went out to the shop to assess the situation.
Immediately she wished she had stayed in the kitchen and sent Louis instead. Not because of any threat to her personal safety—well, not any criminal threat at any rate. But because Sean Monahan stood front and center in the middle of her shop, looking adorably sleep rumpled and half dozing, his slumberous blue eyes even sexier than usual. And all Autumn could think was, Oh, no.
Of course, she thought further, finding one of the Monahan brothers in her immediate sphere of existence was bound to have happened sooner or later. This was, after all, Marigold, Indiana, where everybody knew everybody, and everybody met everybody just about every day. She only wished this episode could have happened a lot later than it had.
Then again, she thought further still, she supposed she should be grateful this encounter had taken two years to occur, even if she had made every effort to ensure that such a meeting never took place. Because the last thing Autumn wanted or needed was to have a handsome, charming, eligible man in her immediate sphere of existence. Her entire move from Chicago to Marigold had been driven by just that need. Or, rather, that lack of need. Or something like that.
Two times—two times—Autumn had found herself involved in relationships with handsome, charming, eligible men, men who had promised to love her and honor her and cherish her, in sickness and in health, till death did them part. Unfortunately, the men in question had just never made those promises at the altar. They’d said they would make those promises at the altar, but neither of them— neither of them—had shown up at the respective altars where they had been scheduled to appear.
Fool her once, shame on them, Autumn reasoned. Fool her twice, shame on her. Fool her three times, and it was going to be necessary for her to enter a convent. Which would pose problems on a variety of levels, not the least of which was the fact that Autumn wasn’t Catholic. She was an Emersonian Transcendentalist. So the nun thing wasn’t really going to be doable. Therefore, she was just going to have to make sure there wasn’t a third time. She’d entertained a lot of possibilities about how to ensure that, and had decided on the one plan that had sounded best—moving to a small town where there were no handsome, charming, eligible men to sidetrack her, and doing what she’d always dreamed about doing: opening her own bread bakery.
So that was why Autumn had fled to Marigold—to follow a dream, and to get away from men like Sean Monahan. She had reasoned that small-town life would be a hugely welcome change from the big-city lifestyle she had embraced for so long. She had also thought that a small town like Marigold would be infinitely safer than big-city living. Not because of the crime factor—though, granted, Marigold’s nonexistent crime rate was a nice by-product of her change of venue. But more because small towns were supposed to be utterly bereft of handsome, charming eligible men—unlike Chicago, which had seemed to be overflowing with them.
Autumn needed a respite—a nice, lo-o-o-ong respite, like maybe for the rest of her life—from handsome, charming, eligible men. Marigold, Indiana, had seemed like the kind of place that would have almost none. Small towns were supposed to drive young singles away in, well, droves. Instead, no sooner had she unpacked her belongings and opened her bakery than she had wandered out into the town itself to make friends…only to discover that Marigold, Indiana, was overflowing with handsome, charming, eligible men, from the head of the Chamber of Commerce—who, thankfully, was happily married—right down to the local mechanic—who, wouldn’t you know it, was not.
And right at the top of that pile were the Monahan brothers—all five of them. Five of them, she marveled now as she gazed anxiously at Sean. As if one wouldn’t have been overwhelming enough for the universe—or, at the very least, for Autumn Pulaski. Each one of them had piercing blue eyes and dark, silky hair and finely chiseled features. Each one was a piece of Greek-god artwork just waiting to be worshipped. Each one was handsome. Each one was charming. Each one was eligible.
Damn. Just her luck.
“Hello,” she said to Sean now, trying not to notice his piercing blue eyes or his dark, silky hair or his finely chiseled features.
But doing that left her nothing to focus on except for his Greek-god-artwork physique, and that was no help at all. Clad in lovingly faded, form-fitting Levi’s and an equally faded and form-fitting black T-shirt, his entire body fairly rippled with muscle and sinew and, oh, my stars, it was just too much for Autumn this early in the day, before she’d even had her second cup of coffee. Looking at Sean Monahan was making her feel sluggish and indolent and warm, and very much in the mood to return to her bed. Except…not alone. And…not for sleeping.
“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as sluggish and indolent and warm as it—and the rest of her—felt.
Belatedly she realized she probably shouldn’t have asked the question at all. Not only did it offer him an opportunity to say something flirtatious—and everyone in Marigold knew that flirtatious was Sean Monahan’s natural state—but there was nothing for her to help him with. The store wasn’t open yet. There was no bread to sell. Then again, knowing what she did of Sean Monahan, which was surprisingly a lot, considering the fact that she’d never met him formally—or even casually—he probably wasn’t interested in her bread, anyway.
But before she could make clear the fact that she had nothing to offer him—nothing of the bread persuasion, at any rate—Sean smiled at her, and her entire body went zing. Truly. Zing. She’d had no idea that the human body could, in fact, go zing, until now. But that was exactly what Sean’s smile did to her. Because it was the kind of smile a man really shouldn’t smile at a woman unless they were extremely well—nay, intimately—acquainted.
“I just wanted to get a big, strapping cup of coffee,” he said, cranking up the wattage on his smile to a near-blinding setting.
Oh, Autumn really wished he hadn’t said the words big and strapping, because, inevitably, they drove her thoughts—and her gaze, dammit—right back to that Greek-god-artwork body of his.
“My coffeemaker went belly-up on me this morning,” he continued.
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word belly.
“And I have to make a long drive today—”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word long.
“—and no place else is open this early.”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word open.
Stop it, Autumn, she berated herself. Not one word the man had uttered had been in any way suggestive, but as he’d spoken, somehow Sean Monahan made her feel as if he’d just dragged a slow, sensuous finger along the inside of her thigh. How did he do it?
“We, uh…” Autumn began eloquently. She swallowed with some difficulty, and tried not to notice just how incredibly handsome, charming and eligible he was. “We, ah…we’re not ope— Um, I mean…we’re, ah…we’re closed, too,” she managed to say—eventually—still struggling over the word open, because that was exactly what she wanted to do at the moment. Open herself. To Sean Monahan. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, sexually. That was always her immediate response to handsome, charming, eligible men. Which was why it was so important that she avoid them at all costs.
He met her gaze levelly as he jacked up the power on his smile a bit more—Autumn had to bite back a wince at just how dazzling he was—then jutted a thumb over his shoulder, toward the front door. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying not to notice how the muscles in his abdomen fairly danced as he completed the gesture.
“Your
