Christie Ridgway - Can't Fight This Feeling

“You’re pretty cute when enraged.” His smile widened when she made a low, furious sound in her throat and he held up his palms. “You can retract your claws, kitten. I’m not here to steal your catnip.”

Still, he stole her breath. And if she wasn’t careful, he might steal something else. “What are you following me for?” she demanded.

“To deliver an apology.”

“Did your sister put you up to this?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s all my own idea, okay? That was a lousy thing I said to Shay. I was probably in a crappy mood and just mouthed off.”

“ Probably in a crappy mood?”

“Okay, I’m sure I was in a crappy mood. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“I am devastated to hear that,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

He winced again. “Angelica—”

“Never mind.” She pretended to wipe a slate clean. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.” He continued to watch her. “So.”

“So.” She refused to twitch. Then she couldn’t stand the silence a second longer. “Well... Have a nice life.”

One of his eyebrows rose, the one with the intriguing scar.

“We’ll likely never see each other again,” she explained.

“It’s a small town,” he said, rubbing his palm over his hair in that habitual gesture.

She shrugged. “Just in case, then.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Just in case then,” he finally agreed. “Be happy.”

It would only take a job, some place to live and a way to forget all about him. “I intend to,” she said, and hoped that intention was enough to make it so because luck hadn’t been on her side lately.

CHAPTER THREE

BRETT RESISTED THE urge to watch Angelica walk off and instead turned to his truck, parked just a few feet away. Apology made, apology accepted and that should be enough to put her from his mind forever.

The breeze picked up as he fumbled with his keys. Autumn was doing its thing in the mountains. Warm sun, cool air, both energizing, and he should be looking forward to a day of vigorous outdoor work. Instead, he felt as if a weight was tugging him down.

We’ll likely never see each other again.

It had nothing to do with that.

The door unlocked, he jerked it open. The tall pile of paperwork he’d forgotten he’d set on the driver’s seat when he had exited the car began to slide off the cracked vinyl. He lunged for it, just as a rough, rogue gust caught at the sheets and sent them swirling. They flew about in the air, some behind the truck, some above the truck, some somersaulting like tumbleweeds along the asphalt in every direction as the wind blew.

He swore out loud and tried corralling the mass by stomping on the sheets near his feet and trapping others against his body. No way was he going to collect them all, he thought on a groan, snatching another that flew past his head. This was going to be a bookkeeping disaster.

Then, he glimpsed a figure in the periphery of his vision. He turned his head to see Angelica dashing about the scene, gathering up the errant documents. He allowed himself one second—okay, two—to admire her upturned ass when she bent over, then he continued on with his own search and seizure.

Several minutes later, the crisis seemed to have passed. When he turned in a 360, he couldn’t see any more fleeing papers. Angelica came toward him, her hair messy and her cheeks flushed, a mass of invoices and handwritten notes clasped against her chest. “I think we might have gotten them all.”

His own arms were full. “A good portion, anyway.” With his toe, he pushed on the lever that folded the driver’s seat forward and then stowed what he held on the narrow rear seat. Turning to Angelica, he said, “Let me take those.”

“I’ve got it.” She shuffled forward. “You stand behind me and block the wind while I set them down.”

He pivoted and she half turned to sidestep into the narrow space he created between his body and the truck. The wind picked up again, tossing her hair so it slid across his face in a silky caress. It smelled amazing and he instinctively moved closer, blocking the breeze and also blocking her in.

She set down her stack, then moved back, her behind meeting his groin. At the contact, she froze.

He told himself not to bury his face in her hair. He told himself not to slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

So he didn’t do either of those things.

But he also didn’t step away. Which meant that when she spun around, they were face-to-face. Chest to chest. If he bent his head, they’d be mouth to mouth.

They stared at each other and all he could think about was how damn beautiful she was. It was the face of a heartbreaker, with fine-grained, golden-tinted skin and large eyes framed by sooty lashes. The lush mouth was maddening.

Tempting.

She put her hand over his heart, attempting to push him back.

The thrust didn’t rock him. He covered her fingers with his, then frowned at how chilled they were. “You’re cold.”

“A little,” she admitted. This time, when she shoved at him, he retreated, though he still had her hand.

“Let me buy you a hot chocolate,” he said. Her cool skin, that killer face... It compelled him to offer her warmth. Sweetness.

She hesitated.

Her reluctance twisted something inside him. Did she consider him not good enough for her? He let go her hand. “You can still have a nice life,” he muttered. “Just after the damn drink.”

Then he ground his back teeth, instantly regretting his harsh tone. Why the hell was he like this around her? She put up his hackles. Made him feel prickly and irritable.

He was never the most genial of fellows, but he was actually considered by some women to be charming. No charm for her, though. No wonder she didn’t want to spend another minute around him.

“Never mind,” he said, making to climb into the truck. “Sorry.”

This time it was she who grabbed his elbow. “I’d like that. The hot chocolate.”

He blew out his breath, waiting a long moment to see if she’d change her mind. When she continued to stand there, he shut the vehicle’s door and pointed toward the corner. “Oscar’s Coffee.”

Inside the small shop were picnic tables painted a soft yellow. Brett directed her to one as he went to retrieve the beverages. He said yes to whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings without asking her.

Her gaze brightened when he put the oversize ceramic mug with its peak of fluffy stuff in front of her. “Yay. You got me the extras.”

“I don’t believe for a second you’re one of those women who denies herself. I’ve smelled the cookies you bake.”

She eyed his beverage, which was exactly the same as hers. “And here I expected you to order a cup of dark and bitter brew for yourself.”

“I like my sweets, too.”

“But not my cookies.”

He refused to squirm on the bench. For months every instinct had warned him against getting “cookies” close. Those instincts were still clamoring at him even now, but she must have entranced him with those warm, melted-chocolate eyes.

Her hands surrounding the cup, she delicately sipped her drink. Then she set it down and licked at the cream on the top of her lip.

He told himself the little action didn’t make him hard, but that was a lie. Clearing his throat, he attempted to think of something else. “Fund-raisers, huh?”

She glanced up.

“You told Mac about the one for the historical society.”

“Oh. Right.” Lifting her cup, she delicately blew on the liquid surface she’d revealed with her last sip.

Her pursed lips didn’t do anything to ease his tight muscles. “You learn how to do that in school?” he asked.