“To protect you I should step back.” He rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. “But the idea of someone else being with you, touching you is more than I can tolerate.”
Her hand played with the scruff on the tip of his chin. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me.”
“What about me?”
“You can touch me as much as you want.” She whispered the response because it felt right to let the words dance softly off her tongue.
After that his mouth dipped and his lips slipped over hers. Heat beat off her body and blood rushed to her head. Sensations walloped her—dizziness, elation. She craved his touch and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him in closer.
About the Author
Award-winning author HELENKAY DIMON spent twelve years in the most unromantic career ever—divorce lawyer. After dedicating all that effort to helping people terminate relationships, she is thrilled to deal in happy endings and write romance novels for a living. Now her days are filled with gardening, writing, read- ing and spending time with her family in and around San Diego. HelenKay loves hearing from readers, so stop by her website, www.helenkaydimon.com, and say hello.
Ruthless
HelenKay Dimon
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To my husband, James, for believing when
I was ready to give up hope.
Chapter One
Kelsey Moore balanced a tray of croissants and gooey pastries on one arm and counted how many she had left for the end-of-the-morning rush. Ten in the morning was too early to break out the sandwich menu, which meant she had to make the breakfast offerings last for another hour. Hard to do if another round of the fanny pack and matching T-shirt crowd descended.
Not that she was complaining. The summer season had finally hit full swing in Annapolis, Maryland, as the increased number of buses and lack of on-street parking spaces showed. Tourists poured in to visit the quaint shops, check out that Naval Academy a few blocks over and wander down to the City Dock, also known as Ego Alley thanks to the expensive yachts that pulled up there.
Her coffee shop, Decadent Brew, sat in a prime location on Main Street, midway between the waterfront and the Maryland State House. She’d love to take credit for having the foresight to buy the two-story slim town house, but that honor went to her aunt, who ran it as a coffee and knitting shop for years.
Kelsey dropped the yarn part when she inherited it because she could barely sew on a button let alone figure out how to knit or purl. She had added a lunch menu, local art to walls, bookcases and sofas. In a rough economy, the small changes allowed her to survive and build a loyal following over the coffee chains. Not thrive, but pay the bills … usually.
Using tongs, she loaded up the display case with the last two doughnuts and the rest of the chocolate croissants. About half the tables were full, many with patrons more intent on typing on their laptops than actually eating anything. Still, silverware clanked, and the low rumble of conversation mixed with the piped-in music.
The steady beat and cheerful mood suited her. She liked to be busy, liked to see the seats filled, but never lost focus. After two years in business she knew how to keep one eye on the college kid making the lattes—this year his name was Mike—and the other on Lindy, the cute new high school senior who spent more time flirting and tugging on her short skirt than cleaning off the tables.
If Kelsey had a third eye she’d keep it locked on the front door because it was time. He came around this time every day, or he had for the past two weeks.
He’d walk in, his gaze searching for her. The corner of his mouth would lift in that breath-stealing smile and her stomach would do the stupid bouncing thing that made her feel younger than Lindy. Certainly more like fifteen than twenty-six, which she was.
As if thinking about him could conjure him up, the bell above the door chimed. Kelsey glanced up to see him holding the door for a family heading outside. He stood a bit over six feet with the kind of broad shoulders that made women look and then turn and look again. Dirty blond hair and eyes she knew from past encounters edged the border between brown and green.
Between the faded jeans and the trim gray T-shirt, she could easily call up a mental image of his bare stomach without ever having seen it. Something she’d done a little more often than she wanted to admit.
He nodded a welcome to a table of sixty-something women, who rotated between staring at him and whispering to each other. But he saved the wave and that killer smile for Kelsey.
Her hand tightened on the tray to keep from dropping it. “Hey there.”
“Good morning,” he said when he stopped across the counter from her.
“So far. How are you?”
The couple off to his left ran through the exact makeup of a caramel macchiato with Mike, which gave her an extra minute with Paxton. An unusual name but she’d remember his even if it were something easily forgettable, like Bob. A long line a few days ago gave her the excuse to ask his name. Owning the place did have its benefits.
“Not to scare you, but there’s one of those walking tours a few blocks away and headed in this direction.”
She enjoyed the flirting, but she didn’t ignore business. “Let’s hope they’re thirsty.”
“In that case I’m happy I’m here first, before it’s standing room only in here.” He leaned against the counter, because that’s what he always did.
The combination of the slight limp and short hair made her think military, possibly returning from an overseas tour. Living in a navy area tended to take a person’s mind in that direction. Still, he had the muscular build, complete with bulging biceps and a vine tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. Military or not, it amounted to a pretty lethal punch to her usual common-sense
