And not so suddenly, I think, this is awkward. That’s all there is to it. “How about one on your wish list?” I counter.
“You found one of my bottles?”
“I’m working on it.”
His eyes probe. “Does this mean you’re going to cash my check?”
My spine straightens. “No. I’m not going to be exclusive with you, Alexander.”
His jaw tenses. “Kace doesn’t want you to work with me.”
“Kace doesn’t make my decisions.”
“He’s rich and famous. He makes a lot of decisions for a lot of people.”
My defenses bristle. “He’s not like that.”
“Isn’t he? The man has a side you don’t know.”
“Don’t we all?” I challenge.
“He has secrets. Things you need to know before you get hurt. Why do you think he wants you to stay away from me? I know those secrets. Let’s go get that bottle of wine and I’ll open your eyes.”
“No,” I say and not just because of the talk I had with Kace this morning. Because of my life and who I am. And just plain respect. “I’m a person who respects privacy, Alexander. And a person’s right to expose whatever they want exposed themselves. Kace will tell me what he wants me to know.”
“Aria, we are friends and I want to protect you.”
“Alexander, I want to be friends, but please respect my boundaries. I owe you a bottle of wine for your help. I’m going to surprise you with a special find. Wait and see.”
“Kace—”
“Stop,” I say. “Stop or we aren’t going to work together at all.”
He inhales a breath and lets it out. “Fine. I’d better leave.”
“Okay.” That’s all I say. Just okay.
He turns and heads for the door, opening it, but when he would leave, he glances back at me and says, “Ask him about Maggie. You’ll want to know.”
He exits and anger stabs at me. I now know the name. I can’ t un-know it and he knew that. I’m around the desk and at the door in a flash. I yank open the door and call out, “Alexander.”
He’s already in front of me. He never left. “I thought that would get your attention.”
“I told you that I didn’t want to know your version of Kace’s secrets. They’re his stories to tell. Yet what do you do? You still blurt out some name that you obviously think will lead me to bad places with Kace. Really, Alexander?”
“Aria—”
“Don’t say another word. You showed me your character. I told you not to tell me anything.”
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Go, Alexander. We’re done.”
“You’re clearly angry,”
“I’m furious.”
“I’ll call you—”
“Don’t. And I’m tearing up your check.”
He turns and walks away. And that is when Kace steps in front of me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kace stands there at the door of my store, looking imperfectly perfect, his dark hair mussed by the chilly wind. My gaze traces the hard lines of his face, reading the anger there that I’m not sure is for me or Alexander, or perhaps both. And God, he’s just so Kace August, so ruggedly handsome and deliciously male in black jeans, a black leather jacket, and boots, his blue eyes fixed on me, his handsome face like stone. He isn’t moving or speaking. He is unreadable and my heart is thundering in my chest.
“How much did you hear?” I manage finally.
“Enough,” he says, and as if my words have shifted his mood, or perhaps the very ground beneath his feet, he steps toward me.
I back up to allow him to enter and he’s right there with me, catching my waist, pulling me to him before we ever make it inside the building. “Enough,” he repeats, his hand coming down on the back of my head, his mouth closing down on mine, a slice of sensual tongue stealing my breath. I moan with the unexpected, bittersweet invasion, sinking oh so willingly into the kiss, my arms wrapping his hard, warm body beneath his jacket, the scent of him—all earthy and masculine—as consuming as the feel of his hard body next to mine.
He walks me backward, kicks the door shut, and turns me to press me against it, his powerful thighs encasing mine. “Are we alone?”
“Yes,” I whisper and he locks the door.
Suddenly, I need to make sure his version of “enough” really is enough. “Kace,” I whisper, and when his fingers tangle in my hair, I say, “I didn’t—”
“I know, baby,” is all he says before his mouth closes down on mine again, and words no longer matter. How can they? His hands are all over my body now, caressing a path over my waist, over my breasts. I arch into the touch and I use my free hand to absorb the hard lines of his chest. He reacts, nipping my bottom lip, and cupping my backside, molding me firmly against him, the thick ridge of his erection pressed to my belly. “Why are you wearing pants?” he murmurs. “They’re too damn hard to get off.”