Page 20 of Stirring Up Love
But he hadn’t driven all the way here to throw in the towel before the market even opened. He needed to get rid of Simone before her forked tongue scared off all his customers. “Is this chitchat a distraction so your minions can execute some evil plot?” he asked.
The soft curve of her lips blossomed into an outright smile, and he realized he’d been staring at her mouth. Again. He stepped back, and his heel collided with the cooler. Ice, that’s what he needed. On his overheated neck, but also ... everywhere. He flexed his fingers, jammed them into his pockets.
“I like that you think I have minions,” Simone said.
“You would like that.” Villains always twisted insults into compliments.
She sighed, like she was bored, but her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her leg.
“Did you come over here to try to chase me away again?” He loosened the scarf but didn’t take it off. That would be admitting defeat. “Or is there a higher purpose to your lurking?”
“Lurking? Please. I’m just here to see what you have to offer.” She swept an appraising gaze over the table, like she was sizing him up and finding him wanting.
Two could play at that game. He spread his arms wide. “I’d gladly show you what I have to offer, if you feel like you could handle the experience.”
She flicked a glance down his body with what might’ve been appreciation from someone else, but since it was Simone, he labeled the look as “disdain.” She picked up the nearest bottle of barbecue sauce. “Naked Heat.” She blew a raspberry. Definitely disdain.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Sex sells.”
She arched a single brow, and something in him coiled tight. “Guess it depends on who’s selling it.”
He hooked a hand on the tent pole above his head, gratified when her eyes traveled down his body. “Maybe you should give it a try and see for yourself. Samples are free.” Was it his imagination, or did her tongue dart out, moisten her lips?
“No thanks. It’s probably poisoned.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “We both know you’re scared.”
“You don’t know me well, so let me clue you in.” She leaned closer, and so did he, because even in a baggy T-shirt knotted at her waist and loose linen pants, her body pulled him in like a riptide. “I’m not scared of anything.”
He swallowed. Blinked. Tried to look anywhere besides her objectively perfect lips and ended up staring straight into the sun. He ducked his head, eyes stinging. “Everyone’s scared of something.”
“I’m not.”
“Heights?”
“Nope.”
“Sharks?”
“We live in the Midwest,” she said. “Sharks aren’t exactly a top predator.”
“Goblins?”
“Goblins?” She laughed, the sound warm and husky, campfire coals and moonlight. His grip on the tent pole tightened like a vise. “What is this, Middle Earth?”
“So that’s a yes, then.” Why was sparring with this maniac so much fun?
“It’s a big no.” Simone rocked forward, fingertips on the table. “Heights, sharks, monsters, spiders ...” Her eyes held his. “Bring it on.”
“Failure.” The word popped out, and he instantly wanted to wrangle it back in, because the spark in Simone’s amber eyes vanished like a doused flame.
“What?” Her voice went flat, like hammered steel. A tone he recognized as the same phony apathy he used to disguise big feelings when they threatened to break free.
He’d hurt her, and he hated himself for it. But with the ease of someone with a knack for making bad situations worse, he said, “I bet you’re terrified of failing. I bet your whole existence hinges on the image of success, of being on top, and without it, you’re nothing.” He searched her face, and his breath caught at the sight of the gold flecks in her eyes, the freckles scattered like constellations on her cheekbones. “Am I close?”
Simone set down the sauce with a thud. “What you are is an idiot, Finn Rimes.”
Yup, that much he knew without her help.
