His uncertainty tugged at her heartstrings. He must be feeling vulnerable to say the magical ‘P’ word.
Against her better judgment, she unlocked the door, stuck her head out and tried to ignore the funny stabbing sensation in her heart. “This is a waste of time.”
He ran a hand through his hair and she resisted the urge to smooth it down. “I don’t think so.”
Amber tried to hide her surprise; not only was his top button undone but he’d forgotten his tie pin and his favourite pen had leaked in the top pocket. Dire straights for her perfectionist husband. His ragged appearance sent a flare of hope piercing through her. Maybe she meant more to him than a means to an end?
As he reached for her, she held up a hand. “Before you set foot in here, let’s establish ground rules. Number one, you will not order me around. Number two, you will not try to control my life. And most importantly, number three, you will walk out of this shop at the end and respect my decision. Is that understood?”
His eyes darkened and his lips compressed into a thin line, but he didn’t protest. “Your call. Can I come in now?”
Another surprise, he didn’t argue and agreed to all her terms. He must be feeling a heck of a lot worse than she first thought. Good. Why should she be the only one to suffer?
She walked behind the counter and propped on a stool, feeling somewhat safer with the wide, glass-topped bench between them. Though her head followed logic, her body had always been lousy at keeping up when it came to this man and she didn’t need him undermining her defences with a simple touch. For that’s all it would probably take for her to tumble into his arms like some pathetic loser.
She sat on her hands to stop them fiddling; he didn’t need to know how nervous she felt. “Well? What’s so profound you have to come inside to say it?
Confusion marred his powerful features as he stared at the shelf behind her. “Where are all the cushions?”
If he couldn’t undermine her with his touch, he would do it with words. By referring to the multicoloured cushions they had made love on, he resurrected a host of scorching memories, starting with the way he’d stripped her, kissed and licked his way down her body, before making her world explode, twice.
Blinking her eyes rapidly to erase the vivid images that had flickered across her mind like a rerun of a classic movie, she glared at him. “We don’t stock used merchandise in this store. Which is funny, considering I still work here.”
His jaw clenched. “I didn’t use you, Amber.”
“Really? Then what would you call it?” She tapped a finger against her temple, as if pondering the answer. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You married me for love.”
“Things change. People change. I—”
“Give me a break. The great Steve Rockwell change? Not likely. You use people all the time, whether it be business or pleasure.” She slid off the stool and planted both hands on the counter in front of her. “So which one was I, Hotshot?”
He strode across the shop, seemingly intent on grabbing her. She yelped and sidled around the counter, thankful for its width.
He leaned forward but couldn’t reach her. “Stop it. We need to sort this out.”
“Correction. You need to talk, expecting me to listen. Well, too bad. We don’t always get what we want.” She thrust her head up and blinked back tears, wishing she could have it all and knowing it would never happen.
“Amber, I’m warning you—”
She’d never seen him like this; he should have been madder than a prosecutor at a mistrial yet he wasn’t. In fact, by the gleam in his eye, she could have sworn he was enjoying himself.
“Ooh, poor little Stevie. What are you going to do? Spank me?”
“That does it.”
Before she could react, he’d vaulted the counter and had her pinned against the wall, all the breath knocked out of her.
“Let me go,” she gasped, wriggling like a hooked fish to escape his vice-like grip.
“Don’t you ever quit fighting?” He stepped into her, thrusting his lean, hard body against her and effectively stilling her writhing.
She should have shoved him away. She should have screamed and kicked her way out of his grasp. She should have told him his fortune, like she’d promised the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But she didn’t. Instead, she stopped fighting as a torrid desire sizzled through her body, burning the last of her resistance and igniting a familiar fuse.
“Amber, look at me.”
Ignoring his command and the palpitations of her heart, she shook her head from side to side, wishing she’d maintained her distance. Apart from the prickling contact of his hands against her bare skin, his signature aftershave enveloped her in a tantalising cloud, drowning out the potent combination of essential oils she’d been burning earlier.
“This won’t solve anything,” she murmured, wishing her erratic pulse would calm down.
He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Are you sure about that?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer as his lips covered hers in a blistering kiss.
She’d expected gentle coaxing, skilful cajoling; instead, she got a blazing mixture of lips and tongue, demanding compliance. Any thought of resistance fled as his kiss rendered her senseless, her wayward hormones enticing her to do all sorts of crazy things like grab the front of his shirt, fumble with his buttons and shove the material aside till her palms lay flat against the hot, taut skin.
He broke the kiss to comb his fingers
