Jinxed!

stunk.

“A someone who is somehow related to the shadow hanging over your professional life. Let us continue on to the last row of cards, which represent your immediate future.” After studying the seven cards, Madame Karma pursed her lips. “Regarding this thorn in your side, I can see clearly in this grouping of cards that it is a man. A man who is close to you, although only in proximity, not in a sexual way. Perhaps a coworker.” She looked up and her dark eyes locked with Lacey’s. “You know to whom I am referring.”

“I can think of someone who I’d describe as a thorn in my side,” Lacey said slowly. “He’s the man who manages this building complex.”

Madame Karma nodded solemnly. “Yes, that fits perfectly, as your cards indicate he is a man of power.”

“Right. A powerful pain in the butt.”

“What is this man’s name?”

“Evan Sawyer.” She nodded toward the cards. “So, is Thorn-in-My-Side Sawyer about to leave Fairfax?” Lacey asked in a hopeful voice. “Get transferred to Siberia?”

“No. Indeed, just the opposite. The manner of his proximity to you is about to change. From nonsexual to… can’t get enough of him.”

Lacey actually felt her jaw drop open. A strange tingle, sort of like a slow-motion pulse of static electricity, eased through her. Then a short huff of laughter escaped her. “There must be some other thorn in my side because I can assure you, that is not going to happen.”

“My dear, I assure you that it is. The cards plainly say so and you cannot fight karma. Cannot deny your fate. To do so will bring the wrath of both upon your head, the equivalent of being cursed. Trust me, that is something you do not want. Your luck will change from good to bad like that.” Madame snapped her fingers and her multitude of metal bracelets jangled with an ominous clang. She then reached out and clasped Lacey’s hands. “This Evan Sawyer…you think he is all wrong for you, but he is, without a doubt, Mr. Right.”

2

EVAN SAWYER STARED across the bright courtyard at Lacey Perkins and felt every muscle in his body tense. Something about the woman unsettled him in a way he neither understood nor liked. Surely the tension that gripped him whenever he saw her-hell, whenever he so much as thought of her-was nothing more than severe irritation. It definitely rankled that she pushed the envelope with her coffee shop’s window displays and sensuously named products. Who the hell sold baked goods named Chocolate Orgasm and coffee drinks called Hot, Wet & Wild?

The woman and her eclectic shop were a major headache and had been since Constant Cravings first opened. He’d stopped in early on the shop’s opening day, looking forward to bringing a cappuccino to his office. Before he could place his order, however, a smiling Lacey had asked him if he’d like to try the opening day special-A Slow Glide into Pleasure. That had been eight months ago, yet he recalled the moment and the fire that had raced through him so vividly it might as well have happened eight seconds ago. Even now, all these months later, the memory of her asking him that question, in her smoky, husky voice, her eyes twinkling with mischief, had him clenching his hands to keep from yanking at his suddenly too tight tie. He couldn’t recall ever being so flustered by a woman.

And no wonder. His and Lacey’s personalities were like oil and water, leaving them constantly at odds. If Constant Cravings wasn’t one of the most income-producing stores in the Fairfax complex, Evan would have terminated her lease months ago. She continually tested him, seeing how much she could get away with, how far she could push the boundaries, a trait that totally rubbed him the wrong way. Why couldn’t she simply follow the rules like all the other tenants?

No doubt because she was one of those artsy-fartsy, free-spirit types who believed rules were made to be bent, twisted or downright broken to accommodate her “creativity.” She simply didn’t grasp the fact that Fairfax projected a certain upscale image, and that her suggestive window displays and product names did not fit that image. No, she scoffed whenever he reminded her of that. She insisted that her displays were tongue-in-cheek, and that since sales were on the increase, obviously sex did sell.

While Evan couldn’t argue with her financial success, damn it there were rules to be followed. Unfortunately the wording in her tenant agreement regarding the appropriateness of her store’s decorations gave her enough wiggle room to make his job of enforcing the dictates difficult. So far no one had complained, but he suspected it was just a matter of time, especially since she kept pushing the sensuality factor with every new display.

Just then she turned and their gazes met. He stilled, feeling the impact like a sucker punch. Although he couldn’t see the color of her eyes from this distance, they reminded him of caramel, the irises dotted with lighter flecks of gold and surrounded by a dark ring that resembled melted chocolate. Every time he looked into them he felt an inexplicable craving to indulge in something sweet.

The breeze teased her wildly curly hair, which she’d clearly tried to tame into a ponytail, with limited success. He tried to look away, but as always seemed to be the case when he saw her, his eyeballs failed to cooperate with his brain. Instead of looking away, his gaze flicked down her form. There was nothing overtly provocative about her white short-sleeved shirt and plain black pants. Certainly nothing that should have tightened his jaw further.

But there was just something about the way her clothes hugged her figure that rendered it…spectacular. And rendered him speechless. Damn it, every time he looked at her, in his mind’s eye he saw her lips-her full, glistening lips-forming the words, Would you like A Slow Glide into Pleasure? He found himself shifting to relieve the sudden discomfort in his pants, and irritation yanked down his eyebrows. How damn annoying was it that his body reacted so strongly to a woman he didn’t even like?

Pretty damn annoying.

She inclined her head and offered him a tight-looking half smile, a greeting of sorts he supposed, but before he could respond, she lifted her chin in that aggravating, stubborn way she had, then turned away and approached the fortune-teller’s table. He tried his damnedest to pull his gaze from her, but again failed, his attention riveted on her walk. She might be an artsy-fartsy, rule-breaking pest but there was no denying that she walked like sin in motion, with a slow, sensual, hip-rolling stride that made it seem as if the small patch of grass he stood on had suddenly moved closer to the sun.

Clearing his throat, he finally managed to force his gaze away from her, only to have it fall on her shop’s window. His teeth clenched at the provocative display. A mannequin couple stood in what was supposed to be a cozy kitchen. The oven door was open, and the female mannequin, dressed in a short, slinky, fire-engine-red dress, held a cookie sheet in one oven-mitted hand. In the other hand she held an oversized heart-shaped, pink-frosted cookie. With her glossy scarlet lips parted and her eyes half-closed, she was lifting the cookie toward the male mannequin that stood behind her.

Dressed in a black satin robe and matching boxers decorated with small pink hearts, the male mannequin’s hands rested on the female’s hips, his head bent toward the curve of her neck. Across the top of the window, painted in bold crimson script were the challenging words, Taste Me…Then Just Try To Walk Away.

An image of Lacey, her curves encased in that sexy red dress, offering him that cookie, flashed through his mind, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that had nothing to do with the bright sunshine.

“You planning to visit the fortune-teller, Evan?”

Evan blinked away the distracting, disturbing image and turned to look at Paul West, an attorney who’d been his best friend since college and who’d moved his office into the Fairfax building only last week. With his brain still not fully recovered, he managed only to grunt, “Huh?”

“The fortune-teller. By the number of people I’ve seen stop by her table, I’d say she’s the hit of the party. You going to get your cards read?”

“Me?” Evan asked, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, the operative word being serious. Which is what you’ve been too much lately. Loosen up a little. Relax. This is a party, remember?”

“Of course I remember.” How could he forget? The party had been his idea, and the hefty price tag for it was