Page 35 of Under Daddy's Spell

“Then explain to me why your shop is cool enough that you’re wearing a sweater while we’re broiling next door?”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? They should both be the same, since they’re cooled by the same unit.” She shrugged while blinking up at him. “Maybe you’ll have better luck getting a repairman to call you than I have. Now, if you don’t mind, this chat has been lovely, really, but I have a business to run.”

“There’s no one here, Tessa.”

“Midafternoon lull,” she explained. “Which is why I’m paying invoices.” She waved her hand at the pile of bills on the counter. “I should get back to it.”

A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw. But it disappeared when he leaned down, his forearm propped on the aforementioned bills, and put his face next to hers. “You’re up to something, little girl. And I aim to find out what it is.”

“I’m twenty-eight, as you correctly stated the other day. Hardly a little girl.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, lingering like a caress, and his voice, less terse and much huskier, sent her heart racing when he continued. “You’re what? A buck forty, at most?”

“One thirty-six, if you must know,” she replied.

“Which is one hundred pounds less than me. You’re also shorter by a foot, which to me is the definition of little. That blouse and skirt, which you fill out nicely, prove your gender from where I’m standing. So, where am I wrong by calling you little girl?”

“It makes me sound like a child,” she whispered, doing her best to keep her lower lip from turning down into a pout.

She wasn’t sure she succeeded when Jordan leaned closer, enough for his breath to brush her lips when he spoke. “I know you’re a woman. I noticed it first thing the day we met. Your behavior makes me question your maturity, however. If I find you’ve done something deliberate to make my side hotter, I’ll show you how I treat a naughty little girl.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here accusing me,” she snapped with outrage. “And you have no right to judge my behavior.”

“Perhaps, but if you’ve misbehaved, I’m taking the right.”

Held by the intensity of his piercing blue eyes, with his mouth hovering near, she thought, no hoped, despite her annoyance with him and his supreme arrogance, that he might kiss her. But his brow quirked, and his lips tipped up on one side, and the next instant, he moved away. In the middle of the front display area, he came to a stop then scanned the walls and ceiling. She knew the instant he located the main air duct at the rear of her shop because he glanced her way before disappearing into the center aisle.

She hurried after him. “Jordan, wait. What are you doing?”

He didn’t stop or answer her, and he didn’t fetch the ladder like she had. He didn’t need it to reach up the painted-to-match-the-walls metal grate. But he needed a screwdriver, which he pulled out of his pocket and put to use.

“Now see here. You can’t storm into my shop like you own the place,” she exclaimed because any second now he’d discover how misbehaved she had been.

He didn’t spare her a glance as he pocketed the screws and removed the grate. Next, he aimed a flashlight—also stashed in a pocket; he’d come prepared—into the 12x16 inch aluminum duct.

“Tsk, tsk. What’s this?” As tall as he was, he couldn’t reach the book unaided. He looked around, spotted the ladder, and pulled it over. His gaze met hers briefly before he ascended. “Would you like to confess before you’re busted?”

With her mouth set in a mulish frown, she glared at him, saying nothing.

“So be it.”

He climbed up, reached in, and, amid some banging and clanging, pulled her makeshift diverter out. When he turned and held it up, a muscle jumped in his clenched jaw, proclaiming his displeasure. “Sabotage, Tessa? Is that what this has come to? What happened to being neighborly?”

“You’re one to talk. Forget about the noise and the grunting, and your clients taking my parking spaces. What’s neighborly about roasting your unit mate and her customers? I have children in here,” she exclaimed as she watched him replace the screen. Then, remembering Mrs. Sullivan, she added, “And septuagenarians!”

“Both of whom are tolerant of the seventy-two-degree temperature we agreed upon,” he reminded her as he climbed down.

“It was at least eighty-five in here!”

“And it’s currently close to ninety in my studio because of your tricks. I’ve upheld my end of the deal, Tessa. I went to great lengths to maintain the thermostat at the agreed-upon temperature while you’ve resorted to childish games.” His eyes narrowed as he asked further, “Have you ever thought the thermostat might be bad? The system is old. Who knows the last time it was replaced or calibrated? Or, it could be the simple fact I’m better insulated after the recent renovation.”

“I can’t go on like this or I won’t have a business left.”

“I understand you’re in a bind, but it doesn’t mean you push your problems off on someone else.” Moving her way, he added, “I’m calling someone to come inspect everything tomorrow. In the meantime...”

What happened next went so fast, she was too shocked to react. Jordan leaned in, grabbed her wrist, and spun her around. Then he bent her over and, with his arm encircling her waist, pinned her against his hip. When he swatted her bottom hard with the flat of his hand, she yelped. Through her clothing it stung, but the spanking—about a half dozen swift smacks in all—was over almost as quickly as it began.

He righted her and backed her up against the bookshelves. With an arm caging her on each side, he leaned down until his nose almost brushed hers.

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