Authors: Sylvia Pierce
In the back room, Jagger gave Kate an overview of the wiring issues.
“But this has to be done by the thirteenth,” she said, her voice edged with panic. “No exceptions. I’ll have a hundred people an hour rotating through here on Valentine’s Day, including corporate sponsors and the media. Everything has to be absolutely perfect. There’s no room for error on this, Jagger. None. And I—”
“Can’t you just hold the event in the front room, save the renovation for another big shindig?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Jagger. You’ve seen the front. Two booths, two small tables, and a four-stool counter bar? Give me a break. The expansion was part of the deal—I promised the sponsors I’d have the space available.”
He hated his next idea, but he was obligated to make the suggestion anyway. “Alright. What about bringing in another guy or two? With three of us on it, we could probably—”
“Not possible.” Kate slid down against the drywall, burying her head in her hands. “No budget. And I’ve already gone through half the contractors in the city.”
“Then you got one choice, Miss Molina.” Jagger knelt down in front of her, a smirk stretching across his whole damn face. “And you ain’t gonna like it one bit.”
“
S
orry
—can you repeat that?” Kate leaned forward across the counter, trying to translate what her customer had just asked for.
For the third time.
Thankfully, Marco was a regular with the patience of a saint—not to mention the ass of a pro football player—but still. Her level of customer service had plummeted tenfold in three days, and it pissed her off.
“Regular soy vanilla latte,” Marco shouted again, enunciating every word to be heard over the screech of Jagger’s saw. “Two small dark roasts, and an earl gray tea!”
At least, that’s what Kate heard. For all she knew, he was asking for a scone and some cinnamon hot chocolate. Or maybe he just wanted directions to get on the BQE.
Offering an apologetic smile, Kate turned around and got to work on the drinks. She was mentally calculating how much she’d already lost that morning on throwaways after screwing up nearly every order, not to mention all the freebies she’d offered up to make up for the noise and the long wait.
At this rate, she’d be totally out of business in a week.
Three days ago, Jagger had convinced her that he needed to work longer hours—that is, work during
business
hours—to make up for the shoddy work the previous contractors had done. After the first day on the new schedule, Kate had made the tough decision to temporarily close sit-down service, offering takeout orders only. She just couldn’t have customers lingering in here while Jagger was back there demolishing half the building. Not only was it a safety issue, it was damn annoying. Half the time he worked without a shirt on—
totally
unprofessional—and despite his promises to keep the mess under control, he’d turned the whole place into a construction site.
All that was missing were the orange cones and the catcalls.
Kate shook off her negative thoughts, packing up Marco’s drinks and throwing in a couple of chocolate pecan mini-tarts at no charge.
“Thanks, Kate!” he shouted. “I love those things!”
“No worries!”
“What?”
“I said, no worries!” Kate slid the coffee carrier and paper bag across the counter, wishing she didn’t have to shoo him out so quickly. Marco was cute, and usually she liked flirting with him, even though it never went anywhere. “Sorry about the—”
An impossibly high-pitched whine cut her off, one of Jagger’s awful drywall sanders that sounded like a thousand dental drills and seemed to get louder and more frequent whenever a cute male customer was inside the café.
It bothered her that she was now able to tell the difference between the saws and the sanders based on sound alone. She did not want that knowledge in her head.
Marco shrugged, finally gathering up his stuff and bolting out of there.
“Noise,” Kate finished. But he was already gone.
Cleaning off the steamer wands, Kate gazed out at the pedestrian traffic rushing by in front of the café, an endless stream of commuters and dog walkers and nannies who used to come into Sweet Bliss for a break, to get away from the hustle and bustle of Woodside Avenue. But that was before the place became known as Demolition Diner.
Just beyond the sidewalk, Jagger’s motorcycle gleamed in the sun, taunting her. New York was experiencing a freakishly warm February, and once he’d unloaded his tools from the Callaghan and Sons van that first day, he’d started showing up on the Harley instead.
Probably to torment her.
Kate knew how much he loved that bike, but seeing it now was like a punch in the gut. She used to love riding with him.
Kate took a deep breath, counting backward from ten. Georgie’s words echoed in her head.
Be nice… don’t scare this one off…
Of course, that was before either of them had realized that “this one” was Jagger Barnes. She wondered what Georgie would say now.
Didn’t matter. Kate couldn’t let this go on. Yes, contracting work was loud and messy. Yes, Kate had a tendency to overreact, and yes, maybe she was a bit of a hyper-anal control freak with impossibly high standards.
But sometimes people just had to be put in their place.
She tossed her rag into the sink and stormed into the back room, ready to give him hell. But there he was again, the shirtless wonder, a freakin’ marvel of powerful muscle that made her thighs clench.
She watched him for a minute, despite herself, fascinated by the tattoo on his shoulder—two wolves, side-by-side, one large and dark, the other lithe and gray, lighter than the first. He didn’t have it while they were together, and Kate wondered if he’d gotten it recently, or if someone had given it to him in prison.
Her eyes trailed down his torso and back up again, drinking in the lines and ridges of his strong body. His skin gleamed with sweat, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling as he ran the sander over the drywall, working the same spot of plaster over and over and over… rubbing it… stroking it… caressing it with his big, strong, determined, capable, calloused hands…
Holy shit, snap out of it!
Kate blinked, finally tearing her eyes away. Her panties were damp enough with Jagger around—no need to further encourage
those
fantasies.
You’re here to set boundaries, not obliterate them.
“Jagger,” she called. Twice.
After being ignored for a full minute, she finally crouched down and yanked the cord out of the wall, silencing the beastly sander.
Jagger turned around with a jolt. When he saw her standing there with the cord in her hand, he yanked off his face mask. “What the
hell
?”
“Are you
trying
to run me out of business?”
“Are you
trying
to drive me fucking crazy?”
“Excuse me?” Kate tossed the cord to the ground, her arms instinctively folding across her chest. “I’m running a business here, Jagger. It’s how I make my living now, remember?”
“Yeah? Well I’m trying to do my job. The one you hired me to do. Remember?”
“Really? Does your job involve scaring off the male customers? Or is that just a pissing-on-your-territory thing?”
“You’re out of your mind.” Jagger shook his head, staring at her hard, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. It was as if everything in him was just
daring
her to push him, to escalate this fight into the stratosphere.
It was a familiar scene. They’d always fought hard and dirty.
They’d loved each other just as fiercely.
Kate shut her eyes, blocking him out. Once again, she felt that Jagger-induced rage boiling inside her. It started in her gut, a white-hot swirl that quickly fanned outward, heating her entire body, jolting her heart into a furious, impossible beat, making her limbs tremble, her throat dry.
It wasn’t a new emotion—not by a long shot. Hell, she’d been angry since she was four years old and the state had taken away her mother, a heroin addict who’d ended up dying in prison Kate’s freshman year of college.
She just thought she’d dealt with it. Had it under control. Never let it get the best of her—especially not in front of someone else.
Especially not in front of Jagger.
Eight years ago, when it’d become clear that Jagger wasn’t coming back—and that he’d wanted nothing more to do with her—Kate was beyond angry. But instead of letting it destroy her like it almost had when her mother died, she buried it. Jagger had refused to see her. She wasn’t about to go after Rage and those guys. So instead, she shoved all that anger and hatred and ire way down deep, where it simmered in the darkness, fueling her.
Gran was worried about her, tried to get her to see a counselor, but Kate refused. That ember inside got her through her darkest, loneliest nights, through mornings that’d had her contemplating ending her own life.
And since then, she’d spent a long time tending that fire, keeping it in check, letting it burn just hot enough to remind her of that pain.
To remind her that she’d never put herself in a position to feel anything like that again.
But with one look, one touch, one flash of those dimples she’d once loved to kiss, Jagger had undone all of that careful, dedicated work, dousing her single flame with gasoline, setting her insides ablaze.
She was lying to herself, pretending she wasn’t still attracted to him. Pretending she didn’t want to ask him a million questions—
what happened that night? How have you been? Why wouldn’t you let me visit you? Did you miss me?
Do you still think about me the way I think about you?
The last one stuck in her throat, hot and sharp. She’d been denying it for so long, but now that the words were there, written in her mind, she couldn’t let them go. She
did
still think about him.
Every.
Single.
Day.
And especially at night, alone beneath the sheets, only the darkness and her memories to keep her company…
God.
Right now, as crazy as it was, she wanted to… she wanted to kiss him.
Jagger shoved a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of white plaster dust in its wake. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath, then leaned back against the wall.
“What do you want from me, Kate?” His tone was low and broken, so soft she’d barely heard him.
“Jagger,” she whispered. And when he finally looked up and met her eyes, she saw the hurt in his. All of his walls were down. He was completely open, completely raw. All she had to do was say it.
I want you to kiss me. Take two steps forward, pull me into your arms, and don’t you fucking let me go, ever again.
There was so much she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t form. After eight years, everything she’d been thinking, dreaming about, wishing, screaming… all of it wanted to come out at once. She didn’t trust herself to get it right. Not yet.
Sensing her struggle, or maybe just wanting to be near her, Jagger finally took a step forward. His eyes hadn’t left hers. Kate’s heart hammered in her chest, her breath ragged, everything in her hoping he’d take just one more step, close the gap that had been forced between them so long ago.
He did it. Took another step. And then he was there, right in front of her, sliding his hand along her jaw, tangling his fingers into the back of her hair…
Her heart railed against her chest.
Please, please, please…
“Hello? Anyone about?” A voice called from the front room, and the thin gossamer thread that had held them together snapped.
Jagger lowered his hand and took a step back.
Without looking at her, he cleared his throat, turning back to his work. “Sounds like you got a customer.”
Kate nodded. She’d known immediately who that voice belonged to—the man was hard to miss.
There was a time in her life when Kate would never have put another man before Jagger, even a man like the one waiting for her up front.
But everything was different now.
A reminder she desperately needed.
“Be right with you, Mr. Blackwell,” she called out.
Smoothing out her hair and dress, Kate turned away from Jagger and headed toward the front room, leaving her past behind her in the dust, right where it belonged.
T
he unmistakable sound
of a kiss turned Jagger’s stomach.
“Hello, Kate,” the man said, and Jagger pictured him holding her out at arm’s length, scanning her body, the fuckin’ pervert. “You’re looking radiant, as always.”
Obviously a douchebag. Perverted, radiant fuckin’ douchebag.
Jagger could just tell by the way he’d said her name, that clipped and proper English accent, the deep voice that probably had women throwing their panties at him left and right. Kate had practically
sprinted
at the chance to greet him.
“Time for high tea?” Jagger grumbled under his breath. “Shall I fetch the queen?”
He couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, just the low timber of the guy’s voice, but when the prick made Kate laugh, Jagger was a heartbeat away from totally losing his shit. He jammed the drywall sander cord back into the wall and fired the thing up, running it over another patch of plaster until that shit was as smooth as a baby’s ass.
Even that couldn’t drown out the sound of her laughter, of their easy conversation. Jagger hadn’t expected rainbows and sunshine with Kate—there was too much history there, too much unsaid shit between them—but he didn’t think it would be so damned impossible. In three days of working close quarters like this, they could barely say hello without ripping each other’s heads off. But this guy saunters through the door like a world-class asshole, ready to sweep her off her feet with nothing more than that pussy-melting accent…
Just before the drywall caught fire from all the friction, the sander suddenly lost power. He turned to find Kate in the same position as before, cord dangling from her hand, frustration written all over her face.
Good.
“Are you finished?” she snapped.
“What happened to Benedict Cummed-His-Pants out there? Late for a polo match at the yacht club?”
“Seriously? Could you be any more rude?”
Jagger let out a dry laugh. “Believe me, honey. I’m just getting warmed up.” When it was clear she wouldn’t take the bait, Jagger let it go. He thumbed toward the front room, trying to keep the snarl off his face. “That guy a friend of yours, or what?”
Kate folded her arms across her chest. “Or what.”
Fucking great.
“He’s Jared Blackwell,” she finally said, exasperated.
“Fuck is Jared Blackwell?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “FierceConnect?”
Jagger shrugged. “Got nothin’. Sorry.”
“He’s the CEO of the company hosting the Valentine’s event next week. Show some respect. He’s pretty much the reason you have a job.”
“The reason I have a job,
sweetheart
, is the bush league assholes you hired before me fucked everything up.”
“Nice try.”
“I don’t like how he looked at you.”
Kate smirked.
Fuck.
Jagger hated letting her see how much she was getting to him. How much that guy was getting to him.
“Yeah?” she asked. “How was that?”
“You
know
how.”
“That’s rich, considering you couldn’t even see us from in here.”
“I saw enough.”
“Well guess what, Jagger Barnes. When it comes to guys looking at me, you no longer get a vote.”
“I’m just saying, he—”
“Same goes for guys coming in here to buy my coffee and pastries. Guys talking to me. Taking me out for dinner. Taking me to bed—”
“Jesus
fuck
.” Was she
trying
to send him to an early grave?
“I mean it, Jagger. You have
no
say in my personal life. No say in my friends, my dates, my clothing, my finances, my business affairs. Other than what’s happening with this wall?” She pounded it twice with her fist. “I don’t want your opinion or your judgment on anything. Frankly, I don’t even want to know you’re
here
.”
“Yeah?” Jagger laughed. “You keep telling yourself that,
Miss Molina
.”
“Oh, I will.” She took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “Because it’s the truth.”
“Whatever you say.”
“It is!” Another step. She was close enough that Jagger could smell her perfume.
Cinnamon and spice, everything nice.
He fought to keep his face neutral. “Fine by me.”
“Me, too!” she shouted. “It’s fine! Everything is fine!”
For the second time in ten minutes, Kate was in his space, crowding him, closing in on him, glaring at him with a look that could only mean one thing—no matter how angry she was.
Jagger lowered his eyes, forcing himself to focus on a patch of drywall that needed plastering. He may have been rusty on reading a woman’s signals, but unless his shit was
totally
broken…
Believe me, Kit-Kat. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than take you right here against this wall, no more talking, no questions asked.
Fuck, he was so worked up by the idea, he couldn’t stop the collision of thoughts crashing through his brain.
Kate, gasping as he shoved her hard against the wall.
Kate, arching her back and spreading her thighs, begging him for it just like she used to.
Kate, moaning his name again and again as he ripped the panties from her ass and buried himself to the hilt, not even bothering to take off that pretty little dress of hers.
Kate, coming with the force of a storm, and then giggling her sweet little ass off…
“Jagger,” she fumed, taking another step closer. He watched helplessly as the bottom of her dress swished across her knees. Fuck, he wanted to feel that silky fabric against his face as he pushed that dress up her thighs…
“Look at me,” she said.
He finally looked away from her legs, dragging his eyes up the length of her thighs and torso, up over those lush, perfect tits, finally landing on her face. She was watching him with her big, blue eyes, her forehead creased, mouth parted as she tried to slow down her breathing.
Those eyes… Hell, he used to be able to stare into those eyes and know exactly what she was thinking, for better or worse. He could lose himself in them for hours, or for one damn minute, and know everything there was to know about Kate Molina.
Now she was totally guarded. Closed off. He’d done that to her, and it broke his fucking heart.
I’m so, so sorry, baby.
He looked at her hard, willing her to hear the words inside. Willing her to believe them, to forgive him.
Something flickered in her eyes, and for a second, the walls crumbled down. Jagger saw Kate, stripped bare and vulnerable, as lonely for him as he was for her. Instinctively, and for the second time that day, he reached for her, brushing his knuckles across her jaw like he’d done at least a million times before, back when he never thought he’d have a reason to count those touches, to remember them as the last best days of his life.
Kate sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, and he opened his hand and allowed himself to feel the silky softness of her face, her hair tickling the back of his hand.
“You’re such a dick,” she whispered. “You know that?”
Nodding dumbly, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, full and soft, watching in awe as she parted them for him. He felt the wet heat of her mouth on the tip of his thumb as she took him in, and then the sharpness of her bottom teeth, and the soft, velvet-smooth pleasure of her tongue.
Barely suppressing a groan, he lowered his mouth, heart pounding in his ears.
She was so damn close, so damn warm. All he had to do was claim her. One kiss, and she’d be his.
Just open your mouth, lean in, and make her yours again…
Ah, hell. Much as he’d hated the nagging, the bickering, it was actually a lot easier when he and Kate were fighting.
Because when they weren’t five seconds from tearing each other’s throats out, they were five seconds from tearing each other’s clothes off, and that could
not
happen.
Jagger let his hand drop away from her face and stood up straight, putting some much-needed distance between them. As much as he wanted her, as much as she
thought
she wanted him, going down that road now would dead-end in a whole mess of complications neither of them needed.
He couldn’t do that to her. He’d fucked up her life enough already.
“I need some air,” he finally said. His hand was warm where he’d touched her, and he balled it into a fist, stalking to the other side of the room. From a chair in the corner where he’d been piling his shit, he grabbed his T-shirt and jacket. “Try not to fire me while I’m gone.”