I admire her for that. Hell, I want her more because of it. I feel like she sees me, the real man behind all the bullshit. Flaws and all, and despite that, the attraction is still there between us. Like a living, breathing thing. Does she see it?
If she does, she’s pretending it doesn’t exist.
A shiver moves through me as Marina slowly approaches the door, her expression wary, those pretty blue eyes narrowed as she studies me. I’m this close to leaving, but something keeps me there. I think I want to see what she might say to me. See if she’s going to let me in.
I’m freaking desperate for her to let me in.
My problem? Too many beers made me think too much, and now here I am, basking in the bakery’s autumnal finery. Late September and there are already a few pumpkins decorating the front. Two large planters flank either side of the door, filled to the brim with giant, rusty, orange-colored mums.
AUTUMN HARVEST is written in elegant black script across the door. The front window is large, allowing passersby a glimpse inside. Tiny tables and chairs fill the room. Large wicker baskets full of fresh fruit and wrapped baked goods line the walls. The bakery has a very warm, trendy Napa feel to it.
Yet she’s having trouble with the business. I don’t understand why.
Yeah. I really don’t know what possessed me to come back here. I mulled over the reasons why Marina sent me packing for hours. I freaking still can’t believe she told me no when I asked her to dinner. That she literally pushed me out of the bakery like she never wanted to see me again. I dangled the Archer carrot and she didn’t give a shit.
She didn’t think I was worth it.
No one tells me no. Well, I take that back. I’ve heard no plenty in my career. No is a part of negotiations. In fact, when I hear a no it makes me work that much harder to turn it into a yes.
But when it comes to women? They don’t tell me no. I’m the one who usually turns them away. The one who has to break it off first. I’m not used to rejection.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to her. She’s the complete opposite of any woman I’ve ever met.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, barely cracking open the door. Like she might be afraid I’ll push past her and force my way inside.
She wouldn’t be too far off base. The idea does cross my mind.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
She studies me for a long, quiet moment and I stare back. She looks . . . weary. A little sad, a lot irritated. “I usually never stay this late,” she admits. “Are you stalking me or what?”
“No, I’m not stalking you.” I chuckle, shaking my head. A cool breeze washes over me, making me shiver, and I nod toward her. “Can you let me in?”
“I was just locking up for the night.” She moves to close the door, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I’m afraid she’s going to slam it completely and shut me out.
For good.
“Just a few minutes. I want . . . to ask you something.” I made that up. I have nothing to ask her beyond why do you hate me so much, which has been running through my brain for the last five hours or so.
“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
Jesus. I have never, ever met a woman so disinterested in me before. I hate it.
I’m more determined than ever to turn her no into a yes.
“No, it can’t.” I try to turn on the charm and flash her a smile, but even I can feel how halfhearted my effort is. “Come on, Marina. Throw me a bone here.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulls the door open and I enter the quiet, dark bakery, brushing past her as I walk inside. I hear her sharp intake of breath when my body touches hers.
Just like that, I’m aware of her. Of every little sound she makes, the intoxicating scent of her, how she looks at me like she’s ready to run and hide.
I make her nervous. Fuck, she makes me nervous. I shouldn’t want this. Want her. She hates me. I don’t like her much either. At least I don’t like her attitude toward me or the way she treats me.
“What did you want to ask me, Gage?” She locks the door and leans against it, her tone bored, as is her expression. “It’s late so make it snappy. I need to go home and collapse into bed.”
Make it f**king snappy? I can’t even acknowledge that or I’m gonna lose my shit and say something I really regret. And the bed reference sends all sorts of dirty images into my brain.
The fact that she’s able to both turn me on and piss me off is quite the feat. She deserves a medal or something.
“Why won’t you go to dinner with me?” I blurt, instantly hating myself for letting the question fly out of my mouth. I don’t think I want to know her answer. I don’t think she appreciates me asking when I sound like a whiny little baby either.
“You want the truth.”
I nod furiously. “Hell yeah, I do.”
“You’re trouble.” She says nothing else, just regards me with those cold, assessing blue eyes.
“I think you have me mistaken with Archer.” No one has ever called me specifically trouble. Archer, yes, all the damn time. Me, Archer, and Matt together? Oh, hell yeah. We caused all sorts of trouble together, especially in our younger years.
But me, all alone? I’m not trouble. Not really. I’m a pretty responsible guy. My dad instilled it in me to take care of everything that matters. In business and in pleasure. When I see something I want, I go after it until I make it mine.