Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(3)
A cocky smirk and one hey baby wink was all it took for her brain to register the burglar in question, and for her fear to immediately turn to embarrassment. Because standing in her grandma’s darkened shop, holding her dress and a slinky red robe, four hours after closing, was the only man in town who hadn’t put Harper in the friend zone. Because he was the only man in town Harper hadn’t bothered to friend. He was someone who, like her mother, was too busy soaking up that spotlight to make room for lasting connections.
St. Helena firefighter, bro of the year, and legendary ladies’ man—Adam Baudouin.
“What are you doing here?” Harper demanded, looking up at him, and he could see the fire lighting her eyes.
It was a good question. One Adam had crafted a great answer to when she’d first turned around in that pink, teal, and gold embroidered number with the tiny matching thong, which looked as if she’d recently escaped from the Copacabana. Then she’d tossed her dress at him and things had gotten really interesting. Little Miss Sunshine wiggled a lecturing finger his way, which caused everything in silk and lace to do a little cha-cha of its own, and Adam’s mind went to a bad place.
An incredibly good, bad place.
Oh, Harper was all sunshine and freckles up top. With her pert nose, twinkling blue eyes, and wild mass of waves piled on top of her head, she was cute, he decided. The crazy kind of cute. But she was a secret freaking bombshell below. High breasts, tiny waist, curvy hips, long lush legs that went on for miles. All that silky skin and willowy allure was intoxicating. Who knew she kept all that hidden under her Rainbow Brite attire?
Not the dildo with the kid who’d asked her to babysit, that was for sure. Because if he’d seen the view Adam was privy to, the guy would have taken her inside the shop—and right up against the wall.
“Apparently, I’m just in time for the show,” he said, looking down into her face. If she’d been wearing heels instead of those granny flats, she would have nearly been eye-to-eye with him. “Nice panties. Need help?”
“They’re called Parisian peek-a-boos, and there’s no show,” she said. “And no, the last thing I need is your help.”
And wasn’t that a damn shame. He was pretty sure he was the perfect man to help her with her problem, only she crossed her arms and snapped, “What are you staring at?”
“Apparently, Parisian peek-a-boos with a matching lace bra.” He wiggled his brows. “A see-through lace bra.”
“They’re called boobs, Adam.”
“Oh, trust me, I know, sunshine,” he said, stepping closer and, being the expert on that subject, sizing her up in a single glance. Firm, perky—the perfect little handful who wished she were a C. That explained the creative clothing choices. “Just wasn’t sure if you knew, with your outfit and all.”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“You look like a yellow crayon who stepped in grape juice.”
She looked at him in disbelief, then outrage. “I do not! That dress revealed more secrets than Victoria’s new summer catalog.”
He held up the dress and she grimaced. “Secrets or not, the only thing you’re going to attract with this dress is honeybees, not a hookup.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for a hookup,” she mumbled, snatching her dress back. And because he already knew the truth, just like he knew one more frustrated huff would have her popping right out of that bra, he let her take it. Even turned his back when she slipped it back on. Because getting a boner for Pollyanna wasn’t a smart move.
“But if I were . . .” she said so quietly he turned back around to see if she’d even spoken. She was once again in the yellow jumper, zipped up to her sternum, and fiddling with the little silver heart charm dangling from her necklace. “Are you saying I have to change how I look to get a guy?”
“No.” He actually liked the crazy cutie exactly like she was. Her blinding fashion sense was loud, quirky, and kind of adorable. Except, he remembered, those of the crazy cutie variety tended to want more than he was willing to give. So he checked himself, then gave a silent lecture that she wasn’t asking about his preferences, but Dr. Dildo’s. “However, if you want that guy with the kid, then yeah, you’ve got to up your game.”
Her confusion apparent, he reached for the front zipper of her dress.
She smacked his hand away. “Hey.”
“You asked for my help, so let me help. Here.” He grabbed a red belt off the silk robe and tied it around her waist, cinching it in to showcase her flat stomach. With Harper no longer looking like a chewing-gum wrapper, Adam tugged the zipper south, far enough that the collar of her dress opened and slid down one arm. Her shoulder was now exposed, as well as a nice hint of her copacabanas. “Sexy is in the accessories. Oh, and you need new lipstick.”
“My lipstick is not the problem. This is the third color I tried this month, and the saleslady at the drugstore guaranteed it is the perfect shade.”
“The first problem with your statement was drugstore, since we both know that the saleslady in question is Mrs. Peters, who hasn’t changed lip color since Carter left office.” He undid her hair, which was secured by a chopstick. Not a decorative one, but a wooden one from the takeout joint down the street.
“I wouldn’t do that. My curls are out of control,” she said, her hands moving up in a defensive action that had him laughing.