Jinxed!

“Is that a beeper?” Lacey asked, lifting her head. She looked as dazed and glazed as he felt.

Beeper. That noise was his business beeper going off. Reality returned with a jarring thump that felt like an anvil falling on his head. Jesus. What the hell was he doing? He’d just had sex with a tenant. He never had sex with tenants-it was one of his hard-and-fast rules. But one look at Lacey in that dress had morphed his hard-and-fast rule into a bout of hard-and-fast sex.

He stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “My business beeper.”

She stared at him for several seconds. “Business? At this hour? On a weekend?”

“It’s my boss. He’s in London this week. It’s the afternoon there now. Doesn’t matter that it’s a weekend-he works seven days a week.”

She didn’t reply, but based on the chill that filmed over her expression it was clear that she’d just filed him under the category of soulless clone. Without a word she handed him a wad of paper napkins, then slid off the counter.

“Listen,” she said, adjusting her dress while he pulled up the silk boxers, “I’m not sure what came over me, but what just happened between us…that isn’t normal behavior for me.”

“Believe it or not, it’s not for me, either.”

“Things just got…out of hand.” She looked at him and he barely suppressed a groan. With her tumbled hair and moist, parted lips, she looked like living, breathing sin. “I’m pleading temporary insanity.”

“That makes two of us.”

“This isn’t going to happen again.”

He knew he should agree, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to be uttered.

“In fact,” she continued, “we need to forget it happened this time.”

Before he could reply, a knock sounded and he swiveled his head toward the door. A man wearing a tan jacket proclaiming he was from the American Car Association tapped on the glass.

His interlude with Lacey was officially over.

And it occurred to Evan that maybe he really was cursed.

7

AT TEN O’CLOCK Tuesday evening, Lacey locked the door to Constant Cravings and headed across the courtyard. Sales had been unusually sluggish Sunday, Monday and today, and she’d spent the bulk of her time baking to fill cookie platter orders. Not good, as that had left her with too much time to think, and her mind had remained firmly focused on the one thing she desperately wanted not to think of.

Evan Sawyer.

Okay, the two things she desperately wanted not to think of-Evan Sawyer, and that bout of mind-blowing sex with Evan Sawyer.

You’d think the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they’d parted company late Saturday night-technically Sunday morning-would have been enough for “out of sight, out of mind” to kick in. But no. Instead, she’d thought of him about every three seconds or so. Sometimes more frequently. The feel of his hands and mouth on her, the sensation of him buried deep inside her, the deliciously potent taste of his kiss, his skin pressed against hers, all seemed to be tattooed onto her senses. They’d all given her libido a jolt equal to a nuclear blast. Three days later and she was still hot and bothered.

Yet more than hot and bothered. He’d not only turned her on, he’d surprised her. And disarmed her. With his revelations about his family and his non-English-speaking dog. He’d been amusing and intelligent and, well, likable. Extremely so. Unsettlingly so.

She hadn’t expected to see him on Sunday, but when he hadn’t come into the shop yesterday or today, it was clear he’d taken her “we need to forget it happened” words to heart and was ignoring both her and the explosive attraction that had flared between them.

Which was for the best. Definitely. Still, despite that he was only doing what she’d asked, if she were brutally honest, she had to admit his complete and total brush-off unreasonably pricked her feminine ego and, damn it, annoyed her. Clearly he hadn’t found her as amusing, intelligent and disarming as she’d found him. And the fact that she was annoyed really annoyed her. So why couldn’t she write him off and stop thinking about him?

Well, she’d almost succeeded today-had gotten to the point where he’d only invaded her thoughts every six seconds or so-when she’d checked her e-mail during a quick break. And discovered a message from him. Just seeing his name in Constant Cravings’ in-box had set her heart aflutter, a fact that thoroughly irritated her. After clicking open the note, she’d read his brief message: Would appreciate it if you’d stop by my office before going home tonight. Doesn’t matter what time-I’ll be working late. Evan.

The impersonal tone and complete lack of details had only served to fuel her mind with questions that had plagued her for the remainder of the day. Why did he want to see her? Had he been thinking about her? Did he want a repeat performance? Did he want to find out if making love would be as explosive the second time around?

Not that it mattered if he wanted that or not. Because she didn’t. No way. Absolutely not.

Okay, damn it, she did want that. Desperately. Wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, thrusting into hers. Taste his drugging kiss. Run her hands over all those lovely muscles. Discover if the powerful sparks had been real or just a figment of her imagination.

But giving in to that temptation…definitely not a good idea. Just because he’d been intelligent and amusing didn’t mean he was her type. Still, it wasn’t as if she had to marry the guy. Nothing wrong with just having him put out this damn fire he’d started. No, nothing wrong with that, but she wasn’t convinced it was smart, either.

Drawing a bracing breath, she adopted her best aloof manner and entered the west section of the building, then took the elevator to the fifth floor, where the property management offices were located. After a quick mental pep talk to remain calm, cool and collected, she knocked on the oak door bearing a brass plate engraved with Evan’s name. Several seconds later the door opened, and calm, cool and collected melted into a puddle at her feet.

She’d been prepared to see him wearing his usual prim dress shirt, proper suit, boring tie and perfect hair. But “prim, proper and boring” wasn’t the Evan who answered the door. No, this Evan sported rumpled hair and a stubble-darkened jaw that lent him a dark and slightly dangerous air. The suit and tie had been replaced with a black T-shirt that made her fingers itch to test the breadth of his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that, based on the fascinating set of fade patterns, were old favorites. He looked rumpled and casual and sexy and utterly delicious and, damn it, he wasn’t supposed to!

“We need to talk,” he said, opening the door wider.

His abrupt words jerked her from her stupor. Not even so much as a hello. Arrogant jerk. Had she really wasted three days fantasizing about him? Actually, she was glad for his abruptness as it effectively cooled any flames he’d lit.

She lifted her chin and sailed into the office. After putting a safe distance between them, she turned to face him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him close the door, refusing to acknowledge that the rear view was a good as the front view. And that she knew exactly how great his ass felt beneath her palms. Then he turned and leaned his shoulders against the door and regarded her with an unreadable expression.

When the silence stretched into what she considered the uncomfortable zone, she said, “You wanted to talk? I’m listening.”

He studied her for several more seconds, his eyebrows drawn into a frown, then asked in a very serious voice, “How are you, Lacey?”

She blinked. “Uh, fine. You?”

“I’m…not sure. The past few days have been…strange. I was wondering if you’d experienced anything unusual since we last saw each other.”

Yeah-I can’t stop thinking about you. But then an odd tingle shivered down her spine as she mentally flicked through the weird series of mini-disasters that had occurred over the past three days. “A few things, I guess,” she admitted.