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  Of course she could smile and dance along the edge of flirting, but nothing more. He had to stay at a distance. She slipped her hand away and stepped back, flashing a hollow grin. “Do you want me to wrap up some brownies?”

  For a moment Brennen watched her, scrutinizing her, and heat crawled up her cheeks. She’d first seen those dark blue eyes the day of her father’s funeral a decade ago, young Brennen standing with his family at the grave. Most condolences were offered to her stepmother—few gave Gina even a passing look—except that one cute older boy who looked sadly at her. She’d recognized him immediately when she first glimpsed him in the bakery as she worked the back room as a teen, even though they’d never spoken about that initial grim encounter.

  And oddly she’d felt ever since like part of him knew her, saw something a little deeper than most people did, especially when he looked at her as he was now, his gaze heavy and unyielding.

  Gina looked away, tapping her blunt nails on the glass counter.

  “A dozen would be nice, yes, and what’s baking?” Brennen breathed in deeply. “Smells good.”

  The rolled biscuits—they didn’t take long in the oven and anything past golden brown would be ruined. And ruined product meant unsold product, which Maureen would be violently displeased about. “I’ll be right back.”

  She rushed into the back room, grabbing the towel from the counter on the way by, and popped open the oven. Heat blasted her face and rolled upward, the biscuits looking absolutely perfect. She pulled the tray out and dropped it on the island in the center of the room, turned the oven off, and transferred the biscuits to a wire rack with her fingers. Her stomach rumbled at the scent of them—with a bit of butter and jam, they’d be perfect.

  “And I’ll take half a dozen of those.”

  Gina glanced up to see Brennen hanging in the doorway, grinning at her.

  “If they’re not spoken for, that is.”

  “They’re not.”

  He raised his brows suggestively. “Good to know.”

  The bell over the door chimed again. “Excuse me but what are you doing?” a voice rang out.

  Gina’s stomach bottomed out.

  Maureen is back.

  ****

  Brennen noticed the change in Gina immediately, the pretty baker’s shoulder’s seizing and a tremble working through her fingers. She backed from the counter swiftly, gesturing for Brennen to leave. He did so, stepping back through the curtain and swinging around to see her stepmother standing just inside the door.

  Her ice-blue eyes were on him, steady and accusing, even as a frosty smile curved her lips. “Mr. Prescott. So nice to see you.”

  Behind her stood one of her daughters, the elder one. Silver-blonde hair like her mother, dressed in pale pink with a ring of pearls around her neck. Tatum Chandler. One of Brennen’s friends had dated her in high school. Beyond that, he knew little about her, except that she had a pouty resting face and gave him a dismissive roll of her eyes.

  “Gina was just getting my order,” he said as Gina stepped out of the back room and swiftly walked to the cash register, her head down and hands still shaking. He knew her stepmother was unpleasant but Gina seemed downright terrified of her. He told himself it couldn’t be that bad if Gina was still living and working with the woman—she was nearly twenty-one and more than capable of living on her own—but there was no denying more went on between them than immediately apparent.

  “Is she, now?” Maureen Chandler-Cassidy’s sharp gaze moved to Gina, who withdrew a white box from under the counter and began packing up the brownies.

  Michael watched the exchange from across the room, silent and still. He worked private security and was used to not attracting attention while he observed a situation. Brennen would have to get his thoughts on things after they left.

  Maureen stepped deeper into the room, her four-inch dove gray heels clicking decisively with each step like a ticking bomb counting down before an explosion. Her focus remained on Gina. “Where’s Tamara?”

  “I don’t know.” Gina packed up the brownies and set the box by the counter, then excused herself to gather the rolled biscuits.

  Maureen gave her older daughter a look. Tatum sighed and dragged her feet up to the counter, her well-manicured finger hammering down on the buttons as she rang up the order.

  Brennen gave Mike a look but he gave the slightest shake of his head. So he didn’t want to go through ordering but wanted to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

  Can’t blame him there.

  Maureen passed the counter and went into the back room, the white curtain swinging closed behind her. The tension in the room didn’t leave with her, instead coiling tight.

  Though Brennen listened, he heard nothing for several minutes, and then the curtain parted again to reveal Maureen with the box of rolled biscuits in hand. She set them with the brownies. “If there’s anything else, Tatum can help you.”

  So much for seeing Gina today.

  He pulled out his wallet to pay while Tatum rang him up, Maureen exiting out the front door behind him. Mike waited silently to the side as Brennen gathered up his boxes and the two of them stepped out into the hot sun on Main Street.

  “That was interesting,” Mike said dryly.

  “That’s one word for it.” Brennen’s hands tightened on the box as he tried to smooth his annoyance down—he hated that sad, frightened look Gina got, a strange desire to protect her always rising up when he saw it.

  Mike went for his car parked around the corner. “I’m taking a new job next week and there’s a meeting about it today, so I’m off.”

  Some kind of protective detail—Brennen vaguely recalled mention of it when they met for lunch earlier. “Good luck.”

  “And to you.” He cast a wry look at Brennen—a knowing look, like he knew full well his insistence on heading to the bakery had nothing to do with the food.

  Luck. If he was ever going to get to know Gina better, he’d clearly need it.

  Chapter Two

  As evening darkened the sky and Midsummer’s downtown core, the bakery remained bright and blindingly white under the fluorescent lights.

  The closed sign hung over the front door, as it did at nearly all shops in town except for the bar and grill a few buildings down—things closed down early in Midsummer, and most shop workers were already home having dinner.

  Gina had ducked out an hour earlier to put dinner on the table for Maureen and her daughters at their house two blocks over, as she did every day. Later she’d go over and clean up their dishes, but first she had the bakery to have polished to a spit-shine. Maureen didn’t check every day that it was spotless, but if it wasn’t on the occasion she looked, well...

  The sudden flare of memory when a palm connected with her flesh stung Gina’s cheek and reminded her it was best to just follow Maureen’s rules. And a slap was getting off easy for showing her face at the store’s cash register when she was supposed to stick to the back—far worse was her stepmother’s heel crunching down on her left foot for daring to walk around barefoot. Her simple slip-on shoes pinched uncomfortably but she wouldn’t dare take them off now.

  The counters were clean, dishes washed, floors swept, and the front of the shop was dark as she’d already washed the tile in there. She dragged the mop over the last of the floor in the back room, wrung it out in the pail, and stood straight. Her entire body ached—she’d been on her feet since quarter to five in the morning—and she couldn’t wait to sleep.

  After I clean up the dinner dishes. Her own stomach rumbled but she ignored it. She had just a few precious hours to herself at night when the house was dark and the others were asleep—she’d get a bite to eat then, before she finally drifted off for the night in her creaky dark attic room.

  Gina scooped up the heavy pail of water and shuffled the few remaining steps to the backdoor. It creaked open on hinges that never lost their squeak no matter how many times she oiled them and suppressed a yawn as she step
ped outside.

  Then she yelped and fell back against the doorframe at the sight of a dark figure standing to the side of the porch steps.

  “Sorry.” Brennen stepped forward, the light catching his raised splayed fingers. “I didn’t meant to scare you.”

  “You’re lurking.” The pail weighed heavily in her hands but she hadn’t moved far enough to dump the water, still staring at him warily.

  “Waiting,” he corrected with a grin that melted her nervousness.

  “Also known as lurking.”

  He held her gaze and took another step forward. “Much more innocent.”

  “Lurking in the dark.”

  “I was sitting on my car.” He gestured over his shoulder where the vintage navy Mustang waited, parked in the small empty lot behind this cluster of shops. “Stepped forward when I saw you. Hadn’t realized it would be dark and scary. Really.”

  She peeled her body from the doorframe at last, the screen door creaking shut behind her, and shuffled with the heavy pail to the nearby railing. “Marginally less scary, then, except that you’re still waiting in a dark empty parking lot at night watching me through a window.”

  “You’re right, that part’s weird.” He scooped the pail’s handle from her hand before she could haul it up, paused a moment in question, and when she nodded he easily tipped it over the side to splash onto the gravel. “The last thing I want is to be weird.”

  And what do you want? she wondered but didn’t ask. No, it wasn’t a good idea to invite conversation. “Did you enjoy the biscuits?”

  “I got them for my grandfather, but yes, I did sneak one. Again, you’re magic.”

  His grandfather, she knew thanks to Midsummer’s very noisy rumor mill, lived on his own in a big house just outside of town—everyone knew, in fact, because the old man was ancient and senile, but Brennen took care of him. Left law school early to do so, much to the chagrin of his parents. She greatly admired that dedication. He’d mellowed after his misspent youth, to be sure.

  Gina retrieved the bucket and set it inside the shop, switched off the porch light, then locked the deadbolt of the heavy secure door and let the screen door creak shut. “Unfortunately we’re closed, but tomorrow I’m making pies. You might want to check out the pecan.” She turned to find him standing in her path to the steps, near—too near. With the porch light off, just the streetlights from the parking lot lit the area, cutting a halo around him and highlighting his strong jaw and serious eyes.

  God, Brennen, just don’t even bother. Words escaped her for a moment as she stared up at him, feeling so plain and messy in her second hand clothes and wild hair, the smell of pine cleaner hovering on her skin.

  But it was the sudden sharp reminder of Maureen waiting at home, not content to go to bed until she knew Gina was tidying up, that got her tongue moving again. “I have to get home.”

  “Can I drive you?”

  No. Yes. She hesitated. Her foot ached—she desperately wanted to be off it for a moment—but all she needed was a neighbor seeing the car and mentioning it to Maureen to create problems. “No, thank you.”

  His hopeful smile wavered. “Walk?”

  Yes. No. “Part of the way.”

  He took a step back and offered his arm with a gentlemanly bow; she couldn’t help but chuckle and accepted the gesture, folding her small hand over his muscled forearm.

  Gina tried to disguise her slight limp when she walked but it forced her to practically slow to a crawl. Brennen said nothing, letting her set the pace as they stepped down the handful of porch stairs and moved across the silent parking lot.

  “Did your friend not get his tarts this morning?”

  Brennen chuckled. “That was actually an excuse so I could see you without seeming creepy. But the lurking outside your store apparently took care of that.”

  She chewed on that for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t invite more conversation on the subject, but unable to help herself. “Why did you want to see me?”

  “For one thing,” he leaned over and grinned down at her, “I happen to like seeing pretty girls. For another, one of your sisters is almost always running cash.”

  She hadn’t guessed he came by enough to notice, the picture of him in her head shifting ever so slightly. Now it wasn’t a mere coincidence when he dropped by—he was hoping to see her. The thought warmed her through even when her brain piped up to be cautious.

  “Did I get you into trouble for being in the back room?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” she said quickly—probably too quickly, but she couldn’t take the word back. “No, it was fine.”

  “Can I ask why you stay there?”

  “No.” And she was firm about it, her entire body stiffening. Of course he’d sense something was up, of course he’d ask. Anyone who paid attention to her—and there had been very few people over the years, but there were a couple—ended up wondering the same thing. After she graduated high school, even her stepsisters seemed surprised to see her still around. They were callous but not stupid.

  It wasn’t something she could explain. Not to anyone. Not while she still had...stuff to do.

  “Okay, home life off the table. Got it.”

  His arm was warm and comforting under her hand and she wanted desperately to lean into him, to take comfort there, to close her eyes and rest. But she remained at attention, measuring the distance between the shop and home, watching for the break in the hedges up the road—he couldn’t walk farther than that or risk Maureen seeing him. And God knew what the woman would do if she found Brennen hanging around her.

  “Can I ask you out for coffee?” he asked next.

  Gina found herself grinning absently as she turned her gaze up at him. “You can but I’ll say no.”

  Brennen looked down at her. “Is it me?”

  “No. I...I don’t date. I work around the clock.”

  “So it’s not just a line you use on all your suitors?”

  The guy was nuts, apparently. Gina shook her head. “I don’t have suitors.” Of course, there was the odd boy in high school, but that rarely went anywhere. Now, she hardly saw the opposite sex at all.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you.”

  She quickly averted her gaze. “I’ll have to do a better job of discouraging you, then.”

  “Hey...” He stopped and as she was still holding his arm, she did as well. Brennen stepped in front of her, blocking the sidewalk.

  Danger, danger. The word practically flashed in her mind like a big neon sign she couldn’t ignore, because her heart was hammering and her fingers were trembling, and Brennen was far too close for comfort. Her lips parted on an objection she couldn’t quite express, the words dying in her throat.

  She pulled her hand from his arm but didn’t get far with it, his fingers snapping out to grasp hers, pressing their palms together.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  He gave her a sexy little half-smile. “Not letting you run away like you do every time I see you.” His other hand came up to cup her jaw gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek, and she shivered with a sudden flare of desire, a feeling that sped her pulse. Her eyes closed involuntarily—if she could just have this one moment, just one, not a second longer and never another one, would it be so bad?

  The voice in her head that should’ve spoken up to say yes, yes it would be bad, was silent. She knew she shouldn’t give into this, shouldn’t even want this, but all resistance melted away with his proximity.

  Because she hadn’t opened her eyes, she could only feel his nearness, sense it. She breathed in the scent of his aftershave again, that cinnamon tickle that wrapped comfortingly around her, and felt his nose brush hers when he tilted her head back.

  And when at last his lips touched hers, a gentle but fiery caress, she yielded and opened to him, welcoming his kiss. His tongue snaked out, tentative at first, and then eager when she moaned into his mouth, lost in the feel of him. The heat of
desire rushed from her lips down her body, through her limbs, between her legs where it stoked an odd unfamiliar yearning at the apex of her thighs and moisture pooled in her panties.

  The shuffling of steps behind her broke through her reverie and Gina pulled back, heart hammering and terror gripping her as she half-expected Maureen to be standing there watching.

  It wasn’t, though, just an older man walking a small terrier. He gave her and Brennen a rather scathing look and then continued on, crossing the street as if he was going to catch something from two young people kissing on the sidewalk.

  Kissing. Oh God, I was kissing him.

  “I have to get home,” she said swiftly, moving past Brennen and limping as fast as she could toward the house, leaving him too dumbfounded to follow until she’d turned the corner toward the house and was completely out of sight.

  She would never, ever let that happen again.

  ****

  In the darkness of her childhood home after midnight had rolled around, when the dishes were cleaned and put away and her stepfamily was in bed, Gina crept through the silent house. Down the narrow staircase from the attic, where she knew every step—every loose board, every creak, so she could avoid making any noise on her way down. A small flashlight was tucked in the waistband of her pajama bottoms, her loose T-shirt hanging over it. If she was caught, she could say she was headed to the bathroom, but not if someone saw the flashlight.

  Her feet touched down on the floor at the very bottom, the familiar feel of the elegant carpet runner brushing her toes. She ghosted forward, her fingers following the wall to her right, guided past the shapes of furniture by the moonlight through the sheer drapes over tall narrow windows. The tiny corridor turned left and widened into a large proper hall of bedrooms.

  Maureen had exceptionally good hearing, to the point that when Gina was little, she didn’t think her stepmother even slept. Once, before her father died, she’d had over a friend for a sleepover. The girls slept in the living room downstairs with sleeping bags, whispering about boys, and the next morning—after her friend was gone and father was out, of course—Maureen had repeated nearly word-for-word what they’d been talking about and proceeded to slap Gina hard across the face for being “such a little slut.”