Chasing Temptation (8 page)

“I'm not dead,” he rasped. “In case you were hoping.”

“Nothing is that easy.” She tilted her head. “I could have told you it wouldn't work.”

He couldn't explain the need to rescue the dog to himself, much less to Lynne. “I think I have broth in unmentionable places.”

“With me, nothing is unmentionable. I try my best to be honest with myself and others, but sometimes you've just got to lie. Today I'm being honest. You should let the dog be.”

She still offered a hand to help him up. Nate took it. Holding his gaze, her eyes had darkened. He wanted to stare into them until he found all the answers to the world, to his purpose in life. Her eyes held a depth he had never witnessed in anyone else.

The bottom line was he believed her. This woman wasn't what Nate had expected when he first set out to buy the shop. The finances she had plunged into Hart and Style fell into the usual numbers most business owners were willing to invest. Yet her bare feet, her kindness, and her frankness threw him stride off each time. It also didn't help he knew the taste of her was decadent when mixed with scotch.

He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He winced when he saw the appearance of his suit. “Thank you for the help, nonetheless.”

The next beat of silence turned awkward.

“Um, well,” she said, “if you are really determined to catch her and save her life, she should be out here again tomorrow. Around the same time. I think she comes out to get into the trash behind the buildings.” She pursed her lips, and he forced himself to meet her gaze instead of continuing to stare at her mouth.

“I'll be sure to wear my running gear.”

She squinted at him. “Why?”

“Everyone deserves to have a home. A safe place to go,” Nate said softly.

He didn't wait around to see how she reacted. He strode across the street back to his business. He already knew her expression would hold shock and probably sympathy. He'd showed her an unmentionable. Little by little she was crumbling the walls he built around his one weakness.

“Hello, you've reached the Blake residence.” Her friend and former boss's voice reached through the phone and Lynne closed her eyes, missing Megan. “You know what to do.”

With a frustrated sigh, Lynne sat back in the Star Trek chair in her office and waited for the interminable beep. The same beep she'd been getting for the past week. Her best friend had gone MIA once she had married Aiden.

“You remember all those phone calls where I talked you off the ledge,” Lynne started. “You know the time I helped you realize that you should get the guy. The man you're currently married to. That currently is making you sound chipper for no reason. Yeah, that time. I need some of the same. Call me when you get this message.”

She hung up the phone and laid her head on the sheaf of papers scattered among the desktop. In seven days, she had obsessed about Nate. Forcibly had to tell herself not to obsess, only to obsess about not obsessing. She was going to have to kill him. Nate dominated her thoughts even though he had made himself scarce. It had to be the eye of the storm.

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. Sex was out. Kissing still negotiable. Though what she really needed to do was come up with something more to throw him off his path to world domination. He could counter business moves with ease. She knew his type. Her father was that type. Trying to defeat that type of man with bottom lines was pointless.

If you only knew to protect your queen (not necessarily
how
to protect your queen), you didn't go against a Chess master in the hopes you could defeat him on skill alone. A smart person would chatter nonstop. Pick their nose. Wonder out loud if they had IBS. People like her father and Nate didn't win because they were smarter or savvier, but because they were focused and prepared. That's was the secret to anyone who succeeded.

The phone rang, ripping her from the thoughts of men like Nate. “Hart and Style. Lynne speaking.”

“This is Beatrice from the Mothers of the Church committee.”

Relief softened her spine and she leaned back into the Captain Kirk chair. “Hey, what can I do for you?”

“It's that time of year again.”

Given they did a million events a year, it took Lynne a moment. With May just around the corner, they'd be rounding up the kids during summer break.

“The bake sale. Sign me up for chocolate-chunk muffins. A dozen.”

“Great. Now I need to try to convince the new guy to chip in. It'll be a great way to invite him into the community. We tried with the baseball team, but he stated the new business kept him tied up too much of the time. Very nice man to be honest about the type of commitments he could make to the community. Baseball is a big commitment, but chipping in for a bake sale shouldn't be too much.”

Lynne sat back in her chair at the words. The man was slicker than pig grease. A smile crept across her face. The “something more” to her devious plan took shape.

“You know, Beatrice.” She crossed her fingers and sent up a silent prayer she wouldn't go to hell for the next words. “I've talked to him about it. He was bragging about...how he can make cookies in the shape of a bow tie. You know, because he sells men's wear.”

She crooked the phone between her ear and shoulder, crossing the fingers on the other hand. “He wants to make six dozen. Maybe eight. He's an overachiever.”

“Are you sure? I should call him and double check.”

“No worries.”
I'm going to hell. I am going to hell
. “I can go over and do it for you. He's my neighbor and all. We look out for each other.”

“Thanks, Lynne. I can always count on you to be nice.”

Nothing but a brimstone-filled eternity awaited her. “I'll bring my stuff in the morning.”

That was less than twenty-four hours. Nate was prepping his store for a women's section. He'd be strapped for time. If he had to scramble to make cookies , it would at least give her some leeway to come up with a better idea, one that didn't involve either of them getting naked.

The bake sale was for a good cause. Maybe the woman upstairs would give her a reprieve. Since she'd already accepted she was going to be on the dark side, Lynne waited until 4:55 p.m., right before all the bakeries in town closed, to give him a call.

She dialed Nate's store. Sylvia answered. “Craine’s Fashions.”

Perfect. “This is Lynne. Can you remind Nate about the cookies for the church bake sale? I know it probably slipped his mind. Let him know it's for the local kids to go to camp. Everyone in the community contributes. He can call Beatrice to find out the details. Have a good day.”

She hung up before Sylvia got a word in. Lynne jumped up to find the store empty. Lynne would blame Nate and him alone for the current quiet. She didn't feel bad anymore.

Jeremy wore a dreamy expression as he re-folding sweaters. She hated to disrupt him, but...

“We need to close the store pronto,” she said, “and you should ask Sylvia out for dinner tonight.” She perked up at the thought of leaving Nate alone in a kitchen. “Matter of fact, I'll reimburse you. Bring me the receipt tomorrow.”

The dreamy quality disappeared. “What have you done?”

She walked over to him, snatched the sweater out of his hand, and pushed him toward the door. “Nothing.”

“This may sound chauvinistic, but whenever a woman says nothing, it's something. Spill, or I'm not leaving.”

He crossed his arms and the good-evil idea finally took root.

Lynne sighed. “I did something bad, but it's for the good of all mankind.”

“Good for Lynne more likely.”

He was right, but she wouldn't admit it, because in the next five minutes Nate would be storming in. “Seriously, go, so I can close up shop.”

He still didn't budge. She crossed her heart. “I promise. This will be the last time I go over to the dark side.”

The bell above the door dinged and Jeremy grinned. “I doubt it, but I'm leaving.”

Lynne felt the cold draft and knew Nate stood at the door. “I'm so not paying for dinner now.”

Jeremy laughed and left them alone. Nate had a smile on his face, much like the first day he came into the store. Her goose was cooked.

“Sorry, but the store is closing,” she said.

“Eight dozen cookies?” Each step he took, she took one backward, until her butt hit the counter. “Nice try, but all I'm going to do is call a bakery.”

“The town closes at five o'clock on Friday.” He stepped into her personal space and his very masculine scent hit her. She gripped the counter. “I'm trying to help you get accepted into the community,” she squeaked out.

“Really? I'm liable to kill anyone who eats those cookies.”

“I'm sure you won't. You'll do fine.” He took another step. “You shouldn't be wasting time. It's for a good cause. Are you not going to do it?”

Nate placed his palms on the counter, one hand situated on each side of her. She tilted her head back and took in his full wrath. Because she was a sick, sick individual, her blood heated, and every inch his body touched zinged.

“The plan's ingenious in an insidious way,” he said. “If I don't provide the cookies, I'm the bad guy. If I do, I spend countless hours baking, and I'm not plotting out my next point to bring you down. That's really smart, but if a war is really what you want, I'm up to play.”

With him pressed against her, Lynne wanted to play, but a completely different game with less talking and much less clothes. “You've got cookies to bake, Nate.”

The bluff had to be plain on her face. She bit her lip and watched his attention shift. That split second gave her the boost she needed. She placed her hands on the lapels of his suit.

“Don't.” He closed his eyes as if willing himself to reject the temptation.

She opened her mouth to ask why are we fighting this? But the words caught in her throat when Nate opened his eyes. The idea of being devoured had never appealed to her until the heat of his stare made her wonder why her clothes didn't turn to ash and fall off.

She cleared her throat and chucked the why-she-shouldn't list rolling around in her head. “Will you let me kiss you?”

This time she didn't want it to be a spur-of-the-moment thing. She didn't want him to come back with the lame excuse he'd been drunk. She half-hoped it wouldn't make her toes curl and could finally write off the first kiss as a fluke.

His lids lowered and his entire frame felt stretched tight, then next in the next moment he melded against her.

“Yes,” Nate said as though he was conceding to a number of unspeakable sins.

She balanced on the tips of her toes and met his mouth. It should have been a crime for a man to have lips that soft and impossible for the brush of someone else's lips against hers to send her heartbeat into overdrive. His tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth, and her toes wanted to curl. Instead she settled back on her heels, leaning against the counter. She couldn't quite catch her breath and she needed a second to get it back.

“If we are going to do this,” Nate said, “we might as well do it the right way.”

Before the meaning registered, his mouth was back on hers. Lynne let out a frustrated moan. The three-piece suit was like a damn chastity belt. She wanted them to be skin to skin. Really, she wanted to rip each button from his shirt so he could never find them and be forced to walk around shirtless. She would leave the tie on though. It could come in handy.

Nate explored her mouth, swallowed her breathy sighs, all without losing his cool. She wanted him to kiss her for an eternity. To always let his taste fill her as it did now. The need grew roots and she knew she wanted this to turn into something more or end now.

As if he read her mind, he pulled back. “I want to have sex. Right here on this counter.” He nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “I want to bury myself in you. I know you would be hot and wet because of me and no one else.”

“Don't,” she pleaded, surprising herself.

Lynne's mind had been going down the same road, but she knew he shouldn't let go of his control. Knew he would regret it in the morning, and no matter how blasé she lived, Lynne knew regret.

“What?” His thumb drew circles on a sensitive spot by her collarbone.

She should wear shoes around him, just so he wouldn't see her toes curl when he touched her like that.

Still, Lynne managed to put some words together. “Unless you want to have wild, sweaty sex, today, right now, don't say those things.”

He melded into her again and she felt his arousal. She had to close her eyes to find the will to say no for him.

“You've got eight dozen cookies to make because of me,” she said.

He stiffened and the hardness right at her apex slowly vanished.

“You're right.”

She opened her eyes to see he'd backed up. Five feet away and she could still feel him pressed against her.

“To think,” she said, “I'm the one with reason right now. You should write this moment down on a calendar. My mother would be so proud.”

He smirked. “I assumed you were raised by hippies.”

She shivered. She wanted to have sex with him. Not for him to get to know her. “Martha Stewart raised me.”

One brow lifted. “You know how to cook?”

“I did just say Martha Stewart raised me.”

He nodded. “Good. You got me into this mess. You're going to get me out. Lock up. We have baking to do.”

He walked out of the store without another word. Lynne's jaw started to hurt. She closed her mouth. There was no one to blame. She had stepped right into that one.

Lynne closed up the shop and met Nate outside. Of course he had been waiting in case she decided to run. He probably told Sylvia to wait at the back door. The man was smart. Dammit.

“What do you have to cook with at home?” she asked.

“It's not home; it's a rental.”

“Touché, but that doesn't answer my question.”

He crossed his arms and frowned. “I have sugar in those little packets.”

“You have sugar packets?” She shook her head. “I was being crueler than I realized. We'll go to the grocery store. You have heard of a grocery store, right? Where you buy food products and then can make baked goods from scratch.”