Kiss My Cupcake(52)

In the corner is a coat rack. I smile when I spot what I’m looking for—two plaid shirts hanging from the hooks. I nab one and check the size. It’s an extra large, as I suspected, considering his broad shoulders, not to mention how thick his biceps are. I bring the shirt to my nose and inhale. It holds the faint scent of laundry detergent, his cologne, and the pervasive odor of fried food that comes from working in a bar. I always smell like vanilla, butter, icing sugar, and sometimes coffee. I decide it’s a good idea to take the shirt with me, because sizing can vary depending on the store, so it will be good to bring it along for comparison’s sake.

I turn around, still holding the shirt up to my nose, humming contentedly. And slam right into a chest, which happens to be wrapped in exactly the same plaid shirt I’m huffing.

“Oh!” My gasp is muffled by the fabric.

I tip my head up and meet Ronan’s inquisitive, amused gaze. “Are you sniffing my shirt?”

“I was checking to see if it was clean.” It’s only sort of a lie. Okay, it’s a complete lie and I can feel my face turning red.

“Right. Okay.” He nods once, eyes narrowed. “And where exactly are you going with my shirt?”

“I uh, I need to borrow it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “For what?”

“It’s supposed to be for a surprise, which you’re currently ruining.” And now I’m snappy to go along with my embarrassment.

He smiles, eyes moving over my face slowly, lingering on my lip, which I’m currently biting. “Am I going to get my shirt back?”

“Yes.”

“In one piece?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” He steps aside. “You can borrow it, then.”

I smile brightly, trying to mask my mortification as I brush past him. “Great.”

“Blaire.”

“Hmm?” I pause and glance over my shoulder. He’s right behind me.

He dips down, nose brushing the shell of my ear. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, a purr, and murmurs, “I like the way you smell, too.”

“Good to know.” I leave feeling slightly less embarrassed and a whole lot turned on.



Two hours later I return from my shopping trip. I’ve been getting my dresses from the same store for years. I always hit their sample and sale rack—even before I had to scrimp and save every penny—so I get my dresses for around forty dollars each, often 25 percent of the full price. It means I have a closet full of dresses that I’ve amassed over the past decade and a half, and because they’re very much fashioned after the fifties, they never really go out of style.

The lunch rush is in full swing, so I leave my purchases in my office and dive back into work. It isn’t until after two that we finally have a lull in the constant stream of customers. Not that I’m going to complain.

I pop back over to The Knight Cap to somewhat reluctantly return Ronan’s borrowed shirt. I resist the urge to get in a couple more sniffs because I’ll be able to sniff the real thing shortly.

I find Ronan sitting in the last seat at the end of the bar with his laptop propped open, reviewing spreadsheets. Like my place, his is quieter this time of day—between lunch and dinner. Several tables are occupied with groups of college students studying over afternoon pints and local business people grabbing a bite while they work.

“Hey! Do you have a minute?” I have to fight with my body not to get all bouncy because I’m excited.

Ronan glances up from the laptop, a wry grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Can we go to your office? I have something to show you.” I’m holding a huge bag behind my back, most of which is hidden by my skirt.

“Why can’t you show me here?” He tries to peek around me, where my hands are clasped behind my back.

“No peeking!” I shrug, trying to remain nonchalant. “And because I don’t want anyone else to see yet.”

He closes his laptop, tucks it under his arm and slides off the stool. He motions toward the hall leading to his office. “Ladies first.”

I practically bounce down the hall, giddy with excitement. I hang his shirt on the rack, set the bag on his executive chair and spin to face him. He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed over his chest, expression halfway between curious and amused.

I pull him inside and close the door, trapping us together in the small, crowded room that smells like him, paper, and more faintly of food.

I pull the garment bag out of the shopping bag and lay it over the back of the chair. “So I had this idea.” I turn away from him, unzip the garment bag and pull out the dress I picked out for tonight’s event.

“And you need my opinion on a dress?” He seems confused.

I give him a look. “No, silly. I don’t need your opinion. Although you’re welcome to give it if you’d like.” I pull out the plaid shirt that matches the color scheme of the dress—blue with yellow neon accents, also on sale—spin around to face him and hold them both up. “Ta-da!”

Ronan’s eyes shift back and forth between the shirt—in his size—and the dress. “I don’t get it.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a dude. Look at the colors.”