Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(45)

The sun had long since disappeared, so Adam allowed the gaslit lamps to light his way. When he arrived at the Boulder Holder the CLOSED sign was flipped, but the door was unlocked. He let himself inside and breathed in the feminine scent of jasmine and lace.

A light humming came from the back of the store.

Adam followed the sound and discovered Harper in the back room, rifling through a box. Face down and ass up in a pair of cutoff shorts that rode high enough to show the beginning curves of her sweet cheeks—which swayed as she hummed.

Adam felt a small smile lift his lips and his mood.

She had on one of those multicolored tops he favored, maybe tie-dye. It was baggy in nature, cinched in the back by a big bow, and if she thought it made her look more temptress and less art teacher, she was wrong.

He watched her for a few moments, enjoying the show, then cleared his throat when the humming turned into singing “Sexy and I Know It.”

When she didn’t stop singing, or moving that swaying backside, he realized she’d known he was there all along.

“You’re late.” Her voice was muffled through the box, but he was pretty sure she ended the greeting with, “Drop your pants.”

“Well, if that isn’t the best ‘welcome home’ in the history of mankind.” He might be going for upstanding citizen, but he was still a man, and from what he could see of her backside, she was all woman. And right about then, he needed a cute, curvy distraction. “With fair play being what it is, I say the next article to disappear is that top of yours.”

Harper straightened and gifted him with a big smile. Not flirty or overstated. Just real, as though she were happy to see him. And a smile like that, man oh man, it cut through all the BS to ease that twisted ball in his gut that was a tangle of stress. And Adam didn’t know what to do with that—an unusual situation for him.

“I meant, so you can try these on.” She dangled a pair of silk undies in his direction. They were red, tiny, and looked like a thong for superheroes.

“No amount of manscaping will get me in those,” he said. She dropped them in the box and pulled out another pair. Boxers. Pink, pinstriped, and not happening. “Pink clashes with testosterone.”

“After a drink or two, you might change your mind,” she said hopefully, pointing to a bottle of Scotch to be used as a prop poised next to the chair.

“You got another bottle?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Then I promise you I won’t reconsider. No man wants to be seen in those, and no woman wants to see a man in those.”

“More manly underwear. Got it.” With a dainty little huff she dug back in, and after several seconds came up with a pair of boxer briefs. They were kind of manly, not made of silk and, “They’re purple.”

“Seriously?” She dropped her hand to her side. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you acting all pissy? See, there. I can’t shoot you when you’re pouting.” She cocked her head. “Well, I could shoot you, but it wouldn’t be with my camera.”

“I’m not pouting.” Since bitching about his day or having a heart-to-heart with his girlfriend was firmly on his not in this lifetime list, Adam flashed her the dimples. Double barreled with all the pearly whites showing. It had been called sexy, mesmerizing, endorphin inducing. “Here’s a grin. My way of saying fair is fair, and if I lose the pants, you lose the top.”

“We don’t have enough Scotch, remember?” She narrowed her eyes and studied him, really hard. Until he was afraid she was seeing more than he wanted her to—and he began to sweat. Then she pointed to his lips. “Yup, that smile’s missing the whole let’s get drunk and screw vibe you normally put off, and you’re looking a little soul battered.” Her face softened. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

He shrugged as if he had not a clue as to what she was talking about. But the sweating didn’t stop, because if there was one thing Adam had learned over the past week it was that Harper was a master of the unsaid. She could read body language and translate silence like a professional interrogator. So when she gave a disappointed smile, then bent over to grab a different pair of boxers, he knew she was letting him off the hook.

Which was what he wanted, right? No complications, no confusion, just a whole lot of chemistry mixed with a I’ll rub your back, you rub mine pact.

Only now, he was here and everything felt complicated, and he was more than confused. In fact, his heart was racing and his face felt hot, and—Jesus Christ—he was nervous.

It wasn’t the studio lights, or the too-metro-to-be-manly underwear, or even the elaborate Calvin-Klein-meets-Hugh-Hefner man cave she had created from fabric, a leather chair, and raw talent.

It was the unimpressive shirt, the bare feet, and the genuine concern that had his brain checking out. And that smile. One flash of those teeth and he knew he’d come here tonight needing something. He wasn’t sure what, but Adam didn’t do nervous.

And he sure as hell didn’t do needy.

“I was just wondering if you gave Chantel my measurements,” Adam said, toeing off his boots and bringing this party back to where it should be.

Fun with a side of flirt.

“She sent a few different sizes. I’m sure it will be fine,” she said.