Monahan's Gamble. Elizabeth Bevarly
a nice by-product of her change of venue. But more because small towns were supposed to be utterly bereft of handsome, charming eligible men—unlike Chicago, which had seemed to be overflowing with them.
Autumn needed a respite—a nice, lo-o-o-ong respite, like maybe for the rest of her life—from handsome, charming, eligible men. Marigold, Indiana, had seemed like the kind of place that would have almost none. Small towns were supposed to drive young singles away in, well, droves. Instead, no sooner had she unpacked her belongings and opened her bakery than she had wandered out into the town itself to make friends…only to discover that Marigold, Indiana, was overflowing with handsome, charming, eligible men, from the head of the Chamber of Commerce—who, thankfully, was happily married—right down to the local mechanic—who, wouldn’t you know it, was not.
And right at the top of that pile were the Monahan brothers—all five of them. Five of them, she marveled now as she gazed anxiously at Sean. As if one wouldn’t have been overwhelming enough for the universe—or, at the very least, for Autumn Pulaski. Each one of them had piercing blue eyes and dark, silky hair and finely chiseled features. Each one was a piece of Greek-god artwork just waiting to be worshipped. Each one was handsome. Each one was charming. Each one was eligible.
Damn. Just her luck.
“Hello,” she said to Sean now, trying not to notice his piercing blue eyes or his dark, silky hair or his finely chiseled features.
But doing that left her nothing to focus on except for his Greek-god-artwork physique, and that was no help at all. Clad in lovingly faded, form-fitting Levi’s and an equally faded and form-fitting black T-shirt, his entire body fairly rippled with muscle and sinew and, oh, my stars, it was just too much for Autumn this early in the day, before she’d even had her second cup of coffee. Looking at Sean Monahan was making her feel sluggish and indolent and warm, and very much in the mood to return to her bed. Except…not alone. And…not for sleeping.
“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as sluggish and indolent and warm as it—and the rest of her—felt.
Belatedly she realized she probably shouldn’t have asked the question at all. Not only did it offer him an opportunity to say something flirtatious—and everyone in Marigold knew that flirtatious was Sean Monahan’s natural state—but there was nothing for her to help him with. The store wasn’t open yet. There was no bread to sell. Then again, knowing what she did of Sean Monahan, which was surprisingly a lot, considering the fact that she’d never met him formally—or even casually—he probably wasn’t interested in her bread, anyway.
But before she could make clear the fact that she had nothing to offer him—nothing of the bread persuasion, at any rate—Sean smiled at her, and her entire body went zing. Truly. Zing. She’d had no idea that the human body could, in fact, go zing, until now. But that was exactly what Sean’s smile did to her. Because it was the kind of smile a man really shouldn’t smile at a woman unless they were extremely well—nay, intimately—acquainted.
“I just wanted to get a big, strapping cup of coffee,” he said, cranking up the wattage on his smile to a near-blinding setting.
Oh, Autumn really wished he hadn’t said the words big and strapping, because, inevitably, they drove her thoughts—and her gaze, dammit—right back to that Greek-god-artwork body of his.
“My coffeemaker went belly-up on me this morning,” he continued.
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word belly.
“And I have to make a long drive today—”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word long.
“—and no place else is open this early.”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word open.
Stop it, Autumn, she berated herself. Not one word the man had uttered had been in any way suggestive, but as he’d spoken, somehow Sean Monahan made her feel as if he’d just dragged a slow, sensuous finger along the inside of her thigh. How did he do it?
“We, uh…” Autumn began eloquently. She swallowed with some difficulty, and tried not to notice just how incredibly handsome, charming and eligible he was. “We, ah…we’re not ope— Um, I mean…we’re, ah…we’re closed, too,” she managed to say—eventually—still struggling over the word open, because that was exactly what she wanted to do at the moment. Open herself. To Sean Monahan. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, sexually. That was always her immediate response to handsome, charming, eligible men. Which was why it was so important that she avoid them at all costs.
He met her gaze levelly as he jacked up the power on his smile a bit more—Autumn had to bite back a wince at just how dazzling he was—then jutted a thumb over his shoulder, toward the front door. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying not to notice how the muscles in his abdomen fairly danced as he completed the gesture.
“Your front door’s open,” he pointed out.
It certainly is, Autumn thought before she could stop herself. And why don’t you just come on right inside?
Immediately she snapped her eyes open and pushed the thought away. This was, without question, the very last thing she needed, today or any day. She swallowed with some difficulty, her mouth going dry when the chorus line that was his torso synchronized as he dropped his hand back to his side.
“Yes, well, the door may be open, but the shop isn’t,” she told him, proud of herself for not stumbling once over the proclamation.
“I smell coffee brewing,” he said.
“That’s not for sale, it’s for the workers,” she replied. “We’re a bakery, Mr. Monahan, not a beanery.”
His blue eyes, so clear and limitless, reflected laughter and good humor, and something else upon which she told herself she absolutely should not speculate. “You know my name,” he said softly.
Oops. “Well, I know you’re a Monahan. It is a small town. And you Monahan boys all look alike,” she lied. “I just don’t know which Monahan boy you are.”
Oh, my. Two falsehoods before dawn. Autumn was definitely going to create some bad karma with that. And why on earth was she referring to him as a “boy”? Sean Monahan was quite undeniably a man, and probably five or six years her senior, to boot.
He took a few steps forward, his shoes scuffing softly over the terra-cotta tiles as he came, his mouth quirked into that sleepy, sexy smile—the one that made him look as if he’d just made sweet, sensational love to its recipient, successfully and repeatedly. He only stopped moving because the counter hindered his progress, but he still leaned forward and folded his arms over the glass top, right in front of where Autumn was standing. He was so close she could see the dark shadow of his freshly shaved beard, could smell the clean, soapy scent of him, could fairly feel the warmth of his body creeping over the counter to mingle with her own.
Instinct told her to take a giant step backward…and then run like the wind as far as she could. Instead she stood firm, waiting to see what he would do next. And as was always the case when it came to handsome, charming, eligible men, that was Autumn’s fatal mistake.
Because Sean Monahan’s piercing blue eyes pierced her right down to her soul, warming a place inside her she had forgotten could feel warmth. And then, “I really was hoping for a cup of coffee,” he said softly. “But you know, Autumn, now that you mention it, there is something else you can do for me, too.”
Two
Surprisingly, Sean had never actually stood this close to Autumn Pulaski before now, and he couldn’t help but wonder why not. Normally he gravitated toward attractive, single women faster than the planets spun through space, yet this one had somehow eluded him until he’d made this very assertive, very specific, foray into her life. It was especially odd considering the fact that she’d lived in Marigold for more than two years now—he could vaguely recall the grand opening of her bakery