“Yeah, it was.”
He sounded as stunned as she felt, and when he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the tender gesture almost made her forget why she’d wanted to humiliate him in the first place.
Almost.
“Could you give me a hand?”
“Anytime.”
She rolled her eyes at his naughty smirk. “I have some things in my car I need brought inside.”
“Sure, lead the way.”
Damn it, she even found his mock bow cute and resisted the urge to stomp to her car and kick a tire. He’d insulted her work. Worse, he’d belittled it, deeming it frivolous and unimportant. For that, he had to pay.
“Do you have a special gift for the happy couple?”
“Something like that,” she said, popping the trunk and reaching into her bag of tricks.
When she attended styling jobs she used a giant briefcase, like the doctors’ cases from the olden days that folded out. In it, she stocked every item she may need: knives, zester, peeler, mandolin, potato masher, pastry cutters, blow torch, wooden skewers, and hand mixer.
And a can of whipped cream.
With her back to him, she gave it a shake before swiveling to face him. He was peering into the trunk and didn’t see it coming. With a deft press of her finger she directed the nozzle at him, releasing a stream of cream that covered his face.
He leaped back with a loud, “What the fuck?” and for a second Harper experienced genuine remorse. What a stupid, childish payback for some clueless guy insulting her food.
But then he wiped the cream from his eyes and fixed that glittering gray gaze on her, and she knew it would be okay.
Until she realized Manny wasn’t angry.
He was intent on revenge.
4
The first raunchy thought that entered Manny’s mind when he saw the whipped cream can in Harper’s hand was, Lucky me, she’s into some kinky shit.
That was before she decorated him like a fucking meringue.
The woman was crazy, but before he got to the bottom of why she’d done this, he knew exactly how to deliver a little vengeance of his own.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, brandishing the can at him like a weapon.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Her eyes widened as she realized his intent a second before he kissed her again, this time smearing her face with the cream covering his.
She responded for a moment, those beautiful pliant lips pressing against his, before she pulled back and shoved him away.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she yelled, radiating anger like he was the bad guy in this scenario.
“Just like I can’t believe your stealth cream attack on me.”
Her chest heaved with indignation. Magnificent. Even now, when he knew she had to have a screw loose, he wanted his hands all over her . . .
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, flinging the can back in the trunk and reaching for a dishcloth from the same bag that held a mystifying array of kitchen implements. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“From the way you kissed me before, I thought you liked it there.”
“That kiss should never have happened.” She slammed the trunk shut and dabbed at her face, doing little but spreading the cream around, before holding it out to him. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“What plan?”
She folded her arms and frowned. It did little to detract from her beauty, even beneath the layer of whipped cream.
“I’m a food stylist. You insulted me in there, so I wanted to make you pay.”
Ah, so that was the reason behind her hissy fit. Now that he’d got over the shock of being decorated like an ice cream sundae, he could see the funny side of it, but by her glower, she didn’t.
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not. You’re an opinionated jerk who thinks his high and mighty job is more important than anything else, so I stupidly thought I’d take you down a peg or two by flirting, then humiliating you with that.” She pointed at the cream covering his face, her shoulders slumping as she grimaced. “But it was lame and childish and I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
He bit back a grin because he didn’t think she’d appreciate it. Yeah, what she’d done was something a kid would do, but it was funny as hell and perfectly warranted considering he’d insulted her job. “But for the record, I don’t think being a doctor is better than anyone else’s job, and I’m sorry if my jibes about yours made you feel that way.”
He glimpsed grudging respect in her eyes before she blinked. “Wipe that stuff off your face. You look like a clown.”
“So do you,” he said, wiping his face before advancing on her to do the same.
But she sidestepped and held up her hands to ward him off. “I’ll get cleaned up inside.”
“You can’t walk back in looking like that.”
“I have a makeup bag in the room reserved for the bride, so I’ll be fine.”
With that, he watched the most infuriating, intriguing woman he’d met in a long time turn and run.
5
“I’m mortified.” Harper covered her face with her hands as Samira and Pia tried to stifle their laughter and failed. “I acted like an idiot.”
“Manny deserved it,” Pia said, muttering, “Ouch,” when Samira poked her in the arm.
“He wasn’t being mean considering he didn’t know Harper had styled the food.”
Pia rolled her eyes. “You always defend him. If you weren’t so hot and bothered for your sexy husband, I’d say there’s something off with this friendship between you and the doc.”
“Manny is so not my type.” Samira’s smitten gaze drifted past a group of revelers dancing a Bollywood version of the “Macarena” to focus on Rory, the host of Australia’s latest hit reality TV show, Renegades. “Now him, on the other hand . . .”
Pia made mock gagging sounds. “How can you still be so in love after six months of marriage?”
“He makes it easy,” Samira said softly, a satisfied smile curving her lips. “He’s a great hands-on dad too, and Ronnie adores him.”
Harper couldn’t help a small stab of envy. She’d once harbored dreams of a family. Until her own had imploded and taken her faith in commitment with it.