Laura Iding - Irresistibly Exotic Men

“Yep.”

“Is that wise?”

A hell of a lot wiser than being cooped up here with you, no buffer zone in sight . “I have paying clients. And anyway, you can relax better without me around.”

Luke looked dissatisfied with her reasoning. “You got something I can do around here?”

“No.”

“What about that?” He nodded in the direction of the pantry, where the door was off its hinges and resting against the stove.

“It needs sanding then the hinges need to be realigned. I can do it.”

“So can I.”

“I’d rather you not—”

“Don’t make me pull rank on you, Beth.” His words were soft but his eyes firm. “I own the place, remember?”

Beth felt her face flush, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Fine. Do what you want.” Now she sounded petulant and that annoyed her more than anything. But it irked her that he had every right to paint the place in pink polka dots if he so chose.

“I got a call from Dylan last night,” Luke said. “He accessed your runaway’s cell-phone records. Plus, he’s also checking flight schedules.”

Beth’s heart skipped a beat. “He could’ve left the country?”

“What would you do if you’d stolen half a million?”

Beth exhaled slowly. “So the money could be gone forever.”

“Not necessarily. Let’s see what turns up.”

She nodded absently, her head whirling. More waiting. She’d be a world champion by the end of it.

“I’ll get started on that door, then chop that firewood in the backyard.” He massaged his shoulder. “Need to keep busy.”

“Not used to being idle, huh?”

“Hate it,” he admitted, and as she gave him a small smile, the lines on his face softened. “Lying on a beach with a book was my idea of hell.” He put his elbows on the counter and leaned back. “Until that massage.”

She knew he wanted to add something more, make some comment about their kiss, but he let his eyes do all the talking.

“I’ve got to go,” she muttered and beat a hasty retreat.

Luke watched her leave, wondering for the umpteenth time since yesterday how one woman could be so damn frustrating.

Connor would say it was because his obsession with fixing things had encountered a brick wall. Marco would add, “Because sometimes things can’t be solved with a charming smile, bro!” with a wink and a grin.

Maybe.

He grappled with the real reason, as if by wrestling with it he could reduce it to ashes. But he was plumb out of luck. The answer was purely selfish.

Attraction.

She wasn’t his type—too secretive, too stubborn, too take-charge. He liked everything straightforward, out in the open, no surprises. Yet there was something about her that got his blood pumping anyway.

He missed having a woman in his life. Missed the way they felt, their smell, their laughter. Their softness.

It was strange, having a woman refuse his help even when she was so obviously neck deep in problems. But Beth had made it clear she could function perfectly well without him and would continue to do so long after he was out of the picture.

So why did that rub him the wrong way so much?

Beth refused to spoil her day by thinking about her former bookkeeper. Instead, she focused on what she could control: namely, her attraction to Luke De Rossi. So when she picked up Laura she was on the receiving end of a one-sided conversation all the way to work. As she nodded and responded in the appropriate places, her conscience held up its end.

Be honest—you want him. What do you have to lose if you succumb to temptation for once? If you let him kiss you, touch you?

Her control. Not to mention her professional ethics and privacy.

Ha. You were interested long before that massage. And no one can take something from you you’re not willing to give .

Sure. It’d only take one eager reporter, one mistake, and your whole life could be exposed. Again .

She focused on the road with exaggerated concentration just as she tried to convince herself she wouldn’t care when Luke was gone. She’d be glad. Glad.

A hand waved in front of her face. “Still with me here?”

“Huh?” Beth blinked.

Laura rolled her eyes. “The light’s green. I asked if we need to do a double order on our cranberry oils for Christmas.”

“No.” Beth tempered her abruptness with an apologetic smile and pressed the accelerator. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

Laura shot her a sideways glance. “Anything to do with that sneaky little rat Ben?”

“Got it in one.” She smiled weakly.

“Well, thank me for clearing your morning appointments today. I rescheduled everyone so we could go through yesterday’s new shipment. Oh, and Jack Benson says he hopes you feel better.”

Ahh, Jack, her plantar fasciitis retiree. “Am I sick?”

“Nope. People just assumed anything else wouldn’t keep you away.”

As the traffic ground to a halt again, Beth gave the younger girl her full attention. Her employee had the kind of personality and looks that could coax a smile from a statue—she’d be dangerous if she were self-centered. But Laura was the nicest person she’d ever known.

“Do you think I’m a workaholic?” Beth asked.

“ Weeeell … You are. A bit.”

And honest to a fault . “I see.”

“The last time you took a day off was … Actually, you’ve never taken a day off. Since when’ve you had the chance to just lie on the beach and veg? Or come to think of it, been out on a date?”

Beth snorted. “And why haven’t you said anything before?”

Laura shrugged. “You never asked before. And you like working. The weird thing is you’re our target market, but you don’t practice what you preach.”

“And you think I need a man.”

“No. I think you need a little fun.” Laura grinned again. “And a little sex wouldn’t hurt.”

They pulled into the parking lot and Beth wound down her window for the ticket, effectively cutting off Laura’s train of thought.

If someone had told her a week ago she’d be sharing a house with Luke De Rossi, running from reporters and hunting down an ex-employee and a missing half-million dollars, she would’ve laughed in their face.

A shiver shot down her back. Yes, Luke seemed to be helping with her Ben problem. And she was attracted to him. But the issue wasn’t physical, it was mental. She didn’t want to let him into her life, into her secrets. Her head screamed danger every time she laid eyes on him.

Even if her body screamed the opposite.

At exactly nine-thirty, Beth and Laura walked down the mall toward a darkened shop front.

“Smell that,” Laura said softly as Beth unlocked the doors and whooshed them open.

Beth took a deep breath, punching in a security code as Laura flicked on the lights. “Frangipani, lavender. Lemongrass.”

“I can smell coffee,” Laura singsonged, dangling a bag of gourmet beans between two fingers. They both grinned.

“You fill the pot and I’ll fix things up here,” said Beth. She selected a key and switched on the cash register, straightened the flyers on the counter, then placed an errant pen in a cup.

Casting an eye over the familiar interior, she breathed in again with a smile, loving the crazy mix of scents that hit her senses. The place wasn’t huge, but she’d made use of every available space. A giant oak tree mural decorated the walls, each branch a protruding glass shelf that displayed various jellies, lotions and powders. Bath bombs, frothies and bottles of shower gel were divided in four tiers on the trunk and a small white sink sat discreetly in the wall, a half-empty body-wash tester bottle on the side.