25. Are You Going to Kiss Me?
TWENTY-FIVE
Are You Going to Kiss Me?
TARA
The next morning, Tara had plans to be at the shop all day. She parked in the alley carport behind the shop, where she received a wave from a middle-aged man walking a motorcycle up a ramp to a flatbed tow truck.
“Hi, Frankie,” Tara said. “Keeping busy, I see.”
“Hola, Tara,” he responded in a thick, Latino accent. “Haven’t seen you since you came back to town. How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s well. Just got hom from the hospital.” Tara spent a few minutes catching up with him, waving as she entered the building. The Michigan tags on the bike seemed out of place, so Tara asked her mom about it since it wasn’t the first time she’d seen it there.
She greeted her mom with a hug. “What’s with the motorcycle out back? It was being towed from the loading zone.”
“Motorcycle?” Helen asked while getting the shop ready for business.
Tara stepped through the back door to the shop. “Yeah. Frankie’s out there right now towing it away.”
“Hmm. Karen from the boutique next door asked about that earlier. She must have called it in.”
Tara hung her jacket on a hook and stowed her bag in a cubby inside the office. “I’ll be in back, cleaning out the storage room. Maybe we can make the space a little more useful,” she called out as her mother returned from unlocking the front door signaling the start of the business day.
“Okay,” her mom waved.
The shop was so busy that Tara didn’t finish her planned deep clean until the next day. She unpacked the latest delivery of books and moved them to some of the overflow shelves in the back room used for storage and extra supplies. A quick look at her hands revealed she rearranged dust and dirt as well as books. At least the space was now a far more efficient use of space. She shrugged and started breaking down the boxes into a pile in the center of the room. When she was done, she swiped her hands together a few times to rid them of excess dirt and took in the room. Satisfied with the room’s makeover, she took her first trip outside to take out the recyclables and the trash.
She was barely out to the loading area for her third and final trip when the man from the coffee shop jogged down the stairs. She fought back a moan.
Damn.
Carrying something in his hands, he was a shirtless, ink-covered, gorgeous man who stopped her dead in her tracks.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her dusty hand while shamelessly checking him out from head to toe. He didn’t say a word the entire time, giving her quite a show with his shirt in his hand rather than on his body.
He curled his lip up into a crooked smile. “Hey, Sugar.”
She rolled her eyes before returning them to his chest, centering her gaze on the small bars that pierced his nipples before raising her eyes to meet his. “Hmm. Answers that question. Any other piercings I should know about?”
“I’d be happy to show you.” He grinned as he lowered his hands to his waist as if offering to unbutton his fly.
For a split second, her eyes went wide. She pressed her lips together to stifle a grin and held out a hand. “No. No. I’m good, thanks.”
“Yes, you are.” Clearly, he had no shame, either. “But so am I.”
She cleared her throat. “Can I help you with something?” She raised her brows as she asked. “Customers usually come in through the front door.” She dropped her eyes to his chest again as if visually exploring the tattoos that covered his chest and arms. He had a U.S. Marines tattoo on one arm that also sported animals, mostly predators. On his other arm was an entire sleeve of tribal tats that wound around to cover his right pec. She thought she caught some writing inside his forearms, too.
“They usually wear shirts, too. Art in this town is on display at the gallery next door. Perhaps you should try there if you’re looking to do a live showing.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“So you say.”
Much to her dismay, he finally pulled his shirt over his head and down his torso.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. She took that as a perfect opportunity to pass by him to rid herself of the last bag of trash. She stopped by the dumpster and with a quick glance inside caught him combing his fingers through his still-damp hair. She bit her bottom lip as she took in his backside.
“And here I thought men were brazen when checking out women. I’m no better today; but man, he is worth the look,” she thought.
A drop of rain landed on her forehead. She wiped it off with the back of her hand and gazed up at the darkening sky. She dropped the last bag of trash into a small dumpster and started back inside just as a light rain began to fall.
She reentered the common loading area inside just as he focused on the alley behind her. He had to crane his head to peer behind her with a crease forming in his brow.
She turned to follow his line of sight. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, sounding a bit distracted. He turned his attention back to Tara. “Do you work here?” he jutted his chin toward the shop door. “At the bookstore?”
She tensed, instantly on guard. “Yes. I do.”
“Is Ken here today?”
“No. He’s not.” Her tone turned flat.
“Fine. Then I need to talk to…” he trailed off as he scrutinized the paper in his hand.
She glanced back at the door to Between the Lines as if ensuring the shop were still close, but remained in place.
“Uh… somebody named Tara?”
“I’m Tara.” She recognized the letter he held and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
He focused his attention back on Tara. “Steve Cook.”
He gave his name as if that explained everything to her.
It didn’t.
He may be damned good-looking, but a few details would help his cause and he was taking too long to get to them.
“And?”
“You left this for me.”
“Left what?”
“A lease agreement. Why,” he glanced back at the paper, “do I have to sign a lease agreement? Ken and I already agreed…” his eyes flickered back outside. He dropped his arms to his side. “Where’s my bike?”
He rushed past her until he stood outside in the rain. He looked up and down the alley as Tara took a few steps toward the staff-only entrance to the family bookstore.
“What the…?” He did a 360-degree turn outside and extended his arms. “Where’d it go?” He turned his suddenly dark gaze back on her.
“Where’d what go?”
“My bike.” He stomped back in and extended the hand gripping the letter back toward the alley. The other hand wiped the rain off his face. “Where is it? The motorcycle I always park back here. Shit!”
Her confusion quickly turned to realization. “Oh.” It was his motorcycle that was being towed when she arrived yesterday morning. “That was yours?”
He glared at her. “What did you do with it?”
“What do you mean what did I do with it?” Her heart raced. What was he accusing her of? “I didn’t do anything with it.”
She took another step back when he drew closer. She turned her head when her back hit the door. Facing him again, she held up her hand to stop him. “Hold on a minute.”
“Why should I hold on?” He took another step closer. “My bike is gone.”
“Not the point.” Her cheeks reddened, but so did her level of annoyance. She narrowed her eyes and kept her hand extended. “You need to back off.”
He stopped.
“Seriously. Back off,” she commanded while castching a whiff of his cologne wit. Though she wasn’t in any danger, she didn’t like anyone to get that close without an invitation.
If he’s going to back her against the wall, it’ll be for something far more fun than arguing over a motocycle.
Tara cleared her throat.
Where did that thought come from?
Now, her heart raced for other reasons.
Geez, Tara. Get a grip.
Tara kept her voice steady. “You’re pissed about your bike. I get it; but you do not get to corner me as if I’m the one responsible.”
With a quick scan of their respective positions, his expression turned contrite. He held up his hands in surrender, mumbled what sounded like an apology, and backed away.
“Thank you.” She took a few seconds to catch her breath. “Another shop called it in and had it towed.”
“Why...” He pressed his lips together. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“I had no idea it was yours.”
“I’ve been here since July. It’s not as if you didn’t know that.”
“Well, I haven’t been here since July. That brings us back to the rental agreement. With no rental agreement in place stating the make and model of the car… or motorcycle you own, how would we know it was even yours? Mom said you drove a Dodge.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He threw his hands in the air. “How did you not know it was mine?”
“Seriously? It had out-of-state plates,” she argued. She folded her arms across her chest and threw him as fierce a gaze as she could while also appreciating the flex of his biceps when he raised his arms. Sure, he did it in frustration, but he looked good when he did.
“How would you expect me to know? I didn’t even know who you were.”
Stepping closer, he repeated his name. “Steve. Cook.”
Like that helped.
“And?”
He paused and furrowed his brow as if confused about something. Was he sniffing her? Oh god. She hoped it was her body spray. She’d spent the morning deep-cleaning the back of the shop today, so anything was possible.
The corner of his mouth curled up before responding. “I live above the bookshop.”
Now, it was her turn to throw her arms up in the air. “Well, now I know.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled.
Or was that a low growl?
When he spoke again, his voice was much calmer. “Do you know where it is?”
He was close enough to touch. She inhaled his cologne. It was woodsy and masculine. Before she could stop herself, her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “It should be at Aiden’s Auto shop.”
She lifted her gaze to find his deep blue eyes zeroed in on her. He no longer appeared angry. He looked more resigned than anything.
“I…I didn’t know…,” she said, much less defiantly than she’d hoped since her voice came out as a whisper. She dropped her gaze to his lips. “We didn’t know it was yours.”
“It was mine,” he whispered.
“So you said ,” she breathed.
He extended his arm and rested his hand on the wall behind her. She watched his eyes dip down and take her in, heating her all the way down to her core. In a matter of minutes, she’d just gone from surprised to amused to angry to defiant to hungry.
Hungry?
Yes, please.
And with his living above her family’s bookstore, she was going to see him a lot more.
Tara released a long breath.
He leaned closer, his eyes dropping to her lips.
They stood there, neither one moving away. Neither one moving closer.
Going for broke, Tara cocked a brow. “Well? Are you going to kiss me? Or what?”