Dying for Love

“It’s not often I have people call and lie about one of my employees, Grace.”

Grace? What happened to Miss Debry?

“Uh…”

Nice. Smooth, Grace. Way to fumble like a virgin in the backseat of a car with the quarterback. It’d been a long day. The furnace kicked on and carried Mr. Duncan’s cologne on a burst of warm air, further hobbling her brain.

She cleared her throat. “How about those Boise State Broncos?”

Mr. Duncan’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t aware they were playing.”

“They’re not?”

“No. It’s March.” The twitch spread to a smile and out sprang his dimple.

She crossed her arms. Stared at his mouth. Uncrossed her arms. Cleared her throat again. “Oh.”

His smile slipped into obscurity. That wasn’t disappointment making her sigh. Really.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

The temporary haze of desire lifted and the reality of her morning flooded back. Her muscles clenched. She glanced at the kitchen.

“Grace.” He walked like a cat. In a heartbeat he’d crossed the room and stood far too close, a breath away from invading her personal space. “Please.”

His low voice, combined with a word she’d never heard from him, turned her to mush. Totally unfair. She sighed and gestured toward the kitchen. “Have a look at my kitchen.”

He turned without question and crossed the room.

Restless from the day’s events and his presence in her space, she kicked off her shoes and curled into a corner of the couch. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just someone messing with me.”

He turned, frowning. “Assuming you’re normally neat here, like at work, this is more than someone messing with your stuff.”

He’d noticed she was neat at work? “It’s not a big deal.”

The frown turned into a glare and she sighed.

“Fine, it is a big deal. Also, when I left for work this morning, my car had been moved across the parking lot.”

Mr. Duncan’s expression cleared, leaving him about as readable as a brick wall. “What did the police say?”

She bounced off the couch and paced to the sliding door that led onto her small balcony. “Nothing, since I didn’t call them. What would I have said? Someone didn’t like the placement of my baking tools and spaghetti noodles? My car drove itself across the parking lot? Oh, but nothing was taken, Officer. No, the car wasn’t harmed. Of course I’m not on any medication. Oh, you’d like to take me down to the hospital for a psych evaluation? On the state’s dime? How generous.”

“Are you finished?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms.

“No damage done and nothing taken doesn’t mitigate the situation. Someone broke into your home and your car.”

“Nobody threatened me.”

He strolled toward her. “You have to be hurt or confronted to get scared?”

“No, but nothing major happened.” Her voice rose. She hated being backed into a corner, and that was exactly what he was doing. Deep breaths. Self-control. She refused to yell at her boss.

“Show some common sense. A crime was committed and you need to report it.”

“I don’t want to, Matt!”

Grace gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d yelled. Called him by his first name. Holy crap. He was not the friendly, easy-going kind of boss that promoted familiarity.

His eyes dark with intensity, he closed the distance between them and gently took her hand between his. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry it upsets you. I’m sure you have your reasons, but this is important.”

Sweetheart? What… Gaze never leaving hers, he brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles.

Her knees turned to water. The look in his eyes was the same as when they had stood behind the bar in his office. Right before she’d bolted.

Nerves licked along her spine. She moistened her lips. “I do realize it’s important. It’s just…I don’t like the police. My childhood… They aren’t…” She bit back a groan and pressed her lips together, meeting his gaze. Noticed tiny flecks of light that seemed to dance in his brown eyes, enticing her closer. Fogging her brain. “I don’t like the police,” she finished softly.

His heat and cologne were an intimate invitation her body was only too happy to accept. Sat up and begged to accept. She swallowed. His finger glided along the edge of her jaw, the coarse texture against her skin surprising and arousing. She glanced down. Rough calluses lined the inside of his hand and fingers. She’d never noticed his hands before; now they fascinated her.

“Call the police.”

Minty-fresh breath washed over her face. Instinct as old as time brought her a step closer. Matt’s eyes narrowed and his gaze dropped to her lips. His head lowered.

She jerked back and slammed into the glass door. Her face heating, she reached up to rub her abused head. Matt… Mr. Duncan, beat her to it. His strong fingers massaged her scalp. Her eyelids drifted shut. Angelic cherubs above, he knew how to use his fingers. Another, much lower, throb joined the first.

Firm, masculine lips feathered across hers. How she managed to remain upright and not melt into a puddle, she didn’t know. Opening her eyes, she stared at Matt. Head cradled in his broad palm, his lips an inch from hers, she forgot how to breathe.

Regret flickered in the depths of his eyes, and he gently untangled his hand. Her happy bits whimpered in denial. Her conscience slapped them into silence—the one thing in her whole body staving off looming insanity.

Number-one mistake—fling with your boss.

“I’d say I’m sorry,” Matt shrugged, “but…”

I’m not, was unsaid, but she heard it just the same. Matt’s gaze lingered on her mouth.

She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything dumb. Or worse, licking her lips again.

“I’d better go.”

Doorknob in hand, he paused and seemed to consider her. She tried to meld into the glass door, struggling to wrap her brain around what had just happened.

“Promise you’ll call the police and have the locks changed, Grace. Please.”

Her knees trembled. Two pleases in the space of fifteen minutes from her intractable employer. She nodded, releasing her tongue to gnaw on the inside of her cheek. The door closed behind him and silence descended. Relaxing in small increments, she slid to the floor.

A bouquet of flowers she’d received the other day drew her gaze. They’d shown up on her doorstep without a card. Glancing from them to her disaster zone of a kitchen, she narrowed her eyes. The coincidence was too much to ignore. She rose, snatched them out of the vase, yanked open the balcony door and tossed them over the railing.