Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  “Well, don’t you have anything to do while you wait?”

  “I’m doing it.” He sent another paper ball flying through the air. This time it bounced off the rim and landed on the floor.

  Juliette looked at the wadded up paper, then at him. “Whatever you’re doing, it doesn’t look very productive.”

  “I’m playing Trashball,” he said. “It’s a great stress reliever. You should try it.”

  “I’m not stressed,” she said.

  A soft chuckle “Right.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

  “Whatever you say, captain. By the way, those white cards in the back room? I think they’re invitations?”

  “What about them?” Emma’s wedding invitations had arrived that morning, and she hadn’t had a chance to look at them yet.

  “They fell out of the box. All over the floor, but don’t worry.” He jerked a thumb at the filthy push broom in the corner. “I swept them up.”

  Juliette sucked in a breath, horrified that he’d swept up the silver-embossed, white linen cardstock with the shop broom. “You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t,” he agreed. “Relax.”

  She glowered at him.

  “See?” He pointed at her with a wadded up piece of paper, then aimed for the bin again. “Stressed.”

  “You’re the reason,” she said. “That’s your idea of helping a person de-stress? Scaring them?”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. Look, you can take the next shot.” He tossed her the paper ball. “Try it.”

  She narrowed her eyes and threw it directly at him. It bounced off his perfect mouth.

  Juliette tossed her hair and bit back a grin. She did feel better.

  Logan nodded slowly. “Well, you tried. Don’t beat yourself up. Not everyone can be a natural at Trashball.” He stretched his hand over his head without taking his eyes off her face and tossed the ball.

  It landed in the wastebasket with a soft thunk.

  He winked.

  Juliette couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, please. That was dumb luck, and you know it.”

  “Try it,” he said. “I dare you.”

  Never one to back away from a challenge, she strode across the room, joining him behind the counter. She grabbed a paper ball and threw. The ball bounced off the rim of the wastepaper basket. So close.

  He took one, tossed, scored.

  She grabbed another, sent it sailing, and missed by several feet. Before he could throw another, she grabbed one in each hand and launched them across the room at the same time. One bounced off the rim, the other landed in the bin.

  “Score!” Juliette laughed and turned to him, triumphant.

  Logan was grinning down at her. A shot of heat zipped through her body. Everything about the nearness of him—how his eyes glowed with pleasure, how a lock of hair waved over his brow, how he smelled faintly of evergreens and sunlight after rain—everything attracted her. Why was it so easy to fall back into old patterns? When she was young, she thought Logan shone like the moon in the sky. Now she knew not to shoot for the moon. She belonged where she was, with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She knew it, and he needed to know it. Fast.

  “Just because I’m playing this game, doesn’t mean I like you now,” she blurted.

  He raised a brow in silent challenge.

  Juliette lifted her chin, heart beginning to pound in her chest. “I just—I want to make that clear.”

  “That you don’t like me?”

  She nodded.

  He studied her for a long moment, then said softly, “You know what I think, Juliette?”

  She shook her head, unable to answer. Whatever he was about to say, she didn’t want to hear it. What she did want was to run her hands up the front of his shirt and feel the hard ridges of muscle underneath, slide her arms around his neck and dig her fingers into his thick hair, pull him closer and see if his lips were as warm and soft as they looked. Danger! She backed into the wall behind her.

  He slowly closed the space between them, his dark eyes fixed on hers. “I think you do like me.”

  She tried to scoff, but it sounded too breathy. “No, I don’t. You annoy me.”

  “I didn’t always.” He searched her face from beneath thick lashes. “I kissed you once before, do you remember?”

  A thrill shot through her. “No.” Said the lying’est liar who ever lied. She’d never forget that first kiss as long as she lived. She was fourteen. He was eighteen. It had been fleeting and unexpected and thrilling, but bittersweet. She’d foolishly thrown herself at him, and he’d treated her like a child.

  “I must not have done a very good job of it, then,” he said.

  “Must not have.” She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to sound nonchalant. “But hey, don’t beat yourself up. Not everyone can be a natural at it. Just stick to things you’re good at. Like Trashball.”

  With infinitesimal slowness, he leaned closer, until she could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers. “I was just a kid back then, when we kissed.”

  “I’m sure nothing’s changed,” she whispered, insides shaking like a sapling in a windstorm.

  “Let’s find out.”

  She opened her mouth to say no, but the word dissolved on the tip of her tongue.

  Logan’s mouth curved up at one corner. “I dare you.”

  When he dipped his head, she met him halfway. Because he dared her, so what else could she do, right?

  He brushed his mouth softly against hers at first, demanding nothing. Giving nothing. It was carefully controlled, just the light slide of barely parted lips, their breaths mingling as he braced his hands against the wall behind her. Juliette squirmed, instinctively pressing closer until the full length of her body made sudden contact with his.

  Logan exhaled sharply, sliding a hand around her waist, his powerful arm anchoring her against him. When he deepened the kiss, her entire body went molten. Everything about him was hot and hard and he tasted a bit like cinnamon gum and sweet, wicked promises—the kind whispered between two lovers in the dark.

  When he finally drew back, they both stared at each other, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

  Juliette swallowed hard and fought to get back to the place she was before. “Hated it,” she whispered.

  “Mmm, it was terrible.” He lowered his gaze to her mouth, his large hand on the nape of her neck, thumb stroking deliciously near the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Maybe we should try again,” he murmured. “Just to be sure.”

  She reached up and sank her hands into his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him again. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her future self was yelling at her for acting like a lunatic and jumping into such dangerous waters, but her present self was kicking back on an inflatable raft with a mai tai shouting, “Come on in, the water’s fine!”

  When they finally pulled away from each other, they were both breathing hard and Logan was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. It was the kind of look a person gave when he was focusing all his attention, like a sharpshooter homing in on his target.

  Juliette suddenly felt exposed. She was no man’s target. She slid sideways and moved toward the entrance to the back room, their eyes still locked on each other.

  A crease started to form on Logan’s forehead. He seemed . . . bothered. Now he was looking at her like she was a problem.

  Juliette bristled. She was no man’s problem, either.

  She forced a small laugh. “That was a weird experiment.”

  His frown deepened. “Experiment.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, going with it. “And I’ll say it was not as horrible as I expected. But I don’t plan on repeating it.”

  An emotion flashed across his face, too fast for her to catch. Then he stood soldier straight, his voice carefully controlled. “It was a bad idea.”

  Something stabbed at her insides. “Agreed.”

>   He was still frowning when he said, “It won’t happen again.” Then he headed for the door.

  She escaped to the back room and began scrubbing down the cutting table. When that was clean, she started in on the kitchen sink. Then the counters. The physical work made it easier not to think. What in the holy heart attack had just happened? She really needed to sweep the floor. Logan kissed her. Probably should mop it, too. And she kissed him back. What the hell? She dragged the mop bucket out of the closet near the bathroom and proceeded to make a mental list of all the reasons the kiss was no big deal. It was just a dumb experiment. Both of them agreed it wouldn’t happen again. She squeezed water from the mop and began on the floors.

  Several minutes later, she swiped a lock of hair out of her face and surveyed the squeaky-clean room. Better. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Everyone had momentary lapses of sanity once in a while. That thing with Logan would just have to be hers. As long as they both never spoke of it again, everything would be fine.

  At six o’clock, Juliette grabbed the bag she’d brought from home and stepped into the tiny bathroom in the back of the shop. She quickly changed from overalls into a strappy sundress and combed out her hair. After touching up her makeup and slipping on a pair of sparkly sandals, she felt much better. It was impossible not to feel powerful when she was wearing amazing shoes.

  In the mirror, she looked as calm and cool as an Enya song, but inside she was all head-banging Metallica. Why wouldn’t she be? Her feelings were a jumbled mess. Logan O’Connor had just kissed her to the moon and back again, and as much as she hated to admit it—she’d liked it. A lot.

  Juliette sighed and gathered her things, then went to make sure the shop was in order before Brock showed up. No use dwelling on one tiny, stupid mistake.

  By the time Brock breezed into the shop, Juliette was ready for him. He was fifteen minutes late, but she’d been grateful for the extra time to regroup. She’d focus only on Brock tonight, and forget all about the other incident.

  “Hello, gorgeous. Sorry I’m a bit late.” Brock looked rocker chic in a motorcycle jacket, dark red jeans, and alligator boots. On anyone else, it would’ve looked kind of ridiculous, but he somehow managed to pull it off. Mostly.

  “You’re all right with motorcycles, right, luv?” He gestured to a Harley parked near the front walkway.

  Juliette considered her dress. The short skirt flared out from the waist in soft folds that ended above her knees. It was not the type of dress a sensible person wore to ride a motorcycle, but she wasn’t in the mood to be sensible. She was determined to have fun and scrub all thoughts of Logan from her mind.

  “Sure. Let’s go.” At least she was wearing nice underwear. A little Marilyn Monroe breeze never hurt anyone.

  She locked up the shop and followed Brock to his motorcycle.

  Logan was outside pushing a wheelbarrow full of slate tiles, his arm muscles straining from the load. When he saw them, he slowed to a stop and set the wheelbarrow down.

  Brock jumped on and motioned to Juliette to climb up behind him.

  “Stop.” Logan’s voice was deep and commanding.

  “Where’s her helmet?”

  Brock looked at Logan in surprise. “I don’t use one myself.” He dragged a hand through his hair and fluffed it up. “Not very comfortable.”

  “A hell of a lot more comfortable than decapitation or brain damage,” Logan said darkly. He strode toward them like the god of thunder about to cast lightning. Juliette felt the sudden need to shield Brock.

  “We’re fine here, Logan,” she said. “Go away.”

  He stood his ground. “You can’t ride that thing without a helmet, even if he does.”

  “Now see here, mate,” Brock began.

  “I’m not your mate,” Logan said in a steely voice. To her he said, “You’re not getting on that thing.”

  Juliette clenched her hands into fists, angry heat rising up to scorch across her face. “This isn’t your business. You don’t get to order me around. I’ve lived my whole life without your interference, so I think I know how to take care of myself.”

  She turned to mount the motorcycle. Granted, she knew she was being reckless, but something about the way Logan was trying to control her—after he’d said their kiss had been a mistake—really pissed her off. And she and Brock were only going to dinner five blocks away. How dangerous could five blocks be?

  Before Juliette could swing her leg over the bike, she felt strong hands around her waist. She was hauled into the air and pulled against the solid wall of Logan’s chest.

  “Let me go,” she demanded, kicking her legs out. She wasn’t petite, but he made her feel as though she weighed nothing more than a piece of dandelion fluff.

  Logan released her. “I’m not letting you risk your life on that stupid motorcycle like this.”

  “It’s not your concern,” Juliette said, seething. “You’re not here to be my watchdog; you’re here to take care of the remodel.”

  “Romeo told me to make sure you had what you needed, and cracking your skull open on the street with this idiot”—he jerked his chin at Brock—“is not what you need.”

  Brock jumped off the bike, squaring his shoulders. Something flashed across his face, and if Juliette didn’t know any better, she’d call it exhilaration. Brock seemed to thrive on drama. If the camera crew were here, they’d be getting some prime footage for the show. Poor Tweedle Dee and Dum. They had no idea what they were missing.

  “Leave the lady alone,” Brock demanded.

  Lady? She wasn’t sure she liked being called a lady, but it did have kind of a nice theatrical ring to it.

  “You’ve got one of two choices,” Logan said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “Either you ride this thing out of here and don’t come back unless you have a helmet for her, or the two of you walk.”

  Brock held his ground, which was surprising, given that Logan towered over him by several inches. “What if I don’t like those choices?”

  “Then there will be consequences.” Logan’s voice was soft as a caress, but only a fool would miss the barely concealed threat beneath it. “I can have the police here in less than two minutes, and you can make your excuses to them.”

  Juliette could almost feel the testosterone crackling in the air. Logan didn’t have the polished swagger and stage presence that Brock displayed, but he didn’t need it.

  Brock scoffed, looking every bit the arrogant celebrity. “I’ve no time for this.” He reached out a hand to Juliette. “Come on.”

  She placed her hand in his and followed him down the walkway. When they reached the sidewalk, Brock turned to give Logan a mock salute. Then he draped an arm possessively around her shoulders, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and led her down the street.

  * * *

  Logan’s chest roiled with suppressed anger. A thin crack sounded, and he glanced down at the phone he was gripping too tightly in his hand. A hairline fracture snaked across the phone screen. Easing his grip, he slipped it back into his pocket with a curse.

  He paced the front walkway. What kind of an idiot would put a woman’s safety in jeopardy like that? Logan knew firsthand just how easily the human body could break. He’d watched people he knew be reduced to nothing but broken bones and ashes. The idea of beautiful, vibrant Juliette getting hurt was enough to make him want to grab that stupid motorcycle and rip it apart with his bare hands.

  He gave it a hard kick as he walked past. The memory of Brock kissing Juliette afforded the motorcycle another kick, making it rock precariously. Logan placed his hands on his hips and dipped his head. What the hell was he going to do about her? She was everything that drove him crazy, and nothing even close to the woman he should want. So why was he having such a hard time keeping her out of his head?

  Now that he’d come home, Logan had made up his mind to seek a peaceful life. He didn’t want any more chaos. He wanted to settle down and have a family—to find a woman who would make a
great mother for his future children. Someone who would be calm and steady and reliable. Someone peaceful and even-tempered and normal.

  Juliette Holloway was unpredictable. She was just as quick to anger as she was to laugh. She was disorganized and bossy. He felt a lot of strong emotions around her, but peaceful wasn’t one of them. People had whispered about her family his whole life—the crazy Holloways who made magic spells. Even though Logan didn’t put much belief into those things, some people did. And that made Juliette the furthest thing from normal. If there was ever a woman who was the epitome of wrong for what he wanted for his future, it was her.

  And yet, he couldn’t deny the intense attraction he felt. Maybe it was a throwback from his former days when he loved living on the edge and playing with fire. Juliette was like a flame he couldn’t resist. He enjoyed watching her squirm, watching her get all feisty, watching her eyes go liquid with desire when he kissed her. And damn if he didn’t want to kiss her again.

  But he wasn’t going to. If he wanted a woman to settle down with, a woman who would bring him peace, Juliette wasn’t it. From now on, he was going to keep his head down and do his damn job, and hell, maybe even take Bella up on all her invitations. If a distraction was what he needed to get Juliette out of his head, then that’s what he’d find.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Stupid dress,” Juliette muttered, tugging at the hemline as she stood in the bathroom of the Coho Grill. It must’ve shrunk in the wash, because she didn’t remember it being so short. But that’s not what bothered her. What bothered her was Logan treating her like a child. She was still silently fuming over the way he’d acted back at the shop. The entire walk to the waterfront, Brock had talked about himself, which was a godsend since she didn’t have much to offer. It was difficult to make small talk when she was mad. And if there was one thing that Logan O’Connor was stellar at, it was making her insta-crazy mad.

  Taking a deep breath, Juliette dug around in her purse for a brush and ran it through her hair. It was time to stop wasting good energy on thoughts of Logan. In exactly sixteen days, Romeo would be back and then things would be better.