‘What? No!’
Then he winked. ‘All I can say is that someone’s going to be a very lucky man one day.’ But he clearly wasn’t referring to himself because with that he threw the sheet back, revealing a pair of extremely well-toned legs, thigh-hugging black boxers with the outlined shape of something she only allowed herself a moment’s glance at before she was totally and utterly lost for words … Wow … just wow. And a body that she could have sworn she saw advertising aftershave in a glossy yesterday. ‘Got to get to work, Popsicle. I’ll make sure I get a mousetrap on the way back. Thanks for a very entertaining evening.’
Then he was gone.
‘Damn. Damn. Damn.’ She leaned back against the pillows and breathed out a huge sigh, unsure of what to make of it all. Because, despite the Macarena in her stomach, she could have sworn she should be feeling a whole lot different from the way she felt right now. She should definitely not be feeling turned on. Her breasts should not be tingly, her heart should not be pounding, her lady bits should definitely not be wide awake and singing hallelujah at the mere hint of Isaac’s presence. Or at the thought of him seeing her naked. No. She should not be feeling like this at all. Especially when the startling, belittling, humiliating truth of it all was that, without any thought of consequences, she’d got drunk, accosted him and he’d kissed her back out of pity.
‘WE HAVE MICE. At least, we’ve seen one little critter upstairs. I thought I should let you know.’ Isaac paid for his coffee and nodded his thanks to Marco, the café owner. ‘I’ve got a couple of traps and we’ll sort it out our end. Just keep an eye out down here in case they migrate.’
‘Okay, cheers, mate, I’ll have a look, but we’re usually on top of zeez things. No mices here.’ Marco pushed Isaac’s coffee towards him and started to serve the next customer.
Isaac took his cup, negotiated the defunct fireman’s pole that connected their upstairs apartment with Ignite café, and found a seat, aiming to fortify his strength with a sharp caffeine buzz before he nipped back to the flat. The last thing he wanted was to bump into Poppy and relive the awkwardness of earlier. A coffee shot would help. Plus keep him awake for the long night’s work ahead.
He took a sip. Added an extra sugar for luck. Opened his smartphone and reviewed his notes. The only thing of any consequence he’d managed to achieve today was to check the availability of the bar for Friday, for Poppy. Then he’d sorted out a mousetrap, for Poppy. Spoken to the manager at Ignite café, for Poppy. And hidden in the café, from Poppy. The woman was invading his every living, breathing moment, not to mention his to-do list.
Which was very interesting. He never allowed any woman to ever invade anything at all. Work came first. Always. Work was predictable and straightforward. Work didn’t change the goalposts or come with an agenda that you didn’t understand. He knew where he stood with his business—knew what he needed to do to be the best. And he’d made damned sure he had been, throwing hour after hour, year after year into transforming his bars into award-winning establishments. Being pretty much uprooted and homeless by the age of sixteen, he was used to travelling, liked the challenge of working in different countries, of winning the hearts and loyalty of the Parisians and the Dutch. Next stop, the States, and he’d be a success there, too. That would show everyone who’d ever doubted him.
But despite what he’d said and what he’d tried to convince himself to believe, he’d really enjoyed that kiss. The cheeky glimpse of Poppy’s half-naked body bathed in moonlight hadn’t been half bad either. Which, hands on heart, had not been his fault. She’d said she was ready, when in reality her silky top hadn’t quite covered everything it needed to. He’d turned away … too late.
Hell. He closed his eyes briefly at the mental image; she was definitely all woman. And off every limit he had. So the fact his brain kept wandering back to those scenes last night—the kiss, her body, her smell, even her pyjamas—was very inconvenient.
He added fast-track the renovations to his to-do list. He could control his libido, but he couldn’t guarantee for how long, so the sooner he was out of that flat, the better. Stupid enough to get in any way involved with a woman, doubly so to get carried away with a woman he had too much history with. That could get all kinds of messy.
Isaac subscribed to the ‘no promises, no commitment, no heartbreak’ school of relationships. Easy. In his bitter experience commitment usually lasted just until someone better, richer, younger came along, leaving chaos and hurt in the slipstream. He didn’t need any of that.
The doorbell pinged behind him as someone entered along with the cold December wind-chill factor. Women’s voices. His gut pinged, too, as his hand froze, coffee cup halfway between the table and his mouth. Izzy’s northern-infused accent. Poppy’s hesitant laughter.
So much for avoiding her.
Gulping the too-hot coffee and almost suffering third-degree burns in the process, he put his cup on the table, tugged up his coat collar around his ears, focused on his phone and concentrated on trying to be incognito. Plan A: when they started to order at the counter he’d slip out unnoticed.
‘Isaac! Hello.’ Izzy dropped a kiss on his cheek, then shoved a stray lock of short blond hair behind her ear, beaming. He’d met a lot of Poppy’s friends over the years, as part of a peripheral group that tagged along whenever Poppy’s brother, Alex, was home on leave, but never had he envisaged living with any of them. Strange how life worked out. ‘Long time no see. Where’ve you been?’
‘Hi, Izzy. Hello, Poppy. I was in Europe for a while sussing out some bar venues. We’ve just opened one in Bastille and we’ve another planned for Amsterdam.’ He tried to focus on Izzy, but his eyes kept drifting towards the woman he’d spent the night with. She refused to meet his gaze, keeping her focus on the counter ahead, then on Izzy, a small polite wave to Marco. Scraping his chair back, Isaac lifted his plastic carrier. ‘I got some traps. I’ll head upstairs now and set them up. Do you have any peanut butter?’
Finally Poppy looked up at him, her make-up-free cheeks pinking. Instead of her regulation work ponytail her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders, which normally would have made her look younger, if it hadn’t been for the purple shadows under her eyes.
She pulled a thick cream cardigan around her uptight shoulders and stamped black suede boots on the tiles. Her mouth had formed a grim line. Clearly the hangover still hung.
Even so, she still looked breathtaking. He’d never really thought of her like that until yesterday. But breathtaking was the only way to describe her. Yeah … well, she’d certainly taken his breath away with that surprise kiss last night. As she spoke he wondered what could happen next time, if he left his principles at the bedroom door. Which was never going to happen. Because he would never let them get into that situation again.
She frowned. ‘I thought mice ate cheese.’
‘The guy in the market said to use peanut butter—apparently they love it. If we don’t have any I’ll head to the shop and get some.’
‘No. There’s some in the cupboard by the fridge.’ She peered up at him. ‘Smooth.’
‘Thanks. I like to think so.’ He grinned.
‘Yeah, Mr Big Shot, whatever. I was talking about the peanut butter, not you.’ She tutted, her shoulders dropping a little as her eyebrows rose. ‘You definitely fall in the crunchy camp.’
‘Oh, and now I’m mortally wounded.’ Still, it was good to have her at least being able to look at him. Things could get weird in the flat if they couldn’t speak to each other. ‘Well, I’ve got to set these traps then get back to work … Oh, talking of … the private room’s free at Blue on Friday for your work get-together if you still want