A beat passed.
“Didn’t say you did,” he replied, voice low. “Just said I’d rather not watch you damage that luscious ass of yours.”
Oh my god.
She fumbled.
“This place has a new owner,” she said, trying to sound firm.
“Oh?” He stepped closer. The shop felt smaller. The air felt hotter. “Then I want to speak to the owner,” he said, apparently not minding that he was addressing her rear more than her face.
“I am the owner.” She lifted her chin, trying to look professional despite the dust in her hair and the ladder situation. “And you’re lucky.”
His brows drew together.
“Really?” His voice dropped. He stepped closer again, a golden gaze pinning her. “How so?”
His scent was stronger up close. Musk and charred spice. She inhaled—and immediately regretted it. Her head spun.
“I’m keeping it a bakery,” she said, trying to keep her faltering composure. “If you come back next week, you’ll get your buns.”
“I have to wait a whole week for my bloody buns?” He groaned, deep and frustrated, and stepped so close she could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. One large wing brushed the ladder.
Her foot searched for the next rung, determined to get down, just as his wing brushed her calf—a soft, leathery sweep of warmth that sent an involuntary shiver up her spine. She missed the rung just as the unexpected touch stole what little balance she had left. Her weight shifted wrong. The ladder wobbled.
“Oh—oh no—”
The world tipped. She squeezed her eyes shut—and never hit the floor.
Two massive hands clamped around her waist, stopping her fall with terrifying ease. He hauled her off the ladder before she could even gasp. In one smooth, powerful motion, his strong arms pulled her in, sweeping her straight into the broadest, warmest chest she had ever encountered.
Her hands instinctively fisted in his shirt. She felt his fingers digging into the soft dip of her waist, anchoring her. She was pinned to him. It felt dangerous. It felt good.
They lingered in the moment, Sylvie’s brain unable to find an exit strategy, until he broke the silence first.
“What are you doing?” he rumbled, his breath brushing the top of her head. “Did you want to get hurt?”
She felt his grip tighten briefly at her hips.
She opened her mouth to say that she hadn’t thrown herself off the ladder on purpose, thank you very much, but when their eyesmet, the sensation sent a rush through her body. Facing him meant her breasts brushed against his chest.
His breath hitched.
He was holding her tighter now, warmth radiating from him in waves. The raw strength in his arms and the way his large hands anchored her hips felt dangerous, like she was being held by a landslide that had decided to be gentle just for her.
Stop enjoying this,she hissed at herself.He’s a stranger, you’re covered in dust, and your dignity is currently packing its bags.
She could feel the pounding of his heart against his chest, making her own pulse stutter. She didn’t want to admit how much she was tempted to just lean into the heat when the bell above the door chimed again.
“Hi, Sylvie!” a cheerful voice called. “Just came to double-check if you’re settling in okay—and I see you’re already making new introductions.”
Arla, the estate agent, stood in the doorway, eyebrows arched and lips curved into a wicked smirk.
The stranger immediately set Sylvie down. Or… dropped her. Mostly dropped—but he made sure she found her footing. The sudden loss of his heat left her shivering.
“You’d better keep an eye on your new tenant,” he muttered to Arla, irritation lacing his voice, though his eyes lingered on Sylvie. “She’s going to kill herself before she even gets this place off the ground. And that bloody ladder is not fit for use.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Arla said lightly, giving Sylvie an impish grin. “Looked like she got a pretty soft landing to me.”
