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I have a business date with a bad-tempered beast who only touches me when it’s time to lie.
Dexter watches me from where he’s still sitting, a frown deepening between his eyebrows. “You’re cleaning up by yourself?”
“It’s not so bad. Nothing new here,” I say bracingly, even though my back aches at the thought. “I just need to disinfect and sweep up. It’ll be over quick. If you can’t hang out that long, we can just do this another time.”
“Bye, Junie!” Oliver calls as he, too, leaves out the back. The door closes and we’re alone.
“How often does this happen?” he asks. “How fucking often are you stuck here after close?”
“Oh, it can’t be more than…” I count in my head. “Three times this week?”
“This week?” He folds his arms and his eyes rip through me. “How many hours do you work, Junie?”
“A lot. But the good news is, if we keep doing this well, I’m thinking about hiring a few new part-timers to handle the evenings we’re open later, so—”
“That doesn’t answer my question, sweetheart.”
Sweet Jesus.
Even the way he sayssweetheartmakes my heart flutter, just as much as it stalls me in my tracks.
I need to get a grip.
But then he rolls up his sleeves and I lose my last hope of having any coherent thoughts.
He’s obscenely muscled, but I already knew that.
What I didn’t expect was the detailed mess of military tattoos spiraling up his forearms, all black and stark and a little dangerous.
He was in the Army, I think, judging by the eagles.
Now the indoor gym routine from hell makes sense, and so does that physique. The military honed him into a human work of art, and Dex hasn’t stopped honing.
“Junie?” he asks.
I realize I’ve been staring. Maybe drooling.
My heart rockets up my throat. I’m pretty sure I’m reaching new levels of death-by-crush.
I really wish I could figure out how to not spend my life blushing around this guy.
“Right. Um.” I need to find some chill before he thinks I’m utterly insane. “Yes, well, I work a lot. But so do you. Where’s the harm in that?”
A sad smile touches his mouth. “There’s a difference between burning the midnight oil and burning yourself down, Junie. When you’re this worn out, you need a break. You need to delegate. That’s where you can help yourself, by bringing more hands on board.”
Jeez, he’s being nice.
I mean, what counts fornicein his own growly, overprotective way. But there’s real concern in his voice.
He cares, and that leaves my heart that much more wrecked.
“I’ll be fine, Dex. But maybe we can talk another time? I really don’t want to make you wait around.”
“What do you mean?” He spreads his hands. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Put me to work. We can talk specifics while we clean up. Show me what goes on behind the scenes. I don’t know jack about bakeries, but a man can learn.”
How?
How is he so perfect he renders me incoherent?
