Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) (2 page)

She scowled, not liking this new bossy side of Shane. Still, she did need help, and no one would understand better how to make both the business run smoothly and get the street fair going than him.

“I’ll pay you,” she said.

He snorted. “You don’t have to pay me. I’m helping out a friend.”

She didn’t know why she said that. Pride, maybe. She barely had enough money to pay the part-time cashier she had. That was why her plan to add a café in the space next door just had to work. She needed to make Book It more of a destination to draw people not just from Clover Park, but all the neighboring towns. When she’d brought up the idea of a café to Shane, he’d agreed to be her food and drink supplier. He’d wanted to expand his offerings, but didn’t have the room in his ice-cream shop, so the café was a good idea for both of them.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Thank you.”

Shane stopped at a light and gave her a smile. Two adorable dimples appeared. “You’re welcome.”

Rachel faced front. Why was she noticing his dimples all of a sudden? He always had a dimpled smile. She was getting punchy. It was late, and she was exhausted from a long and painful day.

A short while later, they pulled into the small parking lot behind her store. Her apartment was on the second floor. Shane fetched her crutches from the back seat and walked around to open her car door. She tucked the crutches under her arms and made her way awkwardly to the rear entrance.

“Thanks again,” she told him. “I got it from here.”

He exhaled sharply. “Gimme the keys. I’m not leaving you.”

She pulled her keys from her purse. “I’m fine. You’ve done your part. Thank you. Good night.”

He snatched the keys from her, unlocked the door, and slipped a crutch out from under her arm, replacing it with his body. His voice rumbled low in her ear. “Relax.”

She suppressed a shiver. That would’ve happened with anyone speaking so close to her. Sound waves and physics and neurological stuff. She glanced at him, so close. His eyes were blue with flecks of gold. She’d never noticed the gold flecks before. Her eyes widened as he leaned the other crutch against the building and scooped her up in his arms.

“Careful of my ankle!” she screeched.

He grunted, pushed open the door, and carried her upstairs to her apartment. If her pulse was racing, it was only because of the risk of falling down an entire flight of stairs. He carried her in and set her down gently on the bed.

“Really, Shane, there are easier ways to get me into bed.”

His voice went low and husky. “When I want to get you into bed, you’ll know it.”

Her face flushed. She opened her mouth for a snappy retort, but nothing came out. Was he coming on to her or insulting her?

He chuckled. “I’ll bring your crutches.”

He left, and she propped up the pillows behind her so she could sit up in bed. He returned and placed the crutches next to her bed.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Shane said, “so I can carry you downstairs again in the morning.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve got crutches. I can do it.”

“If you don’t want me to stay, then call me when you wake up and I’ll come over. I’m not letting you tumble down those stairs.”

“You’re not sleeping on my sofa.”

“Then call me.”

“Sure,” she said just to get rid of him.

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll be on the sofa.”

“No!” She thought fast.
How to get him out of her hair?
“Sleep in my bed instead,” she offered, lifting the covers.

His eyes lit up. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And to her absolute shock, he scooted in next to her.

Chapter Two

Shane stifled a laugh at Rachel’s shocked expression. He’d wanted to be more than friends for months now, but Rachel was prickly, and he’d been biding his time. She had a laundry list of flaws that kicked a guy out of her good graces—too high a voice, too pushy if they paid for her meal, too cheap if they didn’t offer, too much hair gel, too much lip-smacking when they chewed. Of course, some guys she was better off without—that stalker guy for one. As her friend, he spent a lot of time with her and got the inside scoop. So far he hadn’t fallen onto her list of unforgivable flaws.

Here they were.

In bed.

She may have been joking with the invitation, but he sure as hell wasn’t.

He kicked off his shoes, propped up some pillows behind his head, and grabbed the remote. He’d take it slow. Give her time to get used to him being so close. “What do you feel like watching?”

“Excuse me?” Rachel’s voice hit a jarring high note. “I was joking.” She shoved him with both hands, but he didn’t budge. “Get out!”

He turned on his side and propped up on one elbow. “Rach?”

She blinked rapidly. He was making her nervous. Good, that made two of them. If there was ever a time to cross the line of friendship, it was when they were in bed.

“What?” she asked in a voice much softer than her usual tone.

He took a deep breath. “Do you ever think about being more than friends?”

She studied the comforter, appearing to consider the question. His heart thundered in his chest. It was out there. He couldn’t take that whopper back. He’d taken a risk, and he hoped like hell it paid off.

Her chocolate brown eyes met his. “I can’t lose you, Shane. Let’s not mess up a good thing. Okay?”

His ears and cheeks burned. Damn Irish genes. He wished he wasn’t a blusher. He could never play it cool when he wanted to. “Whatever, your loss,” he mumbled.

He turned on the TV and settled in to watch the History channel, something they had in common. They both also loved running their own business, good coffee, and British comedy. They were a match in so many ways, but if she didn’t feel
that
way about him, he wasn’t going to force the issue.
Dammit.
He couldn’t believe he’d misread her so badly. He’d thought there was something there.

“You don’t have to stay,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, I do.” He couldn’t look at her, so he kept his eyes fixed on the small TV. “Just for a while. I’ll come back in the morning.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“Yup.” He tried to focus on the show, something about Lewis and Clark. Having her so close, her flowery scent wrapped around him, it was very, very hard not to touch her. Why was he torturing himself like this? He should just go. She was fine. Yet something kept him pinned in place.

He really should move on. It was just…he’d connected with Rachel. Something that didn’t happen for him that often. Ever since that New Year’s party at Garner’s when they’d spent most of the party talking in a quiet corner. Rachel had been alone since Liz spent the entire party wrapped up with Ryan. Shane didn’t much like parties, but he’d gone since his brothers and Gran would be there, and he hated being alone even more than he hated parties. He was very glad he’d gone. Sure he’d known Rachel as a kid, but he’d never talked to her back then. She always had her nose in a book, and he’d been tongue-tied around most girls anyway.

Maybe his timing was bad. She wasn’t feeling well.

Half an hour later, he finally risked a glance over at Rachel. She was sleeping. He removed her black-rimmed glasses and set them on the nightstand. He took a moment just to gaze down at her; something he could never do when she was awake. Locks of dark brown hair fell around her face out of the twist she’d put it in for the wedding. He’d love to let her hair loose and run his fingers through it. Her lips were parted. A small bow in the upper lip drew him in. If he kissed her good night, would she wake?

He leaned down slowly, his heart kicking up. So close. He eased in. Almost there.

She sighed and threw an arm over her head, smacking him in the face.

Ow! That’s what you get for trying to steal a kiss.

He leaned back and tucked her in. Then he quietly got out of bed and left, feeling like an absolute fool.

~ ~ ~

Rachel woke the next morning, grabbed her glasses from the nightstand, and tried to get up, momentarily forgetting about her ankle.
Ow-ow-ow
. Her leg was so stiff. Shoot. What had the doctor said to do? They gave her instructions. She grabbed the paper from her purse on the nightstand. She was supposed to elevate it above her heart to reduce swelling and ice it twice a day. She sighed. All she really wanted was a hot shower and coffee. Should she call Shane for help like he’d told her to?

Nah, she could do this.

She grabbed the crutches and swung herself to the kitchen, getting the coffee going and grabbing a granola bar. Her ankle throbbed, reminding her she needed ice. She tossed the granola bar to the kitchen table, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and tossed that on the table too.

Coffee first. She hobbled over to fetch the coffee and returned to the table. Lifting her foot up on a nearby chair, she undid the brace and placed the ice pack on her poor ankle. Still swollen. She stayed like that for a while, sipping coffee and icing her ankle, and pulled her book from the large, flat basket that served as both fruit bowl and book holder.
The Nitwit’s Guide to Running a Coffee Bar
was surprisingly thorough. She’d created a business plan from it.

She’d already talked to the landlord about expanding into the abandoned deli next door to Book It, and he’d even agreed to ninety days rent-free while she got the café up and running. Now she was just waiting to hear from the bank on her loan application. She really needed this. Book It was in the red, and she was nearly at the point of either giving up her apartment and moving back in with her parents (Please, no. Her parents were nice people, but they radiated a tense civility of a marriage long gone south.) or letting her cashier go.

The doorbell rang. Shoot. It was probably Shane. How did he expect to help her down the stairs if she had to go down the stairs to let him in?

She heard the door rattle, then turn, and open. “It’s just me,” Shane called.

Her eyes widened. He had a key?

“Uh…come in?”

He walked into her kitchen and smiled at her sheepishly. “I grabbed your keys on the way out yesterday.”

She was torn between furious and grateful. She held out her palm for the keys. He dropped them in her hand.

“Don’t do that again,” she said.

“It was an emergency.” He pulled up a chair. “How’s the ankle?”

“It hurts like hell,” she admitted.

“The doc said you should take ibuprofen. Did you take it?”

“I barely got the coffee. No, I didn’t get the medicine.”

He stood. “Where do you keep it?”

It was in the bathroom medicine cabinet along with tampons, bikini wax, a box of condoms—more a measure of hope than of any practical use—and who knew what else she’d left in there. Not fit for Shane’s eyes, that was for sure.

“I’ll get it,” she said, grabbing the ankle brace and leaning forward to put it back on.

“Just rest,” he said. “I can get it.”

“I can do it!”

He put his palms up. “Okay, okay.” He pushed her hands out of the way and quickly redid the brace.

“Thank you,” she said through a clenched jaw, annoyed with all his fussing over her. She didn’t like needing help. She grabbed the crutches and made her way to the bathroom. Her mouth dropped as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her mascara made black smudges under her eyes. Her hair was half out of the twist in a tangled knot. Her dress was wrinkled. Geez, Shane was kind to act like he didn’t notice anything odd.

She opened the cabinet. It was worse than she remembered—she also had press-on nails (she never could bother with polish) and cherry massage oil from Maggie’s bachelorette party. Maggie, Shane’s grandmother, was a hoot, and Shane…he was apple pie. Warm, comforting, sweet. At least the other wildly inappropriate party favors—edible underwear and a vibrator—weren’t here. She’d thrown out the underwear, and the vibrator was hidden in her nightstand drawer for easy access.

She tossed back some ibuprofen, washed off the mascara, and brushed her hair into its usual neat braid before making her way back to the kitchen.

Shane was poking through her refrigerator. He straightened. “You want me to make you something?”

He was a trained chef, but she didn’t want him cooking for her and making a big deal out of this ankle thing.

“I have a granola bar.” She headed back to the table and plopped down. Coffee. She’d be much more pleasant with more coffee in her.

“Those granola bars taste like cardboard,” he said, turning his nose up at it.

“It’s the perfect balance of fiber and protein,” she said, reading the label. “Besides, I’m not a big breakfast person. What I really need is a shower.”

“Need help?”

She leveled a suspicious gaze at him.

His lips twitched. “I won’t peek.”

Yeah, right.

“I can do it. Why don’t you come back in half an hour to help me downstairs?”

“I’ll wait here in case you need help.” He sat at the table and picked up her book. “Seriously, Rach?
The Nitwit’s Guide
?”

“It’s a good book,” she said defensively. “I made a business plan from it.”

“I can help you plan the café. I know the food business.”

“Sounds good. We’ll talk more once I hear from the bank on my loan.” She finished her coffee and granola bar while he flipped through the book. She grabbed the crutches and stood. Then she remembered the zipper on the back of her dress. “Could you just unzip me?”

He stood, one corner of his mouth tilting up. “I’d love to.”

She gave him her back. “Cool it, Don Juan.”

He chuckled, and his warm hand brushed over the back of her neck as he moved her hair out of the way. She focused on the pain in her ankle so she wouldn’t think about what he was doing. She’d ask her sister to do it if she were here. Same thing practically.

His warm fingers grazed her spine as he inched the zipper down. A shiver ran through her. Ankle throbbing. Terrible pain. Omigod, could he go any slower?

She heard him suck in a breath. She looked over her shoulder. “What?”

His eyes met hers in a heated gaze. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

She looked away. “So?”

She wore pasties because of the spaghetti straps. Not that she was going to explain that to him. She didn’t wait for a response; instead she headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a bit.”