Page 5 of Under Daddy's Spell

Chapter Two

ANTOINE AND BELLA TOSCANOwere the first to welcome her when she moved in next door to their restaurant. Their Italian bistro was one of those gems the locals frequented because the atmosphere, food, and service were outstanding. And, best of all, it wasn’t on the tourists’ radar.

Now, as she stood in what used to be their lobby, Tessa couldn’t believe her eyes. The transformation in less than a month was astounding. Gone were the candlelit tables for two, the romantic alcoves, and the hand-painted frescos. Most of the interior walls had been relocated or removed altogether, which explained all the banging she’d heard for the past several weeks.

In their place was a large open room filled with workout equipment. Instead of neatly dressed servers in white-collared shirts and black ties, everywhere she looked were big, bulging bodybuilders in muscle shirts, if they wore shirts at all. Most had on those itty-bitty nylon shorts that left little to the imagination. A few had on knee-length basketball shorts, but they were snug, and it was clear from the way they molded to their toned backsides that underneath was a thong, or they were going commando.

Regardless of the style, Tessa did her best to keep her gaze above their waists. ?

Her friend Becca would have called them eye candy.

Or was it man candy?

Tessa tried but couldn’t remember the exact term she used for a big, buff, beautiful man with rippling muscles and a tight ass. Becca was a fitness fanatic and a budding bodybuilder herself. Nice hair, a great smile, and charm didn’t get her going. Beefcake did.

Beefcake! That was the word she was looking for.

Usually, Tessa rolled her eyes when her man-crazy friend went on and on about the hunk she saw buying Muscle Milk at the mall or the hottie she’d followed while jogging in the park. She claimed stalking had nothing to do with it; she only wanted scenery to pass the time. As if the trees and flowers and the Mississippi river that ran through the center of town weren’t enough.

When her upward-aimed gaze dipped too low, and she glimpsed a guy bending over to pick up a box, his painted-on black shorts riding up the backs of his sculpted thighs, Tessa better understood where her friend was coming from.

She quickly averted her gaze so she wouldn’t be caught staring where she shouldn’t or drooling. Although she needn’t have bothered. In the flurry of work leading up to the grand opening only days away—as declared by the banner over the entrance outside—no one appeared to have noticed her arrival.

“Excuse me,” she called to a man passing by, but he continued on without stopping or glancing her way. Since he was hefting a box marked towels wider than he was, she didn’t blame him. When others entered through the propped-open glass doors, carrying boxes stacked three or four high in their massive arms, she had to sidestep to keep from being flattened. From off to the side, she watched as pairs of men hauled in crates, their biceps and chest muscles rippling and bunching from the strain.

Since distracting any of them could lead to a serious injury, she moved farther inside to ask someone whose task wasn’t as dangerous.

Tessa took a less passive approach with the next man who held a clipboard. So he couldn’t pass without acknowledging her, she stepped directly in front of him and repeated, “Excuse me. I need to speak with the manager. Could you point him out to me?”

At least a half foot taller than her, his gaze dropped to her face. After a quick scan, it slid down her body in a slow, borderline-leering perusal.

“Yo, Jordan!” he shouted so suddenly she flinched. “There’s a hot redhead in an ass-hugging skirt asking to see you.” He shot her a grin and said in a better-moderated tone, “Lucky son of a bitch always gets the best-looking ones.”

Her eyes widened at his comment. Then, unable to help it because his chest was in her face, they dropped to the front of his cut-off T-shirt. Above an impressive six-pack and across the fabric barely containing his pecs, in bright blue, was the logo for The Body Shop, the same as the banner outside. ?

A low wolf whistle distracted her. Was this a gym or a construction site? When she glanced around for the source and found heads turned her way and a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto the aforementioned ass-hugging skirt, she concluded it was both.

Tessa was hardly in a position to be affronted by being ogled like a piece of meat since she’d been doing the same thing only moments before. Instead, embarrassment sent heat rushing to her cheeks. This was so not her gig.

She was an introverted bookworm, more comfortable running in the mornings before the world woke up than at a crowded gym. Besides, when she worked out, her face turned red, she got sweaty, and her curly hair frizzed. Though she ran every day, she liked to eat, and her boobs, butt, and thighs still jiggled a little. That wasn’t something she wanted a crowded room of hot guys to see.

Uh, no thanks.

When she worked out, she did it in sweats, not wearing cute little spandex outfits and full makeup like the gym bunnies. Her goal was to burn off the blueberry muffins, cream-cheese-iced cinnamon rolls, and full-fat vanilla-caramel lattes she indulged in more often than she cared to admit. She wasn’t trying to attract a handsome jock like Mr. Drop-dead Gorgeous, who was heading her way.

As if she could.

She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried not to stare, but—oh my god!—the man was a heartstopper. He had muscles for days, but he didn’t look overly pumped like some of the others. Taller than the almost-leering guy who was at least six foot, he had wavy blond hair and, other than the interesting black-and-gold fleur-de-lis tattoo over his right deltoid, smooth, tanned, perfect skin.

Seeing him reaffirmed her strict no-gym policy. If he saw her fat rolls while doing crunches or with her hair plastered to her head after a run on the treadmill, she’d die of embarrassment.

“I’m Jordan Cooper,” he said when he stopped in front of her. “Were you looking for me?”

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