Page 101 of Avery's Hero

Avery shudders. “That’s so creepy.” She suddenly covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god. I just remembered something. I have to talk to the detective.” I offer her a hand and pull her up from the curb. When she hurries off to talk with Brock and the police officers, I realize there’s a woman looking at me.

She’s clutching a phone in one hand. A cluster of tattered looking flowers in the other.

Her eyes skate away, almost shyly, but not before I see that they are full of emotion. Clutching a cluster of flowers, she talks—or more like yells in rapid-fire Spanish as she watches the firefighters loading their gear.

I’m totally oblivious to the commotion around me. I can’t peel my eyes off of her. Dark hair brushes her shoulder in a long braid. Her dark brown eyes are wide and lustrous in the morning light. There’s a vibrance about her that makes it impossible for me to look away.

A pink work apron of some kind hugs her curves and tucks in at her waist.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m in motion.

She jumps when I stop next to her. “Madre de dios!”

Extending my hand, I say, “You must be Elena of Elena’s Bouquets.”

She glances at the flowers crushed in her hand. “I guess these were a dead giveaway.”

I nod toward the embroidered apron over her very full and very appealing breasts. “And that. I live upstairs by the way.”

Her friendly expression instantly morphs into a glare. “You!”

I tilt my head, “Me, what?”

Stomping her sneaker on the pavement, she lights up with barely restrained fury. I’m surprised she doesn’t leap on me. “Feet like an elephant! You scared away my customers. They could not relax. My flower shop is supposed to be relaxing! How can people pick out beautiful bouquets for their wedding when an elephant is clamoring around over your head? No! They cannot!”

I chuckle. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I just?—”

Her eyes drop down to my feet accusingly. “Ahem,” she says and pins me with a look of snapping conviction.

From across the road, a firefighter yells, “All clear, you can go back in the building now.”

“About time!” Without a backward glance, she storms off, a string of Spanish curses in her wake.

When I look over, Brock’s looking at me with a shit eating grin on his face. He raises a brow and I shake my head.Hell no. That’s the kind of trouble I don’t need, right there.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Eight Days Later

“Hurry, Brock! We don’t have much time.”

My handsome addiction appears in the doorway of my bedroom. Bare chested, low slung jeans, he’s got a dusty morning shadow on this face, and an expression that says I’m about to get it.

My heart bursts with glee.

Those dark green eyes of his drop to the place where my breasts are trying to escape the vee of his t-shirt.

His voice is husky. “Demanding thing, aren’t you?”

I shrug and extend my toes toward him, seductivelyletting my leg appear from beneath the deliciously soft sheets he bought for me. “Maybe a little,” I whisper.

His chest rumbles as he takes a slow step into the room. “Here I am, making your breakfast and you’re back here plotting for your own sexual gratification.”

I laugh. Busted. “Mine? You’re the beneficiary too.”

A sexy as hell throaty sound comes from him. “Fuckin-A, you look delicious. I want to keep you in bed all day.”

“Honey, I love that idea, but we are entertaining in an hour. Don’t forget.”

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