Page 9 of Stolen Goods
“My car broke down,” he explained, an apology laced through his tone. Addy tried to focus on his story—something about a wheel, and the highway, and walking. But in the back of her mind all she kept wondering was,Is he married? He’s got to be married. Girlfriend at least. He’s too hot to be single. Those brooding gray eyes. That debonair smile.Her gaze trailed down, over the flat stomach, pausing on the little flash of hard skin beneath the lifted end of his T-shirt, moving to his snug jeans.Those…feet.
“So, can you help me?” he finished, then stared at her. Expectant.
“Of course!” Addy chirped, jerking into motion, the gut need to help someone in trouble an innate reaction, something she did without a second thought. But—what exactly did he need help with? And what exactly had he asked her to do? Buying time, Addy opened the door a little wider and let him step inside behind her.
A phone. I think he said something about a phone.
“There’s a landline in the office. Just follow me,” she murmured, heart thumping in her chest as she fought to regain her composure. Southern women kept it together. Southern women were in control. Southern women were not affected by the sight of a man, no matter how devilishly handsome he was—at least not noticeably.
“I’d be happy to use your cell phone,” he murmured smoothly, voice like melted chocolate, sweet and simmering with sin. Her toes curled in her ballet flats. “To save you the trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Addy smiled, all those life lessons her mother and grandmother drilled into her brain bubbling to the forefront.Be gracious. Be a lady. Be charitable.She led him past the counter, into the kitchen, and tried to carry on polite conversation. “So, where were you headed? Just passing through? We don’t get very many out-of-towners.”
He paused. “Doing a bit of traveling.”
Traveling?Addy’s brows twitched. Who would be traveling near here? “Oh, where are you going?”
“The, uh, beach.”
Hmm… We’re pretty far from the beach.
And we’re pretty far from the major highways.
We’re pretty far from everything, really.
A nervous burn coiled in her gut.
“Hey, where did you say your car broke down?” she asked, her voice a twinge higher than normal. Because, yes, he was gorgeous, but he was still a strange man. They were alone. It was nighttime. And…why exactly had she let him inside? Addy’s gaze shifted right, toward the large table in the middle of the kitchen—her rolling pin could do some damage with the right amount of force—and then moved left, toward the drawer where they kept all the serving knives. She turned her head just so, trying to subtly sneak a peek over her shoulder and—
Shoot!
She jerked her head forward.
He’d been looking right at her.
Duh, he was looking right at me. He’s following me to the phone. He has no idea where to go. Don’t be silly.But why did his face seem so familiar now that she’d had a chance to clear her mind? Something about those stormy eyes, that ruffled mocha hair, that smile…
“Are you painting something?” he asked, deep voice echoing across the small confines of the kitchen, bouncing off stainless steel.
Addy jumped.
And then shook her head.Relax. Everything is fine. He’s just being polite.
“Oh, yeah…” She turned her attention back toward the flattened fondant in the middle of the counter, the discarded paintbrushes, the haphazard strokes. “I’m not much of an artist. I was just trying something for this wedding cake. But I’m much better with buttercream than a brush.”
He stopped by the edge of the table and leaned over her work. “What were you going for? I’m a bit of an artist myself. Maybe I could help. A favor for a favor, that sort of thing.”
“Really?” she asked, curious. Some of her discomfort melted away at the kindness in his tone. “I’m not sure. The rest of the cake is going to be covered with roses and flowers in all different shades of pink, so something to complement that, I guess.”
“Mind if I…?” He gestured toward the fondant.
Addy shrugged. “Go ahead.”
He eased the brush between his fingers with an authority that couldn’t be faked, leaning over the table as he kept his hand hovered over the bowls of dye. A slight purse rose to his lips as he narrowed his eyes, studying each pigment. He leaned closer, causing his brown hair to spill over his forehead in untamed disarray. The fingers of his right hand twitched with palpable creative energy as the rest of him stilled. Then he burst into action, dipping the brush into a dye, sweeping graceful strokes across the fondant, switching to a different brush, a different color, layering the makeshift watercolors into an explosion of sunset hues. Addy couldn’t look away, drawn in with a magnetic pull she couldn’t fight, following the deft flicks of the brush, marveling at his control, his skill, at the sheer beauty of what he was creating. Had he seen inside her mind? Somehow this stranger understood the exact vision of what she’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to bring to life. Addy could already see the cake coming together. The three bottom tiers of cascading pastel flowers would be perfectly complemented by this burst of color at the top, a firework to complete the celebration. A little piping around the edges and some edible gold swishes would finish the effect perfectly.
The stranger paused, leaning back, surveying his work.
Addy stared at him in awe.
