He grinned as he took his jacket from over her arm and stepped inside the cabin, nodding his head for her to follow him. She wandered in slowly, her wide eyes drinking in every bizarre detail of the place he currently called home.
Running a finger across the buttercup yellow work surface, she came to a halt opposite him.
“Is this place yours?”
Dylan could see that Kara was trying to work out if his taste ran to roller boots and disco balls.
“For now.” He lifted the lid on the sugar pot and looked at her. Fuck, she was crazy-hot. “Sugar?”
Her presence seemed to fill every bit of the cabin with a low, simmering heat; one wrong word could set her off like a firework. She radiated energy, and being around her gave him an undeniable high.
She held up two fingers, and it took him a second to realise that she was referring to the sugar.
That was refreshing. Most girls back home would break out in a cold sweat just being near the sugar bowl, yet here she was telling him to pile it in. He picked up the mugs and glanced towards the door. “In or out?”
“Undeniably fabulous as this place is…” She cast her eyes dubiously around the cabin. “…let’s go sit in the sun.”
Dylan followed Kara out and gestured for her to climb the small stepladder onto the roof terrace.
“Don’t look up my skirt, Sailor,” she warned over her shoulder.
Dylan tried to look away as she went ahead of him and failed entirely.
“You looked up my skirt,” she said matter of factly, as he stepped onto the deck and handed her the coffee mug. He shook his head and attempted an innocent expression as he opened up a couple of deck chairs and a rickety table.
“Thanks for bringing my jacket over.” He sat down, ripping the bag of pastries open and spreading the brown paper out beneath them on the table as a makeshift plate. “Choose your weapon.”
Kara perched on the chair opposite his, her attention caught by the still warm, sweet-scented pastries.
The girl clearly had a serious sweet tooth. Dylan tucked that snippet of information away in case he ever needed to get into her good books in the future.
“Look. I’ll come straight to the point,” she said, picking up a cinnamon whirl and teasing it apart with her fingers. “My shirt comment last night was… regrettable.” She paused to enjoy a mouthful of the Danish, and Dylan took a slug of coffee and watched her eat.
“Regrettable?”
She nodded, reaching for her coffee. “We’re going to be working together for this entire summer. We need to get along.”
She lifted her eyebrows at him, looking for his agreement as she pulled off another large chunk of cinnamon whirl.
“I can see that,” he said easily.
“Thing is… I’m what you’d call a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda of girl, Dylan,” she said. He wasn't sure whether or not she was making fun of his accent. “So I’m going to be honest from the get go, so there’s no misunderstanding later.”
Whoa. This girl was turning out to be freakin’ amazing. A ‘what you see is what you get’ girl? He’d had plenty of women over the years, and not one of them could have ever been considered that.
Devious, yes.
‘What you see is what I want you to see?’ Totally.
“What I’m saying is this. I think you’re sexy, Dylan Day.” He jerked his eyes up to hers, even more surprised. “In an obvious kind of way,” she added, deflatingly, then popped the last of her pastry into her mouth.
“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” he said dryly, reaching for an ensaimada from the table.
“Yeah, yeah. But I find lots of men sexy, so it’s no biggie.”
“Okay then. Not so much of a compliment.”
“Hey, I’m not here to stroke your ego, Sailor. I’m here to say let’s not go down the obvious road.”
“And that would be?”
“Dancing around each other. Pretending the attraction isn’t there, and then falling into bed.”
“Are you suggesting we just have sex now and get it over with?”
She placed her mug down slowly on the table and looked at him with school ma’am eyes.
“Err, no, obviously not. I’m just saying let’s acknowledge the attraction like mature adults, and then agree not to act on it for the good of the club.”
“I knew that was too good to be true.”
She shrugged. “Are you going to eat that?” she pointed at the last remaining pastry on the table.
He pushed it towards her. “You like things that are bad for you, English.”
“It’s my downfall. I like sugar. I like fast cars. I like sexy men.” She licked sugar residue from her fingers, and Dylan’s body reacted with interest.
“I let myself have the sugar. And the cars.”
“Two out of three ain’t bad.”
“Hey, it worked for Meatloaf.”
“Do you always let hairy rockers from the eighties dictate who you screw?”
“Everyone needs a yardstick. Meatloaf just happens to be mine.”
She stood up, smoothing her hands down her minuscule skirt before holding one of them out to him across the table.
“Deal?”
Was it a deal? Could he spend the summer around this woman without either killing her or drilling her?
“Should I spit on my palm before we shake?”
“That’s disgusting. Just shake, Sailor.”
Her hand was warm and firm, just as he imagined the rest of her body would be if he ever had the chance to find out.
She let go of his hand. “See you at work.”
Dylan touched his fingers to his forehead in salute.
He watched her pick her way off the boat onto dry land, all long limbs and swinging hair. A pang of regret bloomed in his chest. She was right of course, and she’d only said what he probably wouldn’t have had the good sense to.
He’d secured the management job at the club by the skin of his teeth. Any other boss would have asked for references and resumes. Lucien Knight had given him a shot without any of those things, and common sense told him that any romantic entanglement with Kara could jeopardise that trust he’d been awarded without having earned it.
From his vantage point on the roof deck he kept his eyes on Kara’s marching figure as he drained the last of his coffee.
She passed by the small black hatchback he’d guessed must be hers, then walked right on by the moped that would have surprised him a little but not too much. He laughed out loud when she swung herself over the driver’s door of the bright red Mustang convertible at the end of the row of shops and restaurants. Even from the far side of the beach he could hear the engine as she gunned it and left the bay in a cloud of sand.
Hell, he’d always loved Mustangs.
Kara Brookes was something else. She’d turned up unannounced, eaten his breakfast, called him sexy, and then left him for dust with nothing but a tingling palm and a growing case of frustration.
Chapter Seven
Sophie was already at the club when Kara arrived a little while later. She’d made a start on opening the stock boxes, and was kneeling on the floor surrounded by scanty lingerie and sex toys.
“Just a normal day at the office I see.” Kara dropped her bag down on the floor with a grin.
“Free samples,” Sophie said, holding up an edible, erect penis with a look of barely disguised horror.
"Classy," Kara laughed. “Lunch?”
Sophie made a ‘no-way’ face and put the choc-cock back in its box.
“Where did you get to?”
“Just giving the old Mustang a good airing,” Kara said, aware she sounded vague but reluctant to mention her visit to Dylan.