ChiChi called an hour ago saying you’d need a ride. Pricilla about ten minutes after that.”
Which meant their grandmas were trying to set her up on yet another date she hadn’t agreed to. With Marc.
“I’ve got it handled,” she lied. “You can go.”
“Nah, we’ll wait. It’s not every day that a guy gets a morning flash of red lace before he’s even had his coffee. Huh, Wingman?”
Wingman panted loudly from the passenger seat.
With a squeak Lexi jerked up, smacking her head on the top of the trunk, her hands smoothing down the back of her dress. She reached the hem and stopped, pinning him with a glare. “I’m not wearing red today.”
“No?” He rested his forearm on the windowsill and shrugged matter-of-factly. “Well, a man can dream.”
“Does this whole ‘let me guess the color of your panties and then you’ll be charmed into taking a ride with me’ shtick really work?”
He paused for a second, as though surprised that it hadn’t. Then the dimples were back. “I can see you’re still a crabby morning person, which is why I brought coffee.” He held up two cups, and she nearly drooled at the scents of hazelnut and vanilla wafting out of his car window. She’d already had a cup, when she’d first gotten up and started baking. That had been five hours ago.
She walked over, snatched a coffee, and took a sip, her eyes closing at the heavenly flavor. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Opening the door, Marc stepped out of the cab, went around to the passenger side, and opened the door for her. “Hop in and I’ll load up. It’ll only take a minute. Then we can be on our way and I won’t even make you admit that I saved the day.”
He took her elbow to help her in, and wouldn’t you know it, little sparks of attraction shot straight down to her toes. “I’m not getting in your truck.”
“You can get used to the idea on the way to the high school.”
When she didn’t budge, except to take another sip of coffee, he slammed the door and leaned in, close enough that she could smell his soap mingling with the scent of frustrated man. She liked him frustrated; it left no room for the smooth-talking stud boy.
“Christ, woman, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met. I know that you’ve got more trays in that kitchen than you’ve got space in your trunk. And while I’d love to sit back and watch you and your white silk with little pink dots on them try to make it work”—he gazed down at her, satisfaction lighting his eyes when she gasped—“you’re already late, and I promised my nonna I’d see that you and your incredible cream puffs made it to the high school safely. So for both of our sakes—” He ran a hand down his face as the muscles in his neck tensed and coiled.
When he spoke again, he wasn’t charming; he seemed desperate. “Please, Lexi, scoot your stubborn ass inside or I’ll be forced to put it there, and it might just end up on my lap.”
Lexi swallowed. Who knew a frustrated man could be such a turn-on.
“Might want to scoot over.” Marc patted the bench seat next to him.
“Not going to happen.” She stared out the front wind-shield, arms crossed, lips pursed.
God, she was prickly. And hardheaded. And knowing that the only thing she had on under all that attitude was a scrap of white silk and a soft heart was a total turn-on. Which was why, after he’d gotten halfway to his buddy’s house the other day and realized that Lexi had been smart to turn him down, he’d ordered himself to stay away.
Although she took risks in the kitchen, in her personal life Lexi played thing safe, and there was nothing safe about their history or the sparks flying between them. And unless someone was looking to get hurt, they had no business spending time together, so last night he’d decided to back off.
Then morning came and ChiChi called, explaining how Lexi needed his help—and here he was driving her to the high school in his pickup.
“All right, suit yourself.” Marc put the truck in drive.
He had no sooner pulled out onto Main Street when Wingman leaped over the backseat of his extended cab and onto Lexi’s lap.
“Wingman!” She put her hands in front of her face, shielding it against the thrashing tail.
“He’s used to riding shotgun. So unless you want wind-blown hair and