of them—in Meggie’s life, both past and present. But the picture of Dylan Quinn she’d painted for her friend hadn’t been very flattering—or entirely truthful. Had Lana been asked she probably would have described him as a cross between Hannibal Lector and Bigfoot.
The bell on the front door jingled and Meggie popped up from behind the counter, hoping that her new Espresso Master 4000 Ultra had arrived from the restaurant supply house. But it wasn’t Eddie, the usual driver, who walked in the door. This man was tall and good-looking and…Meggie swallowed hard. This man was Dylan Quinn!
With a tiny groan, Meggie dropped back down behind the counter, then tugged on the leg of Lana’s jeans. He was the last person she wanted to see! “It’s him,” she said.
Lana shook her leg until Meggie let go. “Who?”
“Dylan Quinn. Tell him to leave. Tell him we’re not open. Tell him there’s another coffee shop over on Newbury.”
“Oh, my God,” Lana murmured, staring toward the front of the shop, stunned by the revelation. “That’s Dylan Quinn? But he doesn’t look—”
Her words were stopped when Meggie slammed her fist down on Lana’s big toe. Lana yelped in pain. “Get rid of him. Now!”
Her partner muttered a quiet threat, then stepped out from behind the counter. “Hello. I bet you’re here looking for a good cup of coffee. Well, as you can see, we’re not open yet. Our grand opening is in three weeks.”
“Actually,” he said. “I didn’t come for coffee.”
The warm rich sound of his voice seemed to seep into her bloodstream as Meggie cowered on the floor. She wondered what it might be like to listen to that voice for an hour or two. Would it become so addictive that she couldn’t do without it?
“But I’m sure I could make something for one of Boston’s finest,” Lana continued. “We’ll be one of the few places that serves Jamaican Blue Mountain. Would you like to try a cup? It’s like nectar of the gods. An appropriate drink for you, I’d say.”
Meggie groaned, then grabbed Lana’s leg as she moved to the coffeemaker. “Don’t serve him the Jamaican,” she whispered. “It’s the most expensive thing in the shop. Just get rid of him!”
Lana scooped some beans from a plastic container in the refrigerator, then dumped them in the grinder. “You’re Dylan Quinn, aren’t you?”
“Do I know you?” Dylan asked.
Just by the tone of his voice, Meggie could tell that he’d turned on the charm full force. And Lana, an accomplished flirt, was lapping it up like a sex kitten with a bowl of cream. He’d give her that boyish smile and those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes would make him look so appealing. And Lana would toss her perfect blond hair over her shoulder and laugh in that deep, throaty way she had. And before Meggie could stop them, they’d be rushing to the drugstore for a box of condoms.
“No,” Lana said. “But I’m sure we can remedy that fact. I’m Lana Richards, Meggie’s business partner. Meggie told me how you saved her life yesterday—and our shop. We’re very grateful. Very. I hope there’s a way I—I mean, we—can repay you.”
Meggie cursed softly. Lana was doing this on purpose, teasing and taunting her, tweaking her jealousy until she’d be forced to stand up and show herself. Grudgingly, she stood up, then brushed her hair from her eyes. Dylan, who was now leaning over the counter, stepped back in surprise. “Meggie!”
She forced a smile. “I’m sorry, I was just…there was a thing I was…I had my head in the cooler and didn’t hear you come in.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid we’re not open for business yet,” she said, smoothing her hands over her jeans.
“The poor man has been fighting fires all day long. We could at least offer him something,” Lana said.
Meggie crossed her arms beneath her breasts and watched Dylan warily. He’d changed out of his firefighting gear and now wore faded jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, but he looked as rakish as ever. His hair, thick and dark, was still damp at the nape of his neck and she couldn’t help but wonder how long ago he’d stepped out of the shower…wet…and naked.
She swallowed hard, then grabbed a rag and began to polish the copper-clad counter. “Gee, I would have thought you’d still be out pillaging,” Meggie murmured.
Lana walked behind her and Meggie felt a sharp pain on the back of her arm as her partner pinched her. She cursed softly and rubbed her skin, then spun around and sent Lana a withering glare.
“Be nice,” Lana whispered. “I’m going to do some bookwork in the office.”
“I don’t have to be nice,” Meggie muttered. “I detest the man.”
“Then you go do the bookwork and let me be nice. He’s gorgeous. And you know what they say about firefighters.”
“What’s that,” Meggie murmured.
Lana leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “It’s not the size of the hose, but where they point it that counts.”
An unbidden giggle burst from Meggie’s throat and she gave Lana a gentle shove toward the office. When they were finally alone, Meggie sent Dylan a sideways glance, then pulled a paper cup from beneath the counter and set it in front of him. He’d be getting this cup of coffee “to go.”
He observed her intently as she waited for the coffee to dribble down into the tall carafe. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth, so easy and confident in his power over her. God, he was even more gorgeous than she remembered. All her friends in school had crushes on the New Kids On The Block, but Meggie had held out for the real thing—Dylan Quinn. Though he was two years older and a high school senior, she’d somehow deluded herself into believing that the feeling was mutual, that Dylan was in love with her. After all, every time he saw her, he’d smiled. And once or twice, he’d even called her by name.
And then it happened. Her brother, Tommy, had mentioned that Dylan was interested in taking her to her Sophomore Folic. It was the first big dance of her high school career and she’d just assumed she’d be staying home like most of the other wallflowers in her class. But then, Dylan, the most handsome boy in all of South Boston High School, had agreed to escort her to the dance.
She could barely contain herself and she had told all her friends and they told all their friends until the entire sophomore class at Southie knew that Meggie Flanagan had a date with the Dylan Quinn. She’d bought a new dress and had shoes dyed to match. And when a corsage arrived earlier in the afternoon, she’d been so excited she’d nearly burst into tears. Then Dylan arrived, dressed in jeans and dragging his little brother, Brian, behind him. Brian, who was dressed in the tux and wearing a goofy grin.
At first, she hadn’t understood, but then it became clear—Brian was her date, not Dylan. Though Brian was a Quinn, he hadn’t really reached his full Adonis-like potential yet. He was still at least six inches shorter than she was and his idea of charm was staring at her dreamily while he tugged at his bowtie. She would have been better off going with her cousin or even her brother Tommy.
“I suppose you’ve come to apologize,” she said, her back still to him.
He chuckled. “Actually, I came for my jacket. Remember?”
“Oh,
