“If your intent was to charm me into believing your snake-oil-salesman pitch earlier today, I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time.”
All right. Perhaps not so much of an opening after all.
She smiled.
“Be open-minded enough to hear me out,” he pressed. “You weren’t there for the entire presentation.”
“I’m pretty sure I got the bullet points.”
Perhaps he should have gone with the brogue offense.
“I appreciate your stopping by, but, as you know, I’m a bit behind in production today and have a long night ahead of me.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance—since my meeting was at least partly responsible for your work stoppage.”
She lifted one perfectly arched brow. It didn’t explain at all why his gaze dropped to her lips.
“What do you know about baking?”
“You forget, I grew up in a family-owned restaurant. Several of them, in fact.”
“I was given to understand you were something of a renegade where your family business was concerned. You have nothing to do with those restaurants, am I correct? And haven’t in some time.”
He tilted his head, wondered just how severely he’d underestimated her. “You’ve taken a personal interest in me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I don’t believe I was. You’ve done your research.”
“You also grew up in a small town. Village,” she corrected, rather dryly. “So you must know there’s no need to do much research, merely listen to the village grapevine.”
“You’ve been riding me about the village thing. It’s merely a cultural distinction. What is a town to you, a burg, is a village where I’m from.”
She snorted. “Come now, Mr. Gallagher, you know quite well your use of that term was intended to make us feel oh-so-cozy.”
“Griffin. I’m no’ so averse to such familiarity.” He rubbed his arms, though he honestly wasn’t feeling the chill in the air one bit. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Because?” He employed the twinkle, although, in his defense, he wasn’t thinking tactically at that particular moment.
She rolled her eyes. “Because I don’t need any distractions.”
“Am I, then?”
“You know you are. You’re a threat to everything I hold dear.”
“Ah. I thought we were speaking personally.”
“We weren’t speaking at all. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“Melody.”
She paused.
“Let me in. Please. I’ll trade work for talk. I’m a hard worker.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” She made him sweat another long moment, then finally, with great resignation, stepped back and opened the door wide enough for him to step inside. “You’re not the type to give up, and I don’t have time for this, so let’s get it over with. But, fair warning, if I’m not getting my work done,” she informed him as he took off his overcoat, “I’ll be asking you to leave. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Aye. I’m well acquainted with your abilities in that area.”
She nodded. “Good. Follow me.”
He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of her coffee.
“Don’t even think about asking,” she said, walking straight to the back of the shop.
He smiled to himself…and followed her.
4
She’d let the lion straight into her den. What was she thinking?
She could feel him behind her, almost like a physical caress. It was that ridiculously sexy brogue of his, she understood that. And the twinkle. Okay, and his mouth. Something about those hard lips, suddenly becoming very sensual and appealing when he smiled—which made no sense, set as they were in his otherwise rugged face. His jaw and cheekbones looked as if they’d been chiseled from a block of smooth granite. He had a beautifully shaped head, but with his hair clipped so very short, the whole aura should have been menacing rather than sexy.
So, why was she feeling all tingly, and warm, and, well…needy?
“I’ve got one hundred cupcakes to decorate,” she announced, as if by putting the workload out there, she’d create a wall of some kind. Whether it was a wall between her and Griffin, or her and her libido, she wasn’t entirely sure. Nor did she care, as long as one of them worked. “I also have several other cakes to be baked and decorated, but I’ll come down early to do the detailing on those.”
“Come down?” Griffin glanced upward just as she turned back to look at him, then lowered his gaze to hers. “You live above your shop?”
It was a good thing she’d studied tax law. She’d have made a lousy defense attorney. “I do, Mr. Gallagher. Now—”
“Can we at the very least lower our shields enough to consider a first-name basis? I assure you, I won’t mistake the familiarity with the idea that you’ve gone soft on me, or my plans.”
She looked at him and desperately wished there were no soft parts in her. Starting with the ones that were eagerly responding to his every request. She scooped up two heavy oven mitts and thrust them at him. “You can be on oven duty,” she said, in lieu of a response.
He didn’t reach out for the mitts, but rather raised one eyebrow. On anyone else, the resulting expression would have looked malevolent at best. On him…well, let’s just say her soft, tingly parts were getting a lot warmer.
“Griffin,” she finally relented, rolling her eyes when he grinned and took the mitts from her.
“Wasn’t so ’ard now, was it?” he asked, as he removed his coat.
“You’re insufferable,” she said, turning her back to him as she rolled the tall, aluminum racks toward the ovens in the back of the kitchen.
“Aye,” he said, quite affably. “It’s a large part of my charm.”
Luckily he couldn’t see her responding smile. Damn the man.
“And my success,” he added, his voice coming from just behind her.
“I can understand the latter part.” She carefully smoothed her expression before turning to face him. “The
