Quick Trick (A Rough Riders Hockey Novel Book 1) (6 page)

When she couldn’t and her frustration won out, Faith tied off another strand and tossed it into the growing pile. “Why are you sitting on the floor winding lights?”

He looked up. “I’m helping.”

She tipped her head and gave him a come-on look.

He grinned, shrugged. “Maybe I’m trying to come up with a way to ask you out that you can’t refuse.” He darted a glance at her from beneath those thick lashes. “Maybe I’m hoping if you get to know me a little, you’ll say yes. Maybe—”

“Maybe you don’t want to go home,” she finished for him.

“Maybe. But those other things are true too.” He tossed another rolled strand into the pile. “I’m dying to know what project you’ve got planned with this mess.”

She sighed—partly because of the mess in front of her and partly because over the last couple of days, she’d grown to like the guy. And she didn’t want to like him. “This isn’t my proj—”

Something clicked in her head. Her hands froze. And she looked at the pile again, but this time she saw something other than a headache. She saw an opportunity.

“What just put that spark in your eye?” Grant asked.

She met his gaze, and when she found true interest there, she explained her thoughts about following Taylor’s example on YouTube. “Taylor makes really good money doing it. Granted, she talks about a totally different topic, and my knowledge may not generate the same interest, but…”

“But you’ve got to try.” He leaned back against a shelf, stretched out his legs, and crossed his feet at the ankles. Then met her eyes as he tossed more lights into the pile. “Because from what I heard, it sounds like you don’t have much of a choice.”

Her shoulders fell, and she looked away, ashamed to be stuck in this spot. Worse, she hated telling a stranger how desperate she was. Especially a stranger who had more money than he knew what to do with. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, his voice confident and sincere. “But you might figure it out faster if you let me help.” When she shot him an exasperated look, he held up both hands. “No ulterior motive. Okay, other than staying as far away from my parents as possible. And, yeah, maybe I’d like to get to know you better. I never got the chance in high school. That Brady kid had you hog-tied.”

“So you’re the Saber who was in my class.”

“Guilty. And I know a little about video. Shooting, cutting, and editing it. Getting it up online. That’s what you want help with, isn’t it?”

“Partly, yes.” Faith wondered when he was going to throw in his professional hockey player status. When he was going to mention how much money he had. When he’d start dropping the names of other famous people he hung with in the big city.

He grabbed another strand of lights and started winding. “And…”

“I knew it,” she said. “Here it comes.”

“I’d also like to do something to cheer up Dwayne.”

Faith frowned. “How’d you know this all came from Dwayne?”

“I saw him leaving. And who else in town has enough equipment for a freaking Christmas in Fantasia?”

“Good point.”

“It’s a hard time of year for him since MaryAnn passed. I know it would mean a lot to him if he could get this working for her. For the people in town who have looked forward to it every year for decades.”

Ah, crap… Faith sighed heavily. He had to be handsome
and
hot
and
sweet?

“What?”

She just shook her head.

“Too proud?”

“What?” she asked.

“Are you too proud to accept help?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together.

He laughed, nodded. “I sorta figured that one out the night we met.”

“Shut up.”

After tying off the last strand of lights, he tossed them into a pile. He got to his feet, waited for Faith to finish her strand, then offered a hand to help her up.

She took it and immediately regretted it. He was big and strong and warm. And the intimacy of the simple touch crushed another barrier between them. Then he pulled her to her feet with enough force to tip her off-balance, and she fell into him with a squeak. Her chest hit his; their thighs bumped. She pulled in a shocked breath and tried to ease away, but he’d already slipped his arm around her waist and held her tight. Their bellies pressed. Their hips aligned.

“Grant…”

Grant what?
Her mind told her to tell him to let her go. But her body didn’t want to have anything to do with that idea.

“Still have my number?” he asked.

But the words didn’t register in Faith’s head. All she could focus on was every point where their bodies connected. The way his forearm felt low on her back. The heat of his hand curved around her waist. The way a few of his fingers touched flesh where her shirt had ridden up. The thickness of his thigh between hers.

“Faith?”

She glanced up. Oh, shit—
wrong
. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was looking down at her, his lips right there.
Right. There.

Faith had forgotten how to breathe.

She watched his lips as he spoke again. “Do you still have my number?”

“No.” She forced herself to at least
sound
like she was in control. “I threw it out.”

His lips kicked up in a lopsided grin and his straight, white teeth contrasted with his tanned skin. He released her hand and reached around to his back pocket but still held her tight against his body. Then his hand came back, stroking her hip, rounding behind her, and sliding over her ass.

Tingles seared her skin. Heat flooded every inch of her body below the waist. She sucked a breath. “Grant—”

“There,” he said, pulling his hand from her pocket and loosening the arm around her waist. “Now you have it again.”

He released her but let his hand rest on her hip an extra second before leaning away. Just when Faith thought she had her feet back under her, he lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, then tucked it behind her ear.

Faith closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it.

His knuckles grazed her cheekbone before he murmured, “Call me, beautiful. We’ll get your video made. Get you back on your feet.”

She swallowed and shored up her strength before she opened her eyes again.

Just in time to see him turn the corner out of the aisle and disappear.

G
rant pulled
into a parking spot at the end of the street and watched customers come and go from St. Nicholas Hardware. It had been four days since he’d almost kissed Faith, right there in the middle of her damned store. Not only hadn’t she called him to help with her pet project, but she continued to treat him as if the scorching heat between them was a figment of his imagination.

In truth, he was starting to believe it. He was starting to believe that he’d lost his ability to read a woman. That he was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there only because he wanted them so badly.

This was a simple matter of wanting what he couldn’t have. That was all. He’d never had to chase a woman, and his competitive streak just wouldn’t give up until she admitted she wanted him. At this point, he didn’t even care if he slept with her or not. He could get sex anywhere. He just wanted her to give. To acknowledge who and what he was. To show a sliver of real interest.

Then he was sure this ridiculous infatuation would end.

He climbed from the SUV, pocketed his keys, and pulled on his Braves ball cap before strolling toward the store. Grant checked out the front windows of other shops and returned friendly hellos from pedestrians. This was something he did miss about small-town life. And, he had to admit, he also found a soothing sort of rhythm in being able to focus on a project or a practice. On the quiet country setting. On the sounds of nature. All without a million other pressures on his mind.

He hadn’t realized he’d missed it until now.

As Christmas approached, now less than a week away, Faith’s store seemed busier every time he stopped in. That was great for Faith. Not so great for Grant. When she was busy, she barely gave him the time of day. On the occasions when things were slow, he’d been able to cajole her into helping him get what he needed for whatever project he’d adopted. Though, he hadn’t been able to hold her interest any longer.

He was beginning to think he’d blown it by pushing her that day—even though he hadn’t pushed her near as far as he’d wanted to. He cursed his lack of finesse. But he was who he was. He didn’t like or want slow and sweet. Which made him question his own judgment every time he had a dirty thought about “the sweetest girl in town.”

“Because I live in the boondocks, you don’t think I can think just as dirty as you?”

Her words jumped to mind, followed by a wicked flash of heat from head to toe.

“A man could dream,” he muttered under his breath.

Regardless of whether she turned out to be the biggest prude he’d ever met or the nastiest lay he’d ever coveted, Faith Nicholas was very different from any woman he’d ever been interested in. But he was pretty sure the only reason he kept coming back was her impish little tendency to pretend he didn’t exist until he put himself directly in her way and forced her to acknowledge him.

Passing the Holly Jolly Chocolatier, Grant glanced at the artistic displays of chocolates in the windows. He was three steps past when his feet halted and spun him around almost before he understood why. But something he’d heard in the hardware store earlier this week triggered in his mind, and Grant backtracked, turning into the store.

He only had the door open three inches when the warm, chocolate-scented air reached out and grabbed hold, dragging him the rest of the way in. He was having a
Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
flashback when he closed the door behind him.

“Well, look who’s here.” Jemma came out of the back with her dark hair tied up in a ponytail, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and her white apron smeared with chocolate. “Heard you were back in town. How’s the big shot?”

He grinned. “Hey, Jemma. Man, you still look sixteen.”

“Oh, go on.”

“No, really. You’re throwing me back to high school, only in a much better way than the first time around.”

She laughed. “You’ve come a long way since high school. Got a lot to be proud of. Dwayne says you’re pitching in to help out the hockey team.”

“Word still travels fast around here.”

“Like lightning.”

Grant chuckled, hoping word of his identity had finally reached Faith. “Happy to do it.”

“What can I get you? I have a fresh batch of that marzipan your mama loves. Makes a great stocking stuffer.”

“Sure, I’ll take some. Can never hurt to please my mom, right? But I’m here because I understand Faith has an addiction to your chocolate.”

“Faith.” Jemma lifted her brows and tried way too hard to look innocent. “Oh? Did she say what, exactly, she was addicted to?”

“No. I overheard her talking about it to a friend at the store. She’s given me a lot of help this week while I’ve been working on my parents’ house, and I was thinking I’d bring her a little thank-you. Something she likes.”

Jemma pursed her lips, scrunching them sideways, her gaze cast down.

He knew that look: the naughty, guilty one.

“I’m also trying to soften her up so she’ll let me take her out,” Grant added hopefully. “Some days, I swear I’m invisible.”

Jemma’s smooth brow pulled into a deep vee. “That’s not like Faith. You may not think she’s paying attention, but she knows everything that’s happening around her. Everything that’s happening in the store. When you think ‘mind like a steel trap,’ you think Faith.”

He was having a hard time seeing that. “Can you help me out?”

Ten minutes later, he jogged up the brick steps to St. Nicholas Hardware and pushed through the door to a chorus of loud male voices.

“Stop, both of you,” Faith cut in, her voice distinctly female and clearly authoritarian. But Grant had come to recognize the dry sarcasm edging her tone. “St. Nicholas Hardware is an inclusive safety zone for all fans, Wolfpack and Tar Heels alike.”

“What the hell does a ram have to do with being a Tar Heel anyway? And what kind of name is Rameses?” Leon Simms chided Mike Lowry. “Those boys paint his horns blue? Doesn’t anyone call the ASPCA? Or PETA?”

“It’s pronounced ram-sees, Mike, and you know it,” Faith said while she rang up and bagged his items. “Don’t be starting trouble for the sake of trouble, now.”

“That’s right,” Leon said. “Listen to the lady. She knows what she’s talkin’ ’bout.”

“I do know what I’m talking about,” Faith said. “Which is how I also know you ask Mike the same questions every year when the Tobacco game comes up, just to rile him.”

Mike pointed at Leon. “You do. Every year.”

“That’s because it works. Every year.”

A chorus of laughter filled the store, and Grant was grinning at the exchange and Faith’s smooth control over everyone and everything that happened in here as he wandered into her peripheral vision. Joe Sheridan came toward the register with a customer close behind and rang up some paint.

Faith’s attention was on the credit processor waiting for the receipt, when her gaze slid left and caught sight of Grant. And she smiled. The lift to her lips, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, they made her look cute and sweet and mischievous all at the same time. Grant was hoping to pull out more of the mischievous side. She knew he was coming in every day to see her, and she liked it. Knowing that gave him the strangest buzz. One equal to the thrill he got every time he took in the smoking way the woman wore her jeans and the way she filled out a tee shirt. But the way she kept her interest in him on lockdown frustrated the hell out of him.

“Well, look at that.” She tore the receipt off the machine and placed it in front of Mike for his signature, never taking her eyes off Grant. “Real trouble just blew in.”

He chuckled, crossed his arms, and waited. Faith’s gaze drifted to the bag he held in his hand, then jumped back to his face with a hint of surprise, an edge of question.

“Grant,” Leon said. “You’re a State fan, ain’t that right?”

“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Mike told Leon. “I happen to know Grant’s a UNC fan just like my boy Bobby, ain’t you, Grant?”

“My good sense tells me to stay out of this conversation,” Grant said.

“Smart,” Joe said without turning from the register.

A young kid Grant didn’t know came up to the front carrying five different wrenches and laid them on the counter near Faith. He wore a polo shirt with the hardware store’s logo, and he was out of breath, sweating, his face red with worry. “What about these? Is it any of these?”

Leon and Mike stopped their argument to peer at the group of tools. Joe finished his sale and joined them, looking over Faith’s shoulder. All of them studied the wrenches like they were some archeological relics.

“No, no, Billy.” Leon frowned over at the kid, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Didn’t you listen to me? The left-handed box-end wrench is on aisle twelve, a third of the way down, between the left-handed monkey wrench and the left-handed magnet wrench. You can’t miss it.”

Laughter bubbled up, and Grant had to bite his lip to keep it in. The poor kid wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

“No, Leon,” Joe said. “Aisle fourteen, bottom shelf on the right at the end cap, next to the—”

“Foghorn tuning pipe,” Faith finished, nodding at the kid. Her expression solemn, she patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Billy. Try again.”

As soon as the kid disappeared into the maze of aisles, Leon, Mike, Joe, and Faith broke into smiles.

“He’s a keeper,” Leon said, voice low. “How long has he been looking for that thing now? This has to be a record.”

Faith gave Joe’s shoulder a push. “Put the kid out of his misery, will you? If he doesn’t want to belt you or quit, he can keep the job until school starts again.”

Leon and Mike said good-bye to Grant on their way out, and Faith turned to him, her grin still bright from the prank they’d collectively pulled on the new kid. “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Saber. I was starting to think I might have to go a full twenty-four hours without seeing that handsome face. What could
possibly
need fixing at your parents’ house today?”

That.
That “handsome” was one of those mixed messages she tossed out every time he was here. The ones that didn’t say she was interested, but didn’t say she wasn’t. And they were making him crazy. They were keeping him up at night.
She
was keeping him up at night.

No woman
ever
kept him up at night.

“I hope there’s something to fix so I have an excuse to come back later. But I won’t know until I get there. I was at the rink working with the kids this morning.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Turner was in earlier. Said Colby had a few extra hockey practices over the break.”

He nodded. Waited. And got nothing. No recognition, no excitement, no indication that she knew anything about him.

Screw the small-town gossip mill. The one time Grant needed it, the damn thing broke down.

“You look good in red,” she said, her gaze on his hat, a sassy little smile tipping her mouth. “Way better than orange. Just sayin’.”

He’d been wearing this goddamned Atlanta Braves hat for
four days,
and this was the first time she’d mentioned it. At first he’d thought the colors were too similar, both blue caps with different brim colors. Sure, they had different emblems, but he was trying to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She had a shitstorm pummeling her life, after all. But now he was starting to wonder if that “mind like a steel trap” comment was truer than he realized.

He put his hand over his heart. “Swear on my honor, I’ve seen the error of my ways and am now a die-hard Braves fan.”

“Hallelujah,” she said.

“So you’ll go out with me now, right?”

She sighed and stepped out from behind the counter, passing Grant with a breezy “I’ve got inventory to stock. Good luck finding something to fix today.”

He was mesmerized by that sweet sway of her hips and the way her ass looked in those washed-out jeans. She wore some type of cowboy boots, and her sweater was a deep, bright pink and cropped, showing her trim waist and flowing curves that made Grant’s mouth water. After less than a week, he was intrigued by her simple but authentic and unapologetic style. It fit her attitude and her personality, and Grant found that more refreshing every day.

Which led to today. To showing up spontaneously with no purpose, holding chocolates.

What in holy hell had happened to him?

He followed her as if she were his magnet. “Free for lunch?”

“Nope, too much to do.”

“What if I bring it here?”

“No, thanks. I really don’t have time to stop.”

“Then you might like these chocolates I picked up next door. They’re bite-size, and you can eat them on the go. They’re also part of Jemma’s private reserve.”

Her feet halted, and she stood there frozen a second before she spun on him, took a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him into an aisle.

“Whoa, girl.” He chuckled the words, thrilled he’d finally gotten a reaction out of her. “If I’d known chocolate was the key to getting your attention, I’d be a regular at Jemma’s by now.”

She let go of his shirt and crossed her arms. “You’re playing me. Jemma would never give you access to her private reserve.”

“Baby, I know
you
seem to be immune to my charms, but not every woman is.”

She leaned one shoulder against a shelf. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

He mirrored her, loving this tiny sliver of her complete and total attention. He’d never had to work so hard to get something so simple in his entire life. But the zing he felt all through his body when they really connected was well worth the effort. “You’re not going to cave, are you?”

She grinned, a sexy, flirty little grin that shocked Grant all the way to the pit of his stomach. “Must be hard for a handsome stud like you not to have every woman drop at your feet.”

He exhaled and offered a melodramatic “I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to be understood.”

She laughed. Her eyes twinkled. And, God, something really different was happening here. Some wild sort of chemistry he’d never had with any other woman. And he hadn’t even kissed her.

“All right, hot shot, I’ll indulge you in your game. What have you got in there?”