Carter reached over and grabbed her hands. “There are no words, Maria. My sister is the only family I have left. This is a true gift.”
Maria patted his hand, eyes filled with emotion, as Avery stared at him with a grudging respect and a growing worry that she’d underestimated her opponent. He’d won over the cake designer, gotten her to commit to an ambitious design on a tight deadline, and come out looking like a hero.
She added her thanks to Maria and gathered up her things. Carter strode to the bakery display. She opened her mouth to ask for the last chocolate croissant to go, but it was too late.
“Maria, can I get that to go?” He tapped the glass pane, targeting the lonely, beautiful pastry. “Those are my ultimate weakness.”
“Of course! Take it, on the house.”
Avery watched as it was wrapped in crisp paper, stuffed in a bag, and handed to Carter.
With a broad grin, he stuck his nose in the bag and sniffed. “Smells delicious. Gotta love a good chocolate croissant, right, Avery?”
That’s when she realized he knew.
He knew she’d wanted that pastry—bad. He knew, and he’d deliberately snatched it, just like he’d overtaken her appointment and shown her they were playing by his rules.
On cue, his gaze crashed into hers. A tiny smile curled his lower lip.
He’d won this set because she’d underestimated him. Again.
But she wouldn’t allow him to win the war. This was just one tiny battle . . .
They walked out of the bakery. “Well, that was fun.” Not. “I need to go back to the office, so I’ll be in touch,” she said.
“Why do you look so cranky?” he asked.
She shot him a look. “Like you don’t know.”
“Seriously, what’d I do?”
She rolled her eyes. “Besides the whole cake thing? You took the last chocolate croissant. On purpose.”
He blinked. “I like them.”
“Me, too. Sometimes the only thing I look forward to at my morning meetings is that damn pastry,” she grumbled.
“You want it?”
He offered it to her, but she rolled her eyes. “No. I wouldn’t enjoy it now.”
“Why?”
A frustrated sigh escaped. “Because you really don’t want to give it to me. It’d be a guilt-eat, and I’m no martyr.”
Those full lips tilted in a half smile. “You really are a puzzle.”
“Just don’t try to solve me and we’ll get along fine.”
His laugh pleased her more than it should. She liked when he relaxed and stopped being so damn robotic. He was more fun and a tiny bit sexy.
As soon as the thought registered, horror slammed through her.
No. He was definitely not sexy. He had taken over the entire cake appointment, disrespected her job, and stolen the last chocolate croissant. He was the devil, a control freak whose goal was to ruin her summer, and she could never forget it.
The mantra played in her head as she marched down the sidewalk ahead of him.
Chapter Nine
“Want to go to dinner?”
She stared at him like he’d announced he wanted to take her to bed. Ever since they’d left the bakery, she’d gone back to the freeze treatment and just grunted at his occasional efforts at conversation. “No.”
He couldn’t help his gaze from lingering on the curve of her ass as she stalked in front of him, her heels clicking fast over the uneven sidewalk in her desperate need to be ahead. In the fashionable pencil skirt, her hips swayed, and her lush buttocks were framed by the tight black fabric.
When had he begun thinking of her as sexy? She’d always been this annoying female hellion he wanted to keep in check around his sister. But these last few encounters, he’d felt a physical connection between them he’d never noticed before. Was it just the anger? Or something more?
He didn’t intend to back down easily. He had a need to explore this strange dynamic a bit more. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
He grinned at her stark honesty. “You owe me dinner,” he reminded her. “Unless you renege on all your bets.”
That statement made her stop in her tracks. Her head jerked around, and she glared at him with an intense loathing he found kind of hot. What did they say about anger and passion being closely linked? Was it possible she felt the same odd connection but refused to acknowledge it?
“You are a horrible person. Are you seriously going to force me to take you to dinner? How about I give you my credit card and I just pay for it? You’re probably used to dining by yourself.”
He cocked his head and allowed her remark to sink in. “That was kind of mean.”
She muttered something under her breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Why don’t I make reservations at Peter Shields for tonight?”
“I’m sure they’re booked,” she said between gritted teeth. “Besides, I have to work.”
“Till what time?”
“All night.”
“When are your usual days off, then?”
She rolled her eyes as if he was ignorant. “None. I rarely take a day or evening off—there’s no time.”
He frowned at that. He worked a heavy schedule, too, but enjoyed unwinding with a book or a long walk with Lucy in the evenings. “Fine, let’s combine work with dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight. We can go over booking the bachelorette party.”
“You’re not listening. I have a big wedding this weekend, and I need to make sure every detail is covered. Besides, I should speak with Ally’s bridesmaids before solidifying any plans.”
“I already did. They decided to let me be in charge of the whole thing. They want to be surprised, so they gave me carte blanche on the whole thing. Isn’t that great?”
The look on her face almost made him laugh. She was so obviously not pleased with their decision. Those too-wide eyes filled with hot anger, and her mouth pressed into a tight line. Funny, he’d never noticed her lips made a plump bow, almost like a gift, painted in crimson red. The sudden image of those lips opening under his crashed through his brain, and his body stirred.
“I can only imagine how you got them to agree,” she said. “Are you really going to bust up your sister’s last chance to cut loose? Why don’t you gracefully bow out and let me handle it? The women really want to have fun.”
He shot her a hurt look. “I’m fun. I have some great ideas I wanted to run by you. And if you want to guarantee Ally will have a good time, you need to help me plan it.”
She blew out a breath. “Fine, but after this, the slate is wiped clean. Just so you know, you’ll never get a reservation, and I’m not free until eight thirty.”
“I’ll handle it. Pick you up later. I better get back to Lucy.” He strode away before she had time to change her mind.
The rest of the day flew by. A quick call secured dinner reservations. He took Lucy for a walk, read a few chapters of his book on the deck, and analyzed a proposal for his next project. By the time he’d showered and changed, he was ready for good food and some feisty conversation.
He whistled while he drove to Avery’s house and parked. Glancing at his GPS, he confirmed the address. Of course she’d live in a cottage straight out of a Disney fairy tale. It was girlie and quirky, from the mismatched stone and bright-yellow door to the heavy ivy threading up and down the walls. The gate squeaked as he walked to the front porch, where a variety of endless, fascinating junk littered the space: watering cans, potted plants in various colors and sizes, statues of frogs and fairies, and mismatched wicker furniture with brightly colored pillows. The sound of multiple wind chimes caught the light breeze and lifted a wash of tinkling to his ears. It was as if spells could be cast in this small cottage close to the beach, and he wondered why a part of him sighed with pleasure at the happy, freestyle surroundings.