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Cassandra Riley never wanted to love the wounded landlord-next-door, but widower Gabe Kincaid is impossible to resist.... |
Excerpt From "Dirty Sexy Knitting"
Cassandra heard the bells on Malibu & Ewe's door ring out again. Jay and Nikki broke their kiss and all three of them watched the newcomer enter the shop. A
glance at the clock showed it to be the usual time--the exact hour she'd come to expect her landlord's daily visit. Gabe would drop by with a large latte and then idly shoot the
breeze or silently brood sourly, depending on his mood. She'd pretend she wasn't drinking the beverage down and he'd pretend he didn't see her enjoy the caffeinated, non-soy beverage
that she'd deny imbibing to her dying breath.
The man striding over the threshold carried the coffee all right, though whether it was indeed her landlord she wasn't entirely certain. Because this man had shaved. And
his hair appeared to be combed and slicked back in damp waves. The post-bender, green-around-the-gills part was familiar, though, as well as the grim set to his mouth.
It turned even grimmer when Nikki announced in a perky voice, "Check out what the jaws of hell have barfed up."
Jay winced. "Bad Cookie," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "How's it going, Gabe?"
"Fine," the other man answered absently, his gaze shifting to Cassandra's face.
That flutter was stirring back to life in the pit of her belly. She watched him set his cup besides Nikki's on the counter. Why was he here? Hadn't she made it clear
she wanted him to stay away?
"Did you forget--"
"Yeah," he answered, skirting the cash register to join her on the other side of the counter. "Yeah, I forgot something this morning."
He stepped closer, invading her personal space. Gabe never got this close, unless he was reeking of booze and crowing over his elephantine endowments.
She swallowed. "You forgot what?"
"To thank you." He smelled like sandalwood soap, the bars she'd bought for him herself at the organic festival in Ojai last summer. Cool fingertips, Gabe's cool fingertips,
burrowed beneath her hair to touch her nape.
Startled, her muscles froze. "Oh. You're, um, welcome."
His fingertips applied pressure to the back of her neck, and she found herself forced into stepping closer. "Not that kind of thank you," he murmured, and she could taste the
hot-cinnamon toothpaste on his breath. "This kind."
And then he kissed her.
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