Monica Murphy - Torn

Sighing, I finally shake my head. “Of course. I know. It’s just . . . it’s been a long day. And then you send me the gorgeous flowers, and my Aunt Gina flipped out.”

“She’s quite the character,” he inserts politely.

“You’re too kind.” Smiling wryly, I continue on. “Then you show up begging for forgiveness and . . . you distracted me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“When a girl needs to focus on working, her business, and nothing else—yes. It’s a very bad thing.” Deciding to hell with it, I move away from behind the counter and head toward the front door, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED and turning the lock.

“Closing up?” he asks. He sounds incredulous.

“There are no customers in here besides you.” And it’s near enough to our actual closing time that it won’t make any difference.

“So are you going to answer me?” he asks, watching me move around the tiny café. His big body seems to eat up all the space, filling the air until all I can breathe and see is him. I do my best to avoid him, straightening chairs, picking up miscellaneous straw wrappers and crumpled napkins that still litter the tables. I’m trying to avoid answering him. Too full of nervous, restless energy he can no doubt pick up on.

What more could you want?

You.

I mean really. Who says that sort of thing? I feel like I’m in some bad, cheesy made-for-TV movie or something.

“What sort of answer are you looking for? You never really asked me a question,” I finally say, glancing out the corner of my eye to see him approaching.

“I did so.” He stops mere feet away from me. I can feel his body warmth reaching toward me and I’m tempted to lean in. Absorb all of that strength and warmth and gorgeousness. Though he looks utterly untouchable in the finely tailored suit that I can tell cost a fortune. “I asked if you wanted my help in getting you a chance to talk to Archer.”

“Of course I do,” I say, my voice quiet, my thoughts a confused jumble in my brain. What is going on here? Why am I even talking to him? Why do I want to be close to him? It makes no sense.

I can’t stand him.

Really. I can’t. I don’t care how good he looks in that suit or how his sexy hair probably needs a trim. How bad I want to run my fingers through it. Or maybe grab his tie and yank him closer, see what he might do if I reared up on tiptoe and kissed him . . .

“Then go out to dinner with me,” he suggests, his voice bold, his expression arrogant. The glint in his eyes, the curl of his lips . . . he’s too damn confident. Like he knows I won’t be able to resist him.

Irritating, because I’m this close to giving in and saying yes.

I slump my shoulders. Seconds ago I was imagining violently kissing him, and now I’m considering some other sort of violence toward him—like bodily harm. He infuriates me, yet he interests me. Usually if I’m interested in a guy, it’s because I like him. I don’t want to smack him upside the head.

“You’re going to force me to go out to dinner with you and in return you’ll help me arrange an appointment with Archer Bancroft?” I laugh though I find no humor in his suggestion. I might find it . . . arousing. Which is wrong on so many levels I lose count.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, Marina,” he says softly, his eyes glowing as they drink me in. “Unless . . . you like it that way.”

Well, holy shit. The man needs duct tape wound around his mouth about twenty times. He says the worst things ever. “Did you really just say that?” I ask, my voice sounding deadly even to my own ears.

He seems to snap himself out of a trance. Standing straighter, he blinks, runs a hand along his jaw. God, his hands are big. I wonder what they might feel like on me. Sliding over my arms, my legs, between my thighs—

Get over it!

“Did I really just say what?” He looks dazed. The tension crackling between us has suddenly become unbearable and I have no idea why.

Um, maybe because you’re attracted to him?

I push the pointless thought out of my head.

“Is it just me you say idiotic, sexist, disgusting things to, or do you talk this way to all the women you encounter?” I cross my arms in front of my chest again, noting—again—that his eyes drop right to my breasts. Men. They’re all the same. And this one is so blatant, so cocky, and with such a rude mouth. He’s downright offensive.

Yet my skin is buzzing just being in his presence. My blood is warm, my body both loose and anxious all at once. I only ever feel this way right before I’m going to have sex and I’m all amped up. Excited and nervous.

And I am never. Ever. Having sex with Gage Emerson. Oh hell, no.

A little groan escapes him and he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, gripping the back of the chair directly in front of him. Damn, his eyelashes are thick. Of course. Everything about him is the epitome of male beauty.

He cracks his eyes open. “Did I really say that out loud?”

“Yep,” I confirm, enjoying his absolute misery.

“I was thinking it,” he admits, looking sheepish. Cutely sheepish. “That probably makes me a pig just the same, right?”

“Right.” I nod, letting my arms drop by my sides. “I won’t whore myself out on a date with you just to get a chance to talk to Archer. I can do that on my own.”

A dark brow rises in challenge. “You really think so? Think about it. I’m offering you an easy in. He might throw up roadblocks, you know.”

Knowing Gage, he’d probably ask Archer to throw up those roadblocks just so I’d go out with him. Jerk. “Oh my God. Are you implying I can’t see Archer without you? Do you really need to be such an arrogant ass?” I toss back, immediately wishing I could clap my hand over my mouth. This man makes me say things I regret every single time.

“You’re right.” His vivid green eyes dim. “I’m an arrogant ass and I’m sorry. Forgive me again by coming with me on this date? I’ll make it up to you.”

I’ll make it up to you.

There is a hint of sexual promise in his request, in that one specific sentence. I’m drawn to all that heady temptation, despite wanting to also knee him in the balls and tell him to go to hell. God, I hate rich dudes who think everyone owes them something. They are the absolute worst because usually, in the end, they always get what they want.

I’ve dealt with plenty in my lifetime. My family is both populated with and surrounded by wealthy, powerful men. We move in the same social circles. I went to high school and college with plenty of those who were going on to be successful, wealthy men—and women too, of course.

Except for me. My family is still drowning in a sea of debt, and it’s only a matter of time until they decide to close the bakery once and for all. I think they believe it’s a fun little project for my Aunt Gina and me. Like we’re pretending to be business owners.

None of them understand how much this bakery means to Gina. Or me. I’ve only been running it for a year, but I’ve worked here off and on since I was a teen. It became my after-school job, my summer job . . . I met my first boyfriend here. Had my first kiss out in front of it, too.

Autumn Harvest has tremendous sentimental value to me. I also think it has tremendous potential, if only I could find the extra funds to make it really shine. Not that anyone cares.

“What do you say?” Gage’s delicious rumble of a voice draws me from my thoughts and I blink up at him, still caught in hazy longing for the past. I make bad decisions when I’m feeling like this. All based on what my heart says versus my head.

My heart is almost always, always wrong.

“Say about what?” I ask, wanting to hear him ask me out on the dinner date again. I need to stall. I need to rationalize with my overexcited thoughts how going out with this guy is a huge mistake. My change of heart in regard to Gage is confusing even to me.

He smiles, the sight of it sending a flurry of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and I stand up straighter. Determined not to act like a silly, simpering female.

I want to though. Just looking at him, listening to him talk, sets me on edge. In a deliciously scary way.

For whatever strange reason, I’m fairly positive Gage Emerson has set his sights on me. And I think I kind of like it.

His smile grows. God, he’s pretty. “Go out with me. Come on, Marina. It’ll just be a simple dinner, and in return you can have thirty minutes of Archer’s time, or however long you need, to tell him all about this mysterious proposition.”

“And what do you get out of this arrangement?” I ask warily.

“Why, the pleasure of your company of course,” he says smoothly. Effortlessly.

Men who speak too effortlessly tend to scare the crap out of me. Usually means they’re hiding something. My one long-term boyfriend in college was like this. Very charming . . . and eventually, he became toxic to my mental state. He was a liar and a manipulator. I don’t need another one like that in my life.

So what is it about this guy that I’m drawn to? Because I am. I can’t deny it.

I study Gage for a long moment, letting the anticipation roll through my veins. Saying yes would be tremendously easy. So would saying no. In fact, refusing him would be even easier. Then I’d never have to worry about Archer Bancroft or the good idea I want to bring to him. I wouldn’t have to put on a phony show for Gage while going out on this date with him. Being something that I’m not; I do that constantly.

“Take a chance,” Gage murmurs, his decadent tone reaching right into me, shaking me up. “Say yes, Marina. You know you want to.”

“Hmm. Funny thing is I don’t want to.” I try to sound irritated and instead it comes out breathless. What is wrong with me?

His expression goes from confident to crestfallen, like I flipped a switch. “You hate me that much?”

“Hate is a pretty strong word, so let’s just say I’m not your biggest fan.”

“So you won’t go to dinner with me.”

I slowly shake my head, disappointment filling me, and I push it aside. I’m doing the right thing. I need to remember that. “You’ll probably try to pull some funny business, and I’m a little behind on my self-defense classes.”

“Funny business?” His lips twitch, despite his sadness just a second ago over my rejection. “You sound like your aunt.”

“You’re right. I do,” I agree. “Going out to dinner with you would be a mistake, Gage. We both know this.”

“We do?” He sounds surprised.

“I do. And I can’t afford to make any more mistakes in my life. I’d rather date no one than fall for some gorgeous guy who’s out to manipulate me. Right?” I offer him a tentative smile, but he doesn’t return it. I can’t blame him. I just called him a mistake. We’ve insulted each other, lobbing them back and forth like a tennis ball for the last ten or fifteen minutes. Imagine an entire evening just the two of us? Tearing each other apart with our words. Maybe tearing off each other’s clothes with anxious, eager hands . . .

Swallowing hard, I usher him out of the bakery with a few choice words and a firm push on his shoulders so he goes through the door. I slam it shut behind him, turning the lock with a forcible jerk. The loud click rings out—I know he heard it—and he glances over his shoulder at me one last lingering moment before he heads off into the sunset. As in for real, he walks toward the sunset, no doubt in search of his car.

Walking back toward the kitchen, my entire body begins to relax. I’m thankful to be out of Gage’s presence. It’s too overwhelming, just flat-out too much. He makes me think things, say things I don’t normally ever think or say. I’m a nice person. I don’t reject people or call them names. And I called him a disgusting pig. Talk about harsh.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Gage Emerson is what’s wrong with you.

I barely hold back the snort of laughter. God, ain’t that the truth?

Marina

MY EYES BURN as I flip through the stack of bills yet again, pulling one out in particular that I’ve been avoiding for a while. I order flowers from a local florist—not the one Gage used because I so can’t afford that place. Gina and I use them to decorate around the café where we can, knowing they add a nice touch. The customers appreciate them, as do Gina and I.

The flower order has gotten smaller and smaller over the last year. I’d started choosing the cheapest flowers they had, too. And now it’s finally time for me to bite the bullet and cancel the order outright. I hate having to do it but we can’t afford the expense. I’m trying my best to cut corners where I can.