“Nonsense,” she said, her voice tight with a suppressed frown. Lexi reached down for a box and a bow. “Food is meant to be enjoyed. Savored. Especially dessert.”
She handed the box to him. “That’ll be thirty-five.” His fingers brushed against her hand. His cool blue eyes went from watchful to melting. A zap of electricity blasted up her arms and she almost dropped the cake.
He scrambled to rebalance the weight of it in his palms. “Well, it would have been a shame if something that pretty had hit the floor. Tasting this is about the only thing I’m looking forward to tonight.”
Unbidden, a vision of him feeding her bites of that cake swelled in her mind. Her lungs labored to catch a breath, and she licked her lips. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d wanted to taste that icing and the skin of his fingers beneath. The flavor of her own lips wasn’t nearly as exciting.
His eyes snagged on her mouth. The box crackled in protest as his hands tightened, threatening to crush the cardboard.
The phone beneath the counter rang, breaking the spell.
Oh, Lord, what was she doing? This man was a complete stranger. A customer! He’d been in her store for less than fifteen minutes and her libido was ready to flip the open sign over and drag him into the back for a different kind of workout than her treadmill provided.
Turning her back, she answered the phone. “Sugar and Spice.”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re still there.” Her mother’s frazzled voice echoed down the line. “I need a huge favor.”
The bell behind her chimed. Lexi turned to see who’d come into the store only to discover it was empty. And two twenties were on the counter.
She should be grateful that he was gone, but her energized body certainly wasn’t happy. Tough. Dragging in a deep breath, Lexi held it for a moment before letting it—and the last fifteen minutes—go.
“Alexis Harper, are you listening to me?”
Shaking her head, Lexi refocused. “I’m sorry, Mama, I was distracted. What favor?”
“Please tell me you have something in the case I could use for dessert.”
“I just sold my last cake.”
“Dammit!”
Lexi straightened. Her mother never swore. This was obviously more than a rampant sweet tooth. “Don’t worry, give me an hour and I can make something. What’s this about?”
“I knew I could count on you, Lexi. Be sure to wear something nice.”
“Uh, why?” She had an early morning tomorrow and had really just planned to head home, curl up with Little Bits, her cat, and watch mindless TV for a while before crashing into bed. The good thing about hand making all of her products was that she could guarantee quality. The bad thing was that, since she was an exacting perfectionist, she had to be up bright and early every morning to actually do the hand making.
“A representative from Bowen Enterprises showed up today. He’s here for the council meeting tomorrow night. Your father invited the man to dinner.”
That was her daddy all right. Friends close and enemies closer. There was a reason he’d been mayor of Sweetheart for the past eighteen years. He was smart, cunning and charming.
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“I need you to balance out our numbers, dear. See you in an hour.”
Without giving her a chance to protest, her mom hung up. For about sixty seconds Lexi thought about calling back and telling her no way. But although the idea held appeal, Lexi knew she wouldn’t do it.
Instead, she headed back to the kitchen to evaluate what she had that could be thrown together in an hour. Whatever it was would have to be spectacular.
Everyone in town hated Bowen Enterprises and everything the company stood for. Several months ago they had submitted plans to build a monstrously tacky resort at the lake on the very edge of town.
The council had denied their request for rezoning and had refused to issue building permits.
Mr. Bowen had not been happy, but they hadn’t heard anything from him in months.
Apparently, it was finally time for round two.
* * *
BRETT NEWCOMB SHOVED open the door to the only hotel in Sweetheart—if it could really be called that. Briarwood Inn was more of a glorified B and B. It was bigger than most B and Bs he’d stayed in, boasting twenty-some rooms instead of only a handful. But it clearly wasn’t big enough to handle all the tourist traffic during Sweetheart’s high season.
Which was why he was there. Sweetheart might not realize why they needed him—well, needed Bowen Enterprises, the company he worked for—but they would.
He had to admit, although a little reluctantly, the place had an old-world charm that somehow managed to match the town. The room was huge and homey. Welcoming in a way that most hotel rooms never quite managed to achieve. And he’d know. He’d been designing hotels and commercial buildings for the past six years.
The room was filled with mismatched furniture that looked well cared for, but also worn with age. The whole inn left guests feeling as though they were staying with long-lost relatives instead of in a room used by countless strangers.
And while that might appeal to some, what Bowen intended to give the area was a sensual oasis where lovers and honeymooners could luxuriate.
In the past twenty years, Sweetheart, South Carolina, had built a reputation for being a quaint, romantic getaway. After the local textile mill closed, a large portion of the residents, suddenly out of work, turned their energies to capitalizing on the marketing ploy that was their name. And they’d done well.
The Cupid Festival in February was a famous weeklong celebration. During spring and summer the town park was booked with back-to-back weddings. The shops in the area specialized in high-end, personalized customer service.
Sweetheart gave visitors a glimpse into all the best things small-town life could provide. And when their trip was over guests went back to their Starbucks, take-out Chinese and the comfort of the rat race.
The problem was that the growing crowds were outstripping the town’s capacity. Which is where he and Bowen stepped in—with an enormous resort facility that would include gourmet restaurants, spa services, state-of-the-art exercise facilities, pools and hot tubs. And if he secretly felt some of the details his boss wanted to include veered just this side of tacky, the plans were still a work in progress, and they had plenty of time to revise.
Brett tossed down his suitcases and gently placed the cake box with its gingham ribbon on the dresser. His fingers ran across the rough texture of the bow. It made him think about the matching apron the woman who sold it to him had been wearing.
Every muscle in his body tightened. She was beautiful and distracting. Illogically, he wanted to coax her out of all that red and white. Maybe his trip to Sweetheart wouldn’t be all bad. He’d anticipated weeks of banging his head against a backwoods brick wall trying to convince the entire town that building a resort was a good idea.
This inn practically proved his point for him. The entire town was losing revenue, along with the rest of the businesses, although none of them seemed to notice or care. At least not yet. He intended to point it out. Maybe he’d start his campaign to win over the business owners with Sugar & Spice.
But not tonight. Tonight he had to concentrate on dinner with the mayor. Brett had been shocked at the invitation. He’d stopped at the Town Hall when he arrived, more as a courtesy than anything else. He’d requested time on the meeting agenda and been granted it. He had no idea what ulterior motives Mayor Harper was working, but knew they were there.
They always were.
The town needed the resort Bowen was proposing to build. And even if he had his own reservations about the project, he had a job to do.
And if he pulled this off, he’d get a generous bonus in the bargain. A bonu
s he desperately needed in order to break away from Bowen.
When Brett first started as an intern at Bowen almost ten years ago, he’d been impressed with the way his boss had managed to parlay his experience as a construction worker into being the head of a multimillion-dollar real estate empire.
It was the life Brett had always wanted. The kind of easy assurance he’d never known growing up.
It had taken scholarships, loans he was still paying off and two part-time jobs to get him through college. But he’d always known education was his best shot at a better life for himself, his mom and his little brother.
He’d wanted the life Mr. Bowen had—houses, cars, a wife beautiful enough to grace glossy magazine pages. Security. He’d wanted the chance to repay his mother for all the sacrifices she’d ever made.
Then he’d gotten to know the guy.
Oh, Brett was all for smart business. Spending a dollar just to spend it was pointless. But there was a difference between frugality and knowingly purchasing inferior materials and cutting every corner possible. All with the intention of dumping the shoddy finished product on unsuspecting buyers long before the cracks started to show.
The problem was that his boss wasn’t exactly doing anything illegal. Immoral? Sure. But there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Except get out.
And he had a plan. A plan to open his own architecture firm. One where he could control what they did and how they did it. His mom could run the office. Hunter, his baby brother, who was about to graduate with a degree in electrical engineering, could help.
But that was easier said than done. The money it took to start a business was unbelievable. People expected a certain image when they hired a design team. These days it was sleek glass and expensive fixtures. High-end equipment. The insurance and bond estimates alone had almost given him a heart attack.
And Hunter still had another semester of college, which he was paying for. And his mom really needed a new car. Her old sedan, Francesca, was nine years old and had been in the shop seven times in the last year. He kept expecting the next phone call from the mechanic to be the death knell.
Every time he turned around something was eating a hole in the nest egg he’d been steadily building since the day he went to work. But with the bonus... It was just the large influx of cash he needed to push that magical number over the edge and allow him to go out on his own.
He’d use any means at his disposal to get the Sweetheart deal through. Nothing was going to stand in his way.
2
LEXI BALANCED THE crystal trifle bowl filled with the death-by-chocolate yumminess she’d thrown together. Hopping on one foot at a time, she slipped on the heels she’d borrowed from Willow and wished she had another hand to tug at the skirt of the dress she’d borrowed. It was a bit short, but thank God one of her best friends just happened to own a dress boutique and couture wedding gown business.
Popping down to Willow’s store had saved her a lengthy trip home, although she’d wasted some of that time chatting with her friend. The simple black cocktail dress was a little over the top for dinner at her parents’ but beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least it didn’t sport rhinestones. Lexi had vetoed anything that sparkled before Willow could even pull it from the rack.
The four-inch red heels were bad enough, but Willow had insisted. Something about a pop of color. Lexi didn’t care about color. She cared about comfort and the damn things already hurt. But she couldn’t very well wear her chocolate-spattered runners.
Turning around, she bumped the door to her SUV closed with her rear. The curtain at the front window twitched, pulling her attention. Probably Mama waiting impatiently for her to arrive. She was only fifteen minutes late.
For Lexi, that was practically early.
She’d already started to juggle everything, trying to find an empty hand so that she could grasp the knob, when the side door flew open. “There you are, dear. I was beginning to worry.” The hard look in her mother’s eyes didn’t match the fake smile on her lips.
Her mother had given up worrying when she was a little late a long time ago. She wasn’t the child most likely to give her mother heart palpitations—that honor belonged to her brother, Gage, a daredevil former army ranger. Lexi was solid. She was good and quiet and did what she was told. And always had.
Without giving her a chance to rebalance everything, her mom swept her into the house. She pushed Lexi, not with her hands but with the frown on her face and her relentless forward movement.
“Mom, wait,” Lexi tried to protest, but her mother wasn’t listening.
The door slammed behind them. Her purse strap slid from its precarious position on her shoulder and slammed into the bend in her elbow. The bowl in her hands bobbled. The new shoes pinched and she wobbled. Lexi tried to grab for everything—equilibrium, trifle, kitchen counter.
She didn’t have enough hands. Something was going.
Unfortunately, it was the dessert.
The bowl crashed to the floor and splintered. Chocolate mousse, brownie pieces, whipped cream and crystal shards exploded everywhere.
Lexi caught herself on the counter, bent over, so she was staring straight at a pair of glossy black men’s shoes covered in fudge sauce and pecan pieces. A single cherry rested on the left toe of the expensive leather.
Her mother moaned. Behind her she heard the sound of her father’s smothered laughter.
Her gaze moved slowly up the length of crisp slacks that were now splattered with a combination of sticky substances that would probably never come out. Hell, there was fudge on his knee. Wide hands hung beside narrow hips. The dark gray dress shirt tucked into the waistband showed off broad shoulders.
Lexi swallowed and sighed inwardly. She should have known better than to wear heels like these. She was a walking disaster without adding inches between the soles of her feet and the ground.
But the automatic apology died on her lips when her gaze collided with cool, icy eyes. His mouth twitched.
“You,” she breathed, because she couldn’t think of anything else.
“Brett Newcomb, may I introduce my daughter, Lexi Harper,” her father’s voice drawled dryly from behind her.
She blinked and fought the urge to run screaming from the room. It was an old reaction. Her childhood response to these kind of embarrassing situations that seemed to follow her like the plague.
Snapping her jaw shut, she pushed away from the counter and straightened to her artificially enhanced height. The towel she grabbed from the kitchen counter snapped.
“I’m so sorry,” she offered in a clear voice as she crouched by his feet to try and clean up some of the mess.
He followed her down, stilling her hands. “No worries.” His dark voice rumbled through her. “But that is a terrible waste of chocolate.”
His eyes glittered at her, like the tiny pieces of glass stuck in the mess on his shoes. He was laughing at her, although his mouth stayed in a perfectly straight line.
Lexi did not like being laughed at. She’d had enough of being the butt of other people’s jokes growing up.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Absolutely not.” His mouth twitched. She didn’t believe him. In a fit of temper, she uttered something nasty beneath her breath and threw the towel down at his feet.
“Alexis Harper...” Her mother’s voice cracked out a warning.
Lexi regretted her reaction immediately. It was petty and the entire mess was her fault. But he’d unwittingly trampled all over a deep-seated hot-button issue.
“I’m so sorry, Brett.” Her mom moved into damage-control mode. “Honey, can you get me the broom and dustpan?”
As she leaned down to clean up the mess, her mom started clucking. “Let me throw your pants and socks into the wash. I’m sure
we can find you something to wear until they’re clean.”
Oh, crap. All she needed was for this man to be walking around half naked. Her body was already going haywire.
And he hadn’t taken his eyes from her yet.
Heat suffused her, delayed embarrassment and something so much worse.
Brett grasped her mom’s hands and stopped her fussing. “Be careful, Mrs. Harper, I don’t want you to cut yourself. I’m fine. Nothing a damp cloth can’t fix.”
From his crouched position on the floor, he looked up at Lexi. A spark of heat flickered deep in the center of all that cool blue. “Guess it’s a good thing I bought that cake, after all.”
* * *
TO SAY THAT he’d been shocked to see the woman from Sugar & Spice alighting from the car in the Harpers’ driveway would be an understatement. Well, the shock had mostly come from seeing her in a tiny black dress instead of the gingham apron.
The long blond hair she’d had pulled into a tight tail trailed invitingly down her back in a wave of curls. Watching her bounce from foot to foot as she’d pulled on her heels and tugged at her hem had surprised him. Watching a woman dress had never intrigued him before.
But she did. The little black dress was a glimpse of what lay beneath the peaches-and-cream complexion and sugar-cookie scent.
Without letting go of Mrs. Harper, Brett stood, bringing her with him. He smiled down at the woman. Dressed in conservative slacks, a purple silk top and a single strand of pearls, she reminded him of every sitcom mom. The kind of mother he’d never had.
He’d bet Mrs. Harper had been at home just waiting for the kids to hop off the bus in the afternoon. She’d greet them with warm cookies and a glass of milk and ask them how their day went.
Brett and Hunter had returned home to an empty house. The only time they’d gotten cookies was when the store brand had been on sale.
Shaking his head, Brett pushed the unexpected reaction away.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Harper. Really.”
Taking the broom from Mr. Harper’s hand, he began sweeping up the mess. It took him several moments before he realized the three other people were staring at him. A frown accompanied Lexi’s narrowed brown gaze.
She's No Angel Page 2
