I nodded to myself, mentally pattingmy resolve on the head, and grabbed the last of my heavy crates from myshopping excursion. I stacked them on top of each other, so I only had to makeone last trip. I was practically crushed under the weight of everything I carried,and my left hand kept slipping because I’d held onto my keys to make unlockingthe door as easy as possible.
By the time I staggered back to thetruck, beads of sweat had speckled my forehead and trickled down my spine. Icursed creatively as I shuffled to a stop in front of the door, but before Icould open it, I noticed the legend himself leaning against the silver siding.
My mouth dried up and I nearly droppedeverything. “Son of a bitch!” I hissed against plastic.
I didn’t know whether to run back tomy car or keep walking and pretend like I didn’t own this truck and these weren’tmy crates overflowing with ingredients. He probably wouldn’t notice if I made afast U-turn. Or threw myself in front of the oncoming traffic.
What could he possibly want?
Bebrave, Vera,Ichanted to myself.Be confident. You’renot spineless. You’re not insecure. You’re not a pushover.
I waited by the door, not knowingwhat to do or say. I should have been normal and said hi or something, but Iwasstarstruckand obnoxiously jittery instead. Irealized it was stupid to be nervous because it wasn’t like he knew I knew him.I could totally play it cool right now. Pretend like he was just a normalnobody, and I wasn’t melting in a pile of awe and jealousy.
Except I’d lost the ability to usemy mouth or motor functions. My arms had started shaking from the weight I wascarrying, and I was sweating and hyperventilating because Killian Quinn was twofeet away from me and hadn’t said a freaking word and I didn’t know what hewanted and—
I set the crates on the groundbefore I dropped them. Or puked inside them. Well, mostly I set them on theground. I managed to get my foot trapped beneath one. “Ow!” I yippedreflexively. I slipped my foot out, but my flip-flop slipped off and stayedstuck under the box. I tried to casually hook my toe around the back and slideit out from under, but the boxes were too heavy, and it wouldn’t budge.
Panicking and refusing to look atKillian until I had both shoes firmly in place, I balanced on one foot, swoopeddown and snatched the damn thing free. I plastered on my best smile, while Ihopped around trying to grapple with the same feisty shoe.
“Hi,” I finally said.
Killian’s gaze flickered to my stackof crates before he dragged it back to me.
I nearly blurted, “Thanks for thehelp,” but managed to bite my tongue. I didn’t need his help.
Mostly.
I was an independent woman, running anew small business, about to take names and kick some ass.
Mostly.
He didn’t greet me in return.Instead, his mouth pinched into an unhappy frown, and he huffed an impatientbreath. “This is your truck?”
I licked dry lips and patted myforehead with the back of my hand, discreetly trying to wipe away droplets ofsweat. My styled hair was sticking to my slick neck, and I cursed myself fornot putting it up like I usually did. I resisted the urge to glance down at mywhite t-shirt and inspect it for sweat spots or coffee stains or alien blood.
Obviously, not a likely scenario.But working in a kitchen in white attracted all kinds of unidentifiable stains.
God, I was such a hot mess.
Literally and figuratively.
Killian Quinn, on the other hand, wasperfect and smooth and so cool it hurt to look at him. He also wore a whitet-shirt, but his clung to toned muscles and a hard chest. His black pants that wereindustry standard ended at stylish black shoes and looked way out of place fora greasy kitchen.
Maybe his kitchen wasn’t greasy?
Because that could be possible forsomeone like him. Someone that seemed to defy all other laws and rules anduniversal continuums out of sheer will and smoldering looks.
Tattoos snaked up his forearms andover hard biceps, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. I wanted toinspect them, gawk at them until I could describe each one in detail. But I wastoo self-conscious to stare.
His hair was a little tousled afterremoving his helmet. His eyes were green and sharp and so intense I could onlyhold his gaze for a few seconds before mine dropped away. Straight to hisbeard.
I licked my lips again and tried toswallow but my mouth was suddenly very dry, and my throat had a fist-sized lumpin it.
That beard. It was shocking. Longerthan I expected even though it was neatly trimmed.
I got the strongest urge to touchit. I wanted to know what it felt like against my fingertips, feel it scratchmy palm and test the texture. I sucked in a quick breath and met his ferociousgaze again, just to stop myself from fixating on that ridiculous beard.
He cleared his throat as if he couldsense my inappropriate thoughts and I schooled my expression just in case it gaveanything away—like me holding back fangirl screaming and desperate pleas tohave his baby. “Yep. My truck. I’m Vera,” I answered, pasting a smile on afterthe fact, hoping that I sounded friendly and not spastic.
