About That Kiss:A Heartbreaker Bay Novel(6)

Joe: I'm e-mailing you the notes on our new case.

Lucas: Already got them. You were late.

Joe: Two minutes!

Lucas: You still owe.





Whoever was late owed doughnuts. Shit. Joe texted Tina, who owned the  coffee shop downstairs in the courtyard, and put in another order  because Lucas liked to be paid in either time in the ring or doughnuts.  Joe had done some MMA and even he couldn't beat Lucas in the ring. Plus  he liked his face as-is. So doughnuts it was. He'd barely sunk into his  office chair before someone stormed in.         

     



 

Kylie.

She wore a sunshine yellow peacoat dusted with Vinnie's dark dog hair,  and faded jeans with one knee torn out that snugged to her sweet bod and  were tucked into work boots. She was work-ready and a juxtaposition and  a challenge all in one, and God help him, he did love a challenge.  Especially one in such a pretty package. And the thing about her was  this. She was a brilliant woodworker with an artist's temperament, which  meant she wasn't afraid to say what she was thinking as she thought it.

She'd first come on his radar when she'd started working at Reclaimed  Woods last year. He'd been insanely interested, even going so far as to  occasionally stop by the store just to catch glimpses of her working  those big tools-a ridiculous turn-on, he could admit.

But though he'd swear he'd seen an answering flare of interest in her  eyes, she always squelched it so quickly he couldn't tell if it'd been  just wishful thinking on his part. So he'd not gone there.

Not until three nights ago at a party at O'Riley's, the pub in the  building courtyard. The party had been for Spence and Colbie, and it'd  involved drunken karaoke and pool, and-to Joe's ongoing disbelief-that  one insanely hot kiss.

They'd stepped outside the pub for fresh air at the same time. One  minute they'd both been standing staring at the fountain and the next  they were in the alley. She'd turned toward him and laid one longing  look at his mouth and the next thing he knew, they were attempting to  swallow each other's tonsils.

In the time since, he'd given up fighting the undeniable truth, which  was that he'd wanted her for a long time now. Exactly when the power  driving his urge had shifted from being okay with just the fantasy, to  actually needing her and being so attracted to her, he had no idea. It'd  happened before he'd even realized it was possible.

But ever since Kissgate, she'd gone back to pretending he was a bug on  her windshield, which, he had to admit, rankled. "Morning," he said  easily. "Let me guess. You're here for another kiss." He smiled. "They  always come back for more."

At this, she stopped short halfway between the door and his desk and  narrowed her eyes, and he had the single thought that she was sexy as  hell when she was pissed. And then his next thought-he was grateful that  her job as a woodworker didn't require her to be armed, since she was  looking as if she'd like to kill something. Or someone, anyway, most  likely him. He had that effect on women. "Speechless," he said. "I like  it."

She was hands on hips now. "I'm here in a business capacity."

"Disappointing," he said.

She let out a wry laugh. "Come on. We both know that I'm not even close to your type."

She was smart. Tough. Sexy. All without knowing it. She was exactly his type. "Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Because I'm not half-dressed with oversized store-bought breasts."

He grinned. She was teasing him, and for some sick reason he loved it.  "You're also not all that nice," he said. "And I really like nice."

"Uh-huh. I bet ‘nice' is right up there on your list next to, let me guess . . . a good personality?"

He laughed. "So young and yet so cynical." He tsked, enjoying the hell out of himself. "You're assuming the worst of me."

"I have a long habit of assuming the worst." She slapped an envelope on his desk. "I need to hire you to find something."

Since she appeared to be quite serious, he picked up the envelope.  Nothing on the outside except her name. Inside was a Polaroid picture of  what looked like a wooden penguin poised to fall off the Golden Gate  Bridge into the water beneath.

"I need you to find that carving," she said.

He met her gaze as he slid the picture back into the envelope. "Funny."

"I'm not kidding."

He took a second look at her. Her light brown eyes were solemn and  serious, with shadows both in and beneath them. Her mouth-the one he  could still feel under his-was grim. She was right. She wasn't kidding.  He pulled out the photo again. "Okay, tell me what I'm looking at."         

     



 

"A three-inch wood carving of a penguin."

He made a show of looking around the room, beneath his desk, behind his chair.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Searching for the cameras. You're punking me."

"No, I'm not! Someone stole this from me yesterday."

"So call the police," he said.

"Are you kidding? They'll laugh at me." She sighed when she clearly read  in his expression that he wanted to laugh too. "I want that wood  carving back, Joe."

"Yeah? Like I wanted to buy that mirror for Molly yesterday?"

She blew out a sigh as if maybe she'd expected this reaction and plopped  into the chair in front of his desk. "About that," she said. "Do this  for me, find my carving, and I'll build you a new mirror for Molly."

"So . . . we're making a deal?"

"Yes."

Interesting. He met her gaze, the color of the whiskey he'd been  drinking the other night just before their infamous kiss. And he thought  sure, why the hell not. Given that his jobs usually involved death and  mayhem along with dealing with the bottom-feeders and scum of the  population, this might be some welcome comedy relief. He could help out  the cute, crazy chick, and as a bonus he'd be able to get his sister the  birthday present she wanted. "Okay."

"Okay?" she asked, still very serious. "Okay as in we have a deal?"

Joe might be a little slow on the uptake, but clearly there was more  here than she was saying. Way more. For one thing, he realized that the  shadows in her eyes weren't just annoyance at having to deal with him.  She was unnerved. She was hiding it well, but she was scared, and hell  if he didn't react to that. "When did you last see it?" he asked.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here."

He sighed. "When did you notice it was missing?"

She thought about it. "Last night right before I closed up the shop,"  she remembered. "I last saw it yesterday morning, so it could have  vanished at any point during the day. The problem is I keep my purse up  front under the counter, but sometimes, if I'm in charge of the retail  store, I'm in the back until a customer comes in, which I might not  always notice right away."

"So your purse is often unsupervised."

"Yes."

He didn't bother to point out that she was lucky something like this  hadn't happened sooner. She knew. It was all over her face. As was the  fact that she hated having to come to him for help. "Why would someone  steal this thing and then taunt you with it?" he asked.

"I don't know and it doesn't matter," she said. "I just want it back."

"It does matter."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "I feel like I'm missing all the good parts of this  story. Is this going to be like the game Clue? Colonel Mustard in the  library with the revolver?"

She stood up. "This isn't a game, Joe. And if you're not going to help  me, I'll find someone else who will." With that, she headed to the door.

Which was when Joe realized he'd finally met someone more stubborn than  himself. And according to his friends and family, that wasn't even  possible.





Chapter 4





ICouldaBeenAContender



Joe caught Kylie at the door of his office, barely. Wrapping his fingers  around her wrist, he tugged her around to face him. "I didn't say I  wasn't going to help you, Kylie."

As her name fell from his lips, her gaze went to his mouth. Just for a  single heartbeat, but it told him something he hadn't realized he needed  to know.

She most definitely remembered everything about their kiss.

"So you will help me?" she asked.

A missing penguin? Seriously? But the absurdity of the task was eclipsed  by the way her pulse raced beneath his fingers, by how her gaze slid  briefly back up to his mouth before returning slowly, almost  reluctantly, it seemed, to his eyes. He'd had a taste of her and yeah,  it'd been . . . off the charts. But he wasn't a man who went back for  seconds. Ever. So he was as surprised as she was when his mouth opened  and he said, "Yes. I'm going to help you."         

     



 

"In exchange for the mirror," she said, clearly not trusting him and wanting to clarify and lay out the terms. "Nothing more."