Heating up the Holidays

2

TONI RIZZO stood behind the long granite counter at Blooming Pails and deftly worked sprigs of mistletoe, poinsettia, red and white roses and fragrant pine into the two dozen centerpieces she was putting together for this evening’s Wilson/Mayberry wedding. Nothing like December nuptials to boost business, which was precisely what she needed. Only three months remained until the bank’s first six-month evaluation, and she had to make damn sure her revenues showed growth. The loan she’d taken out to open the shop included a clause that she was subject to a twice-yearly review for the first two years. If sales were maintained or grew each quarter, she kept her low interest rate. If she failed to maintain or increase sales, her interest rate would go up. Which would put a financial strain on her fledgling business she simply couldn’t afford-one that could result in her losing Blooming Pails and everything she’d worked so hard for.

So far, sales had been decent for the holiday season, but it was an active time of year for any business and she needed her sales to be much better than merely decent. This month was do-or-die time to generate enough revenues to keep that interest rate down. She had to cultivate customers to keep the sales up after the holidays were over. Because if her business failed, she’d find herself right back where she’d been three years ago-out of work, her career in tatters, and being smothered by her well-meaning but overwhelming family who were relentless in their quest to drag her ass back home and into the family business. That alone was incentive enough to make sure Blooming Pails succeeded. The fifty-mile buffer she’d put between herself and the fam when she moved to Santa Rey had saved her sanity. She had every intention of keeping her ass right here, and working that ass off in her shop.

She shot a quick downward look over her shoulder and grimaced. Yeah-if only it were possible to actually work her ass off. Of course, even if she ever managed to-and in her twenty-eight years she hadn’t managed-her mother would whip up a few trays of antipasto and lasagna to put some meat on her bones. And if her mother failed, Nana Rose would take up the banner. Her grandmother would fix her eyeballs on Toni with what she called the Stare of Death and command, “Eat, Antonia. Mangia. Men do not like women who look like pencils.”

Thanks to the Rizzo boobs and butt, which had been passed down through generations of Rizzo women, along with the wildly curly hair from which her surname was derived, she’d never know if Nana Rose’s statement was true.

Not that she currently gave a rat’s ass about what men liked. Hell, no. Men were, in a word, pains in the ass. Okay, so that was four words, but still. After freeing herself from her last disastrous romantic entanglement, she’d sworn off the male species. Someday, after she’d gotten Blooming Pails off the ground and the shop didn’t require all her attention, then she’d consider dipping her toe back into the shark-infested dating waters. But even then only if she met someone worthy of her attention. Someone who accepted her as she was-flaws and all. Who didn’t cheat. Who had some integrity. Who made her laugh. Whom she wanted to share her life with.

“Good luck with that,” she muttered.

But for now, she had zero time for a man. Blooming Pails required all her focus and tender loving care. Unfortunately Blooming Pails didn’t keep her warm at night, and after six dateless, sexless months she was feeling definite twinges of loneliness. Not to mention sexual frustration. Sexual frustration that became more acute with each passing day.

She glanced out the window and caught sight of a young couple across the street walking a puppy on a leash. The small dog yipped and ran in circles, chasing its tail, then rolled over for a belly rub. When the laughing couple crouched down, the puppy jumped into the woman’s arms and covered her chin with exuberant kisses.

“If only that adorable, loving, amusing dog came in a man,” Toni said with sigh.

Yup, she should just forget about men and get herself a dog.

Just then her attention was caught by a familiar figure striding past her window. A tall familiar figure with broad shoulders, sun-streaked golden-brown hair and a killer smile. And just as it always did when Brad Griffin came by, her pulse skipped a beat. Which was really annoying since a skipping pulse was the last thing she wanted around him. Yeah, he was good-looking-okay, great-looking-but it didn’t matter. Even if she had time for a man- which she didn’t-he was a firefighter and she absolutely wasn’t having any of that. Bitterness welled in her throat and she pressed her lips together. Never again.

The first time she’d seen him, on Blooming Pails’s opening day, she’d nearly swallowed her tongue. Standing in a shaft of dazzling sunlight, biting into one of the homemade cannoli she’d put out to tempt customers, was the personification of her every sexual fantasy. Yowza. Big, strong and utterly gorgeous, he looked like a cross between a sun god and one of those beautifully rugged guys who populated men’s cologne ads. Everything female in her had snapped to attention and in a heartbeat she fell in lust. She might not have time for a relationship, but she could carve out a few minutes to relieve her sexual drought with this guy.

But then she’d noticed the emblem on the T-shirt which stretched across his broad chest. The T-shirt bearing the words Ocean Harbor Beach Fire Department. And she’d deflated like a popped balloon. How freakin’ unfair was it that the first guy in months to give her a jolt-and a freakin’ lightning-bolt jolt it had been-was a firefighter? Just to be sure, she’d casually asked him while she wrapped up the bouquet he ordered, hoping he’d tell her the shirt belonged to a friend or he’d bought it secondhand and he was an accountant. A waiter. A mechanic. Anything but a firefighter.

But he’d confirmed his occupation. And sealed his fate, at least as far as she was concerned. Even though her hormones screamed in protest, there was no way she’d act on that spark of attraction. When he’d given her the bouquet she’d just wrapped and asked her to dinner-and okay, it was a romantic gesture that from anyone else would have worked-she’d claimed she was involved. Which wasn’t a lie. Exactly. She was involved. With her new business. Settling into this new town. Keeping her busybody family at arm’s length.

She’d hoped her claim, along with her cool demeanor, would deter him, but he came in every week. And each time her pulse annoyingly jumped through hoops. He was always friendly and talkative and amusing and subtly flirtatious and way too tempting and she wished like hell he’d go away. On each visit he purchased something, either flowers or a plant, although it was clear he barely knew the difference between a daisy and a rose. Obviously he either had one woman in his life who really liked flowers or a bunch of different women. Given his good looks and the number of beach babes populating the boardwalk, she’d bet on a bunch of different women.

And now here he was again. Walking by her window. She hoped he was just taking a stroll, enjoying the lovely day. Maybe he wouldn’t come in-

The door opened, announcing his presence with a tinkling of the Christmas bells she’d attached to the top of the jamb along with mistletoe. Damn. And she couldn’t fob him off on Jayne as her assistant was running an errand. Maybe she’d return soon and Toni could perform the Brad pass-off. For now, however, she’d have to deal with him.

Their gazes met and her stupid pulse performed a somersault. Crap. Why did he have to be so attractive?

He’s not merely attractive, her suddenly alert hormones informed her. He is steaming hot.

Okay, fine. Steaming hot. Lots of men were steaming hot. Didn’t they litter those men’s cologne ads? Yes, they did. So what was it about this one that got under her skin? Maybe she was allergic to him. She instantly brightened. That’s all this was-a pesky allergy. One antihistamine and she’d be cured.

It’ll take more than an allergy pill to purge this guy from your system, her talkative hormones whispered. And he hasn’t even touched you. Or kissed you.

Touched her…kissed her…

An image popped into her mind, of him walking toward her. Not stopping or slowing down, just wrapping those strong arms around her, picking her up and still walking, until her back hit the wall. Settling his beautiful mouth on hers. His tongue slipping past her lips. His hard, muscular body pressing against her-

“’Morning, gorgeous.”

The deep masculine voice yanked Toni from her sensual reverie and she blinked. And realized he’d walked to the counter. And that now only the three-foot-wide slab of granite-and a dozen centerpieces-separated them. Three feet and a bunch of flowers she could easily reach across. Or jump over.