Author: Jill Shalvis

“He needs to give this interview,” the reporter said, tone firm. “If he doesn’t, his career’s going to be in the toilet. If he wants to save it, he needs to—”

Ali hung up again, and then on second thought, pulled the phone from the wall. And even though she’d been expecting Luke to walk in any minute, she still nearly leapt out of her skin when he came up behind her. He crowded her so that she could feel the heat of him at her back. Her eyes drifted shut to better savor the experience.

“Protecting my honor?” he asked, voice low enough that she couldn’t gauge his mood.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “And it’s turning into a full-time job.”

“Except for when you’re eavesdropping,” he said.

Well, crap. She turned to face him and winced. “Okay, yes, I was eavesdropping. Some people turn to alcohol or chocolate. I eavesdrop.” Her face was heated. “It used to be the only way I could learn stuff from my mom, not that that’s an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly, something in his voice making her chest tighten. “You don’t have to eavesdrop with me, Ali. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—always.”

She searched his gaze for a clue to his thoughts, but got nothing. “I wanted to tell you I was there, but you two were talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Are you going to help Mr. Kitzsky?”

“Yeah. His nephews are idiots, but not completely moronic. They know where their bread’s buttered. I’ll clunk their heads together, and that’ll be it.” He looked over her shoulder into the pan. “Smells great.”

What smelled great was him. It was all she could do not to turn her head and bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale him.

“I’m guessing that omelets are your specialty,” he said, sounding a little amused. She hoped.

“Yep.” She flipped the omelet, but then had to admit the truth. “Actually…omelets are the only thing I can cook.”

He tipped back his head and laughed, and the sight was so innately sexy that he took her breath. “Do you really think the gas station might have footage of the thief walking out of Town Hall with the money?” she asked.

He stole a slice of cheese and popped it in his mouth. “So you did hear everything.”

“Including the part where your grandpa thought I stole the money? Yeah.” She tried to sound neutral, but was pretty sure she failed.

Luke let out a breath and reached around her to turn off the burners. “If you were listening, then you heard exactly how much he cares about you.”

She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. There’d been a lot of people in her life who’d claimed to care about her. It didn’t always mean much. “He tried to bribe you with pastries to help me.”

“I can’t be bribed.” He met her gaze. “You know I never do anything I don’t want to do.”

Her heart gave a little treacherous leap. He was in board shorts again, as sky blue as his eyes, with a drawstring that was loose. One little tug, she thought. His muscles were taut, his skin damp. He’d been paddleboarding.

She had no idea why the sight of him, a little wet and a lot hot, made her both of those things as well. “I don’t either…” she whispered, “do things I don’t want to do.”

“Liar.” He stroked a finger along her cheekbone and then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, lingering at the sensitive skin there.

She shivered, and his eyes heated. “You’re a pleaser,” he said.

“Was,” she corrected. “Was a people pleaser. No more. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I only please myself now.”

A very small smile curved his mouth, and he lowered his head so that they shared their next breath. “There’s an image,” he murmured. “You pleasing yourself.”

She let out a low, nervous laugh, and he bent to nip her lower lip.

“I’d want to watch,” he said.

Oh, Lord. “I think we’re getting off the subject here,” she managed.

Eyes on hers, he slowly ran his hands up her arms and then back to grip her hips. Okay, the hell with getting off subject, she thought, as his mouth brushed hers with just the lightest pressure. She heard a moan, hers, and at the sound, Luke got more serious about the kiss, taking it deep and hot until she swayed toward him.

A long, delicious moment later, he pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. She realized her fingers were curled into his biceps and that she was actually trying to tug him closer. But he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her hands away, taking them down to her sides. “We said we weren’t going to do this,” he said.

Aroused from head to toe, she nodded. “Right.” And then shook her head. “Why is that again? Is it because the first time was so awful, or because people keep telling you not to sleep with me?”

“If I can’t be bribed, I sure as hell don’t give a shit what people think.” His voice was low and incredibly sexy, and he tightened his grip on her wrists, still restraining her from touching him.

Which was suddenly all she wanted to do.

“As for it being awful,” he said, “we both know it was the polar opposite of awful.”

“So…?”

“So we said we weren’t going there,” he repeated, and she wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief when he let her go and turned away.

“Actually,” she said to his back. His bare back. Tanned. Sleek. Ripped with strength. “You said that we weren’t going to go there. Because even though you’re leaving and it was so awful, I still want to. Go there, that is.”

With a half laugh, half groan, he faced her again. “Ali. We can’t.”

“I know.” His board shorts were low, revealing gorgeous abs, cut obliques, and a most impressive erection. At the direction of her gaze, he let out another tortured-sounding laugh and then walked out of the kitchen, vanishing into the depths of the house.

A few seconds later, she heard a shower go on.

It was several minutes before she could breathe or swallow. Still shaky, she divided the omelet, leaving half on a plate for him.

She ate, listening to the water run, noting that he stayed in there a long time, during which she did her best not to imagine what he was doing.

Or how she’d rather be doing it for him.

Chapter 16

The next day on her lunch break at the flower shop, Ali called her mom to check in.

“I just set up your sister with a guy from the security office at the casino,” Mimi said. “He wears a gun and everything.”

Harper and a guy with a gun—seemed like a nightmare waiting to happen. “Mom, maybe she wants to meet her own guys.”

“Honey, we all need a little help here and there. You still seeing that very good-looking Luke?”

“We’re not seeing each other, not like that,” Ali said.

“Well why not?”

Yeah, Ali, why not? “Because I don’t need a boyfriend,” Ali said.

“Well of course you do, Ali-gator. Every woman needs a man to make her smile, to make her feel pretty, to buy her clothes…Don’t you like him?”

Ali sighed. “To tell you the truth, it’s a little confusing just how much I do.”

“Aw, love’s not really all that confusing, not when you get right down to it,” Mimi said. “You either feel it or you don’t.”

Said the woman who’d felt it more than most.

But Ali thought about that as she arranged and delivered flowers all afternoon. Did she feel it for Luke? Could she feel it for Luke? And given that love had never done a damn thing for her, why would she want to?

Lucille came in to buy some flowers for Mr. Wykowski. “He’s under the weather with hemorrhoids,” she said. “I wanted to cheer him up with my stripper-pole jazzercise moves, but I threw out my lower back in class last week, so dancing’s out.”

Ali did her best not to picture Lucille in a stripper-pole class.

“Looking for new Intel,” Lucille said. “You didn’t confess, did you?”

“No.”

“Good. Make ’em sweat.”

“I didn’t steal the money,” Ali said, beginning to feel like a broken record and getting a little pissed about it too.

“Of course you didn’t, honey. You’re far too sweet. Don’t pay attention to anyone who says otherwise. Keep your chin up.” Lucille patted her hand, paid her for the flowers, and left.

Just before closing, Zach called to check in. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Holding my breath,” Ali said. “I think I’m about to be arrested any second. I’m not crazy about wearing stripes, Zach.”

“Actually,” he said, “the jumpsuits are orange in your county.”

Ali laughed and then covered her mouth. “It’s not funny. Oh my God, Zach. This is so not funny.”

“You won’t get arrested,” he said.

“Because there’s not enough evidence?”

“No, because your sister said if I got you out of this mess without an arrest, she’d consider sleeping with me.”

Ali choked out another laugh, this one with more real amusement, and hung up. She was closing up when Russell poked his head out of his office. “Hey, cookie, thinking about cutting out Thursday for Vegas.”

Ali did her best not to show her dismay. More days off wasn’t in the plan; she needed the money. “But Thursdays are good business days.”

“I know, but Paul’s making the big bucks doing the stars’ makeup and hair. He bought us tickets to Celine.”

“I don’t think Celine’s still playing.”

“She’s a drag queen. Great reviews.”

Russell was absolutely glowing—though that might have been his spray-on tan, hard to tell. Ali didn’t have the heart to tell him how badly she couldn’t afford this. “How about I run the shop for you while you’re gone?” she asked.