Jinxed!

6

EVAN COULDN’T BELIEVE he was wearing the goofy robe.

He looked down at himself and grimaced at the sight of his bare legs and feet beneath the robe’s hem. Good God. If Paul saw him wearing this getup, his friend would laugh himself into a seizure. Actually, anyone who saw him wearing this would laugh.

Why the hell couldn’t Lacey have dressed her stupid mannequin in something a normal guy would wear? Like maybe shorts and a polo shirt? He had to grudgingly admit that the goofy robe was a huge improvement over his cold, wet, sticky clothes, which had started to chafe, but still. And as long as he already felt like an ass, he figured what the hell and had donned the matching boxers-but only because his own boxer briefs had been so damn wet and uncomfortable.

Well, he’d just keep the freakin’ robe belted shut and pretend he was wearing his own clothes. Pretend he was home in his own apartment. Pretend he was with anyone other than Lacey.

Lacey. Whose skin felt like satin and tasted like sugar-sprinkled flowers. Lacey, whose potent kiss had fired through his system like a shot of straight whiskey burning its way down to an empty stomach. Lacey, who was right now walking toward him from the back of the store, her hourglass curves encased in the mannequin’s skimpy red dress in a way that literally knocked the air from his lungs.

Jesus. The woman not only knew how to kiss, she knew how to move. Her hips undulated with a slow, sexy, mesmerizing roll that made him feel like one of those cartoon characters whose eyeballs boinged out on springs. He’d never seen her wear anything other than her work outfit of black pants and white top. If he had a vote, he’d cast it in favor of her wearing that dress every damn day. It made her look incredible. And downright edible. The bright cherry-red perfectly set off her creamy skin and contrasted with the mass of damp, glossy midnight curls falling just shy of her shoulders. She looked like the perfect embodiment of his every fantasy.

She headed behind the counter and reached for a coffeepot. Her gaze flicked over him and her lips twitched. “Decided not to grow pruney, I see.”

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I won’t laugh if you won’t.” She grimaced, then tugged on the short hem of the dress while performing some sort of all-over shimmy that had him stirring against the satin boxers. “This dress doesn’t exactly fit. My mannequin is a few sizes smaller than me. Thank God the material is stretchy.”

Yeah. God definitely needed to be thanked for the way that dress fit her. “Looks good to me. Perfect, in fact.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Another compliment? I’m stunned. But in keeping with this apparent détente, I’ll offer a compliment in return. That robe has never looked so good.”

The unmistakable appreciation in her eyes told him she wasn’t kidding, and his pulse rate kicked up another couple of notches. Apparently some women didn’t mind men dressed in goofy robes decorated with pink hearts. Go figure. “Thank you. So…truce?”

“Truce.” Her smile flashed. “At least until the auto service people arrive. Then all bets are off. You want regular or decaf?”

“Regular. I don’t want to fall asleep on the drive home. Need help?”

“Thanks, but I think I can handle a pot of coffee.”

In an effort to concentrate on something other than her, he turned his attention to the eclectic mix of collages and photographs decorating the walls while she ground fresh beans, filling the air with the rich scent of coffee. How had she made a mismatched collection work together so well? The collages featured themes as varied as desserts and classic movies, and the photographs displayed everything from flowers to skyscrapers. The effect was vivid and eye-catching. Just as she was. And it occurred to him that the store was a perfect reflection of her.

“Those are from my mother’s garden,” she said when he paused in front of a whitewashed framed photo depicting a crystal vase overflowing with puffy pale pink blooms.

“I’ve seen these flowers before. What are they?”

“Peonies. I gave my mom that plant for Mother’s Day several years ago. They’re my favorite flower and my favorite scent.”

Ah. Finally a name to put to the subtle floral fragrance that clung to her skin. “Did you take this picture?”

“Yes. I had a lot of wall space to cover in here and couldn’t afford anything fancy, so I grabbed my trusty camera and voilà-instant artwork. I also made all the collages.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “They’re really good.”

“Thanks. Making them is very relaxing. I put on some music, enjoy a glass of wine and let my imagination flow.”

He pointed toward a turquoise-framed collage of beach scenes on the wall behind her. “That’s what I find relaxing. Being near the beach.”

“Hey, we might want to videotape this moment because it appears we actually agree on something. I call the beach my tranquil place. The sound of the ocean, the salty breezes, the sand between my toes…” She breathed out a sigh. “Someday I hope to buy a home right on the beach.”

“Same here. Where I can sit on my balcony and enjoy the view of the ocean with my morning coffee.”

“And my after-dinner coffee.” Her smile bloomed, creasing those sexy dimples into her cheeks and any relaxation he’d achieved over the last few minutes was shot to hell. “If I had a balcony that overlooked the ocean, I’d stay out there all day. Every day. I’d probably want to sleep out there.”

“Again we agree,” he murmured, instantly imagining her curled against him as they lay beneath the stars, surrounded by the gentle crash of waves washing on the shore.

“Wow. Two agreements in a row. Who’da thought?”

“Not me.” Yet it was becoming clearer with each passing minute that there was more to this woman than just killer curves, a defiant attitude and a propensity to annoy him. He nodded toward another collage, this one of puppies, and he couldn’t help but grin. “This one’s great. You have a dog?”

She shook her head. “Had one growing up. A golden Lab named Lucky. I’d love to have one now, but there’s a No Pets rule in my apartment building.”

He approached the counter and watched her fill two thick ceramic mugs with fresh brew. “My dog’s part golden Lab, at least I think she is. Based on her size, I think the other part is St. Bernard.”

She looked up from her pouring. “You have a dog?”

“A big, sloppy, lovable four-year-old who drowns everyone she meets with wet kisses.”

“You somehow don’t strike me as the big, sloppy dog type.”

“Guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Their eyes met. “I guess so,” she said softly. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Sasha. I adopted her six months ago when I went with Paul to a shelter just north of L.A. because he wanted to adopt a dog. Sasha and I took one look at each other and it was love at first sight. Only problem is the language barrier.”

“Sorry?”

“The family who used to own Sasha only spoke Russian. Dog doesn’t understand a word of English.”

She stared at him for several seconds, then laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not. And my Russian doesn’t go much beyond caviar and vodka.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Me, neither. So if you happen to know any handy Russian commands such as sit, heel, stay or don’t eat my flip-flops, let me know.”

She snickered. “Sasha eats your flip-flops?”

“Eats probably isn’t the right way to describe it. It’s more like she gnaws them to death. But just my flip-flops. Luckily she doesn’t seem to like dress shoes or sneakers.”

“Who takes care of her when you’re at work?”

“I have a dog walker. On nights when I work extra late, like tonight, my neighbor checks in on her.”

She slid the mugs across the counter. “Why don’t you take those to a table while I get the cookies?”

He picked up the cups, then crossed the room to set them on a small, round, glass-top table situated between two comfy-looking chairs. She joined him seconds later, setting down a plate containing two oversized cookies. She sat in the chair opposite him and although he tried, he couldn’t help but notice how her short skirt scooted even higher on her thighs when she sat.

With an effort he pulled his gaze from the long expanse of silky leg and focused on the red and pink frosted lip-shaped cookies. “Are these the cookies you mentioned earlier today?” he asked. “The ones you call Bite Me?”

“They are.” Handing him a napkin, she invited, “Help yourself.”

Given how delectable her thighs looked, a cookie wasn’t even close to what he wanted to bite. But since she’d only offered a cookie-for now-he accepted. The first bite had his eyes glazing over.

“Wow. That is one outrageously good cookie.”

“Thank you. It took a lot of trial and error to perfect the recipe.”

“Mission accomplished. You know a cookie’s outstanding when you can actually feel your arteries harden.”

She laughed. “If I could only figure out a way to keep the texture and flavor yet make them calorie free, I’d be a zillionaire. At least for you, being a guy and all, desserts don’t take up permanent residence on your hips. I wish someone would invent a home liposuction kit. Something that could be hooked up to your vacuum cleaner. Or your car battery.”

“Wouldn’t work for you. Your car battery’s dead.”

“Ha, ha.”

He took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes in appreciation. She not only knew how to kiss and move, she baked the World’s Greatest Cookies and brewed the World’s Best Coffee. Damn. That was a pretty lethal combination. Why the hell didn’t he like her? He knew he had reasons. Lots of them. But damned if he could remember what they were. Better get her talking again-surely she’d say something that would jog his memory.

“Since I told you all about my language-challenged relationship with Sasha, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me something about you I don’t know.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied him over the rim of her steaming mug. “What do you want to know?”

Everything. The realization hit him squarely between the eyes, catching him off guard, yet it was undeniable. Keeping his tone light, he said, “Anything. Why don’t you tell me about your family? Any more at home like you?”

She shook her head. “I have one sister, Meg, but we look nothing alike and are so completely different in every way, people who know us both can’t believe we’re actually related.”

“Different how?”

“Meg was the gorgeous, popular, outgoing cheerleader with straight blond hair. I wore glasses, had braces, was self-conscious, shy and a total klutz. And I was stuck with this.” She grabbed a handful of her curly hair and gave it a gentle tug. “When we were growing up, Meg wasn’t exactly sensitive or sympathetic to my less than spectacular appearance. We’re close now, but as kids, it was tough. To this day she still calls me Dimples just to piss me off.”

His gaze dipped to the sexy creases that flanked her gorgeous mouth. “Seems to be a perfect nickname-you have a great pair.”

“Thanks. Except when Meg foisted the name on me I was a toddler, and she was referring to the dimples on my butt. Thank goodness I ended up with them on my face so I didn’t have to spend my life explaining what the name really meant.”

He chuckled, then asked, “What’s your nickname for her?”

“Prom Queen. I think she must hold some world record for attending proms.” She took another sip of coffee and a wistful expression filled her eyes. “When we were growing up, I would have given anything to look like her. To be like her. But now…now I wouldn’t trade places with her for any amount.”

“Why’s that?”

She hesitated, as if debating whether or not to tell him, then said, “She’s been married for six years and things aren’t going well. Unfortunately, Meg’s husband Dan is a carbon copy of our dad-financially successful but emotionally unavailable. She has a beautiful home, two terrific kids, every material possession she could ever hope for, but Dan’s first, second and third priorities are his career. Meg and the kids are a distant fourth.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It is. They separated once, three years ago, but after going to counseling they reconciled. Yet nothing’s changed. I give her credit for not wanting to give up on her marriage, but under all the material things she just seems so…lonely. Just like our mom was.”

“Your parents divorced?”

She shook her head. “My dad died when I was in high school. I’d lived with him my entire life, yet I barely knew him. He was always working or on a business trip, always too busy to play or go to the mall or come to school events. He never took time to enjoy life, to enjoy his wife or daughters. For a man who had such a strong drive to succeed, he couldn’t see that he failed at the things that were most important. His family. His marriage.” She looked down at her hands and when he followed her gaze, he saw how her fingers were clamped tightly together.

Reaching out, he laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Lacey,” he said quietly. “I know how much it hurts to lose a parent. I lost my mom five years ago. Cancer.”

She looked up, her eyes full of sympathy. And something else. Surprise and confusion, as if she were seeing him for the first time-the exact way he knew he’d looked at her only moments earlier. “I’m so sorry, Evan.”

“Me, too. She was a great lady and a terrific mom. Like you, I wasn’t exactly a standout in school. I was the pudgy kid who always got teased, the nerd who sucked at sports and always got picked last in gym class.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I kept trying at sports, but it was hopeless. Still, my mom always encouraged me, always cheered me on, even when I kicked the winning goal in soccer for the opposing team.”

Her eyes widened. “I did the exact same thing. In fourth grade. I wanted to die. Instead my mom took me out for ice cream to celebrate that I’d scored my first goal.”

“My mom took me for pizza.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. Looking down, he saw the way his fingers were curled around hers. And liked the way it looked. Raising his gaze back to hers, he said, “Half an hour ago I wouldn’t have believed it, but it seems we have a few things in common.”

She nodded slowly, as if she couldn’t quite believe it, either. “Seems so. What about your dad?”

“He died in a car crash when I was a baby. I don’t remember him at all. It was always just me and my mom.”

Her gaze searched his. “So you’re alone.”

Those softly spoken words resonated deep inside him. They weren’t true-he had lots of friends, good neighbors, work colleagues, even some distant cousins who lived in Florida. But that wasn’t what she meant and he knew it. She meant immediate family.

“I’m alone,” he agreed. Because in spite of his friends and neighbors and colleagues, he indeed felt very alone. And had for a quite some time.

Until tonight.

He didn’t feel alone here, in this coffee shop, talking to her. In fact, he felt…good. Really good. The evening, which had started out so disastrously with broken cars and cell phones, insane sprinklers and a ridiculous robe, had definitely taken an unexpected and-he had to admit-not unpleasant turn.

“No girlfriend?”

Her voice jerked him back. “No one steady. If there was, that kiss wouldn’t have happened. I know you think I’m a pain in the ass and maybe I am, but I’m not a cheater.”

A hint of rose blossomed on her cheeks. “Believe it or not, I haven’t thought of you being a pain in the ass for at least five minutes.”

“That makes two of us. And sets a new record. Wanna go for ten minutes?”

Her smile flashed. “Think we can make it?”

“I’m game.”

“Okay. So tell me why you don’t have a steady girlfriend. I mean, even though you’re a pest, you should be able to get at least a first date just on the basis of your looks.”

“Uh, thanks. I think. And I date. But lately…” He shrugged. “I’ve grown tired of the games. Which is why Sasha is working out so well. She’s always happy to see me, doesn’t mind me hogging the remote, never complains if I leave my clothes on the floor and she doesn’t speak English.”

Lacey laughed. “If you could just cure her of the flip-flop eating-”

“Gnawing to death,” he corrected with a grin.

“She’d be perfect,” they said in unison.

Their laughter slowly died and Evan became aware-painfully aware-of how close they sat. How romantic and intimate this setting was. How alone they were. How soft and smooth her hand felt beneath his. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the velvety soft skin of her fingers and the desire he’d successfully held in check shot to the surface.

Did she feel it, too? This sexually charged tension that suddenly seemed to crackle in the air between them? Based on her quick intake of breath and the heat kindling in her eyes, he was certain she did. But before he acted on it, there was something he wanted, needed, to know.

“What about you?” he asked. “Boyfriend?”

“No. At the risk of repeating your words verbatim, if there were, that kiss wouldn’t have happened. I know you think I’m a pain in the ass and maybe I am, but I’m not a cheater.”

“At the risk of repeating your words, you should be able to get at least a first date just on the basis of your looks.”

“Actually, it feels as if I’ve had a first date with half the single guys in L.A. I’ve been through my share of bad relationships. But I figure you’ve got to go through the bad ones to get to a good one, and I must be due for a good one if for no other reason than the law of averages. But the men I meet somehow always turn out to be like my dad and brother-in-law-all work, no play, success at any cost. I call them soulless clones. Like you, I’m tired of games. At this point in my life, I’m not looking to impress a whole bunch of different guys. I’d rather impress the same guy over and over again.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. You’re pretty impressive. Especially in that dress.”

“Uh-huh. You’re just saying that because you want another cookie.”

“I wouldn’t say no if you offered.”

He knew his tone clearly implied he was talking about more than cookies, and for several seconds they simply stared at each other. Evan could almost hear her internally debating how, or even if, she should respond to his words. Would she play it safe? Or take a risk?

“Another cookie, coming right up,” she murmured, then slowly rose. He watched her walk toward the counter, the rear view of her making him draw in several deep, careful breaths. When she reached the counter, she kept her back to him. Rising on her toes and bending forward-a move that nearly stopped his heart-she reached into the glass display case. Then she turned around and leaned her hips on the counter. The smoky look in her eyes arrowed a jolt of fire straight to his groin.

“Here it is,” she said, waggling the cookie, her voice as smoky as her eyes. “Bite Me.”

With him wearing the robe and her in that dress, offering him a cookie, it was as if the widow display had come to life, just as he’d fantasized earlier today. He didn’t hesitate, but he had to force himself to stand slowly and cross to her with measured steps. He stopped when less than two feet separated them and planted his palms on the counter, caging her in.

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He leaned forward and lightly grazed his teeth down the side of her neck.

She moaned and tilted her head to the side, an invitation he immediately took advantage of, nipping his way up to her earlobe.

“Nice,” he murmured against her fragrant skin. “But I think you should rename your cookie Kiss Me.”

She let out a long, pleasure-filled sigh. “Okeydokey.”

“You’re very agreeable all of a sudden.”

“I get that way when a sexy man is nibbling on my neck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted.” He pressed his lips to the spot where her pulse throbbed. “But surely you don’t think that’s going to scare me off.”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

She turned her face toward him and with a growl he covered her mouth with his. Any thoughts he might have entertained that the sparks flying during their earlier kiss had been a fluke were instantly erased. He felt as if his circuits had been hooked up to a nuclear reactor and someone had flipped the switch.

He leaned into her, pressing his hardness against all that gorgeous, feminine softness and everything faded away except her. The way she felt in his arms-all curves and warmth. The taste of her in his mouth-cookies and frosting. The scent of her filling his head-sugar and peonies. With a deep groan, he ran his hands down her back, pressing her closer, kissing her deeper, his tongue exploring the satin of her mouth while he filled his palms with the round fullness of her bottom.

She squirmed against him, and his erection jerked, vibrating a ragged moan of pure desire in his throat. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman this badly. A desperation he didn’t recognize had him firmly in its grip, and apparently whatever insanity had come over him afflicted her as well because her hands were suddenly all over him. Inside his robe, coasting up his back then down to his ass, pulling him tighter against her.

A red, steamy haze of lust engulfed him and he lifted her onto the counter. She gasped an approving sound against his mouth and spread her legs. Evan stepped between her splayed thighs and trailed his lips across her throat while his hands tugged down the stretchy neckline of her dress. Her breasts sprang free, and he filled his hands with their warm fullness, teasing her already hard nipples between his fingers. His mouth cruised lower, circling the aroused peak with his tongue, then drawing the tight bud into his mouth.

“Evan…” She uttered his name in a passion-filled, husky groan and arched her back. She jerked the robe off his shoulders then ran her hands over his chest, down his back, setting bonfires on every inch of skin she touched.

His hands skimmed downward, over her incredible curves, to her silky smooth thighs, then under her dress. Where he encountered nothing but bare skin.

“No underwear,” he growled, the discovery spiking the fever raging through him and he pushed the stretchy material up to her waist. Dipped his hand between her splayed thighs. Found her wet and hot.

She gasped as he slid two fingers into her silky heat. “Didn’t think I’d, ahhhh, need it.”

“You don’t. Believe me, I’m not complaining.”

Panting, she tugged his boxers over his hips, freeing his erection, then stroked her fingers down its length. He sucked in a hissing breath and thrust into her hand.

“Condom,” she said, leaning forward to nip his neck.

“In my wallet. On the other side of the room. Damn it.”

“My purse. It’s closer.”

While he continued to stroke her, she reached behind her and dragged her wet purse forward. Something clattered to the floor. They ignored it. Muttering an impatient sound, she dumped her purse upside down, spilling an assortment of feminine stuff on the counter. He spied the condom and rolled on the protection as quickly as his unsteady fingers allowed. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and he entered her in a single, deep thrust.

Their mutual groan filled the room. Her wet heat gripped him, and he withdrew nearly all the way, then sank deep again, experiencing the slow glide into pleasure he’d wanted since the moment he’d stepped into her store. Again, and again, the erotic pull of her body rendered him oblivious to everything except the intense pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back, and he gritted his teeth against the overwhelming need to come. When she threw back her head and gasped, he let himself go, thrusting deep, his orgasm rocketing through him.

When the shuddering ended, he tipped back his head and struggled to regain his breath. She dropped her forehead limply against his heaving chest, her ragged breaths pelting his skin.

A beeping sound broke through his postcoital fog, and he raised his head. And frowned. That beep was familiar.

“Is that a beeper?” Lacey asked, lifting her head. She looked as dazed and glazed as he felt.

Beeper. That noise was his business beeper going off. Reality returned with a jarring thump that felt like an anvil falling on his head. Jesus. What the hell was he doing? He’d just had sex with a tenant. He never had sex with tenants-it was one of his hard-and-fast rules. But one look at Lacey in that dress had morphed his hard-and-fast rule into a bout of hard-and-fast sex.

He stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “My business beeper.”

She stared at him for several seconds. “Business? At this hour? On a weekend?”

“It’s my boss. He’s in London this week. It’s the afternoon there now. Doesn’t matter that it’s a weekend-he works seven days a week.”

She didn’t reply, but based on the chill that filmed over her expression it was clear that she’d just filed him under the category of soulless clone. Without a word she handed him a wad of paper napkins, then slid off the counter.

“Listen,” she said, adjusting her dress while he pulled up the silk boxers, “I’m not sure what came over me, but what just happened between us…that isn’t normal behavior for me.”

“Believe it or not, it’s not for me, either.”

“Things just got…out of hand.” She looked at him and he barely suppressed a groan. With her tumbled hair and moist, parted lips, she looked like living, breathing sin. “I’m pleading temporary insanity.”

“That makes two of us.”

“This isn’t going to happen again.”

He knew he should agree, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to be uttered.

“In fact,” she continued, “we need to forget it happened this time.”

Before he could reply, a knock sounded and he swiveled his head toward the door. A man wearing a tan jacket proclaiming he was from the American Car Association tapped on the glass.

His interlude with Lacey was officially over.

And it occurred to Evan that maybe he really was cursed.