She worked so hard suppressing the urge to
grab a handful of his spectacular ass she made herself dizzy. Or
maybe it was a lack of caffeine, her highly aroused state, and
Gavin sucking all the air out of the room.
After sorting and rearranging the contents of
the cabinets, he turned to her with a grave expression. “I have bad
news. There isn't any coffee.”
She sighed and wilted into one of the kitchen
chairs. “I knew you were going to say that, but the news is still
devastating.”
He laughed and rested a hand onto the
counter. “I’d be happy to get some. Just tell me where to go.”
She waved the offer off and pushed to her
feet. “I’ll go get it.” Allowing someone else to fix her problems
wasn’t part of her genetic makeup.
She paused and glanced at Gavin, considering
what to say or do. He came to buy her place. She said no. And yet,
here he stood.
What did that mean? Was he also considering
picking up where they left off last night? Easy enough, since she
was barely dressed—a detail he’d definitely noticed.
"Do you mind if I go with you?” he asked.
“Why?”
He stepped forward and brushed a stray curl
from her face, then gave it a tug before tucking it behind her ear.
“My plan was to spend the day in Anticue. Can I start by spending
part of it with you?”
How could she possibly refuse when she felt
that tug in a million other places besides her scalp? So what if he
was here to buy her business. She wasn’t selling and nothing would
change her mind, so what would be the harm in spending some time
with him?
She stared at his lips and remembered the way
he made her come with that wicked mouth. She closed her eyes and
gulped. She really wanted to know what else he could do with that
mouth. And those hands. And his…
She flipped her eyes open and met his stare.
“Nothing, and I mean
nothing,
happens until I’ve had my
coffee.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and
heat blazed from his blue eyes. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
***
Gavin stepped onto the small stoop at the top
of the stairs, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. The
temperature must be close to eighty, which was above average for
this time of year, but frigid compared to the blast-furnace heat
he'd experienced in Sunny's kitchen.
The second he saw her in nothing but a
T-shirt and skimpy panties, his blood had turned into a lava flow.
The longer he stayed with her in the small space, the worse it got.
And when she stared at his mouth like he was breakfast, he thought
he would erupt. Christ, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met,
and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his
hands, tongue, and dick to himself.
It was obvious that, along with her physical
beauty, she possessed a sharp wit and tender heart. She was a
feisty, successful businesswoman. And, after seeing her personal
space, he suspected she was one of the artists who created the
pieces he admired last night. The whole package triggered a primal,
Neanderthalian response deep in his soul that he didn’t
understand.
He pressed his hands to the railing and
leaned over far enough to see the beach. The property was
oceanfront, but the building sat back a hundred yards from high
dunes, which provided a small measure of protection from the surf
and storm surge.
How had a young, single woman come to own and
run this place on her own?
“You ready?”
He straightened and turned to find Sunny
behind him, wearing a pink tank top, Daisy Dukes, and flip-flops.
Sunglasses rested in a mass of curls piled on top of her head, and
another sucker stick hung from her mouth… grape, based on the
smell.
He didn't know how far they had to go, but
watching her slide that sucker in and out of her mouth would
undoubtedly make it the longest trip of his life.
When they reached the parking lot, Sunny
headed to the far side where the Civic sat. He paused by his SUV
and opened his mouth, ready to offer to drive. But when he caught a
glimpse of Sunny out of the corner of his eye—hand on waist, weight
shifted to one leg, massive amount of attitude—he snapped his mouth
shut.
“My car may be old, but it’s clean. You don’t
have to worry about getting your expensive suit dirty.” She dropped
her arm, straightened her shoulders, and kicked her chin out. “Or,
you can stay here.”
Gavin paused, waiting to see if she would say
more. Comments like this offered valuable insight into a person’s
mindset and might provide useful information for re-approaching her
about the sale of her property.
It also gave him insight into Sunny, the
woman. And at the moment, that was most important.
Sensitivity to perceived socioeconomic
differences usually developed one of two ways: a childhood of lack,
or a previous life of luxury now lost. He thought of Callie and her
friends. No way had Sunny grown up like them, so he was going with
the first scenario.
He found the idea of her struggling, or even
wanting something she couldn’t have, unacceptable. His beast rose
to the surface, declaring he’d take care of her. She’d never want
for anything again.
Jesus, he needed to get a grip.
He cleared his throat and lifted a shoulder.
“I was going to drive because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Hoping to lighten the mood and see her smile, he added, “This
coffee thing seems pretty serious. I didn’t want you going into
withdrawals while behind the wheel.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed and her chin
dropped. “Sorry.” Her gaze shifted from his vehicle to hers and
back to his again. She worked her mouth around the sucker a few
times, then said, “I think I'm already pretty close, so…” She
dropped her keys into her bag and headed his way. Stopping next to
him, she flashed a sheepish smile and said, “We might want to
hurry.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
Everything about this woman was a delight, and he was happy just
being in her presence. Propelled by an uncontrollable need to
touch, he slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him
for an impromptu hug.
The press of her body against his was like
slamming into a brick wall. His nuts tightened. His cock turned to
granite. And his heart jumped up and grabbed him by the throat,
threatening to choke the life out of him.
Jesus Christ.
It was only a playful
hug, but his body registered the contact as full penetration. He
dropped his arm from her shoulder, stepped away, and dug into his
too-tight pocket for the keys.
He was in a fuck-load of trouble. Mixing
business and pleasure was a dangerous game, but it seemed
unavoidable. He had no willpower where she was concerned, and if
she didn’t mind a little mixing, he sure as hell wouldn’t.
Gavin got behind the wheel, buckled up, and
cranked the ignition. The engine turned over and Metallica blasted
from the speakers. “Oh, shit.” He hit the power button on the
radio, and the car fell into silence. “Sorry.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed and
wide-eyed, for a second, then burst into laughter. “Why do you look
embarrassed? I play my music loud all the time.”
“Yeah, well… When I’m alone it’s different. I
hadn’t expected anyone to be with me when I got back in the car.”
Until last night, he’d forgotten how awesome it could be to drive
down the road with the wind whipping through the car, music
blaring, not a care in the world. A simple pleasure he’d recreated
on the ride back to Anticue this morning.
He couldn’t see through her sunglasses, but
he felt her gaze on him, studying him. “You don’t strike me as a
Metallica person,” she said.
“What would you have expected?”
“Classical.”
“Classical?” He nearly choked on the word.
Disgusted, he shook his head and slipped on his sunglasses. Backing
out of his spot, he asked, “Which way to the coffee?”
The sucker made a popping sound as she pulled
it from her mouth, drawing his attention. His gaze followed the
path of her tongue as she licked the sticky residue from her lips,
and his tongue pushed against the back of his teeth, wanting a shot
at finishing the cleanup for her.
“Turn left out of the parking lot. We're
going to the convenience store by the bridge.”
He noticed the old store
when he turned off the bridge, but
convenience
wasn’t the descriptive
word he would have used.
Decrepit.
Run-down.
Maybe
condemned.
Pulling onto Atlantic Avenue, he said, “I've
worked this every way imaginable, and I can't figure out how you
get Sunny from A.L.?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance
his way and smile. “Did you hurt anything with all the
thinking?”
The thinking hadn’t been painful. Seeing
Sunny nearly naked and not touching her had been excruciating.
“Nope.” He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.
“Everything works just fine.”
Her lips parted as she pulled in a breath,
and he hoped like hell her thoughts were running along the same
lines as his. She licked her lips before returning her gaze to the
road in front of them. “My name's Aimee Lee, but my dad nicknamed
me Sunny.”
“It certainly seems to fit your
personality.”
“That’s what he said.” She laughed. “He also
thought it was funny to mix a first name like Sunny with the last
name Black.”
“You must have gotten your sense of humor
from him. Last night, I thought Blackout was just a clever name for
a bar. When I pulled into the parking lot this morning, I made the
connection between the bar name and the owner’s name.”
Sunny relaxed against the headrest. “Robby
came up with it. I’ll never forget the night he came running into
the house, so eager to share his brilliance he was about to pop. I
had to admit it was catchy and agreed to use it.”
“How long have you owned the bar?”
“The bar's been open two years. It took us
almost a full year to get the repairs and renovations made to the
building before we could open.”
Gavin eased into the Anticue Quickstop
parking lot, and Sunny tore out of the vehicle before he cut the
engine. As he lagged behind, making his way to the front door, he
took in the peeling paint, rusted awnings, and non-functional gas
pumps.
Max's complex would lure large chain stores
and strip malls to the area, forcing small mom-and-pop businesses
like this one to close. Sunny would have money from the sale of her
property to start over, but owners of businesses like this would be
left out in the cold.
And what about the residents who liked
Anticue the way it was?
Not for the first time, a load of guilt
settled on Gavin’s shoulders as he considered the negative impact
of doing his job well.
He pushed the store’s squeaky screen door
open and found Ed, one of the two older men from the Blackout,
sitting behind the counter, watching Sunny pour a large cup of
coffee from an industrial-sized coffee pot. The older gentleman
turned an assessing gray gaze toward Gavin. After studying him for
a beat, he looked back to Sunny. “I figured you must be getting
low.”
Sunny stopped pouring and turned to Ed, total
disbelief written all over her face. “Why didn't you say
something?”
“Well, I didn't think about it till
yesterday, when I saw your big bag of Dum-Dums sitting here,
waiting to be picked up.” He paused, and a mischievous expression
creased his weatherworn face. “Last night you were too busy
flirting with Mr. Hot Shot for me to have a chance to mention
it.”
Mr. Hot Shot?
Sunny pressed her lips together, then slowly
and carefully set the pot back on the burner. Gavin had the
impression she was being overly cautious, afraid of slamming it
down, otherwise. With full-to-the-brim coffee cup in hand, she
stalked to the counter. She rested one elbow on the aged wood, then
leaned over so she was nose to nose with Ed. “What about after Mr.
Hot Shot left?”
“Well, by that time I'd forgotten.”
Sunny drew back and shook her head. “No, you
were pouting and decided to let me suffer.”
“That too.”
Gavin pulled a hand down his face,
suppressing his laughter.
“You're spoiled. I should've never gotten
you and Joe those personalized barstool covers for Christmas.” She
crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “What are you going to do in a
few weeks when the summer crowds start coming in, and I’m not able
to give you two my undivided attention anymore?”
A short, older woman ambled from a room at
the back of the store. “Hey, Sunny. I thought I heard you out here.
What's Ed done now?”
Sunny wrapped the other woman in a warm,
affectionate embrace. “The old fart let me run out of coffee. He
knew I was getting low, but he didn't warn me.”
The woman sent Ed a chiding look, then turned
her attention to Gavin. “You must be the young man from the bar
last night.”
Having grown up in a small town not far from
here, Gavin knew there was no sense in being evasive. By nine
o’clock this morning, every Anticue resident knew he’d been in the
Blackout. They also knew he’d stayed after closing. That’s where
the knowledge ended, but, no doubt, each of them had chosen to
create their own ending to the story. Miss Jane was difficult to
read, giving no clue what outcome she’d chosen to go with. He
nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am. You must be Miss Jane.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and her brow
dipped. “How do you know that?”
Gavin glanced at Ed and let a slow, devilish
smile crawl across his face. The old man snapped flagpole rigid and
paled to a color that matched the dirty white walls. “I heard all
about you last night,” Gavin said, turning back to Miss Jane.
“You’ve been married forty years, right?”