Head Over Heels

by Paris Brandon

  He didn’t know if she was shocked that he’d caught her or because she knew the shudder that rippled through her like a faint orgasm had telegraphed its way into his fingertips. She looked like a naughty fairy-tale princess with big blue eyes. A fall of silky dark hair brushed the top of her black turtleneck and her creamy cheeks were flushed as bright as an apple. She knew.

  She blinked while he was trying to catch his breath and still his body’s clamoring need to explore all the soft, warm flesh under her skirt. He was trying very hard not be too obvious that he was instantly aroused by the fact that his right hand was wrapped around her naked thigh. And then he thought, What the hell, and slid his thumb beneath the top of her stocking where it hooked into her garter.

  She put her very plump red lips together…and blew. Nothing came out and she looked as surprised as he felt. The chuckle built in his chest, the low rumble originating from someplace distinctly lower.

  “Excuse me,” Veronica ground waspishly from behind him before coming into his line of vision. “Are you whistling at him?”

  His surprise package turned her head slowly, her eyes widening as if just realizing that someone else was in the tiny, dimly lit shop. A smile quirked the corner of her lips and she shrugged.

  “No, I was trying to whistle for him.” She turned her attention back to him and smiled warmly. “I do apologize for that,” she said with a wistful sigh that caught him hard in the solar plexus. “You startled me.”

  He did laugh then because it seemed rude not to acknowledge a heartfelt apology while he was still holding on to her satiny-smooth, very naked thigh, which was covered by yards and yards of hideous checked material he wished would just fall away. He lowered her to her feet while Ronnie seethed.

  “I’m Bella—owner, operator, sometimes janitor,” she said, holding up a light bulb, “of Bella’s Treasures. Is there something I can do for you?” she asked as if she hadn’t noticed how much he’d been enjoying her naked skin. There was no mistaking the twinkle in her very blue eyes. She’d noticed.

  “I’d like to purchase the fedora in the window,” Veronica said stonily.

  Rhys frowned at Veronica, remembering their last awkward conversation about revenge sex. “I’m Rhys Vincent and this is Veronica Smith–Hathaway,” he said, trying to make Bella smile again but she’d sensed animosity and he watched as she went into full shopkeeper mode. He ground his back teeth for possibly the twelfth time in two hours and tried to smile.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, politely including both of them in her nod. “The fedora has an interesting story.”

  “We’re in a hurry,” Veronica bit off and Rhys decided he might need to make a dental appointment.

  “We’re not in that big a hurry. The scavenger hunt is on for another hour and the auction doesn’t start until nine o’clock.”

  “Auction?”

  “The items from the scavenger hunt are being auctioned tonight at a private fundraiser,” Veronica said, emphasizing the exclusivity of the event with every haughty syllable.

  “It’s for a local food pantry,” Rhys explained, shooting Ronnie a dark look.

  “That’s perfect,” the exquisite Bella murmured as she spun on her very red heel and started toward the window display. “Arnie would have loved that his hat went for a good cause,” she said, lifting it from the mannequin and flicking the brim.

  “Arnie?”

  “Oh yes.” She made her way back to the small counter and wrapped the brown fedora in tissue. “He was one of my oldest customers. His daughter brought in some of his things that he wanted me to have,” she said with the smile he was beginning to expect.

  “How much,” Veronica asked tiredly.

  “I couldn’t possibly charge you. Mr. Vincent probably saved me from a trip to the emergency room. Please take it, with my thanks,” she offered, slipping the hat into a brown bag with Bella’s Treasures printed on the side.

  “We can give you a tax receipt,” Veronica offered coolly, glancing around the shop. “I’m sure you could use it.”

  “The hat is a gift. If you can’t accept it from me, please accept it from Arnie. It was one of the few things he could remember loving,” she said and didn’t include Ronnie in her smile.

  If he’d been charmed by Bella’s smile, the flash of heat in her very blue gaze tempered the steel in her voice and triggered a more visceral reaction. And for the first time in a very long while, Rhys felt like smiling back and not wondering first what ulterior motive a woman might have.

  She held the bag out to him and he slipped his fingers around the handle, brushing against her as she released her grip. Static electricity made them both jump and he swallowed hard. “Thank you and the name is Rhys,” he said because he didn’t have time to say anything else. Ronnie slammed the door on her way out.

  Fuck.

  He followed her outside. He should have known from Ronnie’s shivering, closed-arm stance that she wasn’t finished. When had she gotten so pinched and waspish?

  She turned her head slowly and there were tears in her eyes. There was just a glimpse of the girl he’d known most of his adult life. The girl his best friend had fallen in love with at first sight. The woman he felt sorry for now.

  “You’re all alike,” she screamed on the empty corner as the street lights flickered.

  “I don’t mind taking grief from you as long as I’m the one who’s pissed you off,” he said through gritted teeth. “But we both know that you’re really mad at Brian. Stop being so damn civilized and yell at him for a change.”

  She narrowed her gray eyes and tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “I’m not going to yell at Brian. I’m going to hit him where it hurts the most.” And she was off again.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His pride—where you all hurt the most,” she said tightly and shrugged his hand away from her elbow as they crossed the street.

  Damn. He was tired of being in the middle of this. “Ronnie, you know I care about you.”

  “Apparently not enough for a mercy fuck,” she muttered.

  There was nothing left to say after that because he wasn’t getting into another discussion of just how bad an idea a mercy fuck between friends would be at this point. She let him help her into the car and they finished the ride back to the auction in silence.

  He’d pray for a miracle if he hadn’t just gotten one in the form of one smiling, very sexy shopkeeper spilling into his arms. She was lush and round and firm and he could still feel her naked skin against his fingertips. No one with a smile like hers was thinking about revenge. With any luck at all, she was thinking about sex—wild, screaming sex—with him.

  Red stilettos…and garters.

  He got hard just thinking about easing the little buttons out of their metal hooks and sliding her stockings off. It was a good thing he was wearing a coat.

  Chapter Three

  Bella slipped into the stilettos and wasn’t surprised when they looked wonderful with her black cropped pants and turquoise silk Chinese jacket. The red and yellow dragon and flower motif embroidered on the back were perfect to pick up her mood. Her black velvet flats would have been more practical for tugging down her Valentine decorations and dressing the window but she hadn’t been able to resist the allure of the very sexy shoes.

  Because of them, she’d literally fallen head-over-heels for Rhys Vincent. Well, in all fairness, the stilettos and his very large, very warm hand under her skirt. She would have happily spent the night with his hands wrapped firmly around her thigh or any place else he wanted to put them.

  Every time she closed her eyes she saw his chiseled jaw and laughing dark eyes. She could still feel his thumb slipping under the top of her stocking and tracing her lacey black garter. Oh yeah, there had definitely been some on-the-spot, lust-crazed fantasies but they were nothing compared to the embellishments she’d added later.

  She could have sworn he’d felt the same flash of heat that had sizzle
d through her. In that instant, she’d wanted to drag him into the back room and pull him down onto the dilapidated fainting couch. She got wet just thinking about hot, desperate sex. Fast and hard. Well, maybe she couldn’t have managed fast, even without the problem of his irate girlfriend. He was pretty large. After all, he’d managed to catch her without staggering and she was no lightweight contender.

  Contender. Wasn’t that just her luck? The shoes had brought her what could have been her heart’s desire and he was already taken. Mr. Thong had said the shoes worked fast but he hadn’t promised she could keep what she wanted. The devil was in the details.

  “Oh, give it up,” she growled as she made her way downstairs and planned her Valentine window display. If the weather didn’t cooperate, she wasn’t going to get any customers. Anyone in their right mind was snuggled under a pile of blankets this morning instead of braving the snow flurries.

  She had a flash of Rhys Vincent’s hard muscular body fighting her for the covers before he rolled her on top of him. She’d press against him, feel heat and strength. He’d be hard against her stomach and… Her hands shook just thinking about gripping his muscular arms while he fucked her.

  She really had to stop this or buy some fresh batteries for her vibrator. A depressing thought. That had been her solution for the lack of passion in her life for the past year. But a vibrator couldn’t hold you or laugh with you or make you feel as if you were the only person in the world who mattered. And that, if she were being honest, was what she’d wanted the moment she’d looked up into Rhys Vincent’s dark eyes.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d tried to whistle after he’d caught her. The man must think she was nuts—crazy Bella, the woman most likely to end up living with ten stray cats in an apartment barely big enough for one person.

  But after years of living in a large house full of noisy, boisterous people and out of a suitcase during her theater years, she’d known the instant she’d seen the cozy little apartment above the shop that she was home.

  The small living space had a step-up alcove that was large enough for her small kidney-shaped dressing table, an armoire for her clothes and an old steamer trunk at the foot of the bed. The delicate wrought-iron headboard sat flush against the tall arched window draped in heavy, plum velvet curtains. They were more for insulation than to block the view of the alley and parking lot. She’d added a matching drape that hung on a rod and separated the bedroom from the combined kitchen and living area. It came in handy when she wanted to block out most of the streetlights her front windows faced.

  This morning her ancient heating system was taking its sweet time warming the place up and she would have loved nothing better than to crawl back under her grandmother’s jewel-toned crazy quilt with its layers of black velvet and tapestry. It would be so easy to pull the covers back over her head and fantasize about Rhys Vincent. His head was between her legs before she shook herself out of the most recent one that starred her hunky rescuer.

  She made her way down the stairs, stepped into the small entryway and opened the door that led into her shop. A shabby-chic collection of bookshelves, furniture, house wares and clothing decorated the shop.

  Her morning ritual of straightening the furniture finished, she checked her sale rack to make sure that no one had stuck a pair of worn jeans in with the vintage sequined sweaters. Rivets would snag sequins every time.

  Dragging the ladder out of the cluttered storeroom behind the counter, she leaned it against the shelves just outside the curtained area. The hatboxes containing her Valentine decorations were stored on the top shelf but decorating could wait until after lunch. The sun would warm the display windows enough to make working a little more bearable. She had plenty to do until then.

  Bookkeeping was her least favorite chore but she sat on the little stool behind the counter in front of the storeroom, pulled up the program on her computer and worked until the bell over the door announced her first customer of the day. She looked up and her day got a whole lot brighter. Even Rhys Vincent’s frown charmed her.

  He looked as good wearing jeans, boots, an old, brown leather jacket and Arnie’s fedora as he had wearing the tux. When he turned around to flip the closed sign over she got a very good look at his world-class butt encased in faded denim and almost hyperventilated.

  He turned on his heel and narrowed his dark eyes. “You’re not seriously getting on that ladder again?”

  “Not until after lunch,” she said, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t be rude enough to ask what the fedora went for and would he like a quickie in the storeroom. Her mouth watered at the thought of digging her fingers into his bare ass, holding him while he fucked her mercilessly until she came. Don’t go there.

  Instead, she eyed the two plastic bags filled with cardboard carryout containers. The succulent scent of crab rangoon and cashew chicken filled the entire shop. Her favorite comfort food couldn’t hold a candle to the man holding lunch out to her like an offering.

  “You know, I could be one of the few people on this planet who doesn’t like Chinese food.”

  He grinned and his dark eyes flashed mischievously. “I saw one of the take-out containers in your trash the other night. You know…when I caught you.”

  She felt the phantom whisper of his thumb against her naked thigh and couldn’t speak for a moment. “I remember,” she managed softly while the air between them crackled. She could almost see the sparks and feel them skitter across her skin.

  Bella rubbed her arms. His gaze followed her movements and slowly traveled upward as if he were memorizing her.

  “Would you like to eat this before it gets cold?” he asked, setting the sacks on the counter and never breaking eye contact. He shrugged out of his beat-up jacket and laid it over a rack of well-worn jeans.

  His hair was dark blond in the weak sunlight that filtered through the shop window. He had a strong, square jaw and a dimple in his chin that upped his cute factor and softened his rugged appearance. His five o’clock shadow was a couple of shades darker against his fair skin and his curly lashes were darker yet.

  “I’ll get you a chair while you set it out,” she said, surprised when her voice didn’t crack. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him that night because he’d been wearing such a heavy coat. Even without the bulk of dark wool he had shoulders like a linebacker and he was just a little thicker through the neck and middle than she remembered. Solid. Hard. And better than any fantasy she’d had.

  “Tell me where the chair is and you can set it out.”

  “There’s a red stool under the little antique porcelain and enamel work table behind you. Just drag it over,” she said, arranging the containers and paper-wrapped chopsticks between them on the small counter. “So, how did the auction go?”

  He pulled the utility stool over and sat. “It was a huge success and thanks again for the fedora.”

  “Does Miss Smith–Hathaway still want to give me a tax receipt?”

  He looked puzzled for a moment and then he smiled. “It’s Mrs. and Ronnie is an old friend who’s having a rough time right now.”

  “Are you trying to…smooth things out?” she asked, flattening a paper napkin over her lap.

  “I’m trying to be a good friend and that’s all,” he said, digging into his cashew chicken. “Sometimes it gets complicated.” He looked more than a little uncomfortable.

  It would have been too rude to ask how complicated even though she’d pretty much figured out very from the threatened position Mrs. Smith–Hathaway had taken. She concentrated on trying to grab a piece of chicken but chopsticks confounded her even when she wasn’t nervous.

  “So what are you doing in my neighborhood? Looking for more auction items?” she asked, trying not to drop a chunk of slippery chicken into her lap.

  He looked slightly defensive, studying her for a moment, as if trying to judge her mood correctly, realized what he was doing and smiled sheepishly. “I must be doing something wrong if you can’t tell
my only motive for being here is that I wanted to have lunch with you.” He balanced a chunk of chicken between his sticks. Show off.

  She smiled because she knew he would too and she wanted to see the dimple in his chin where his razor couldn’t reach and the laugh lines that scored the corners of his eyes and mouth. “You’re not doing anything wrong but I really didn’t want to…umm…get too attached to you if I had to give you back.”

  He blinked and she laughed nervously. “Oh…ah, I just open my mouth sometimes and things fall out. Not food—things I should probably wait to say.”

  He shook his head and slipped his chopsticks into the container. “I’m glad you didn’t wait. After last night I realized that I haven’t laughed in a very long time. Hell, I haven’t smiled in a very long time and I’ve been smiling since I met you. And I’ve been wondering if there’s someone…”

  And there it was, the heat in his gaze focused directly at her. He kept looking at her as if she were dessert. And oh, how she wanted to be.

  She dropped her chopsticks into her half-full box. There was no way she’d be able to swallow another bite. “There’s no one.”

  “I find that a little hard to believe,” he said but he was smiling so her brain registered his statement as a compliment instead of an indictment. “I also feel obligated to tell you that I’m not sure it would make any difference.”

  She’d never done well with the caveman mentality but heat curled through her belly and settled low. “Are you always like this or are you having a he-man, Neanderthal moment?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Am I having a what?”

  Oh crap. Did she really say that out loud? “Sorry. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”

  His lips twitched as if he were suppressing a grin. “I spent last night and this morning wondering about everything I didn’t know about you. Do you think that falls into the he-man, Neanderthal train of thought after a beautiful woman falls into their arms?”