Page 18 of Resisting Temptation

“I intend to.” He smirks back, his brow rising, his gorgeousness getting under my skin even more. “Enjoy your relaxing bath.” He winks at me, then his eyes roam down my body leisurely, like he’s imagining me all soaped up. And I hate the way it sends a tingle through my body. Why do I still want him to imagine me naked? There’s something wrong with me.

“I intend to, might even invite Roger to join me.” I bite back because I can’t think of anything better.

He chuckles as he walks out of the shop with so much swagger it makes me sick. But I watch anyway; his ass in those jeans is just too good to look away. Yep, the universe hates me. And on the most romantic day of the year no less.

Stella bumps shoulders with me. “What the hell was that, missy?” she asks, all motherly.

“That was Noah Harrington, the most infuriating human on the planet.”

“Or the sexiest. That man could melt ice. So, your Noah you spent the entire summer screwing istheNoah Harrington. No wonder you’re still hung up on him, honey.” She fans her face like she’s burning up.

“I’m not.” I glare back at her, too tired to deal with this situation today. “I’m taking off with the deliveries.” Collecting the order slips, I speak over my shoulder, needing to escape this place before I start smashing vases. Letting him get to me when it was obviously his intention is just stupid, but I can’t help it. He has this crazy hold over me. And his sexting from last night has my brain all mushy today. Why did he have to come back here? I was coping just fine until he showed up back in town. Now, I’m spiraling out of control faster by the day.

Two hours later, I have the last vase arrangement to deliver. I pull the van into a parking spot in front of the Prescott Media building in Savannah and slide open the side of the van, collecting the large vase of red roses. I walk them through the main foyer to the reception desk, but when I read the card, it’s nameless. Placing the arrangement on the counter, I check the order form. It’s from a Beckett Prescott, but it’s also to him? What the hell? I don’t have it left in me to work this shit out today.

“Um, hi,” I say to the receptionist, so tired I’m close to tears. “I have a delivery for Beckett Prescott.”

“Yes, dear, I will get him,” she tells me, picking up her phone and dialing. “A delivery for you, sir.” She nods, listening along, then disconnects the call. “He’s on his way down now, miss.”

“Oh, great, thanks. I can just leave these with you?” I ask, ready to get out of here.

Her eyes go wide, and she looks worried. “Sorry, no, he wants to see you.” She sounds unsure, and I wonder what she’s talking about. Why does he need to see me?

“Normally, with this type of order, I would just leave it at reception,” I huff, unimpressed and still hoping she will just let me leave it so I can take off.

She shrugs, then goes back to tapping her long nails on her keyboard. Apparently, I have been dismissed. I spin and lean on the reception desk, arms crossed, anxiously checking my watch. I know the shop is in chaos, and I need to return as soon as possible to assist with cleanup so we can all head home at a reasonable hour. I hear my bottle of wine calling my name. And since I mentioned Roger earlier to piss off Noah, I’ve been thinking that might just be a fab idea. Nothing a good orgasm can’t fix, even if I need to use my battery-operated friend to achieve it. I should spend the night sending Noah dirty messages about me and Roger just to fuck with his head like he is mine.

Can’t believe he has a date with some girl. The audacity after telling me I’m his, loud enough for Jake to hear last night. What kind of bullshit is that. He wants to ruin my chances of dating other people, because he was clearly jealous of Jake and me talking last night. But it’s cool for him to rub in my nose that he’s going on a date and buying flowers for some girl. It’s probably Mrs. Rashford’s granddaughter. I saw the way she was presenting her to Noah the other morning. It was sickening.

“Paisley Whittaker?” I glance at the man calling my name as he crosses the lobby. He’s in an expensive suit with short, dark hair and a mischievous smile. I’ve seen him before, in a brawl with my brother and Brody at McAllister’s. He has trouble written all over him. But that doesn’t stop me from checking him out. He looks like he works out; nice shoulders and a gorgeous face, his green eyes have this devilishly charming twinkle to them that I could quite happily get lost in.

I arch my brow and smirk playfully. “Who wants to know?”

He smiles, his eyes lighting up flirtatiously. “Beckett Prescott.” He holds out a hand.

Giving him another once-over, I wonder what he wants from me. I place my hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “What can I do for you, Beckett?”

“It seems I find myself dateless on the most romantic night of the year.”

“How unfortunate. Join the club,” I huff, wondering why the universe keeps throwing this holiday in my face this year.

He runs his eyes down my body, lingering a little too long on my tits before they return to my face. “I’d prefer to takeyouout.”

The receptionist clears her throat, reminding us she’s still here.

I shove off the desk, closing the gap between us. Beckett’s a bit of a catch, self-proclaimed most eligible bachelor in the Bay. So I’ve heard. Now that I’m up close, I can understand why. He oozes wealth; not that money is everything, but it would make life easier. He’s also attractive; not my usual type, but a more privileged pretty boy. I could make it work. “Aren’t you the guy who started a fight with my brother at McAllister’s last year?” I ask, trying to work out his angle here. Pretty sure he’s not out of dating options.

He smiles, unfazed. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Nah.” I study him, wondering what’s really going on. The thought of Noah having a date tonight and me being home alone drowning my sorrows sounds pretty pathetic. I could do with a date of my own to even the score. And I could certainly do worse than Beckett.

“I’ll pick you up at seven then. I’ll make a reservation at Villa Bella Cucina in Bluewater Beach.”

His boldness makes me laugh. “You won’t get a table at Villa Bella Cucina this late on Valentine’s Day.” That place is ownedby Elliot’s brother Trey, and I know for a fact it’s booked up tonight.

“Table’s already booked, kitten; I knew you would say yes,” he says like the cocky prick he is.

Seven could work. It will give me enough time for a nap before I head out. “Guess I could make seven work. I’ve been meaning to test out Villa Bella Cucina, I love Italian food. One question, what about the roses?” I motion to the reason I’m standing in this lobby.

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