Chasing Temptation (4 page)

“Suzie's a stray and doesn't let anyone get close enough to give her a home.”

“Suzie, for a dog's name?” he asked with a laugh.

Lynne almost melted right there on the sidewalk. He should smile, really smile, more often. It softened his features, made him human. Made her want to kiss him for any reason other than to shut him up.

“Crazy Suzie was her moniker because she would run out into the street and stare down any car daring to get in her path,” she answered, quelling the wayward thoughts and ridiculous emotions. “We shortened it once we got Lance to redirect traffic when she's spotted.”

He chuckled again, looking amused. Her stomach tightened and that wouldn't do.

“No wonder you like this town,” he said. The amusement fell away from his gaze.

Lynne held up her hand and was surprised to see a slight tremble. “I'm not in the mood to argue with you today. So, the answer to the question I can see brewing in your eyes, unequivocally is no. By now you should know where you can put your offer.”

He nodded, but his gaze strayed back to the bushes. Lynne relaxed. She'd have to throw a doggy treat to Suzie.

Lynne stuck her trembling hands into her pockets and tried not to look back when she walked away from him. If she gave into the impulse, she just might turn into a pillar of salt.

Once inside the store, Lynne ran her hand along the clothes as she made her way back to the counter. The textures tickled the inside of her palm. She used the distraction to get her head back into the game.

These clothes, this store, should have been the ultimate focus. Not a man who ate small businesses for breakfast, but apparently cared about stray dogs.

Lynne was standing behind the counter when Jeremy entered. “Did the devil really try to help someone, something other than himself?”

“Yes,” she answered shortly and blew out breath.

Jeremy’s comment made her think about Nathan again and the heart that might lie beneath the Armani suit, and that bothered the hell out of her.

“I think we need to talk,” she said.

Jeremy stuffed his hands in his pockets, a gesture she'd seen too many times from him. He was hiding a secret. Ever since that woman had entered the shop and stumbled back out, he'd been acting strange.

“What?” he asked.

She raised a brow at his tone. “Nathan.”

“First name basis now? I thought you two had only talked once before?”

“We did.” No need to explain how she'd become a people watcher at a young age and, lately, a Nathan watcher. “I just know his type. I need you to come in on Saturday to help me rearrange the store. I also need you to help me set up a sidewalk sale.”

“I won't be able to be stay the whole day. I have...things to do Saturday.”

The woman
. Since he was all the family she welcomed with open arms, Lynne nodded okay without pushing for questions.

She hadn't noticed the tension in his shoulders until they lowered with the reply. More than anything she wanted to get him to talk. She would have before now if the whole Nathan thing hadn’t distracted her.

“Just so you know, I went into his store,” Jeremy started. “It's not as nice as ours.”

She smiled at the term ours; that's exactly the type of store she wanted, but then Lynne grimaced. Given Jeremy was a friend, he'd tell her what she needed to hear, without the harsh edge.

She sighed. “I'll be back.”

Jeremy didn't ask questions, and that was for the best. She squared her shoulders, walked out the glass doors, and entered into the Devil's third ring of hell.

Lynne froze after a single step into inside Nathan's store. The décor―just classy. Any man would want to wear the imported silks, even as casual wear. The scent, a deep musk, filled the store, filled her mind with questions, wants, and desires. It smelled like him. No way to hold her breath long enough, Lynne would have to endure the intoxicating scent again.

The place appeared so upscale she didn't want to examine the fabrics and check the names or prices on the tags. Her damp palms might ruin the material.

The observation helped put Nathan back into perspective. He didn't understand one thing about small towns. The men here chose comfort and
function
for everyday wear. They wouldn't wear their silk shirt to dump the trash or drink beer with the guys. Not enough tourists stopped through either.

But women didn't need a reason to buy something pretty. Maybe sexist, and a generalization, but the clothes industry focused on women for a reason.

She spotted him in the corner, smiling at a customer. No one she recognized, but it still made her wipe damp palms on her jeans.

She turned to study the ties displayed on headless mannequins, of all things. This man really went all out. She should have researched him. Running a hand down a rich navy blue tie, she had to give Nathan his due. Most people only spotted the difference between silk and silky nylon due to the price. The tie slid between her fingers like butter.

Damn him.

“I thought you weren't selling,” he asked.

Lynne snatched her hand back, faced him. “My assistant mentioned he’d perused. I decided to scope out the competition for myself.”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Let me take you on a tour. My assistant will take care of the customers.”

She tried her best to come up with something witty. “Aren't you hot in that suit?”

“I am, actually.” He slipped off his jacket without another word and oozed capable in the way he placed his jacket over his arm. He was damn near delectable when those shoulders were as broad without the help of the jacket.

She had to say something, if only to remind herself who he was. “You attack everyone that comes in?”

“Greet, and yes.” He gestured to the sign over the cash register.
Grand Opening Sale. 50 percent off.
Oh, this man was really good. “Plus, I want the customers to have a first impression of me that will stay with them.”

“Trust me, my first impression of you will stick,” she quipped and remembered she had wanted to jump him in that first moment. Well, double damn.
Moving on
.

She cleared her throat. “I noticed you sell only name brands.”

He nodded. “I sell quality. I sell—”

“The American Dream,” she finished for him.

He leaned against the shelf of ties. They didn't budge, which probably meant he had the shelves reinforced. She might be able to hate him if she didn't respect him so much.

“I like that,” he said. “The American Dream.”

“You shouldn't. The problem with dreams are that they rarely come true, and when they do, reality gets in the way.”

“I didn't peg you for a cynic.”

She shrugged. “Realistic.” He raised a brow and she gave. “Okay, cynical, but you didn't strike me as a dreamer.”

“I'm not, but it's what I sell.”

She glanced at the cufflinks on his shirt. Real diamonds. “You're a total dreamer, but I'm not here to psychoanalyze you.”

Lynne stepped forward. He placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place. The touch was fleeting, but her stomach jumped just the same.

“I'm interested now.” He placed his jacket on the smooth, mahogany wood surface next to him and crossed his arms. “No one,” he chuckled, “has ever accused me of being a dreamer.”

Why couldn't she keep her observations to herself? And why did he have to be charming?

She said, “Because everyone looks at you, how you talk and carry yourself. It's conflicting.” The statement made her frown.

“And what is it you see?”

She heard the amusement, the disdain in his tone, and decided to go for the kill.

“You think you know what people want, and it's really what you want. On some level you want the American Dream. The house, kids, wife, and the happily ever after. It's probably why you're going after my store. You see its potential, and in your head it's all about money when it's not. I won't speculate about your childhood, but I'm sure that's where your need to be a success, to be the American Dream, came from.”

The charm instantly changed to something much darker, something akin to grief. Lynne took a step back. Really, from now on she would keep her observations to herself.

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “And you think Hart and Style is a home. It's not. It's a business. One I intend to have as mine. In that respect you're right.”

She couldn't forget the glimpse of grief. Couldn't see past the wall of professionalism he'd thrown up either. He picked up his jacket. “Let's stick to observations about my store from now on.”

She'd hit a nerve. Now she had to know what happened to this ruthless, if at times charming, business man. If honest with herself, and she was, her reasons had nothing to do with saving the store. She squelched the thought and concentrated.

He gestured to the store. “I plan to add more merchandise that the locals favor,” he said. “I have a suggestion box. No, you may not add any of yours.”

Despite the irrational guilt that wanted to dig its little claws in, she forced herself to laugh. He had moved on, so would she.

“And if they suggest local designers?”

“I'll consider it.” He placed his jacket on the counter, near the register. “I'll give customers what they want as long as it's profitable.”

“The bottom line. Again.” She bit her lip to keep from asking personal questions.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I want you...” The pause lasted long enough she didn't think he'd finish the statement. “To meet my personal assistant.”

It seemed they both let out a breath. “I knew you'd have minions,” she said.

Lynne forced herself to look away from him. The undercurrent between them...well, it was stupid to even consider those train tracks. A wreck between them would have causalities.

Instead, she searched around the shop for someone who had the look of a shark. Her gaze landed on a woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black suit. Her scalp had to be screaming from the severe bun. She gasped. Not that woman, couldn’t be, but Nathan gestured to the same woman who had been in Lynne’s store the day before and had run out.

“That's Sylvia. My assistant. Let me introduce you. You'll be seeing a lot of her when I close this deal.”

The woman stopped short when Nathan called her name, but relaxed her features and offered her hand to Lynne.

“Nice to meet you,” Lynne said. “I think I spotted you at the grocery store.” The lie flowed easily from Lynne's mouth because up close there wasn't a shark in any of Sylvia’s movements.

The woman's hand relaxed. “Had a craving.”

Lynne would never refer to Jeremy as a craving, but to each his own. And, oh, my God, Nathan's assistant was sleeping with Jeremy.

She stole a glance at Nathan. He wouldn't stoop that low, or would he?

“Nathan, I can take over from here,” Sylvia suggested.

He nodded. “Finish the tour. Take her to the stockroom.”

Even Lynne could see the woman had to force herself to smile back. A musical ding sounded and Nathan went to yet another customer. Sylvia indicated for Lynne to follow. Turning on her heel, she walked past the stockroom and out the back door.

A million emotions seemed to cross Sylvia's face before she asked, “What's your angle? Why did you lie? I can tell you now I'm not going to see Jeremy any more. It was a stupid mistake. I should have known better.”

This woman was strung tight as a guitar string. Lynne held up her hands. “What you do in your spare time is your business. It sounds like you're not trying to pump Jeremy for information, which was a worry.”

“Are you going to tell Nathan?”

This time Lynne didn't have to guess. Fear etched lines above Sylvia's brow. This alone was why she would not let the attraction between Nathan and herself be more than an undercurrent. What kind of man would inspire that type of fear for having a social life?

“No.” She didn't second-guess the answer when Sylvia released a pent-up breath. Lynne held up her hand higher. “But you need to tell Jeremy. I'm surprised he didn't see you when he came by earlier.”

“He came in earlier?” She stopped, swallowed nervously. “I can't have anything else to do with him—”

“You need to tell Jeremy.” Lynne kept her tone firm. “Tell Nathan I've seen all I could stomach of him and his shop.”

Which was the truth, but still she added, “And Sylvia. Good luck.”

Sylvia wondered how long the unemployment line would be back home in Fresno as she pulled the sheet up to her chin. She was weak, a horny toad, and stupid, stupid, stupid. She'd taken Lynne's advice. She’d told Jeremy, but—

“Stop thinking,” Jeremy said softly against her chest.

Well, sort of.

He didn't bother to open his eyes or move his mouth much. His breath teased her nipple and an aftershock of their earlier deeds ran through her body, made her shiver.

Sylvia was supposed to confess about working for Nathan, and they were supposed to hash out how that changed their relationship. They were supposed to go over the reasons why continuing this, whatever this was, had doomed written all over it. Like adults, they would have decided the best thing to do was the one thing they didn't want to do—end it.

She told him, and then his tongue had explored...oh, God, she was so going to get fired for the affair. Nathan expected loyalty and that really translated to honesty. She couldn’t get more dishonest than sleeping with Jeremy. Again and again. Doing it—no pun intended—without an intention to disclose the relationship. After all Nathan had done for her and this was her way of saying thanks for seeing the potential in me. Thanks for trusting me when no one else would have.

And Jeremy wanted her to relax.

“Stop thinking?” Her voice sounded shrill.

He slid his hand up her bare torso, and she rolled off the bed, sheet clutched in her hands. “I don't believe I made myself clear the first time. We need to talk about this. Our decisions have consequences, dire ones.”

Jeremy rolled over, half-mast. She moved her gaze to the clock by the closet. The old school cat whiskers twitched with the time. The room had a vintage feel to it. No surprise he’d decorated himself. He worked in fashion because he loved all aspects of it, and he certainly loved the clothing, and the unclothing, women aspect.