Page 19 of When in Rome

The little thief.

The door chimes as Amelia steps in, sunlight spilling all around her form like she’s a damn angel sent to earth to prove that heaven really exists. I wish I could say my eyes don’t track the length of her tan, toned legs in her white shorts—the same ones she was wearing the night I met her—but they do. Her long dark hair is now braided over her shoulder and drapes all the way down to the middle of her abdomen. It’s tied at the end with a navy silk ribbon that matches the blue in the striped tank top she’s wearing. White canvas sneakers cover her feet, but I know there’s red toenails hiding underneath. Needless to say, this classic and sophisticated style of hers isa complete contradiction to my old, faded Atlanta Braves baseball cap. Does she think it’s helping her hide? She sticks out like a beautiful, radiant thumb.

She ducks her head a little and then approaches the counter hesitantly. “I know I said I wouldn’t bug you, but your fridge was sort of empty, so I thought I’d come into town and get a few things to make dinner tonight. Earn my keep and all. But then I saw the name of this shop and remembered you saying you owned a pie shop, andohshootyou’remad.” She sizes up the frown on my face and starts backing away. “I’ll just go. Sorry. This was a bad idea and—” She cuts herself off and turns around, heading for the door, braid whipping her back like it’s spurring her to move faster.

Phil and Todd duck their heads together, whispering and casting me disappointed looks. Like James, they don’t think I’m treating Amelia well enough. This town is too damn polite for its own good, and I wish I wasn’t raised to think the same way. I wish I could successfully push her away like I’ve been trying to do instead of immediately tugging her back.

“Amel—Rae.” Her shoulders bunch when I call her name, and she freezes, lightly spinning on the balls of her feet to face me again. I hitch my head toward the pie case. “Have a look around.”

Maybe if I let her see everything now, she’ll get her fill of the “normal life” and hit the road sooner. Because I’m sure that’s all this is for her. The rich and famous star is stooping down from her stage tooohandahhover our quaint little lives and then she’ll take some stories of our Mayberry-type town on the road with her to tell her friends. This town is just a layover for her type. Believeme.

I don’t know if Amelia is smiling or frowning as she looks over every nook and cranny of my pie shop because I go into the back kitchen and clean up for the day. When I hear the front door chime, I audibly sigh with relief knowing that the bell means she’s gone.

“Shouldn’t have let her stay,” I grumble under my breath as Iscrub a mixing bowl in the sink. “Not worth it.” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “Such an idiot.”

“You talk to your dishes more than people.”

I jump a mile out of my skin at the sound of Amelia’s voice behind me. I startle so much that I accidentally fling a big glob of soap bubbles right into my eye. “Shit. Dammit!” Now my eyes are burning like they were just doused with bear spray. I’m trying to use my elbow to wipe them out, but it’s not working and my hands are still too soapy to use them.

“I’m so sorry! Let me help.” Amelia tugs my shoulder turning me toward her, and through my burning, squinting eyes, I can see that she has wet a dish towel. If she thinks I’m going to let her doctor me up, she’s got another thing coming. I don’t want her anywhere nearme.

“I’m fine.” I wipe my eyes with my forearm again, but it’s getting worse. Involuntary tears are starting to stream from my eyes. I’m not crying! Let the record show my eyes are doing this on their own!

I shove my soap-covered hands under the stream of water and frantically try to rinse them so I can wipe what I now think might be straight-up battery acid out of my eyes. Amelia tries to tug my shoulder again, but I don’t budge.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she says like she’s lived in this town for more than two days. She then slides herself up under my arm, right between me and the sink. My arms are wrapped around her now and our chests are touching. Hot electricity surges through my veins and I’m left stunned. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms and that’s the only reason my body is reacting so intensely right now.

“Just let me get the bubbles out and then you can go back to ignoring me,” she says, lifting up on her tiptoes to push the dish towel into each of my eyes, wiping the suds out. It helps. Or maybe I just don’t feel the pain anymore because my brain is zeroing in onall the places our bodies are touching. It takes me all of two seconds to note that her eyes have flecks of green. That when her vanilla lotion mixes with her skin it smells like brown sugar. A light dusting of freckles sits on the bridge of her nose. Other than that subtle black line that extends over her lid and flicks out beside her thick eyelashes, I don’t think she wears much makeup. If I had to wager, I’d say those raspberry-pink lips are all natural.

I swallow when her hand lowers and my eyes are no longer burning. She doesn’t move. I don’t move. There’s this magnetic sort of pull between us that I’m not happy to realize exists. More than anything I’d love to be repulsed by her—but I’m not. And I sure as hell don’t hate staring at those full lips, wondering if they taste just as tart and sweet as they look.

I should step back. Drop my arms. Take a deep breath and cool off. But I can’t—my feet won’t move and my eyes won’t budge from her mouth.

And then, I don’t know who moves first, but our lips collide. My hand shoots up to cradle the back of her neck, and her arms wind around my waist, pulling my body flush with hers.Tender curves.Warm scent. Greedy hands.Her delicious mouth chases away my logical thoughts until all that’s left is desire. I step forward, pressing her back against the sink. We should stop. This goes against everything I’ve told her—but she makes a soft sound of encouragement that spikes a sharper need in me than I can contain.

Usually, I kiss like I have all day. A gentle build of sensuality that’s meant for savoring. Amelia unlocks something in me, though.Impatient. Needy.Her tongue glides over mine and she’s so damn sweet I feel like I’m burning alive.

I glide my hands to her waist and wrap my fingers around her hips, one second away from hoisting her up on the counter when the shop door chimes. The sound douses us in reality and all my rational thoughts return.

I drop my hands and step wayyy back, feeling strongly thatwhatever that was—it was a mistake. Amelia shuffles to the farthest corner of the counter. We’re not making eye contact anymore, and the atmosphere turns awkward.

“Amelia, I’m sorry. That was—”

“Not supposed to happen,” she finishes my statement in a rush. “I know. And I’m sorry, too. Let’s just move on and agree not to do it again.”

We’re prevented from talking anymore about this—which is probably for the best—when a familiar voice calls out to me from the front of the shop.

“Noah?”

Oh no. Not now. Not yet. I thought they’d get back in town tomorrow!

“He must be in the back.”

“Hiding probably.”

I look at Amelia and grimace. “I apologize in advance.”

Amelia only has a second to look confused before all three of my younger sisters barge through the kitchen door, eyes frantic and on the hunt.

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