Caleb

SEDUCING
a man wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Allie glanced
at the clock on the wall, grabbed the tray of muffins from the cooling rack,
and moved them to the display case. If she were to believe the women’s
magazines, a few strategic double en tendres slipped into the conversation, a
couple pouty smiles flashed at carefully chosen moments quickly backed by some
searing come-hither glances, and she should be in gravy with any man of her
choosing. Except—she dropped the aluminum tray onto the shelf where it landed
with a satisfying clatter—she wasn’t. Which was why she’d gone a bit more
hard-core in her advice seeking, and shelled out some serious bucks investing
in her catch-a-man arsenal. All because one devastatingly sexy, infuriatingly
never-anything-but-polite rancher could throw her second chakra into overdrive
with nothing more than one of those unfathomable glances from under the brim of
his battered black Stetson.

Allie
closed the bakery case door, wincing as the underwire of her bra cut into her
chest. A Thanksgiving turkey couldn’t be trussed up any tighter than she was,
but if there was any truth in advertising, Caleb Johnson was finally about to
perk up and take notice, because thanks to one carefully selected push-up bra,
she magically had the blessing of cleavage. Seductive, dark, mysterious,
drool-your-heart-out cleavage. Now, if she could just get the man to look when
he got here, she just might have the satisfaction of watching his jaw drop. She
glanced down at her display. Things looked impressive from this angle, but
maybe she should undo another button just in case . . .

“You
should lock the door.”

That
low drawl rolled over her like a first kiss—sweet, hot, and tempting, catching
on her nerve endings. She took an extra second arranging the yin-yang doilies
on the counter, indulging in a few soothing tantric breaths, seeking calm with
the same intensity she sought that addictive scent she associated only with
Caleb. “Why? I knew you were coming.”

He
arrived every morning promptly at 5:30 a.m., just before she opened.

“You
didn’t hear me come in?”

“I
never do.” She straightened and turned, keeping her back to him under the guise
of getting his coffee. No sense diminishing the impact of the “grand display”
by bestowing sneak peeks.

Behind
her, the stool squeaked as he slid onto it. “Which proves my point. I could be
anyone.”

She
grabbed a deep black cup emblazoned with the Chinese characters for peace off
the stack and reached for the coffeepot. “But you’re not.”

She
flashed him a smile over her shoulder, her peripheral vision gifting her with a
brief image of broad shoulders, deep green eyes, and a simmering energy that
tempted her inner slut to howl with anticipation. “And one of these days you’re
going to have to tell me how you get past the bell without making it ring.”

The
heavy leather of his coat whispered a protest as he shrugged. “That bell’s
annoying.”

Which
didn’t answer her question. The man never answered questions. Just showed up
like clockwork to wreak havoc on her equilibrium. She put the pot back on the warmer
and brought his cup over to the counter where he sat, front and center,
casually overwhelming the small space with the sheer force of his presence.

“Thank
you.”

“You’re
welcome.” With his hat brim blocking her view, she couldn’t tell if he’d looked
up, but as there were no physical signs of male interest, no stiffening, no
catching of breath, she was going to assume he hadn’t.

She
opened the case and took out the two bear claws, heavy with extra icing, that
she’d prepared earlier and passed them to Caleb, making sure to lean in as she
did, treating him to a nice view of her button-popping cleavage. This close she
couldn’t miss his scent as it mingled with odors of cinnamon and sweet dough.
He smelled of the forest, of wildness. Of heaven.

Good
grief, was there anything about the man that didn’t make her mouth water?

Caleb
hooked a finger on the edge of the plate and pulled the offering toward him,
the creases beside his mouth deepening just a touch. With amusement or
irritation?

“Thank
you.”

His
deep baritone stroked along her senses, adding an excited flutter to her
already jangled nerves. “You’re welcome.”

He
didn’t look up, just nodded and wrapped his lean fingers around the coffee cup
and took a drink. This close she could count the dust particles clinging to the
brim of his black Stetson but could see absolutely nothing of his expression.
Not that she needed to see it to know the man obviously wasn’t impressed.
Nothing in his body language said he registered a half-naked, slightly-curvier
than-was-stylish brunette standing before him. Which was more than a little
insulting. She wasn’t fashion-model pretty, but she also wasn’t hag-of-death
ugly. And honestly, from her observations of her brothers, when it came to
breasts, men simply didn’t have standards.

“Can
I get you anything else?” she asked, bending unnecessarily to align another
tray under the glass countertop just in case he truly hadn’t noticed.

“No,
thank you.”

She
blew her bangs off her brow as she straightened. This was not encouraging.
They’d had this same conversation for a month now, and the lack of variety was
seriously making her question the wisdom of her interest in Caleb Johnson.
After all, a body to die for, high cheekbones, forest green eyes, and more
testosterone than one woman should have to endure without a tranquilizer could
only carry a man so far. And Caleb had about maxed out the mileage on his
assets as far as she was concerned. To the point that there was absolutely no
reason for her to have this interest in him. Except she did. Way down deep
where it wouldn’t be denied.

She
suppressed a sigh. She really should give up and accept that the big rancher
just didn’t have the hots for her the way she did for him. She should, but she
wouldn’t for the simple reason that her gut instinct indicated otherwise. And
her instincts were never wrong.

The
bear claws disappeared with smooth efficiency. So did the coffee. Caleb wiped
his mouth, the white of the paper napkin startling against the darkness of his
skin. He placed a ten on the counter, then tilted his battered hat back and met
her gaze dead-on, the darker green flecks of his eyes somehow blending into
shadows that shifted and moved, beckoned.

The
impact of that look ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, immobilizing
her muscles and trapping her breath in her lungs.

“Enjoy
your day.”

If
she’d had to say anything but another knee-jerk “thank you,” she wouldn’t have
been able to manage it. Thank goodness for the manners her mother always said
could carry a woman through any stressful situation, because trying to maintain
a civilized conversation while suppressing the urge to melt into a puddle at a
man’s feet had a way of taking a woman’s stress factor from zero to ten in less
than six seconds.

Allie
smothered a sigh as Caleb headed toward the door the same way he’d done every
day for the last month—head up, shoulders back, with that rolling stride that
made her knees weak. Oh heck, everything about the man made her knees weak, and
he treated her with the utmost courtesy and respect. She grabbed his plate and
coffee cup off the counter and dumped them in the rubber tub. Damn his hide!

The
bell jingling over the door startled her into looking up. Caleb stood in the
opening, shoulders filling the expanse, one hand on the door, a ghost of a
smile hovering around his wide mouth as he touched the brim of his hat with the
side of his finger in an amused salute. “See you tomorrow.”

She
stood there grinning like a fool as his richly textured drawl wrapped around
her in a seductive pulse of sound. Such a simple thing, but the man ringing her
bell was the most she’d had in the way of overt encouragement to date. Well,
that and the fact he kept showing up like clockwork.

The
door closed behind him. As the last jingle of the bell faded, so did her smile.
She was pathetic. Just because the man deigned to let the bell on her door ring
as he passed through did not mean he was interested in ringing
her
bell.
With a disgusted grunt, she reached behind her and unfastened the clips of her
push-up bra. With three deft twists, she slid it free of her arms and out from
under her white baker’s smock. A flick of her wrist sent the instrument of
torture into the trash.

Damn
it, she’d paid good money for that bra and the implied promises that came with
it, endured two hours of painful constraint in the hope that
someone—specifically Caleb Johnson—would at least flick an eyebrow in
appreciation at her newly blossomed cleavage. But all she’d gotten for her
money and her effort were breasts that ached and quarter-inch depressions in
her sides from the band.

Tossing
today’s hopes into the trash alongside the discarded bra, she buttoned up her
smock, flipped the closed sign to open, and set another pot of coffee on to
brew. Today had been a bust, but tomorrow was still there, as always, just
brimming with opportunities. And maybe over the course of the day, she’d think
of a new way to exploit them.