“That’s the traditional form of entrance, yes.”
The flush on her cheeks deepened, and she shook her head, as if annoyed with herself. Her blond curls bounced, and Bryce found himself smiling.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Stupid question. It’s just that the store doesn’t actually open until ten. I stepped out earlier for a bagel. I must not have latched it behind me.”
He turned and glanced again toward the door, for the first time noticing the Open/Closed sign that hung on a side window. Considering he could see Open, the sign facing the street must say Closed. “My mistake,” he said. “I just barged in. I didn’t even see your sign. You’re right. You’re not open yet.”
She laughed, the delightful sound chipping away at the last vestiges of his bad mood. He wondered if he could think of something else to say that would amuse her, and then immediately wondered what the hell had gotten into him. Lack of sleep, most likely.
“I was beginning to think I’d lost track of time,” she said. “I was…well, I was working in the break room.” She glanced at her watch. “Wow. Already after nine o’clock. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“That’s early for most people.”
She shrugged. “I have a lot to get done,” she said, almost to herself.
Bryce could take a hint, though the thought of leaving didn’t sit well. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll come back when you’re open.”
“Oh, no,” she said, her voice breathy. “It’s okay.” She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. She didn’t touch him, but her proximity alone was enough to set the air between them humming. “You don’t have to go.” Her mouth drew into a frustrated line, and she pulled her hand back with a little shake of her head. “What I mean is, I’ve always got time for a customer.” She stood up straighter and smoothed her skirt. “How can I help you, Mr….?”
“Worthington,” he said. “Bryce Worthington.”
She didn’t react at all to his name, and Bryce said a silent thank-you. He wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Joan recognized either his face or his name. But she didn’t and Bryce was happy to remain quietly anonymous. “And you are?”
“Joan Benetti.”
“Benetti?”
She frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
“I was just expecting you to say your name was Archer.” He nodded toward the sign. “This seems like a family-owned shop.”
“Oh! Right, yes. Actually, it is a family name. My, uh, partner’s father founded the store.” Her brow furrowed. “Did you just come in to browse?”
He cleared his throat, wishing he were a customer. He had a feeling customer service would interest Joan Benetti a hell of a lot more than real estate sales. “Actually,” he confessed, “I’m not here to buy a book.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows lifted above the purple frames of her glasses, and a hint of a smile touched her lips. “Well, you don’t look like you’re selling anything…”
Bryce laughed. “No, I have a few questions about the building. Maybe I could ask them over breakfast?” He wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask. All he knew was that the idea of spending more time with this woman appealed. “The coffee shop at the corner’s open right now. And you have almost an hour before the store officially opens.”
Her eyes danced behind her glasses, and she dragged her teeth over her lower lip, clearly hesitating. He leaned against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “Well?” he pressed, hoping she’d say yes. The woman intrigued him and amused him. “What do you say? A breakfast date? If you’re really in a crunch, you need to eat well. Vitamins, minerals.” He let his gaze roam over the view she offered, taking in the bright red pumps—designer knockoffs, he was sure—and the shapely, stocking-clad legs. And considering how short she wore her skirt, there wasn’t a lot left to the imagination. “Definitely a healthy breakfast,” he said, forcing his eyes away before his gaze climbed any higher. “You need to be good to your body.”
“Believe me,” she said with a sultry grin. “I only put the best in this body.”
“Exactly,” Bryce said. He met her eyes, felt the tug of attraction zing all the way down to his groin. “You should come with me.”
She glanced at his toes, then worked her gaze all the way up his body, her slow inspection almost as intimate as a caress. Clearly, she was sizing him up, and for the first time in years, Bryce actually wondered if he was up to her standards.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I mean…” Another shake. “I’m sorry.”
She might as well have kicked him in the gut. True, Bryce wasn’t used to being turned down by women, but the hole left by her rejection was more than just a bruise to his ego. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Just breakfast. Innocent.”
Once again, she tilted her head to the side. “No. I don’t think so,” she said, and Bryce wasn’t sure if she was declining the date, or commenting that breakfast with him would be anything but innocent.
If she meant the latter, he had to applaud the woman’s intuition. Because right then, Bryce’s thoughts were a long way from innocent.
A long, long way.
STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!
Joan couldn’t believe she’d almost blown her resolution so quickly and so thoroughly. She’d flirted with the gorgeous customer—sorry, noncustomer—as if there was no tomorrow. And she couldn’t even console herself by saying that he had Mr. Right potential because she didn’t know the first thing about him—other than that he made her palms damp and her stomach flutter more than any man she’d met before. But for all she knew, that reaction stemmed from the fact that, when he’d come in, she’d been up to her ears in erotic pictures and books.
Of course, even without that diversion, this was a man who made an impact. Bryce Worthington was positively yummy. Midnight-black hair and incredible violet eyes that seemed to see right through her. And he didn’t just wear that suit. Instead, he seemed to have been born to it, filling it out in a way that made her mouth water. She’d always been a sucker for a man with a nice ass, and Bryce’s rear end was pretty near perfect.
Joan’s only saving grace was that she’d caught herself and had shut down her potential flirting frenzy before she’d really gotten going. Now she was all business, utterly professional. Just the way she intended to stay from now into the foreseeable future. Dull, maybe. But infinitely more practical.
She wiped her damp palms on her skirt. “How can I help you, Mr. Worthington?”
“Well, if breakfast is out of the question, I suppose I’ll have to jump straight to the point. I came in because I saw the For Sale sign. Can you tell me about the apartment?”
“Not really, I’m afraid. The building belongs to my partner. She’s selling the two apartments and keeping the store.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Partner! She wished. But that was neither here nor there where Bryce was
