He saunters back in front of me. I thrust my chin forward and give him a tight, saccharine smile. “Hello, Ryker. Can I do something for you?” I do my best to stare him down. Maybe I can scare him off. Sometimes that works with men. I’ve been told I can be “intense.” They can’t handle a woman doing her own thing, in charge, on her own.
“Hi, Aspen. Have you thought about our conversation last night?” He steps closer and towers over me like a giant spruce tree, and it gives me a strange sense of protection.
He’s wearing a pair of shorts that show off his strong, dense legs with the perfect amount of dark brown, manly hair. I must be sorely in need of getting laid if his goddamn leg hair is turning me on. His waist is trim in a light gray T-shirt that strains as it shows off his huge, bulging biceps and broad, brick shoulders. Of course he has a body like that. Even his forearms are corded with muscles.
My plan to intimidate him does not appear to be working.
Let’s go for brutal honesty.
“No, Ryker, I didn’t. I told you last night. I’m not interested in your money.” OK, I lied, I thought about our conversation all night. So much for brutal honesty. He steps closer to me, and I try to retreat, but I step back straight into the leaning tower of Kleenex, already made tippy by my shopping cart fender-bender. Aaand… here they come. My eyes close in quiet acceptance as a wall of Kleenex boxes tumbles around me, one of them bouncing off my head, another off my shoulder. I feel my ears glowing red. Fuck my life.
I exhale sharply and bend down to rebuild the display. A lady with three kids hanging off her cart rolls by, and one kid laughs, saying, “Hey, Mom, this time it wasn’t me!” I glow a brighter shade of red, and if I were stranded on a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, the search plane would see my neon cheeks blazing over the horizon.
Ryker bends down to help, and after effortlessly stacking eight boxes in his enormous, beefy arms, he stands and says, “Why won’t you let me in?”
In my effort to restack a few more boxes, another stack tumbles to the ground. “Shit.”
Into where? Into the investment, or into my life?
I swallow.
He smiles a flash of white teeth, as though reading my mind. “Let me in on the investment.” He puts the rest of the boxes back into a reasonable semblance of order, and when the display is good enough, I turn to him. His sexy lips bear the faintest hint of a smile.
Of course that’s what he meant. The investment.
“Like I said last night,” I say, “… this thing—whatever it is you and I are, this love-hate thi…”
He interrupts me with a playful grin. “Whoa… Looooove?”
“You know what I mean! This thing,” I say, and I start to sweat. I glare at him, unable to find the right words. “Just because I forgave you doesn’t mean I like you. So, I am certainly not borrowing money from you.”
He leans in, and I smell him. Damn, he smells good, like cinnamon, coffee, and fresh laundry. “Well, Aspen, this thing,” he says, pointing to himself and me. “I find it intriguing, and I plan to find out more.” He steps back and takes his distracting scent with him.
“But aside from that,” he continues, “I happen to be looking for something to invest my money in, and you happen to have an interesting investment opportunity.”
I’m about to respond, when I’m interrupted by a loud voice over the intercom. “Price check on three! Price check on three!”
It gives me a moment to clear my overheated head. I turn my cart and head toward the produce section, saying nothing, but knowing he’s going to follow. He does.
“Let me take you out, Aspen.”
I ignore him and pick up an avocado. I try to squeeze it gently, testing for ripeness, but I squeeze too hard. The skin tears. I grimace. Crap. I bag it to pay for it anyway.
He tries a different approach. “Aspen, I want to take you out. Show you we’re meant to be.”
I bust out laughing and put my hand on my belly, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me, Ryker! What makes you so sure we’re meant to be?”
“Actually, I do know you. I’ve known you since high school.” He smirks.
I throw my head back. Oh my god, this man is nuts. And, although I secretly enjoy the flirting from this insanely hot specimen, I need to stop it. “Ryker, even if I wanted to, which I don’t…” I pause for effect. “I couldn’t. I don’t have time to date. I’m busy. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I push my cart past him and head to the front of the store to check out. I think he took the hint, and I’m clear of him. Thank god… my legs are shaking.
I’m waiting in line, flipping through a tabloid, when he startles me by leaning over my shoulder from behind. “Anything interesting?”
He’s so close, his chin is almost grazing my shoulder. My heart beats like a baby jack-hammer. His chest is almost pressed against my back, and a colorful energy spins through me. I want to close that paper-thin distance between us, if just for a second, to feel his hard body pressed up against mine. Like opposite poles of magnets slamming together.
But, thankfully, the line moves, and I move ahead with it. Human magnet pulled apart.
I unload my groceries onto the black conveyor belt, and his voice yanks me out of my determined attempt to ignore him, “So what are you doing the rest of the day?”
“Like I said, I’m busy.”
He starts to help me unload my groceries. I bat his hand away like he’s a naughty boy reaching for cookies. “Stop it. I don’t need your help. I told you!” I
