Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,50

get all riled up, which was bad enough, but no doubt they’d be shot down again when she gave him that dry smile and smarter mouth if he so much as tried to help.

Somehow, that ended up leaving him frustrated with her, annoyed at himself . . . and dying to kiss her again until she kissed him back. He couldn’t stop thinking about those soft little moans she made as want overcame worry, how, by turns, she’d be guarded, needing him to guide the way . . . and other times be bold and leading the charge. Kissing Honey twisted him up and wrung him out until he felt like the world would end if he didn’t have every last inch of her for as long as he wanted.

And, dear Lord help him, he wanted.

“Yeah, and I really don’t need this shit,” he muttered, then pressed his lips together in case the urge to whistle came over him again.

He’d gotten a call while picking up Frank’s lawnmower part that a junk car dealer he’d contacted about Honey’s car parts had actually managed to put his hands on a bunch of them, and at a substantially lower price than Dylan would have paid through his regular parts dealer. So he’d swung by to check them out, more than satisfied to discover they were in surprisingly good condition. He cancelled his other order and booked time with the junker to come back and look at a few of his other old wrecks to do a deal on some parts salvage, as well. The way it was looking, he’d not only be able to get Honey’s car done sooner, but for about a third the price he’d quoted her.

All good news. Hence, possibly, the whistling. At least that’s what he wanted to believe. The faster he got her car done, the faster she’d be out of Dodge and headed west again . . . and his life would go back to the way it had been—which was exactly the way he liked it. He could happily not get involved with the fine folks of Sugarberry’s personal business and they could stay out of his. And if he wanted to sink himself into a willing woman, he’d find one on this side of the causeway, a woman who didn’t want more than that. He’d make sure they both had a good time, then retreat back to his island. The more he’d thought about it, the more relieved he’d felt.

Then he’d stopped in at the farmers co-op to pick up a parts package for Bucky Werther’s tractor, get some dog food and milk bones for Lolly, and maybe flirt a little with Sally Jo, the good looking blonde who’d just started working the parts department counter. She’d made it clear on his last visit that she might be interested in more than idle chitchat and, at the time, Dylan had been thinking that might be just the thing to end the dry spell he’d been in since the fire.

Perky Sally Jo hadn’t changed her mind. She’d made it clear the minute she’d spied Dylan in the dog supply aisle. The problem was, he hadn’t found himself all that interested in responding to her playful, suggestive banter. In fact, by the time he’d finished his business and paid his bill, she’d been none too pleased with his businesslike responses and had let him know it. Apparently men didn’t say no to Sally Jo too often.

Clearly he’d dodged a bullet there, he’d told himself as he’d given Lolly some break time in the grassy field next to the shop. A demanding, temperamental woman he didn’t need, even for one night. Obviously he’d sensed that in her and that had accounted for the sudden shift in his interest. He did have a knack for that, after all. What with his amazing powers of observation and intuition and all. He’d given the dog some water and a biscuit before putting her back in the truck bed, and had managed to make it all the way over to the courthouse believing just that . . . until he realized he’d been whistling.

And thinking not about a sexy blonde with killer blue eyes and a body that would stop traffic, but a quirky brunette who wore utterly unsexy horn rim glasses, weird clothes, had spooky, scary visions, a sardonic smile that put him in his place . . . and kissed him like he was the only man in the