“You planning on sitting there all day?” Her voice cut through my thoughts, sharp as a blade. “Because I close at five, and I’m not staying late just because you’re having some kind of existential crisis.”
I looked up then, and fuck me, she was something. Standing there with her hands on her hips, her dark hair that had more gray than color pulled back in a bun that was coming loose, flour dusting her apron. Sixty-eight years old, and she looked at me as if I were nothing more than another complication in her life—one she would work through without effort.
“Might be,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended because I was imagining what she’d look like bent over that counter, apron pushed up, jeans around her ankles. “That a problem?”
“Depends.” She moved behind the counter and started wiping it down, even though it was already clean. “You gonna order something else, or are you just taking up space?”
There it was. That fire. That refusal to let me get away with a goddamn thing.
Christina would’ve asked if I was okay. Would’ve sat down across from me with those big, worried eyes and waited for me to tell her what was wrong. Would’ve waited until I was ready to talk, ready to let her in, waited for a fucking eternity if I didn’t open up. And she would have accepted it.
Trudy didn’t give a shit about any of that.
“What if I just want to look at you?” I asked, watching her hands stutter briefly as they moved across the counter. Stronghands. Capable. Hands I wanted wrapped around my cock. Hands I wanted gripping my shoulders while I fucked her slow and deep. “That so bad?”
“Then you’re wasting your time.” But her cheeks flushed pink, spreading down her neck, and I couldn’t help but wonder how far that blush went. Wondered if her tits turned that same shade when she was aroused. If her pussy got wet when I talked to her like this.
I saw the way her breath hitched. Just a little. Just enough to make my dick throb.
“Don’t think so.”
She stopped wiping and looked up at me with those sharp eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Been told that before.” I let my gaze drop deliberately to her mouth. To her full lips, the kind made for sucking dick. The kind I wanted wrapped around me while I fisted that gray hair and watched her take me deep. “Usually by women who end up in my bed.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Just honest, darlin’.” I leaned back, letting my legs spread wider under the table. Wanted her to see the bulge in my jeans if she looked. Wanted her to know what she did to me. “I want you, Trudy. I’ve been pretty clear about that. Been wanting you since the first time I walked through that door. And you can stand there and pretend you don’t feel it, but we both know that’s bullshit.”
She tossed the rag into the sink and leaned against the counter. Her nipples were hard under her shirt. I could see them pressing against the fabric, and my mouth watered.
“What’s in that book that’s got you looking like someone kicked your dog?”
She deflected, and I smiled. It was a pattern I was becoming familiar with: her changing the subject, running whenever I got too close.
The journal felt heavy in my hands. Heavier than it should. “Questions,” I said. “More questions than answers.”
“About what?”
I looked up and gave her my best easy smile. The one that had gotten me out of more trouble than I could count. The one that usually had women dropping their panties. “Old business. Nothing that can’t wait.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a bullshit answer.”
“Maybe.” I let my gaze travel over her body. Let her see the hunger in my eyes. “But it’s the one you’re getting.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the coffeepot and moved around the counter with sharp, efficient movements. Her ass swayed as she walked, and I bit my lip as I thought about the way my hands would grip those hips, pulling her back against me, feeling her grind on my cock. “Don’t tell me. Not like I care.”
But she did care. And we both knew it.
She refilled my cup without asking permission, and I watched her hands. They didn’t shake, didn’t hesitate. But I could see the pulse jumping in her throat. Could smell the faint hint of arousal mixing with the vanilla and cinnamon that clung to her skin.
She wanted me too. She just wouldn’t admit it.
“You always this curious about your customers’ reading material?” I asked, my voice dropping lower. Rougher. “Or is it just me you can’t stop thinking about?”
“Only when they sit in my shop looking like death warmed over.” She set the pot down on the table with more force than necessary. “Bad for business.”
“That right?”
