Just One Kiss. Isabel Sharpe

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      And he was staring back. Expectantly. Had he answered her offer of help? Had she missed that, too? Had she gone suddenly deaf?

      She scooted to safety behind the counter to stash the cleaner and regain her composure, then tried again. “May I help you find something?”

      “Oh. Sorry. Yeah.” He laughed awkwardly, a surprising contrast to the masculine-warrior aura he gave off. “I guess I was in another world.”

      Whew. So she wasn’t the one who had taken that trip. “I understand. Sometimes this world is hard to take.”

      He looked wary, as if he thought she were about to recommend a specific alternative. “Very true.”

      Silence.

      She could not ask him again what he wanted. So she’d stand here gazing her fill while he scanned the cases until he figured it out. Now that she looked past the initial impression of “hot damn,” she saw his eyes were haunted, dark circles under them; a vertical line bisected his brows; the stunning lips were set tightly. Not a happy man.

      As usual, when she encountered someone in pain, Angela wanted to help. Stuffing a person with baked goods wasn’t always a healthy way to deal with grief, but sometimes short-term sweetness went a long way toward curing what ailed a person.

      “If you have any questions …”

      “I am here to buy something, not just to stand gawking.” He tore his eyes away from her bread shelf, mouth quirked in a self-deprecating smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but softened his features enough that Angela’s heart skipped a beat. Not so much the wounded warrior when he smiled. More like a man she’d like to get to know. As a friend. A very sexy friend …

      “All gawkers welcome.” She returned his smile, feeling as if some internal light fixture, which had been dark for ages, was sparking signs of life. “Did you have something in mind?”

      “Yes, actually.”

      “Bread?” She gestured to the loaves he’d been ogling. “All made daily on the premises.”

      “No, actually.” His voice broke. “I’m here for cupcakes.”

      Cupcakes. So much emotion in that word. What was the significance? She was dying to ask, but gestured instead to the case on her right, where rows of them, somewhat depleted by the day’s purchases, were displayed. Angela decided impulsively that this particular demigod was a chocolate guy. Not devil’s food or German sweet, but dense, moist, bittersweet. Possibly with coffee frosting, or caramel, but more likely chocolate sour cream. “Flavor?”

      “White with white frosting.”

      No. No way. She was so sure, she found herself having to stop from shaking her head at him. White-on-white? He didn’t get that lean, muscular body by inhaling sugar. That lean muscular body, which she had noticed keenly, was displayed to advantage in a tight athletic shirt. Below the counter she could glimpse black biking shorts hugging powerful thighs. In large, strong-looking hands he held a biking helmet.

      Times like these she was very glad her cases were see-through.

      “White-on-white?” She put her hands on her hips, regarded him doubtfully. “I would have said chocolate.”

      “Yes, usually.” He glanced at the chocolate flavors, then back to her, causing a renewed buzz in her internal circuitry. “Today white.”

      “A gift?”

      “Sort of.”

      “Special occasion?”

      “Birthday.” His words became clipped, lips thinning.

      Angela nodded, wanting nothing more than to continue her interrogation, but recognizing the signal to back off. “How many would you like?”

      “Six.”

      “Six white-on-white coming up.” She grabbed a flat box and pulled it into shape. “Is it your birthday?”

      “No.” He spoke as if he were strangling on the word.

      Hmm. She glanced at him after the first cupcake, feather-light under clouds of sweet icing, had gone into the box. She wasn’t going to pry if it made him uncomfortable, but she wished there was something she could do or say to help. Tom’s very sensible voice spoke again in her brain—Why are you always wasting energy taking on problems that aren’t yours? Yes, yes, he was right. But …

      “Would you like a chocolate cupcake for yourself right now? On the house?”

      “I’d …” He frowned, seeming to deliberate. “No. No, thanks.”

      As if he were tempted, but shouldn’t. Diabetic maybe? With a bod like that he certainly couldn’t be concerned about losing weight. Whomever’s birthday he was celebrating with cupcakes he didn’t care for must have power over him. Though he didn’t look like the kind of man a woman could dominate.

      Listen to her. She knew nothing about this guy and was already inventing an overbearing girlfriend and hating her. It could just as easily be true that his woman was a total sweetheart and he was a rat bastard who’d done her wrong. Cupcakes could be his way of trying to squirm back into her good graces.

      “I’m Angela by the way.” She put the fourth cupcake in the box.

      “Oh.” He looked confused. Then wary again. “Uh, hi.”

      Not going to tell her his name apparently. Angela put cupcakes five and six in the box, slighted by the rejection. “You live around here?”

      “Not far.”

      She glanced pointedly at the helmet, feeling reckless now. The guy didn’t want to talk to her? Too bad. She wanted to talk to him. And until he got what he’d come in for, he was her prisoner. “You ride a lot? On all these hills? Our neighborhood has some of the city’s worst.”

      “Biking clears my head.”

      Cleared his head. That was progress. Practically an intimate confession. “Your head needed clearing today?”

      He blinked, eyes losing their blankness and fixing on her vividly. “Something like that.”

      The old sputtering bulb inside her started a steady glow. This man was truly delicious. His combination of ultramacho body and vulnerable demeanor …

      Apparently she was a sucker for a fixer-upper.

      Her demigod gave the boxed cupcakes a pointed glance.

      Right. She started to close the lid, then hesitated. White frosting, white cake, white box, bleah. “Would you like these gift-wrapped?”

      “No, I’ll just take them.”

      She frowned. For whatever reason she wanted to give him something with color. “Even a ribbon?”

      “No, not a ribbon, nothing. It’s fine as is.” He spoke calmly, wasn’t impatient, which СКАЧАТЬ