Playing With Trouble (Desire Bay 1)

She tugged, but the damn thing was stuck.

Deciding she’d have to ratchet it free, she stepped out of her shoe, the coarse asphalt abrading the underside of her foot as she reached into the puddle and tried to jimmy Jimmy free from the mean pothole that was chewing up her favorite pair of stilettos.

“Come on . . . give it up, you rat bastard!” With a big yank, she launched backward, the heel snapping off, and Laura landed on her ass on the wet ground.

She looked at her shoe, which now was considered a flat. Stupid pothole.

With one shoe on and the other broken in her hand, she had nothing left to do but finish her trek around the building, where—thank the Lord—the back was open. Massive roll-up doors were open and the smell of diesel, dust, and dirt radiated from the warehouse. Machinery used to move mountains of gravel, sawdust, and lumber, it looked like. Because there were mountains of all three in there.

Holy crap, when had her dad gotten into the supply part of the home-and-garden business? This looked to be a large operation, not just a small floral shop anymore. He’d mentioned things—like that he had hired more people and business was growing—but Walt Baughman had never been one for specifics.

She stumbled in, calling out for signs of life.

She didn’t know a lot about the heavy machinery side of this gig, but she knew enough to recognize a lifter-mcbob and a plow-thingy.

When she knocked her knee on a yellow machine complete with jaws, she winced, bent over, and rubbed her kneecap, a welt puffing up instantly and stinging like hell.

“This doesn’t look good,” Laura said to herself.

That was the exact opposite of what Jake thought, staring down the most perfect ass he’d ever seen.

The ass in question, and its owner, were soaked, kind of muddy, and in his warehouse. Talk about a great way to end the day. He’d always been an ass man. And judging by the outstanding view, including a long set of legs covered in slick rain and a fitted black skirt, he’d give this one a solid eleven out of ten.

It had been a long day up until then—he tilted his head to the side to get a better view—but it was shaping up real quick.

Jake would like to think he didn’t have a type. But he did. And it was tall, blonde, and—as of just recently—wet. Still, he had to find his manners and help this clearly lost woman.

“You all right, ma’am?” he asked.

She stood, obviously shocked by his presence. “Ma’am?”

Sure, he was a man who appreciated a fine woman, but he wasn’t an animal. He’d been raised by a single mother and also had a younger sister. Respect was a big deal. Granted, the mystery woman who still wasn’t facing him didn’t seem to like the word ma’am.

“I’m not a ma’am. I’m a miss,” she protested. Her voice was mildly familiar.

She turned and—

“Ho-lee shit,” he muttered, staring down the one girl he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again. Scratch that, she wasn’t a girl. She may have looked it last time she was in town. But Laura Baughman was a full-blown woman and had grown into her curves nicely. So nicely, in fact, he’d have to rethink his stance on being an ass man after all. He’d also rethink his type, because truth be told, his type was Laura Baughman. Had been since high school. But Laura Baughman had a notorious type as well, and Jake wasn’t it. At least, back then.

“A poet with words,” she said deadpan, accompanied with a rolling of her eyes. Christ, he hadn’t meant to curse. But those eyes—rolling or not—hadn’t changed much. Brown irises and thick lashes were vibrant against a perfectly tan complexion. That kind of tan wasn’t seen in these parts. It reminded Jake that Laura, with her ever-apparent attitude, had spent the last decade somewhere in the sunshine. Sure, he’d heard the rumors and picked up a few details from Walt over the years. She’d run off right after high school, gotten married, and lived some grand life in some big city. He’d also heard that she wasn’t married anymore . . .

“Forgive my use of ma’am, ma’am,” he said. And nope, she definitely didn’t like that. Maybe she’d lost her sense of humor? Once upon a time they had joked together and she’d laughed a lot. She was always kind. A bright sun all on her own, walking down those old school hallways. But judging from the way she barely glanced at him, only to go back to examining her knee, she didn’t seem to recognize him. At all. Which meant he could work a different angle.

“You should work on broadening your vocabulary before asking for forgiveness. Ma’am makes me seem old and bitter, which I’m not.”

“Clearly,” he said. Wow, either she’d changed or she was in a bad mood. Either way, it was time to take that different approach. Because they weren’t teenagers anymore, and he wasn’t some lovesick puppy dreaming of the day Laura Baughman would notice him. Nope. Between the six inches of height and a hundred pounds of muscles his late growth spurt had given him roughly nine years ago, he wasn’t a wimpy, shy guy anymore. And he more than knew how to talk to a lady . . .

“If you want me to sweet-talk you, all you have to do is ask.” He winked at her.

That got her to face him fully. With that pretty mouth wide-open and likely ready to hand him his ass, she instead went mute, and a bright pink flush stained her cheeks.

“I, ah . . . ,” she stuttered, those brown eyes going a little wide as she looked him over. Her gaze paused longer on his mouth, then his chest, then his . . . belt? Looked like Miss Baughman was checking him out. Something that had never happened back in high school. Sure, she’d been the prom queen and a knockout then, just like now, but she’d always been nice to him. Didn’t mean he’d ever had a shot with her, because she was way, way out of his league.

She ran her palm over her hair as if trying to straighten it. It was golden and long and hung way past her shoulders in wet waves, which were currently dripping water from the tips of the tendrils to the cement floor. Poor woman looked drenched, disheveled, and sexy as hell.

Any minute she’d smile and realize who he was and that he was just messing with her by his earlier comment.

She shook her head, as if trying to get rid of whatever thoughts she’d been having, and returned to scowling in his direction.