“I’ll hold you to it,” I say with a wink.

He is insufferable. I always thought that word was ridiculous but now? It fits stupid insufferable Shepard Prescott to a T. How the hell did he find me here? I don’t know if I believe him when he says it’s a coincidence. I think he tracked me down. I should find that totally creepy. I should be calling the cops, filing a restraining order, whatever it takes to keep him away from me.

The problem is…I sort of enjoy our banter. The way he smiles at me, his dark, dark eyes full of unspoken promises. Promises I wouldn’t mind exploring. I like how he always seems to find everything amusing. Like life is just one big joke and he’s the only one in on the punch line.

Every time he touches me I feel a spark. A zip of heat just beneath the surface, rumbling under my skin. I tell myself to ignore it. Tell myself it means nothing.

He feels it too though. It’s in the way he pulls his hand away from me like I shocked him. It’s in that subtle smolder of his velvety gaze. He’s aware of it. Just like I’m aware of it.

Chemistry.

Beyond the chemistry bit, which could be totally fleeting, who knows, why would he want to find me? I’m not that special. He could have anyone he wanted. He’ll find out quick I’m a boring lay when he has adventure written all over him. I’m the girl who has performance anxiety. He’s the guy who probably revels in the performance. I’m the one who runs from it.

Clearly, he needs to move on and forget all about me.

“Come on,” I tell him wearily once Enid heads back to her office. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Sorry I’m such a drag,” he drawls, his deep, delicious voice wrapping all around me, making me feel warm. I tell myself to ignore it.

So I do.

I show him a variety of candles, all the while trying my best to deny the tension between us. Our arms brush against each other by accident and it’s like my skin’s been lit on fire. I catch him watching me and I feel my cheeks heat. And when he purposely touches me, his voice close to my ear as he grabs my arm, I want to sag into him. Feel his arm come around my waist, his other hand slip beneath my chin before he lifts my head up so our lips can meet…

“I’ll take this one,” he says firmly, handing me a giant three wick pure white candle. “I think my mother will like the scent.”

“But it’s white.” It’s a gardenia-scented candle, which I love but I always prefer a candle with a little color. White is boring.

“It’s perfect. Everything in their house is white,” he says. “It won’t disrupt her color scheme and trust me, that’ll make her happy.”

Ugh. I bet his parents live in a sterile mansion. I bet they have a ton of servants and the mother never has to leave the house or lift a finger. She probably sits on a pure white velvet couch and lounges with her white dog while eating white chocolate bon bons.

That sounds perfectly awful.

“Where do your parents live?” Okay fine I’m trying to find out information about him because I know next to nothing. And I’m just asking to be polite. That’s what good little sales associates do.

“East coast. Connecticut. In fact, I was wondering if your store ships?” He lifts his brows, his expression almost pleading.

I ignore his question. “You don’t have an accent.”

He lowers his brows into a frown. “Say what?”

“You’re from the east coast? I don’t detect an accent.”

“I went to boarding school for a few years. They beat any and all accents out of their students.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I moved around a lot. I’ve lived in Europe, Manhattan, Los Angeles, Miami…” His voice trails off. “My parents never like to stay in one place for too long.”

I grew up in the same house my entire life. The first time I moved is to come here for school. My hometown is two hours away and it still feels too far. I’m a total homebody, though I would never admit that to anyone. “We ship worldwide,” I tell him, choosing not to acknowledge what sounds like a glamorous—though lonely and unstable—childhood.

“Perfect.” The relief in his voice is unmistakable. “You do giftwrapping?”

“We have a nice gift box I can put it in but it’ll cost extra.” I lead him back to the sales counter where I start ringing him up. He flashes a black American Express card and I take it from him, our fingers grazing, causing a tingle to shoot up my arm.

“Cost doesn’t matter,” he says, acting like he wasn’t affected by our touching at all. Jerk. I wish I could be that nonchalant. But no, my fingers are shaking as I hit the buttons on the cash register, then have to punch in all the info on the credit card machine. All while Shep watches me, drumming those long, blunt-nailed fingers on the glass countertop. His scent wraps all around me, that citrusy, earthy smell I’m slowly becoming addicted to.

“Must be nice,” I murmur under my breath, reaching under the counter to pull out a few sheets of tissue paper. I carefully peel off the price tag on the bottom of the candle and then wrap it, securing it with a single piece of tape.

“It usually is. Unless I’m dealing with a stubborn female who refuses to pay back her debt.”

I lift my head, glaring at him. “I don’t owe you anything. I never agreed to that bet. Joel did.”

“And you’re his girlfriend,” he points out.

“Ex-girlfriend,” I stress, turning my back to him so I can grab the gift box I charged him five dollars extra for. Screw it. I padded his shipping charge too. Enid will be thrilled. Business has been slow lately and she’s thankful the weather has finally turned, bringing back the tourists. “I wish you would just leave this alone.” I start to put the box together.

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Clearly,” I say with a little snort.

“Maybe I want to see you even more.” He pauses. “Maybe you’re all I think about.”

My fingers fumble over the box, sending it flying off the counter onto the ground. I hear him come toward me, see his feet encased in very expensive looking Nikes appear next to me as he bends down at the same time I do, the both of us going for the slightly crumpled box. “There is no reason whatsoever for you to keep thinking about me.” My cheeks are on fire I’m so embarrassed. This is stupid. I shouldn’t let him get to me like this. He’s just saying these things to get under my skin and it’s working.

“Despite how much you hate me, I keep thinking about you.” He hands over the box and I take it from him with numb fingers. “A lot.”

“Like how you want to murder me with your bare hands?” I twist the box within my grip, mangling it further. I owe him a new one. Good thing I overcharged.

“I’d rather do something a lot more fun to you with my bare hands,” he whispers, his mouth curving into the slightest smile.

For once, I’ve got nothing. My throat is dry, my heart rate is going triple time and I’m feeling more than a little overwhelmed at his simple words. “You don’t mean it.”

“I definitely do.” His gaze drops to the box in my hands. “I think we’ll need a new one.”