She did this every morning. Made him coffee exactly the way he liked it. Put together food for everyone on whatever makeshift crew happened to be in that day and always made sure George was included. Trace’s mind drifted to the way she’d bent over backward—literally and figuratively—to please him in bed, let him sleep late this morning, folded all his clothes just so . . .
Instead of taking the coffee she offered, he grabbed her wrist gently.
Her pretty blue eyes jumped to his.
“Avery,” he said softly, stroking his thumb across her skin, “are we going to talk about last night?”
Unease shifted in her eyes. She pulled her hand away, dug her purse from beneath the counter, and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Last night was . . . beyond amazing.” Then she smiled, a friendly, businesslike smile. “And it was last night. Today is today. I promised you no lingering ties, and I keep m
y promises. No worries there.”
Disappointment stabbed at his chest, and all the air leaked from his lungs.
Normally, those words were music to his ears the morning after. But it wasn’t happening that way today. Today a sense of panic gathered low in his gut, a sense of something really important slipping away. “Yeah, well, I know that was the plan, but last night—”
Her gaze jumped past him as footsteps sounded on the porch stairs.
His “something really special happened” never had a chance. He wasn’t going to be able to have any kind of conversation with her here. Not during the day with so much going on.
But maybe that was for the best. This wasn’t a good time to bring up the topic of “more” with Avery. Not after a night of blockbuster sex he wanted to repeat—like now. Not when she looked so damned adorable, all fresh and gorgeous the morning after. That was like shopping for groceries when he was starving.
Still, he turned to tell Cody to give him another few minutes so he could at least set up a time to talk with Avery later, but he found someone else at the door.
“Hi,” Avery said to the man stepping in, then added a surprised, “Mark Davis? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Hey, Avery.” He was dressed in Dockers and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his wrists. He was blond, Ivy League, and young, somewhere around Avery’s age.
“Oh my gosh, look at you.” She lifted her hand to her hair, tugging one long curl forward, a motion he’d never seen her make before. “Last time I saw you, you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”
She came out from behind the counter and planted one hand on the stainless steel, the other messing with that one length of hair. Was that a nervous habit? Or one of those hair-petting things young women did, like preening?
Mark gave Avery that schoolboy-with-a-crush grin. “Finally put on some weight and grew into my big hands and feet.”
He was a good-looking guy. The all-American hometown boy. And from what Trace knew of the Davis family, this kid was a lot like Huck Stevens. A guy who’d be really good for Avery. A guy she deserved after the shit she’d gone through with her ex.
“Man, you look great,” Mark told her. “I’ve been out of town, just heard you were back, and had to come say hi.”
He walked toward her, and Avery obliged him with a hug. Her hair shifted back and over her shoulder again, and that’s when Trace saw it—the hickey she was trying to hide. His mind flashed to the moment he’d left the mark, while he’d been teaching her how to ride him like a true cowgirl. And the memory of what an A-plus student she’d been made his blood rush south.
Trace crossed his arms over the new discomfort in his gut. He leaned back against the counter and forced himself to watch her with this other man. Watch the way she smiled up at him as Mark stroked his hands down her arms. Watch the way she lifted her hand to that one curl again, pulling it forward to hide all hints of her night with Trace. And hated the way that all made him fist his hands. Made his stomach ache like a hot coal burned there.
She stepped away from Mark and gestured toward Trace. “Mark, this is Trace.” She held Trace’s gaze an extra second when she said, “He’s making magic happen around here.”
If she’d been any other woman, he’d have chalked up her friendliness to Mark followed by a veiled innuendo to her night with Trace as head games. But he didn’t think Avery even knew how to play the games most women did.
Mark approached to shake Trace’s hand.
“Good to meet you,” Trace offered.
Avery’s gaze held on Trace, a nervous spark hinting in her eyes. When she looked back at Mark, she said, “Did I hear you bought the building across the street?”
“I did. Hanging out my own shingle.”
“Congratulations. An accountant, right?”
He laughed and nodded. “I see the Wildwood rumor mill is working well.”
“You must be planning on renovating to meet the standards of that visual nuisance ordinance the mayor put into effect this year.”