Page 2 of Just For Me
“You come,” Mr. C insisted. “You his biggest fan.”
I blushed. He wasn’t wrong. I’d read each of Nick Penn’s books so many times I could recite entire chapters from memory. When I dreamed, I dreamt of myself as one of his heroines. I had no idea what Nick Penn looked like, though, so the sexy laptop guy from the corner usually filled in very nicely as my hero.
Yeah, I had it bad.
The moment I had my greedy little hand on the bag, I put my daring pay-and-escape plan into action. I slapped the money onto the counter, said a quick thanks, and took off as fast as my aching knee would allow. It would have been a really slick getaway, too, if I hadn’t run right smack into the man walking in at exactly the same time.
And not just any man. It was “he”.Him. The guy from the corner.Sexy laptop guy.Apparently he was running a bit late today, too.
He was taller than I’d thought (in my defense, I’d only ever seen him sitting down). At least six feet to my totally average five-four, his chest was hard enough that I bounced right off. I would’ve fallen on my backside again had he not reached out with his big, strong hands and grabbed me by the upper arms to keep me upright.
“Easy there,” he said, and I swear my body lit up like a switchboard. His voice was deep and rich, the perfect combination of sex and sin.
I drew in a breath, instantly sorry I did when my lungs filled with the clean, spicy scent of his cologne. Slightly woodsy, like fresh cut cedar, mellowed with something smooth, like musk. My typically dormant female hormones went from zero to sixty in less than two seconds.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, squirming free of his grasp, searching the ground frantically for my book. We both went down for it at the same time, banging our heads in the process.
“You’re a walking wrecking ball, aren’t you?” he teased, rubbing his forehead.Hesounded amused, butIcouldn’t have been more mortified. Half of my body was soaking wet, my hair was a tangled mass of curls thanks to the rain, and now I had a headache to go along with my aching knee and throbbing wrist.
Like I said, this guy had a starring role in more than one of my steamy romance fantasies. And not once, in any of them, had I envisioned our first actual encounter being anything like this. This was a prime example of why I preferred fantasy over reality. In my fantasy, I would have offered him a smile and said something cute or funny or witty, but my traitorous mind had gone eerily blank. No doubt I’d think of something Ishouldhave said, something Ishouldhave done, in about three hours... but that didn’t make me feel any betternow.
To make matters even worse, my eyes started filling with tears.
Of course, he noticed. “Hey, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I nodded, keeping my focus on his boots. They were nice ones, made from what looked like hand-tooled black leather. I could just see the hem of his full length duster, also black, brushing against the back of his faded blue denim clad calves. I didn’t dare look up. If he was that hard-bodied, smelled that good, and wore jeans and black leather, Idefinitelydidn’t want to look up and have him see how he affected me; I was too embarrassed. As it was, I might have to change my schedule so I never ran into him at the bookstore again.
“Bella!” I heard Mr. C call out to me, but full-on panic mode was setting in. I used the distraction to bolt for the door, limping away as quickly as I could. I thought I heard someone calling my name, but the skies chose that moment to open up. I tuckedmy preciousbeneath my jacket and made it to the bus just as the doors were beginning to close.
At least something went right today.
I swiped my card and found an open seat about half-way back. I chanced a look back at the bookstore, my heart stuttering when I saw the black-dustered figure watching the bus pull away with Mr. C by his side. My glasses were fogging up so I didn’t get a good look at the expression on his face. Seeing as he probably now considered me a complete lunatic, that was a good thing. Why couldn’t I have run into someone else? Someone I didn’t secretly lust after?
No matter. I crossed my arms, pressing the hardback closer against my body. My night was already set, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
Chapter 2: Nick
Iwatched her flee. That was the only way to describe her hasty exit from the warmth of the bookstore into the cold, icy rain. It took everything I had not to run after her, crush her to my body, and kiss the sense right out of her.
Until now, I’d been content to watch her from afar, but not anymore. That brief, wholly unexpected collision -—the first time we’d actually touched -—had broken the seal, so to speak. The feel of her soft, feminine body pressed against mine, the slight trembling beneath my hands, made me crave more. A lot more.
Normally, I wasn’t such a caveman, but something about that woman called to a primitive part of me. Had, since the first time I’d laid eyes on her. I wouldn’t exactly call it love at first sight, because I’m a firm believer that true, lasting love -—like the kind my grandparents have -—is something that develops over time. Whatever it was, though, it was powerful. From the moment I saw her, I haven’t been able to even think about another woman.
Only her. Katherine Constance O’Shea. Kat, to me.Bella, to my matchmaking grandfather.
“Whatchu scare her for?” myNonno Franciscoscolded as he joined me at the door.
“I didn’t scare her.”
He snorted derisively. “You no use any charm, either.”
I said nothing, because I thought Ihadbeen rather charming during our brief, spontaneous encounter. I’d kept her from falling (a chivalrous move). I’d retrieved her package (a package which I knew contained the book I had written specifically with her in mind). I’d even employed a bit of harmless teasing in an attempt to coax a smile from her pretty face. That might not sound like much, but for a guy like me who was much better at writing romance than executing it, I thought I did okay.
To be honest, I didn’t usually make much, if any, effort to get women to notice me. They seemed to find me attractive enough that I didn’t have to. My Italian heritage gave me the dark hair, swarthy complexion, and black eyes they seemed to like. My time in the Marines gave me the strong, cut physique and the discipline to maintain it once I rejoined civilian life. I was raised to be a gentleman, and tended to speak only when I had something worthwhile to say, which also seemed to be a plus.
But Kat, she wasn’t like other women. Despite what my grandfather said, I don’t think she even noticed me. Week after week I sat in the corner of the bookstore, crafting my next novel. It was easy when Kat was around. I’d sneak peeks at her curling up in one of the alcoves with a cup of mynonna’s cappuccino and a small plate of zeppole and imagine the things I’d like to say to her. The things I’d like to do. The hardest part was getting my fingers to move fast enough to capture it all. Often times I had to just get down the bare bones and flesh it all out later when I had time to sit back and think about it.
Watching her expressions, knowing she held my book in her hands, had to be the best inspiration (and aphrodisiac) of all.
