Wednesday. If the office doesn’t call, feel free to contact me directly.”
Hannah touched her arm, pointing to the bakery door.
Callie turned to see Deacon walk in. He looked tall, handsome and crisply cool in a pair of designer jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open.
“I...uh...” Her gaze met Deacon’s secretive, self-satisfied smirk, and she immediately knew what had happened. “Thank you, Lawrence.”
“My pleasure. Goodbye, Callie.”
“Goodbye.” Without taking her gaze off Deacon, she handed the phone to Hannah. “I have to talk to Deacon.”
“Are we getting our building permit?”
“Looks like we are.” Callie wasn’t sure how to feel about that: happy, guilty, annoyed, grateful?
What kind of man would do that for her?
While she wondered, he came to a stop on the other side of the display case. “Hello, Callie.”
“Can we talk?” she asked.
“Sure.” He glanced around at the customers. “Can you get away for a few minutes?”
“Yes.” She untied her apron and lifted it over her head.
He gave an admiring glance at her white, short-sleeved blouse and fitted black skirt. The interest in his eyes sent a pleasant sizzle down her spine. He had a casual, earthy sexuality that reached out to her.
She had to remind herself she was...at least possibly...annoyed with him.
A good person would be annoyed with him.
Wouldn’t they?
Winding her way through the dining tables, she followed him to the door. Her gaze moved involuntarily from his broad shoulders, down the taper of his back, to his attractive rear. He had to be in incredible shape. A good person wouldn’t be watching his rear end either.
She wanted to be a good person.
“It’s a hot one,” he said as they exited to the sidewalk.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she blurted out.
“I don’t know,” he said easily. “What are we talking about?”
“The donation.”
It was clear from his expression that he immediately understood. “Ahhh.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Yes. It was me. Can I hold your hand?”
“What?” Her brain stumbled on the question.
“Your hand. I’d like to hold your hand while we walk.”
“Why are you saying that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“We’re talking about you letting Lawrence think I made a big donation to the beautification committee.”
“We can’t do that while I’m holding you hand?”
“Deacon.”
“What?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he took her hand as they walked beneath the arching oak trees.
She knew she should pull away, but she didn’t seem to have it in her. “Lawrence just called me,” she persisted.
“Good.” They took a few more steps. “Right?”
It was definitely good holding hands. In fact, it was great holding hands. His was strong. It felt manly. It was a manly hand, and she liked that.
“Callie?”
“Huh?”
“What did Lawrence say?”
“Oh.” She put her focus back on track. “He said my permit will be approved on Wednesday.”
Deacon squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to give it a kiss. “That’s fantastic!”
She let his action sink in for a moment.
He’d kissed her.
It was on the hand, sure. But he’d kissed her, and she’d liked it. Her lips tingled as she thought about the kiss. They were jealous of her hand.
She ordered herself to get a grip. She got a grip, tamping down her wayward reaction.
“You bribed him,” she said, making sure she sounded disapproving.
“That wasn’t a bribe. It was inspiration.”
“It was money.”
“A bribe would be if you called him up and said ‘I’ll give you two-thousand dollars if you approve my permit.’”
“I didn’t do that.” Her brained clicked through the implications. “Did I break the law?”
He chuckled. “You’re too much.” Then he lifted her hand to kiss it again.
He held it still against his lips. He stopped walking, and she stopped too.
He turned to gaze into her eyes. She felt a wash of helpless desire warm her body and flush her skin.
He wrapped his free hand around her upper arm, urging her gently backward into a narrow, cobblestone alley.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. “I want to kiss you.”
She didn’t even think to refuse. “Yes.”
Deacon’s anticipation of the kiss went way beyond the role he was playing. He truly wanted to kiss Callie senseless. But he forced himself to take it slow.
He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her creamy skin. “You’re beautiful.”
Her red lips parted, softening, while her blue-green eyes went opaque. She looked slightly tremulous, compellingly innocent. Even as he questioned her authenticity, he reacted to the sensual image with a rush of passion and an overwhelming surge of possessiveness.
He leaned down and brought his lips to hers.
She tasted like honey. Her lips were tender and malleable. She returned his kiss, and a tidal wave of desire hijacked his senses.
He spread his fingers into her hair, releasing its lavender scent into the summer breeze. He placed his palm on the small of her back, drawing her
