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“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, we’re on the same shopping schedule?”

“I’m just here to pick up a few things.”

“The essentials, I see.”

“I like my whiskey … almost as much as watching you polish off a bottle of wine by yourself.” The amusement in his voice is an annoyance that I find oddly attractive. A hate to like sort of thing that has me both irritated from the embarrassment and strangely drawn to his cockiness.

“Well, I hope you took a picture, because that isn’t happening again.”

“Said the girl who nursed a hangover the day before that.”

“You really enjoy getting on my nerves, don’t you?”

“I enjoy getting on lots of things, but your nerves has quickly become my favorite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I pay for the groceries, and Voss walks me out to my car—uninvited of course, but I appreciate the gesture, particularly when he loads the bags into the trunk.

“For a Wall Street Wolf, you’re awfully polite.”

“Perhaps you’ve found my inner sheep.”

I chuckle at that, standing just outside the propped driver door.

In a few steps, he invades my personal space, crowding me against the car in a way that trips my body harm alarms. He leans forward, and I swear I can hear my pulse in my own ear when his warm breath fans my neck. The crinkle of a bag draws my attention to the bottle shaped sack he sets on my driver seat behind me. The bottle of wine, I’m guessing. “We’ll keep that our secret, yeah?”

My blood is burning, hands trembling at my side. Not only does he smell incredible, but he gives off a sort of electricity that stuns in such close proximity. When I nod, he leans into me again, keeping his lips close to my throat.

I close my eyes to the visuals of him kissing me right here in the middle of the parking lot.

“You have a nice day, Nola.” The deep timber of his voice oozes raw masculinity, and the temperature of my body becomes apparent the moment he steps away from me and a coldness filters in between us.

I open my eyes to see him heading toward his car with the kind of cocky stride that only some men can pull off. The kind belonging to a powerful man who truly doesn’t give a shit what you think of him.

A glance down at my hands shows white knuckles gripping the window frame—a clear sign that the man sends my body into a state of defense.

* * *

I slip my apron over my head and hop along the serving counter as I tug my shoes on. “Hey, Dale, where’s Bethany?”

“No call. No show.” Disappointment clings to his voice as he glances around at the diner that’s packed on a Monday afternoon. “Josie’s coming in at two, but this place is getting nuts. If you’d been one minute later, I’d been chewin’ your ass.”

“Your teeth will never come close to my ass, Dale.” I try to lighten the mood, but I feel his stress. It’s going to be a busy one today.

“Your buddy in the corner refuses to be served by anyone else.” With an irritated grumble, he gives a slight jerk of his head. “Might want to start with him first. He’s been here for about twenty minutes, waiting for you.”

Twisting around, I find Simon sitting in the corner booth with a half-drawn smile, and he waves to me. Earlier than his usual time.

“Oh, boy,” I mutter, mostly to myself. This should be interesting. Rejection has never really been my thing, and I didn’t want to put him in the position of being slapped with it, but he asked me, and I don’t do dates.

When I spin back around, something on Dale’s collar draws my attention. A red splotch against the white fabric. “What happened there? You got … something red. Is it ketchup?”

In an instant, he slaps his hand against his neck, cheeks flushed, as he steps away from the serving counter. “I cut myself shaving this morning. That’s gross.”

His face pinches to disgust, as if a little bit of blood is a big deal.