The Billionaire's Beautiful Mistake(9)

Violet pulled her eyes away from his rough jaw that already was sporting a five o’clock shadow. She suspected that the effect wasn’t from those razors that didn’t cut too close but was because the man was just naturally…raw.

Every sense in her body was leaping with excitement as the man’s spicy scent filled her nose, wreaked havoc with her sense of right and wrong. Violet instinctively knew that the man was wrong, but he smelled so incredibly right.

Okay, so he didn’t look very “right” as he stood in her store, surrounded by delicate, handmade crafts. He reminded her of a giant grizzly bear walking through a field of flowers. The man was danger and raw sexuality while her store sported dream catchers, pretty hand carved items and artsy, hand-blown glass.

Three nights ago, she’d walked out of The Rotten Apple, determined to put him out of her mind. He wasn’t the man for her. The blond bombshell was the woman he wanted in his bed.

To further her campaign to forget this man, she’d told herself that he was wrong for her. She needed a man who was refined and intellectual. She’d tried hard to convince herself that she preferred the more refined gentlemen.

But when she was honest with herself, she knew that this man, with all of his rough edges and sexy charm, his biker-dude outfit and off-hand gallantry, were more enticing than the best chocolate. He was danger when she should want safety. He was power when she should be craving an equal partner for her life.

All of that was true, but she still couldn’t pull her eyes away from this man as he stared down at her, a silly, giddy feeling seeping into her mind.

And then she realized that he was holding the heavy box. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she gasped, and tried to take the box back. “I shouldn’t….”

“Where do you need this?” he asked, keeping it in his hands.

Violet bit her lip and looked around. Where did she need it? Box? Um… “Storage area!” she finally exclaimed, relieved when her mind started to function again. “Yes. The storage area!”

Violet smiled, excited that she’d remembered what was in the box and that it should go onto the shelves to be stored for the summer rush of tourists. She actually sighed in relief after figuring that out then continued to stare up at him.

After a long pause, Creek lifted his eyebrows. “And your storage area is where?” he prompted.

Violet closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. Again!

She spun around on her heel and, shaking her head, led the way behind the counter. “It’s here,” she told him and pulled the door open, showing him the empty space on the storage shelf she’d cleared out earlier this morning, knowing that she’d need more space for the box.

Creek looked around, realized that there was an entire area back here with three workers industriously wrapping boxes in brown wrapping paper, slapping mailing labels on each, and bringing them to an area where the mail carrier would obviously pick them up for shipment. “What’s all this?” he asked.

Violet looked around with pride. “This is where the online business works,” she told him. “I set up a website two years ago to try and move merchandise during the winter months.” She looked up at him. “It was a slow winter, and I had nothing to do, a website seemed like a good idea. The merchandise took off. I was able to hire a marketing firm last year and that really helped boost sales.”

“Where do you get all of your product?” he asked, his business mind kicking into overdrive. There wasn’t a great deal of industry in the smaller towns of Alaska besides the oil, tourist and salmon industries, but the last two were seasonal and generally not as profitable.

Creek was distracted when she stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Was she trying to bring his attention to her adorable bottom? Looking into her eyes, he dismissed the idea as ridiculous. She was fresh and glorious, but not conniving. He also suspected that he was way too cynical for her, but he wasn’t leaving. He’d tried to stay away and failed. Now he had a plan.

“There are so many local craftspeople in the area. It was just a matter of convincing them to give me their products as consignment merchandise. It turned into a win-win proposition. They made more money than the other tourist traps were willing to pay them and I encouraged them to move away from the kitschy wooden salmon and bears. We now have a good selection of one-of-a-kind items that sell pretty well.”

Creek looked around again and nodded. Her merchandise was quirky and interesting, exactly the kind of thing all of the expensive decorators were looking for to fill the affluent homes across the country. “Looks like you’ve done a good job of building up your business while retaining the essence of Alaska. I’m impressed.”