Bargain in Bronze (Flirting to Win) Read online

  “Libby? It’s Jack Barnes.”

  The mattress squeaked as she sprang to all fours. She jumped right off the bed and glanced at her watch. Three hours since she’d shut the door in his face and she’d forgotten him, right?

  Never.

  She opened the door and her heart flipped. She’d thought her imagination had embroidered his fit-factor, but he was even more handsome than her memory reckoned. She drew in a sharp breath, aiming to restore order to her arresting vital organ, but it didn’t work. Time for evasive action.

  She stepped outside to the landing and closed her door behind her. He wasn’t getting an invitation in.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, determined to be perfectly polite and never again let him know how much he got to her.

  He smiled, looking so friendly and charming compared to when he’d first seen her this morning. “Tom’s missing the hazelnuts.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless gesture. “Do you think you can help out?”

  He had to be kidding. “You’d like me to come and make more?”

  “Yes, please.” His smile widened, so gorgeous that Libby was rendered incapable of speech.

  “Are you going to make me grovel?” he asked with a soft tease after a long minute.

  “It’s an appealing idea.” Libby admitted frankly.

  “Okay I’ll grovel,” he stepped closer to her. “My brother is young and obsessive and right now the two things he’s obsessed about are rowing and your muesli. He doesn’t think he can do the former without the latter.”

  Libby blinked and took a step back. She’d known Tom was a fan given he’d hunted her down, but that he was obsessed by her muesli? “He thinks it helps his form?”

  Jack nodded. “It’s the thing that’s going to get him gold.”

  Good grief. “So I need to do this for Queen and country, is that right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Libby stared in silence, half spellbound by Jack’s vivid blue eyes. She didn’t believe him, but he was looking incredibly intense. And gorgeous.

  “I’ve got a deal for you,” he tempted quietly.

  “What?” She tried to keep her cool on, but couldn’t help her curiosity.

  “And a reward.”

  “What kind of reward?”

  “Come down to the car and find out.”

  She lifted her brows. “You’re not going to kidnap me. I’m good at ju-jitsu.”

  “I’m guessing you learned that at the circus too.”

  “That’s right,” she answered loftily, following him down the concrete stairwell.

  The far-too-flashy convertible was parked right out front again—like he owned the place. He popped the trunk and stood beside it.

  She stared at the open-topped box he’d placed in the middle of it. “How many bottles did you buy?”

  “I wasn’t sure which sort you liked so I got all of them. Three of all of them actually. All organic of course.”

  She stared at the bottles of bronze—delicious—syrup. There was a lot of money in the trunk and there was madness in his action.

  “You’ve lost your production premises.” He didn’t ask, he stated.

  She nodded.

  “Fire?”

  Had he spent the last three hours snooping on her? “You’ve been doing some homework.”

  “Yeah,” he unashamedly admitted. “Have you found somewhere new yet?” he picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her.

  “No,” she said firmly, carefully ensuring their fingers didn’t brush as she took the bottle from him.

  “Were you just going to give up?”

  “I’m still waiting on the insurance payment,” she said slowly, holding the bottle to the light. “They wouldn’t pay out until the cause of the fire had been confirmed and even though it has been they’re still dragging.”

  “And they’ve investigated it?”

  “They investigated me,” she answered harshly, glancing at him. Didn’t he know this already? Hadn’t he done his research properly?

  His eyes narrowed. “It was an electrical fault.”

  So he did know. “Yes, my dodgy landlord hadn’t done the repairs properly.” But before that had been discovered, she’d been grilled for days—by arson investigators, police and her landlord. It had been hideous.

  “So your payment should come through any day.”

  “Even so, I’m struggling to find another commercial kitchen I can use at the right times to fit in with my day job.”

  “Is that because of the fire again?”

  “Possibly.” She flipped the bottle in her hands, focusing on the label.

  “I have a place you can use.”

  Oh she wasn’t going into his house ever again. “As jaw-dropping as your kitchen is, it’s not a commercial one.”

  “I know. I have access to another—you may have noticed the bakery a couple of doors along from my building? You can use it to make your muesli at night. So long as you leave it pristine and ready for them in the morning.”

  She almost dropped the bottle she was so surprised. “Of course I would.” Too excited at the thought of having a space to hide her enthusiasm behind a faux “cool”.

  “It has certification of course.”

  “So do I.”

  He took the bottle from her hands and replaced it with one of the other brands. “So you can get into production again.”

  She didn’t look at the new bottle, only at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Tom believes your muesli has superpowers and he wants more. With hazelnuts. And he’s almost eaten the lot you left him this morning.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “He can’t possibly have eaten it all.” She’d used a mountain of apricots, and a continent of oats.

  “Almost.”

  “So you’re doing this for Tom?”

  “Mostly. I’m doing it for you too. You can get it back into stores again. Get your company back up and running.”

  “Why do you want to do that for me?” Her heart skittered dangerously.

  “Because I want you to help Tom,” he laughed. “But there’s one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want you to see Tom.”

  “You’re kidding.” She gaped.

  He shook his head. “Stay away from Tom and you can use the kitchen.”

  “What do you think I am? Some kind of cradle-snatcher?”

  Amusement burst from him—his laugh, the vibrancy of his eyes, the ease of his body. Much more relaxed than he’d been this morning made him even more attractive. “How old are you?”

  “It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” She studied the bottle so she’d stop staring stalker fashion at him.

  “I guess I’ve got bad manners then.” He carelessly shrugged. “How old?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “That’s hardly a cougar gap between you and Tom.”

  She knew she shouldn’t ask, knew it had no relevance to this conversation, knew it was taking things a step towards the intimate. But she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from her mouth. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “You act older.”

  His gaze sharpened. “How old do I act?”

  “Like a middle-aged, strict father. Stuck in his ways.”

  “No youthful impulsiveness?” he asked wryly.

  “None,” she declared. “And I’m not interested in Tom. He’s cute but he’s—”

  “Cute?” Jack laughed. “You’re calling my elite-athlete baby brother cute?”

  “He is cute. Kind of like a toy action figure. Very admirable too. But he’s not the man for me. No one is the man for me.”

  “Is that right?”

  She’d been wrong in reading his stance as relaxed. He moved so fast she didn’t even see it all—she was just in his arms all of a sudden. Her body pressed to his—the maple bottle a small ha
rd lump between them. Her mouth parted on an instinctive gasp, but it wasn’t breath that filled her. It was Jack. Not a bruising, dominating invasion, but a simple kiss, then another. Firm brushes of hot lips—until she opened up more, lifted her chin higher. He had one hand on the small of her back, one hand lower, cupping her butt, slowly pressing her closer to him the deeper the kiss grew. His tongue flicked into her mouth—a tease before withdrawing. Stirred, she did the same, taking this moment of bliss for herself. Their tongues tangled, then took turns to explore. She kissed him every bit as fervently—lush and wet. Sensation swished through her like a tumbling waterfall. His muscular, broad body held hers, his hands still rocking her in small movements—closer, ever closer in time with the caresses of his tongue and lips and it wasn’t just the glass bottle that was digging hard into her now. She yearned not to rock but to thrust—hard. The ache opened in her womb, need knifing into her. Heat that could only be doused by him—deep inside.

  Her hands gripped the maple bottle so hard it was a wonder it didn’t shatter and slice her palms. She was so close to inviting him in. In seconds this had become insane.

  She jerked back, out of his arms. His breathing was irregular, but was nothing on her embarrassing panting.

  “Um, um…” Great. Kissed into confusion. Only one thought dominated her brain and it wasn’t one to be uttered aloud. More. “Um…”

  “You’re good with words,” he teased—so cocky.

  Pleased with himself, wasn’t he?

  “Yes.” Libby clawed back her sensibility. “I’m a copywriter during the day,” she said primly.

  His mouth twitched. “No wonder your website reads so well.”

  He’d looked at it when he was researching what had happened to her business? “You are the suspicious sort aren’t you?”

  “I prefer to think of it as curious. Just like you,” he answered calmly. “And in a way it’s a compliment.”

  “You thinking I was some kind of scheming witch wasn’t a compliment,” she fired at him, needing to regain some distance.

  “Okay.” He laughed. “It’s not that you’re a scheming witch. It’s that you’re so beguiling, any guy with the good fortune to be in your presence wouldn’t have a hope of concentrating on anything he was supposed to.”

  “Oh that’s good and grovelly,” she breathed.

  “Flattery works,” he said smoothly.

  “You think?”

  “You know, you were right about me. That kiss wasn’t impulsive. I’ve been plotting it for hours now.”

  She licked her lips, swallowing to buy a moment and settle the reaction to those words. Because her reaction was too much. She really needed to get a grip. “So this is the real reason you’re offering me the deal?”

  “It could be part of it. I’m serious about not distracting Tom though.”

  “Are you hard of hearing?” she said tartly. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested in Tom?”

  “I understand that, but you’re still a distraction to him. You’re a distraction to me. To any male in the vicinity.”

  Oh.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t as welcoming as I could have been,” he added.

  In what way was he thinking of welcoming her now? Hell, she couldn’t let that happen. Not when she’d been so sidelined by just a kiss. “Apologies work,” she nodded. She did want to help Tom, right?

  “So it’s a deal?” Jack moved in closer.

  “I have one condition,” she said swiftly.

  “What’s that?”

  “No more kissing.”

  His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” She’d have laughed, but it wasn’t that funny. She’d thought she might like a moment of hedonism—some sensual touch to provide a few seconds of respite, especially after the horror of the fire. What an idiot. In Jack’s arms just then? That had been more than hedonistic. That had been heaven. And it wasn’t happening again. A few more kisses like that and she’d be on the slippery slope to infatuation—and from there it might be only a skip from lust to love with a guy like him. Not just blessed with looks but with loyalty and kindness. His attitude towards his brother enriched his already extreme attractiveness. She refused to fall for him but judging from that one kiss, it would be easy. Love wasn’t in her future. Not after having seen it destroy her father.

  He looked amazed and then the dreaded frown reappeared. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m single. But that’s how I want to stay.”

  It had been so painful getting out of her previous relationship when it had gotten too serious—she didn’t want anything like that again.

  He relaxed. “You can be single and still kiss a bit.”

  Yeah, there was that too—he had player tendencies. You didn’t get to be as good at kissing as he was without serious experience behind you. No doubt he had multiple women lining up for miles. And Libby wasn’t a casual fling kind of girl. She’d been three-months-max, but even that had turned out to be too long. So she’d decided she was best off without and focusing on her business.

  “No kisses.” Then she frowned as an unsatisfactory though occurred to her. “Is your offer conditional on my being available for kisses?”

  “Now who’s the one being uncomplimentary?” He challenged. “I’m not a jerk. And I’ve never coerced or needed to pay for it.”

  No. She’d never really thought he would. Her chin lifted. “Then you’re fine with my condition.”

  Slowly he nodded. “So it’s a bargain?”

  She raised the bronze bottle in her hands—blocking him from coming close again. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Six

  Three nights later Jack hovered in the bakery, waiting for Her Royal Hazelnuts to show up. He’d been trying not to think about her—but the rampant erotic dreams that surged every time he closed his eyes had made that impossible. He decided he’d embellished her cute factor—she wasn’t that hot, he’d just been without too long.

  He glanced out the window and simultaneously smiled and frowned. The frown claimed dominance after a moment. She was in jeans again—absolutely hotter than he remembered—but she was wheeling a giant suitcase behind her and the pack on her back dragged her down, the straps cutting into her fine-boned shoulders. With her flushed cheeks and strained features, she looked hot and bothered. Ironic given that’s how she made him feel. But had she just lugged all this on the Tube? Irritated, he stepped out and took the suitcase handle from her.

  “You should have told me you had all this, I’d have picked you up.” He hauled it inside. No wonder she looked fed up, the bag was heavier than an Olympic “clean and jerk” barbell.

  “It wouldn’t fit in your car anyway.” She eased the pack off her back and rolled her shoulders.

  “It would fit in my other car.”

  “Well, I’ve got it here now,” she clipped, carefully looking around the kitchen.

  “You’ll be getting more ingredients soon though, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Then either have it delivered or I’ll collect it.”

  She finally met his eyes—firing him a look that spoke volumes. He met it with an equally unwavering one. He wouldn’t apologize for being sensible. Would it hurt her to accept some very minor assistance?

  “Okay.” She turned and looked around the kitchen again. “Is there no one else here?”

  “Who else would be here?”

  “The bakery owner? Shouldn’t I meet…” she trailed off.

  “No need for that,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I own the place.”

  “The bakery?”

  “The building.”

  “You own the whole building?” She looked horrified.

  He decided not to tell her he owned the two on either side of this one as well. “Don’t worry, I have a really good maintenance team.”

  Her color ripened. “You’re going
to be here every night to open up for me?”

  “And lock up.”

  “Am I not to be trusted with a key?”

  “Not at this stage.”

  “Even though you’ve done all your snooping and know everything about me?”

  “It was a quick Google search,” he answered easily. And he didn’t know nearly enough. “You didn’t do one on me?”

  “No.” She said it like she’d never think of it.

  “Really?”

  “Does that bruise your ego?” Her eyes kindled—enhancing that smooth skin and fresh-eyed look—the picture of vitality. Maybe there was something in the muesli after all.

  He sensed her holding back a laugh and only just suppressed his own. “I’ll live.”

  Her smile burst forth and she unzipped her suitcase. It was immaculately packed—plastic bags neatly arranged like a jig-saw puzzle to maximize use of every inch of space. It took five minutes for her to take out what she needed.

  Only then did she glance at him again—her smile dying. “Are you staying?”

  “Of course.” He went back to his spot at the bench where he had his iPad and phone out.

  “I’m not going to set fire to the place if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  That wasn’t why he was staying. “Is that what they implied?”

  She nodded.

  “It must have been horrible being under suspicion.”

  “Not as bad as being there.”

  “You were there when the fire started?” Goose bumps rippled over his skin.

  “I got out, obviously, but I lost lots of things. And there was a lot of toasted muesli,” she quipped.

  “It’s not funny.” No wonder she’d frozen in the face of the burned nuts the other day. And flipped about the alarm. “Were you hurt at all?”

  “No. But I lost my computer.” She looked rueful. “How to learn the ‘always back your stuff up’ lesson the hard way.”

  “You lost important data?”

  “Photos.”

  “No,” he groaned in sympathy. “Can you get copies?”

  “For some. Not all.”

  He heard the desolate note—she’d lost precious things, memories? Sorry for bringing it up, he sought a way to lighten it. “Have you got a replacement computer yet?”