What more was, I couldn't say.

I stacked a popular Viking romance author's newest book face out. Now those were men with abs. I held up another man candy cover when Jill covered her face with the billionaire book.

Her eyes slanted sideways at me. "Pssst. Don't look but there's a hawt surfer in Cookbooks. By Foreign Cuisine."

My gaze collided with sardonic blue-grey eyes glinting at me over an absurdly expensive coffee table style cookbook.

"And she looks," Jill sighed. "That was subtle."

My shoes rooted to the floor. Mark lowered the book, his smile somewhere between hard sh.e.l.l and aren't you happy to see me?

Without breaking eye contact with Mark, I set the Viking book on the shelf. "I know him."

"You do?"

"And he needs to leave."

With all the a.s.sistant manager authority I could muster, I marched into the Cookbook section. "What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you too."

I gritted my teeth at the s.h.i.+ver his voice sent down my back. Last night rushed through me...the headiness of our bodies mashed together, the long erotic kisses, his hips swaying with mine as if we were at a high school dance before I had the most intense s.e.x of my life. Today I was fully dressed, having nothing in common with last night's sensual woman.

Swallowing my awkwardness, I tried a stiff, "Why are you here?"

"Looking for a book," he said matter-of-fact. "Do you always greet your customers like that? No wonder these places are going out of business."

"You're stalking me," I hissed. "I should call the police."

"And tell them what? 'Arrest this man. He's buying a book.'"

"Really? The Art of Israeli Cuisine." I angled my head to read the table of contents. "You have a thing for Twenty Ways to Prepare Lentils."

"My tastes aren't main stream." Mark's panty-melting smile hinted at his s.e.xual appet.i.te.

It rocked me back on my heels. Mark appeared to be enjoying himself. I didn't know what to do with his disarming humor. Last night he was Mr. s.e.x. Now? We stood close with bland Muzak piping overhead and me feeling like I was. .h.i.t square in the chest. I smelled every little thing about him. The laundry detergent on his T-s.h.i.+rt, the spicy shampoo he'd used to wash his still slightly wet hair, and him. My nipples tingled inside my bra. This was crazy animal behavior.

"How did you find me? And why?" I glared at the cookbook. "And don't tell me you came looking for a cookbook. You wouldn't know a sieve from a sifter."

Mark tucked the book under his arm, acting put out. "Oh, I know my way around a kitchen."

"You cook?"

"Rather well," he said smoothly.

Light played in his eyes. He enjoyed our little exchange. Or maybe he enjoyed throwing me off kilter? Howell's st.u.r.dy low pile blue carpet was as steady as ocean water under my flats, and that made me grumpy.

"I don't believe you," I muttered, backing into a shelf. His smell and unshaven jaw made me want to crawl all over him. That's hormones for you.

"Did somebody skip breakfast this morning?"

"I'm waiting." b.u.t.t planted on the shelf edge, I clamped both arms across my chest.

Leaning on the shelf facing me, Mark hooked a thumb in his jeans' pocket. He took a deep breath, his plain black T-s.h.i.+rt stretching across the same pecs I'd smashed my b.o.o.bs against last night. The contempt line at the side of his mouth was more prominent under fluorescent light.

"Let's start with how I found you. Last night you mentioned working at a book store. I saw a car in Mrs. Smith's parking lot with a Howell's Bookstore b.u.mper sticker. It wasn't hard to figure out." His eyes widened ready to drive home a point. "And there's an Abbie Rutledge listed on the website as the contact for book signings and store events."

How did he manage to sound logical? I forgot about telling him I worked in a bookstore. And there was b.u.mper sticker on my car. A dead giveaway. The small, family-owned chain put their stamp on two counties in southern California.

"Howell's has three bookstores in a fifty mile radius," he went on. "Made it easy to narrow down my choices."

"Did you go to the other two stores looking for me?"

Mark hesitated. "Yeah. I did." His cool guy exterior fractured, but his voice was deep and rea.s.suring. "If you really want me to leave, I will. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

I let the shelf take most of my weight as his words sank in. The power to decide was in my hands. "Why?" was the best I could manage.

"To ask you to lunch." He grinned and held up the book. "And to get this great cookbook."

"It's ten forty-five AM."

"So, take lunch early."

I'm glad the shelf supported me. Mark showing up took the wind out of me, as much because I wanted to see him as not see him. A war raged inside me. His grin tugged at me, tore down my capability to reason.

"I can't. We're...busy."

One of our regulars, Mrs. Beardsley, squeaked by with her walker.

Mark's brow c.o.c.ked. "Yeah. Rush hour."

From our vantage point, you could see most of the virtually empty store. My brain tried to process him standing three feet from me, but what came out was a surreal blend of Muzak and naked skin. Last night I wore black stilettos at his request before we'd even met. Today I wore navy twill pants with a white cotton b.u.t.ton down s.h.i.+rt, a name tag lanyard larger than a deck of cards around my neck. This was the real me not the bondage babe he'd paid for.

"It's only lunch," he said.

"You know some of us have to work."

"I work. Contract work."

"Contract work? Is that code for unemployed?" I was getting waspish, because he'd come into my place of business and I couldn't believe all he wanted was lunch. The fluttery feel inside me hoped Mark wanted more than lunch.

He pointed to the spot over his heart where three white lines chased a five-pointed star. "This was the job I recently finished. Nor Star Lasers in Irvine."

I pushed off the shelf, scrutinizing the logo. A black T-s.h.i.+rt hugged his chest and shoulders, the bottom hanging loose around his lean waist. How easy it'd be to slip my underneath and touch his flat stomach, something I wasn't able to do last night with my hands cuffed. I avoided temptation, clasping both hands casually behind my back.

"What do you do?"

Mark's eyes were hard sh.e.l.l and tenderness. "Come to lunch with me and I'll tell you."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Mark waited for me at the Coffee Barn further down the row of shops in our strip mall. I'd given him my order and said I'd meet him there in a few minutes. Coffee Barn was a very public place, close to the bookstore, and they served food I liked. I was playing it safe on all fronts.

He sat at a table by the window, checking his phone. My reflection blurred over Mark, the gla.s.s merging of us watery. The sight of him, head bent, waiting for me stopped me in my tracks. Chills washed over me. Some other-worldly sense told me we were connecting on different levels of which I had no knowledge or depth to understand. His head tipped up and blue eyes speared me, made my nipples tingle again. Mark jumped up to get the door. A gentleman. Go figure. Last night he couldn't unbuckle me fast enough to get out of our red-lit, s.e.x-hazed room. I'd lain on the bed, wrapped in the silk sheet, trying to recover while he tossed the clamps and handcuffs in his bag and put on his shoes. Mark had yanked his s.h.i.+rt over his head and s.n.a.t.c.hed his bag with lightning speed.

He'd halted at the door one hand on the k.n.o.b with his head bent same as when he'd arrived. "Thanks," he'd said.

That was it. A thanks muttered at the door. And now this...him opening another door, only this time to let me in. d.a.m.n if I didn't want to know what was on the other side of all this. My girly-senses skipped happily convinced Mark showing up had something to do with him wanting me.

"Are you coming?" he asked, holding the door.

I breezed past him, or started to, but Mark put his hand on the small of my back and my steps faltered. I held my breath a split-second while he gestured to our table. His protective hand splayed low on my spine for the short distance to the table where he actually helped me with the chair. Once I was seated, his fingers grazed my s.h.i.+rt at the top of my back, the cotton brus.h.i.+ng neglected skin. You could say my senses woke up from a dull sleep by his smell, the barely there touch, Mark's deep, even-keel voice, and now my taste buds would be rewarded. Steam floated from a mug full of my favorite orange ginger tea. Cheddar cheese melted down the side of an egg and bacon bagel on a plain white cafe plate. Mark was right. I was grumpy from skipping breakfast.

He sat opposite me, biting into a turkey and sprout sandwich. We ate in silence because I was starved, and I needed Coffee Barn's warped wood ambience to calm me. A college aged couple hunched over a chocolate m.u.f.fin and cell phone in one corner. Otherwise the shop was empty save two bored baristas debating the merits of a movie.

The bagel sandwich was half gone before I nudged my chin at the Nor Star logo. "You said you'd tell me everything if I came to lunch."

Mark scrubbed a paper napkin across his mouth. "I said I'd tell you about my job. Not everything."

A job was a good place to start. I took another bite of my bagel, crunching on heavenly bacon. Mark set both forearms on the table a man at ease in his own skin. With his morning scruff and longish hair, if I pa.s.sed him on the street, I'd judge him as another surfer chasing the best waves. No sense of responsibility or life direction. Quick a.s.sessments are a flaw of mine. Guilty. But, here I was, ready to listen.

Last night he was dark-souled and intense under red light. Today, under track lighting, Mark was a mystery unfolding. Blue-grey eyes hypnotized me as he started talking nerd of all things to my excessively right-brained mind.

I confess I didn't tune into what he was saying until, "...I finished my degree in physics at Cal-Tech and then I took some graduate cla.s.ses in Adelaide."

Wait. Cal-Tech? Home of the Pasadena math, physics, and astronomy brainiacs?

Yet, I asked, "Adelaide...as in Adelaide, Australia?"

"Yeah. I was there for a yearlong program." He paused to guzzle Fiji water before going on. "That's where I really dug into Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle-"

"Who's Heisenberg?" I sipped my tea, studying this strange specimen across the table. I'd never met a surfer who spouted physics-speak.

"A German physicist." His hand sliced the air as he explained, "Basically, his theory is the more precise we determine a particle's position, the less precise its momentum can be known."

"Like trying to figure out someone's motive? You think you know someone, but..."

Brown eyebrows slammed together. "No." His mouth opened with what was likely an explanation, but Mark leaned back in his seat, his lips curling inward. "I'm talking about sub-atomic particles, not people."

I grinned. "Did I insult you by anthropomorphizing physics?"

The door opened behind me, letting in a noisy trio of women. Mark and I locked gazes. Humored light danced in his eyes.

"Smart a.s.s."

His deep voice, loud of enough for me alone, sent gooseb.u.mps down my chest and navel. Two male nipples poked his T-s.h.i.+rt. I braced an elbow on the table and cupped my chin in my hand. When my hair fell forward, Mark's attention drifted over blonde waves draping my shoulder. I wasn't above playing up a feature he liked. Nor was I bothered about brus.h.i.+ng my foot along his calf under the table. We were in our own little world. I was flattered that Mark had carried on as if I comprehended his work.

"Go on. Keep talking physics to me."

His mouth slid to a self-deprecating smirk. "I work on lasers."

Overcast light glittered in his blue eyes. He'd shed a hard sh.e.l.l layer, and his utterly kissable grin conveyed awareness that he needed to take the nerd-speak down a notch. Mark sat nonchalantly, but the chair creaked when his b.u.t.t s.h.i.+fted. Air thickened around us the more my foot petted his leg.

"What kind of lasers?" I paused, my smile flirty. "In language the rest of us mortals can understand."

"Bar code scanners, survey equipment," he said the timbre of his voice mesmerizing. "Nor Star was a medical imaging project I recently finished. I worked on it for a year and a half."

We were locked on each other. You'd think we were discussing the contents of his black bag and how to play with them. I nibbled my bottom lip, slowly letting the plump flesh go free.

"You don't have a regular nine to five."

"I put in long hours for every job. When the contract's done, I travel, surf, catch up on whatever."

We were talking about his work, yet heat ramped up my skin. Was last night a whatever? Mark licked his lips as if he prepped his mouth for a kiss. At the pastry display case, one of the women giggled loudly, a definite notice me laugh while glancing at Mark. She was a pet.i.te, dark-haired beach bunny with tanned skin and expensive boho beach clothes. I waited to see what Mark would do.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Fathomless. Discerning. Still as deep waters. I'd never had a man look at me quite that way...like I was the only woman in the room. If I didn't know any better, I'd guess he understood and respected my female need to be the center of his attention, no matter how many pretty women vied for his notice. His blue-eyed concentration was heady. A girl could get drunk on it. All my college and post-college dates with grasping gym-pumped guys were child's play. Mark might be a puzzle, but he was full-fledged man.

He pushed in closer. "You're one of the nicest girls I've run across in a long time. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Then don't hurt me."

We were in a quiet bubble surrounded by coffee shop noise, and I happily lost myself in Mark. No ring surrounded his blue-grey iris, but amber flared like sun rays around his pupil. We were breathing in sync again. I could see why a woman would say yes to whatever he wanted, nipple clamps and all.

"Abbie," his gruff voice broke in. "Don't go back there."

We both knew what there meant. I wilted inside.

"Is that why you showed up today? To tell me not to go back to Mrs. Smith's?"

"You don't belong in a place like that."

The dreaminess burst. Mark wasn't into me. He got hit with guilt.

A woman and her toddler entered Coffee Barn, holding the door open extra-long. Cold air blasted my back. The espresso machine steamed milk. Cars filled up s.p.a.ces in the parking lot. Lunchtime for the ma.s.ses was beginning which meant my hour was winding down and the store would get busy. I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked the time. Twenty minutes left. Time to shut this down. I dumped the phone back in my purse and absently rubbed my sore bicep.

"Thank you for the concerned lunch and all, but I'm not a girl. I'm a twenty-six year old woman. I will go back."

"Give me one good reason why."

"One?" I huffed. "How about twelve thousand four hundred thirty one reasons. While we're at it let's include the fourteen hundred reasons Mrs. Smith promised me if I show up twice a month." I got worked up, sitting taller in my chair. "I'm not a physics whiz, but I have a firm understanding of personal finance."

"You need the money."