A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,94

and could have sworn he saw the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth. So perhaps he had more of an opening than he’d thought. She’d given him his edge with her comment about his accent. He’d used it quite shamelessly at the meeting. Oddly, he found himself less willing to press the advantage. An illogical reaction, to be certain. He didn’t need to impress her, just gain her trust. What better way than to turn on the charm?

“I was sincere in my offer, and my intent,” he said truthfully.

“If your intent was to charm me into believing your snake-oil-salesman pitch earlier today, I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time.”

All right. Perhaps not so much of an opening after all.

She smiled.

“Be open-minded enough to hear me out,” he pressed. “You weren’t there for the entire presentation.”

“I’m pretty sure I got the bullet points.”

Perhaps he should have gone with the brogue offense.

“I appreciate your stopping by, but, as you know, I’m a bit behind in production today and have a long night ahead of me.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance—since my meeting was at least partly responsible for your work stoppage.”

She lifted one perfectly arched brow. It didn’t explain at all why his gaze dropped to her lips.

“What do you know about baking?”

“You forget, I grew up in a family-owned restaurant. Several of them, in fact.”

“I was given to understand you were something of a renegade where your family business was concerned. You have nothing to do with those restaurants, am I correct? And haven’t in some time.”

He tilted his head, wondered just how severely he’d underestimated her. “You’ve taken a personal interest in me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t believe I was. You’ve done your research.”

“You also grew up in a small town. Village,” she corrected, rather dryly. “So you must know there’s no need to do much research, merely listen to the village grapevine.”

“You’ve been riding me about the village thing. It’s merely a cultural distinction. What is a town to you, a burg, is a village where I’m from.”

She snorted. “Come now, Mr. Gallagher, you know quite well your use of that term was intended to make us feel oh-so-cozy.”

“Griffin. I’m no’ so averse to such familiarity.” He rubbed his arms, though he honestly wasn’t feeling the chill in the air one bit. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Because?” He employed the twinkle, although, in his defense, he wasn’t thinking tactically at that particular moment.

She rolled her eyes. “Because I don’t need any distractions.”

“Am I, then?”

“You know you are. You’re a threat to everything I hold dear.”

“Ah. I thought we were speaking personally.”

“We weren’t speaking at all. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Melody.”

She paused.

“Let me in. Please. I’ll trade work for talk. I’m a hard worker.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” She made him sweat another long moment, then finally, with great resignation, stepped back and opened the door wide enough for him to step inside. “You’re not the type to give up, and I don’t have time for this, so let’s get it over with. But, fair warning, if I’m not getting my work done,” she informed him as he took off his overcoat, “I’ll be asking you to leave. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Aye. I’m well acquainted with your abilities in that area.”

She nodded. “Good. Follow me.”

He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of her coffee.

“Don’t even think about asking,” she said, walking straight to the back of the shop.

He smiled to himself ... and followed her.

4

She’d let the lion straight into her den. What was she thinking?

She could feel him behind her, almost like a physical caress. It was that ridiculously sexy brogue of his, she understood that. And the twinkle. Okay, and his mouth. Something about those hard lips, suddenly becoming very sensual and appealing when he smiled—which made no sense, set as they were in his otherwise rugged face. His jaw and cheekbones looked as if they’d been chiseled from a block of smooth granite. He had a beautifully shaped head, but with his hair clipped so very short, the whole aura should have been menacing rather than sexy.

So, why was she feeling all tingly, and warm, and, well ... needy?

“I’ve got one hundred cupcakes to decorate,” she announced, as if by putting the workload out there, she’d create a wall of some kind. Whether it was a wall between her and Griffin, or her and her libido, she wasn’t entirely sure.