she’d checked her e-mail during a quick break. And discovered a message from him. Just seeing his name in Constant Cravings’ in-box had set her heart aflutter, a fact that thoroughly irritated her. After clicking open the note, she’d read his brief message: Would appreciate it if you’d stop by my office before going home tonight. Doesn’t matter what time-I’ll be working late. Evan.

The impersonal tone and complete lack of details had only served to fuel her mind with questions that had plagued her for the remainder of the day. Why did he want to see her? Had he been thinking about her? Did he want a repeat performance? Did he want to find out if making love would be as explosive the second time around?

Not that it mattered if he wanted that or not. Because she didn’t. No way. Absolutely not.

Okay, damn it, she did want that. Desperately. Wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, thrusting into hers. Taste his drugging kiss. Run her hands over all those lovely muscles. Discover if the powerful sparks had been real or just a figment of her imagination.

But giving in to that temptation…definitely not a good idea. Just because he’d been intelligent and amusing didn’t mean he was her type. Still, it wasn’t as if she had to marry the guy. Nothing wrong with just having him put out this damn fire he’d started. No, nothing wrong with that, but she wasn’t convinced it was smart, either.

Drawing a bracing breath, she adopted her best aloof manner and entered the west section of the building, then took the elevator to the fifth floor, where the property management offices were located. After a quick mental pep talk to remain calm, cool and collected, she knocked on the oak door bearing a brass plate engraved with Evan’s name. Several seconds later the door opened, and calm, cool and collected melted into a puddle at her feet.

She’d been prepared to see him wearing his usual prim dress shirt, proper suit, boring tie and perfect hair. But “prim, proper and boring” wasn’t the Evan who answered the door. No, this Evan sported rumpled hair and a stubble-darkened jaw that lent him a dark and slightly dangerous air. The suit and tie had been replaced with a black T-shirt that made her fingers itch to test the breadth of his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that, based on the fascinating set of fade patterns, were old favorites. He looked rumpled and casual and sexy and utterly delicious and, damn it, he wasn’t supposed to!

“We need to talk,” he said, opening the door wider.

His abrupt words jerked her from her stupor. Not even so much as a hello. Arrogant jerk. Had she really wasted three days fantasizing about him? Actually, she was glad for his abruptness as it effectively cooled any flames he’d lit.

She lifted her chin and sailed into the office. After putting a safe distance between them, she turned to face him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him close the door, refusing to acknowledge that the rear view was a good as the front view. And that she knew exactly how great his ass felt beneath her palms. Then he turned and leaned his shoulders against the door and regarded her with an unreadable expression.

When the silence stretched into what she considered the uncomfortable zone, she said, “You wanted to talk? I’m listening.”

He studied her for several more seconds, his eyebrows drawn into a frown, then asked in a very serious voice, “How are you, Lacey?”

She blinked. “Uh, fine. You?”

“I’m…not sure. The past few days have been…strange. I was wondering if you’d experienced anything unusual since we last saw each other.”

Yeah-I can’t stop thinking about you. But then an odd tingle shivered down her spine as she mentally flicked through the weird series of mini-disasters that had occurred over the past three days. “A few things, I guess,” she admitted.

“Like what?”

“A flat tire-”

“Me, too.”

Another odd tingle shivered down her spine. “My dishwasher broke.”

“My refrigerator died.”

“Some kid must have put a red crayon in the dryer at my apartment complex’s laundry room, and I ruined an entire load of clothes.”

“The dry cleaner lost all my suits and dress shirts.”

“Sales have been off at the store.”

“Two clients decided not to renew their leases.”

Lacey slowly set her purse on the floor. “Let’s see…the timer on my stove quit and I burned two batches of cookies. The heel broke off my favorite pair of sandals at the supermarket and I fell into a display of oranges, knocking a bunch of them down on me. I locked myself out of my apartment, dropped my mail in a mud puddle and…” had several highly erotic dreams about you “…had a couple of weird dreams. You?”

“My microwave suffered some sort of hiccup and spewed leftover moo shu pork all over my kitchen. Sasha suddenly decided that she liked the taste of leather and chewed up every pair of shoes that I own. I locked myself out of my house, and my neighbor who has my spare key naturally wasn’t home. Sasha also gnawed a couple holes in my mail.”

Stunned, she stepped back several paces and leaned her hips against his desk. “Okay, that’s bizarre.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

She attempted a laugh. “At least you didn’t have any weird dreams.”

“Oh, I had dreams. But I don’t think weird is the right word to describe them.”

“What is?”

His gaze, which had remained steady on hers up until now, cruised slowly down to her feet then back up again. “Erotic.”

She suddenly felt as if she stood in a ring of fire. Before she could think up a reply, he pushed off from the door and walked slowly toward her. “Wanna guess who was prominently featured in my X-rated dreams, Lacey?”

She had to swallow to find her voice. “Carmen Electra?”

He made a sound like a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer.” He didn’t stop walking until less than an arm’s length separated them. Lacey curled her fingers over the edge of his desk to keep from giving in to the overwhelming temptation to touch him.

“You,” he said, his eyes filled with a heat that all but singed her. “You were the woman in my dreams.”

Even though her better judgment told her to shut up, curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did any of your dreams involve a nineteenth-century pirate ship?”

He nodded slowly. “I was the captain.”

Her heart began to pound in slow, hard beats. “You kidnapped me from my ancestral home.”

“Because you belonged to me.”

A heated flush engulfed her. “You cut off my gown. With your knife.”

“You liked it.”

“I had nothing else to wear.”

“We both liked that.”

“You made love to me,” she whispered.

“Every chance I could.”

“Every chance you could,” she agreed. Another wave of heat swamped her as images from her dreams flashed through her mind. Of Evan over her, under her, deep inside her, his hands and mouth everywhere…relentless…

His gaze searched hers. “Maybe the other stuff could be explained away by coincidence, but the fact that we had the same dream? That just convinces me that my idea is sound.”

“What idea?” she asked, hoping it had something to do with making that dream come true. Every cell in her body wanted to reach out and grab him, but she was afraid that once she touched him she wouldn’t be able to stop. Was that why he hadn’t touched her? Was he afraid of what would happen if he did? Was he suffering from the same “should I, shouldn’t I?” dilemma as she?

Instead of telling her his idea, he said, “I paid Madame Karma a visit today.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. “You did? Why?”

“I wanted to talk to her about my sudden run of bad luck. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised, and told me it was because I was fighting fate. She predicted that you’d suffered a similar series of unfortunate events. Based on what you’ve told me, she was right.”

“Did she have any suggestions?”

“As a matter of fact she did. She told me the only way to fix my cursed karma was to stop fighting fate. And the only way to do that was to spend time with you-which would also fix your karma problem. So that’s my idea. That we spend some time together. Worst-case scenario is we won’t be any worse off than we are now. Best-case scenario is we’ll undo our karma curse and our lives will return to normal.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in any of that karma or fate stuff. Called it a bunch of nonsense.”

“I didn’t believe in it, and I’m not sure I do now. But there’s no denying the oddball things that have happened to both of us since Saturday, and I’m at a loss to explain them. Frankly, I’m exhausted from this spate of bad luck and am willing to try just about anything-no matter how off-the-wall it sounds-to end it.”

“Including spending time with me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s certainly not the most romantic offer I’ve ever received.”

Instead of looking abashed, he appeared amused, which she found highly irritating. “Do you want a romantic offer?”

“Certainly not. You’re not at all my type.”

He folded his arms over his chest and shot her a quizzical look. “Not that I’m arguing that point, because, to be blunt, you’re not my type, either, but what is it about me that you find…unacceptable?”

Lacey studied him for several long seconds, debating how honest to be with him, then decided what the hell? No point in sugar-coating anything. He’d been blunt with her, and it wasn’t as if she were trying to impress him.

“I’ve always avoided getting involved with soulless clones. I see them every day. They come into Constant Cravings at the crack of dawn for their caffeine fixes, already talking business on their cell phones, tapping on their laptops, completely consumed with their work, never taking a moment of downtime. I see them sitting in the courtyard at lunch, hunched over reports, never so much as looking up to enjoy the sunshine.” She shrugged. “You’re one of them.”

He didn’t say anything for nearly half a minute, but she could tell by his frown that he was considering her words. Finally he cleared his throat. “There’s nothing wrong with having goals and working hard. In trying to succeed.”

“I agree. But I think there is something wrong when all your time and energy is devoted to your career and every other aspect of your life becomes just going through the motions. When success is measured only in terms of getting ahead professionally. When people and relationships and participating in life cease to matter.”

“And you think I’m one of these soulless clones?”

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

“Did you want me to lie?”

“No. But I think you’re wrong.”

“Really? I’ll prove I’m right. Close your eyes. And no peeking.” After he’d complied, she asked, “What’s depicted in the painting on the wall behind your desk?”

A frown bunched between his eyebrows. “There’s a painting on the wall behind my desk?”

“Oh, brother. You’re worse than I thought.”

He opened his eyes and looked at the wall behind her. “That’s not fair. My office was redone during the renovations.”

“Uh-huh. And when was it finished?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks is a long time not to notice something that’s right under your nose, or in this case, hanging right over your head. I rest my case.”

“Give me another chance.”

She blew out a sigh and closed her eyes. “Fine. What color are my eyes?”

Without hesitation he said, “Golden-brown. Like caramel. With little flecks of gold. The irises are surrounded by a dark ring that looks like melted chocolate.”

Lacey’s lids popped open and she found him looking at her intently. “You seem surprised,” he said.

“I am. Stunned actually. I didn’t think-”

“I’d noticed? Believe me, I’ve noticed. Maybe I’m not the soulless clone you think I am.”

“Maybe not. But you’re still a rigid rule follower. And way too prim and proper for me.”

“You think I’m rigid? Prim? Proper?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You say that to a man with whom you shared wild sex against a coffee-house counter?”

“One bout of wild sex that we both agreed was the result of temporary insanity isn’t enough to change my opinion.”

“I see. So then you say that to a pirate who used a knife to cut off the dozens of tiny buttons running down the front of your gown?” He reached out and traced a single fingertip down the front of her shirt, slowly circling each button, halting her breath…and hardening her nipples. “A pirate who made love to you until you were too exhausted to move?”

She had to swallow twice to find her voice. “That was just a dream.”

“And a helluva good one.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Your assertion that I’m too proper…you realize it challenges me to prove you wrong.”

His words, spoken in that husky voice, the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to devour her, ignited fire in her veins. She could feel her pulse throbbing everywhere. In her temples. At the base of her throat. Between her legs.

“Well, even if my assertion is incorrect, that still doesn’t mean us spending time together is a good idea. After all, you said I wasn’t your type.”

“I think it’s probably more accurate to say that based on the wrong way we’ve rubbed each other since almost the minute we met, I wouldn’t have believed us compatible in any way. But there was nothing wrong with the way we rubbed each other Saturday night.” As if to prove his point, he stepped forward and lightly brushed his pelvis against hers, shooting sparks to her every nerve ending.

“Uh, no,” she murmured. “There was nothing wrong with that.”

He studied her for several heartbeats, his blue eyes breathing fire. “Since we’ve both said we’re tired of games, I’ll throw out the unvarnished truth-I know you said we needed to forget what happened between us Saturday night. And believe me, I’ve tried. But I can’t. I’ve tried to stay away from you, but I simply don’t want to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, even when I managed to fall asleep. And there is nothing prim or proper about the things I want to do to you.”

A dark thrill she couldn’t name rippled through Lacey. And based on his honesty, she couldn’t give him anything other than the same consideration in return. “I could waste a lot of time repeating everything you just said or I could sum it up in five words: that makes two of us.” She slid her palms up his chest and over his shoulders to link her fingers at his nape. “And I’m tired of wasting time. Here’s my unvarnished truth-I’ve been dying to get my hands on you again.”

With a groan, he pulled her against him. “Me, too. My hands, my mouth…all of me on all of you.”

“That sounds perfect. And, um, now would be fine with me.” She settled herself more firmly against him and a combination of impatience and anticipation sizzled through her at the intimate press of his erection against her belly. “Right now.”