Page 38 of Under Daddy's Spell

Her face flooded with heat. “Oh my god! You saw that? Why didn’t you say something or help me?”

“You weren’t putting up much of a fuss. Besides, before I could blink, he had you pinned to the bookshelves with his hard body and you looking all dreamy-eyed.”

“Because I smacked my head!”

“That was after he threatened to lay a wet one on you. Should have said yes, then something besides your head and booty would have been aching.”

“Oh my god,” she repeated, her hands flying up to cover her burning cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed. What happens in the aisles of Tournez La Page, stays in the aisles.”

The bell over the door sounded again, saving her from more of this mortifying discussion.

“I’ll get this,” Angie offered. “You stay and collect yourself. The blush and the wild hair sort of give away what you’ve been up to back here.” With a grin and a wink, her friend went to greet the customers who came in.

With what had to be steam rising from her flaming cheeks, Tessa collapsed against the shelves behind her. The feel of them at her back reminded her of how Jordan’s big, sexy body had pressed her into them. His breath had brushed her lips when he leaned in, and she trembled as she recalled how close she’d come to having his mouth on hers again. Those thoughts gave way to tactile memories of his hand raining down on her behind and set certain parts to tingling.

Before things had soured for them this week, he had been charming, patient, and kind. How could she revel in his gentleness yet crave more of his dominant attention?

“Mercy’s sake,” she whispered. “He’s got my head spinning so I don’t know what I want!”

***

WATCHING HER STAFFwilt from the heat that, predictably, soared inside the store after Jordan’s visit, Tessa was ready to close up early again. She was at the door to flip the sign to closed when a man wheeled up a giant box on a dolly.

When she opened the door, he rolled on in.

“Wait. There’s been a mistake,” she told him upon seeing the picture of a portable air conditioner on the side of the box.

“The order says to deliver three 8,000 BTU Portable A/Cs to...” He squinted at the clipboard pinned with two fingers to the top of the box. “Turn Ez Lay Page in Elmwood. That you?”

Again, with the hard Z?

“Yes, but—”

“No mistake,” he said as he deposited the box in the nearest space then hung a U-turn with his dolly and headed for the door.

“But I didn’t order them.”

He shrugged. “Someone did. It’s darn hot in here, and since they’re bought and paid for, consider it a gift.”

“Wait, do you have paperwork? I’d like to know who to thank.”

“Account info is at the bottom.” He pulled a sheet off his clipboard and passed it to her. “You’ll need to sign that for me. Be right back.”

She scanned the bottom of the page. Under account, only a number was listed, but there was a signature.

“All right! Jord-i-licious comes through,” Angie cheered from behind her.

“They’re not from Jordan.”

“Really? Then who.”

“Seth, his manager. Don’t get excited. I can’t accept them.”

Angie visibly deflated before her eyes. “Why not?”

“I priced this model. It’s five hundred dollars, and there are two more on the truck! I can’t afford to repay them.”

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