Maybe he was wrong about her being average. What made him think she could be the kind of young woman who fit into that mold? She was far from that, as he watched her hurry away from him where he stood in the small fast food outlet inside the grocery store. Her round ass was outlined perfectly by a pair of dark jeans, with a natural sway that only added to his wanting her. She wore sneakers, and her deep brown hair, a mix of chestnut and amber, was tied back in a high ponytail. Her face had been free of makeup, and her eyes were light blue. He knew she was only nineteen, but most nineteen-year-olds weren’t as confident as Becky Friessen was, and most didn’t know their minds as she seemed to.

Of course, now he wanted her more.

A lot of things about her bothered him, but at the same time he wanted her as he hadn’t wanted any woman. Could it be any one thing or everything, the chemistry, the draw he felt to her even more at this moment, after she’d walked away without giving his demanded answer? Ever since she’d left the ER, he’d brushed it off to that zing, that attraction. He’d been pulled into another case, and she was no longer in his head until he saw her with a cart of cheese, stocking the cold shelf. He’d been zapped with a wanting that made him angry yet again.

He didn’t want a relationship with anyone, but he wanted Becky Friessen even though he knew he’d end up hurting her. He wasn’t made for sharing, caring, or anything that made a relationship work. He would destroy her, he was sure of that. He couldn’t help himself, since personal relationships were his Achilles’s heel, and he eventually destroyed everything good in a woman so that she ended up hating him.

It was never if. It was always when.

What had Becky done with his demand? She’d simply stepped back after touching his arm in a way that said she wasn’t shocked or afraid, then turned and walked away. There was no fear there, but he hadn’t missed the moment she tried to hide her interest at his blatant and indecent…what? Not even a proposition, since he’d basically said what he wanted instead of asking. It had been so totally wrong.

But Tom Campbell didn’t ask.

He picked up the coffee, which still steamed, and the deserted milky coffee Becky had left sitting on the table, and walked over to the garbage and dumped them both in. Then he patted his pockets, something he did when he was thinking of what to do next. Ah, yes, groceries, the food in the basket he’d left on top of the cart loaded with cheese by the deli. He’d have to go and get it, or he could leave the store and whatever dignity Becky Friessen needed.

He saw the exit sign but instead put one foot in front of the other and moved back to the deli, seeing his basket now in the hands of Becky as if she were trying to figure out what to do with it. “I’ll take that,” he said and didn’t miss the expression in her eyes, not fear or worry but anger. Good, maybe then she’d stay well away from him.

Pity.

He reached for the basket, his fingers brushing hers, and she actually had an expression far from repulsed before hesitating a second, before pulling away. Good Lord, she actually liked his touch. She couldn’t hide her reaction from him.

“Enjoy the cheese,” she said and then nothing else other than tossing him a sassy smile that touched her lips. She stepped back. She was playing with fire.

“Your uncle is right, you know,” Tom said. “Go to school here for now, take your business course. At least then you’re doing something in a positive direction, which then gets you to a future not filled with dead-end jobs like this and you going nowhere. You’ll figure it out from there.”

This time she made a face that bordered on amusement. “You’re an enigma and a very confused man,” she said. Then she glanced around to the side, maybe to see who was around or listening.

He took a step toward her and lifted his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers over her pale cheek and the soft blush that tinted it. She wasn’t a beauty queen, but she was lovely and trim, with a pleasing figure and an attitude that let him know she wasn’t falling at his feet to agree to anything he wanted. That made him pissed but at the same time had him wanting to do anything to get her to agree to see him again. Now who was the fool?

“Dinner,” he said. “Tomorrow.” He leaned in.

This time she stared up at him, confused, hesitant, before shaking her head. “Why? You don’t do relationships, remember?”

No, he didn’t, and taking a woman for dinner was something he never did either. This wasn’t a good idea. “Seven o’clock.” He just couldn’t stop from digging himself in deeper and walking the wrong way. He’d sworn an oath to help people, not hurt them, even though he’d never been able to apply that rule to any woman he slept with.

She still said nothing. She should have told him to go away and leave her be, but she still hadn’t, and he wasn’t sure whether she was thinking or being coy. He’d figure it out soon and put an end to that. “Give me your number.” He pulled out his phone and typed in her name in his contacts, then held it out to her. Don’t take it! Tell me to go fuck myself.

What she did then, he hadn’t expected: She sighed softly before taking his phone, flicking one last questioning gaze to him, and keying in a number. She handed it back to him and took another glance behind her.

Why wasn’t she walking away? She directed her gaze back to him and moved in closer, saying in a voice so low no one could hear, “This doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”