Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life 3)

Shaking my head, I scrub my hands down my face and then pull them away when the door to the office opens up.

Libby steps inside. Her wide, surprise-filled eyes lock with mine. My breath freezes in my lungs. I force myself to stay where I am when all I want to do is go after her, pin her to the couch, and finish what we started. I haven’t seen her since the night everything between us went to shit. I had followed her home—without even putting on a jacket or locking up the shop—so I could make sure she made it home okay. She was so upset that she didn’t even notice I was there.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

I watch in awe as her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. Fuck, she’s beautiful. So fucking pretty that she almost doesn’t seem real. She has the kind of beauty you’d expect to see on the cover of a magazine or on TV, not working at a salon or a pizza parlor.

I lean forward in the chair, causing it to squeak. She jumps slightly at the noise.

“You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

Fuck! Why did I say that, even if it’s the truth?

I’ve been frustrated for the last few days by not being able to get ahold of her when all I wanted to know is if she was okay.

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

“You’re wrong.” I bite back a growl of frustration when she turns away from me, drops her bag onto the couch, and slips off her jacket. I walk around the edge of the desk and lean against it, crossing my arms over my chest in an attempt to try and get myself under control. “We should talk about what happened.”

“We shouldn’t.” She spins around to face me. “I don’t want to talk about that. Not now, not ever.”

“We’re going to talk about it, Libby,” I say softly.

“No, we’re not,” she vows.

Then I notice her shoes.

“Where are your heels?” I lift my head to look at her.

“What?” Her perfectly shaped brows pull together over her beautiful eyes.

“Your heels. Why are you wearing sneakers?”

“Sheesh. Can’t a girl wear sneakers without everyone questioning her?” she asks.

I wonder jealously who else might have pointed out that she’s wearing sneakers instead of the heels that are always on her feet.

“I need to get out front. Peggy needs help.”

She starts for the door, but I step in front of her and block her path. I watch her face pale and her chest start to rise and fall rapidly. Dropping my eyes to her mouth, I take a step toward her. She takes a step back, putting her hand up as heat crackles between us.

“Antonio . . .”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

My eyes focus on her worry-filled ones.

“I’m wondering what will happen if I kiss you again.”

“You’re not kissing me again,” she says firmly, with a shake of her head. She takes another step back.

“I might.” I take another step toward her. “Unless you’re going to use that mouth of yours to talk to me.”

“We’re not talking, either.”

“Then I’m going to kiss you.”

“No, you are not.” She looks around the office, trying to find a way to get away from me.

“Then talk to me,” I growl.

Her jaw clenches.

“What do you want to talk about?” she finally asks, seeing there is no way out.

“You know what I want to talk about.”

“Yeah, I know. But instead, I think we should talk about the way you’ve been such a jerk to me. The way you’ve made me feel like crap because . . . because of the way I dress, because I wear makeup and heels. Or maybe you want to talk about the way you treated me after . . .” Her cheeks get darker. “After I told you what I told you. How about we talk about all of that?” she suggests.

My chest gets tight.

Yeah, I fucked up royally with her. No doubt about it.

“Libby . . .” I reach for her, but she steps to the side before I can touch her.

“Like I said, I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

“We do. You caught me off guard, and—”

“Stop.” She shakes her head, cutting me off. “I don’t want to do this tonight. Please,” she whispers.

Seeing the tiredness and defeat in her eyes, my gut tightens right along with my chest.

“I’ll give you time,” I agree. “But we’re going to talk, Libby.”

“Fine.” She nods. “Now will you move out of my way so I can get to work? It’s New Year’s Eve, and there is already a line of people out the door.”

Stepping aside, I let her go even though every instinct is telling me not to. When the door closes behind her, I run my fingers through my hair.

Fuck. I want her.