Zen studied the crowd and nudged Risk with his elbow. "Major babe at one o'clock."
Risk recognized the babe. "That's Jacy Grayson."
Zen's interest was piqued. "You know her?"
As intimately as Adam knew Eve. "She's Aaron's second cousin."
"Introduce me?" Zen requested.
"Maybe, if you're lucky."
From his vantage point, Risk watched Jacy work the coffee crowd. While her other employees were identifiable in khaki slacks and pale blue polos imprinted with Jacy's Java curving around the rim of a coffee cup, Jacy reinvented herself every day of her life. To Risk, it was all part of her charm.
Her now lavender hair curled softly about her heart-shaped face. Violet contacts colored her normally blue eyes. Flashes of a fuchsia tube top and coral slacks appeared beneath a long, black velvet equestrian jacket. Turquoise earrings and a chunky bracelet pulled her outfit together.
She rounded the corner of the counter and slipped through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Zen choked. "She's wearing combat boots."
She certainly was. On Jacy, the boots looked almost feminine. Despite the boots, she walked lightly, as if she wore ballet slippers.
When she returned from the kitchen, a lanky older man perched on a stool at the counter gently grabbed her wrist. Risk recognized him as Frank Stall, owner of the largest orange grove in the county. "Little sugar for my coffee, Jacy," he requested.
Jacy smiled at the man. "One lump or two?"
"Two, please."
She produced an English wildflower sugar bowl from behind the counter, and with sterling silver tongs selected two cubes of sugar decorated with purple pansies. Dropping the cubes into Stall's black coffee, she followed with a perfectly manicured fingertip, slowly stirring the brew. The sugar cubes melted, and the pansies floated to the top.
"Sweet enough?" she asked.
Stall's weathered face broke into a grin. "Until my refill."
"My coffee's too hot to drink," said the man beside Stall. He was Walter Tate, the developer responsible for the Cornerstone Building.
Risk watched as Jacy picked up Tate's bone china cup, puckered her lips, and blew lightly on the opposite side from where he'd sipped. After several seconds, she took her own tiny sip, leaving a trace of pink lipstick on the rim.
"I think it's ready to drink," she said, handing the cup back to Tate. "Let me know if it needs another blow."
Tate's Adam's apple worked as he tried his coffee. "Still too warm. Another blow, please."
Jacy obliged with a second soft blow. After satisfying Stall and Tate, she worked her way down the counter, pleasing the row of males vying for her attention. More sugar. More cooling blows. A sampling of homemade cookies. A second cappuccino.
She gave damn good attention, Risk noticed as the line slowly moved forward. Even at ten in the morning, a line of customers was wrapped around the building, standing three deep before the counter to make their purchases. Jacy gave each a smile and a kind word. She flirted, teased, and tempted them to try the new pumpkin or eggnog latte. The peppermint hot chocolate. The green tea frappuccino. Risk enjoyed watching her work.
"Well, well, look what the World Series dragged in." Frank Stall was the first to recognize Risk and Zen. With his comment, every person in the coffee shop stopped what he was doing and looked their way.
Jacy was slow to look up from counting back change on a sale. When she did, she looked straight at Risk, her stare open and honest and glad to see him. His heart hitched, and his body warmed.
"What, no cutting in line?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.
No one but Jacy dared call him on the carpet. Countless times throughout high school, college, and into his major league career, he'd used his star athletic status to gain the best seats in a restaurant, sports event, or at a concert. Yet here at Jacy's Java he'd stood in line for forty minutes. All for her.
"You're worth waiting for." His voice was deep and a little husky.
Frank Stall and Walter Tate cleared their throats and nodded their agreement. Jacy blushed to the roots of her lavender hair.
"Sweet talker," she managed.
"I'll take a little of your sugar any day," he returned.
"Think he's hinting at more than a pansy sugar cube," Frank Stall chuckled.
A whole lot more than a sugar cube. His welcome home would include a trip to the walk-in cooler if he had his way.
When it came time for him to order, Risk requested black coffee and a cinnamon bun.
Jacy shook her head. "Sorry, we're all out of cinnamon buns."
"Caramel roll?"
"Might be one in the cooler."
He jerked his head toward the back of the shop. "How 'bout we take a look?"
"How about we do," she agreed.
Leaving Zen to fend for himself, Risk shouldered his way through the crowd, following the sweet swing of Jacy's hips.
Small town gossip clucked behind them. "Think there's caramel rolls in the kitchen?" Frank Stall's question rose loud enough to reach Risk's ears.
"I'd say Jacy's his sugar fix," Walter Tate returned.
Damn if Tate wasn't right.
The kitchen was deserted. Jacy's foreplay came in the sashay of her hips as she enticed him to the cooler. Lolita Lampeka drifted in her wake. The vanilla fragrance was as deliciously warm as her skin. He couldn't wait to touch her.
A flick of the cooler latch, and Jacy Grayson held the door for him. He stepped around her, their shoulders brushing. She followed him in and threw the deadbolt.
He eyed her speculatively. "New security, babe?"
"I'd hate to have someone walk in while I'm hunting for caramel rolls."
So would he.
He leaned against the door as she moved among shelves of fresh fruit, eggs, milk, cream, and cookie dough. Puffs of cold air burst from the blower; the motor sounded overly loud in the silence that separated them.
She finally held up her hands. "Sorry, no caramel rolls."
A heartbeat of silence. "You know what I want, babe."
A flick of her tongue to her upper lip. "I do, do I?"
"Damn straight."
He moved in on her then, a man of midnight dark hair and a sexy smile. Cut and solid, Risk could pack a polo and a pair of jeans. Seductively tangible, his arrogance and strength embraced her. When he cupped her chin, then grazed one corner of her mouth with his thumb, her lips parted, anticipating his kiss.