Paris
“Aaahh!”
That’s right. I screamed.
Bloody murder.
And not only that, I jumped a foot and shined the bright light from my phone right into the eyes of the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. Dark hair. Bright eyes. Chiseled face. Gorgeous skin. And muscles. Muscles. For. Miles.
“Oh, my goodness, y’all scared me to near to death!” my thick southern accent accused, attesting to the fact that I had indeed been scared near to death, because let me tell you, people in New York did not like southern accents and I’d all but kicked mine over the last few years.
“I’m sorry,” beautiful man laughed as he squinted, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from my light because I was still shining it in his face.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m sorry,” I exclaimed, lowering my phone almost regretfully because how could I keep checking him out in the dark? Beautiful man blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know how you didn’t hear me walking up.”
I didn’t know, either. Good grief, he could be a serial killer and I’d just let him walk within three feet of me. My heart rate, which had already been accelerated by the appearance of Mr. Hottie, threatened to beat out of my chest, this time with fear.
“Hey, I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll stomp my feet and clear my throat really loud.” His voice was smooth and comforting like he was used to calming hysterical females. I tried to remain wary, but the guy could still be a serial killer- a really, really hot serial killer.
“No, I- It’s okay. I was just so focused on figuring out how to change this tire and hold up my light at the same time,” I paused, dragging in a calming breath. “Sorry about blinding you.”
“It’s not a bad defense. Stopped me in my tracks,” he teased, making me smile a little. “I’m Aaron,” he said, offering his hand.
I stared at it, a whole new uneasiness growing in my breast. I did not want to touch this man. He was big and beautiful and exactly the kind of guy I avoided at all costs. It didn’t matter that his eyes were kind and his name reminded me of baseball games, clean and wholesome. I knew better. Men that looked like him were arrogant and didn’t give girls like me a second glance. Not that I wanted him to give me a second glance.
I couldn’t be rude, however, since it looked like he was offering to help with my flat tire. I reached out my hand, part of me dying to feel his skin against mine even if it was just a handshake, while the rest of me recoiled, bent on protecting my bruised and battered heart from any potential risk. Even in the form of a handshake.
His hand clasped warm around mine, his skin felt dry and callused. The casual contact felt anything but casual. The zing surged all the way down to my toes.
Wow.
My eyes shot up to meet his and I wondered what, if anything, he felt as his hand squeezed mine just a little before releasing mine.
Probably nothing.
Turning away, I bent to retrieve the jack.
“Let me help you,” Aaron offered, taking the jack from my hand.
“It’s okay. I can-” I gestured to the flat, for some reason feeling like I should give him an out. I’m sure when he dreamed of rescuing a damsel in distress, she didn’t look like me.
He paused. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you here in the dark to change your tire?” His eyes were wide, his expression a little offended.
I shrugged, thinking I knew some guys who wouldn’t think twice about leaving me to fend for myself with a flat. But one more glance at Mr. Hottie Aaron, with his raised brows, I realized he was not going to leave me stranded to change my tire.
“No.” His broad shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” I said, gratitude lacing the words. Aaron flashed me a grin, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness.
“No worries. We’ll get the spare on and get you on your way.” He set the jack on the ground beside my car and lowered himself beside it. “Think you can hold that light for me?” he asked, glancing at my phone.
“Oh! Sorry!” Oh, my goodness, I was being such an idiot! Feeling mortified, I shined the light from my phone over his prone body.
Holy hotness! For the light to be effective, I had to crouch dangerously close to him. So close I could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and his body wash. It was intoxicating.
Lowering one hand to the asphalt beside me, I balanced to keep from swaying any closer and completely embarrassing myself. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was flirting with him. I did not flirt. And even if I did, I would never flirt with a guy as gorgeous as this one.
Aaron made quick work of positioning the jack and twirling the crank to lift my car enough to remove the flat as I tried to stop myself from staring at his abs which were peeking out from beneath his shirt. Holy crap! The guy was ripped.
I scrambled to my feet when he pushed himself off the ground and picked up the tool to remove the lug nuts, all while I took a second to look him over unnoticed.
Aaron was tall, extremely tall, although at five feet two inches everyone seemed tall to me. His dark hair curled around his head. Not tight curls, but big loose curls that were just long enough to make his hair look messy in a sexy way. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes in the dark, but they were light, probably blue and they crinkled at the edges when he smiled at me. He had a dimple, too. Just one that flashed quickly before hiding again in his left cheek.
I knew it was cliché, but really there was no help for it, a body like that was just begging to be ogled. Broad, muscular shoulders. A wide chest that tapered down into a narrow waist. I was suddenly tempted to send thank-you notes to fashion designers everywhere for fitted white tees and basketball shorts. When my gaze searched for his again a second later, he was grinning at me. My cheeks flushed.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile.
“Oh, sorry. I’m such a dork sometimes.” Seriously? Closing my eyes briefly, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts.
Name.
I have one.
“Paris.”
Aaron held out a lug nut. I offered my hand and he dropped the hunk of metal into it before starting on the next one.
“Like the city?” he asked, grunting just a little from the effort of removing the nut. The muscles in his arms and back tightened, distracting me.
He asked a question.
Oh, right.
“Yes. Paris, like the city. Not Paris, like the Hilton.” I answered.
I liked my name. I did. I just wish it wasn’t the same as some rich reality TV girl. It was good for a gimmick though. I’d even incorporated it into the name of my bakery, Paris Cupcakes. The logo was a black and white drawing of the Eiffel Tower, the lower portion made to look like a cupcake. It was super cute, if I did say so myself. Of course, underneath the logo, are the words and other fine desserts because I didn’t just sell cupcakes, but I loved the concept when Brad, my brother and business partner, came up with it and couldn’t imagine it being anything else.
“The Hilton? You mean that blonde chick from TV?” he asked, dropping another lug nut into my hand.
“Yeah, I mean who wants to be associated with that girl? It’s like the Kardashian’s. Now, anyone named Khloe, or Kendall, or Kim will be forever asked, you mean like the Kardashian’s when they tell someone their name. It’s kind of sad, really. I’ve always liked the name Khloe for a little girl. But now, it’s ruined for me.” I sighed, with real regret, because I was totally rambling, and Khloe really was such a cute name.
I looked over to where Aaron was crouched in front of my flat tire to find him watching me with real amusement shining in his eyes, which were blue, by the way. Me and my mouth. I swear, sometimes I wondered if I was born without a cool bone in my body. I couldn’t tell you how many times my rambling had been the cause of supreme mortification and this time was no exception. Why had I told him any of that?
“I don’t know about Khloe, but I’ve had my heart set on Kanye since I can remember,” Aaron said, his tone serious as a heart attack. “I can’t name my firstborn son after that tool, though, so I’m screwed.”
I giggled. A short burst of hilarity that quickly threatened to turn into gales. I laughed in little spurts as I watched Aaron, Mr. Hottie tire changer, gaze at me in wonder for a moment before his eyes twinkled and his dimple made a reappearance. I worked on calming my laugh down to a grin.
“See? You get it.” I sighed, as he dropped another lug nut into my hand. “Now, I’ll have to name my kids something like Sarah or Jane. Not quite as cute but less likely to make you think of plastic surgery.”
“Kids, huh? Not that you look it, but are congratulations in order?” Aaron asked, his gaze skimming my stomach quickly before returning to my tire. Oh, dear.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m not married. Not that you have to be married to have kids. I mean-” Oh. My. Gosh. “No. I just name hypothetical kids.” And now that I was completely mortified, allow me to put my head in an oven. See, this was what happened when I was forced to speak to gorgeous men, I rambled and carried on like a blithering idiot. And now he just looked at my flabby stomach hanging over my yoga pants, wondering if I was expecting a baby in the near future.
Aaron dropped the last lug nut into my palm. “Sorry. I guess that could be a sore subject.”
“No, don’t be silly. I brought it up in the first place.” Of course, now that he’s asked me if I’m pregnant, I’m wondering about him. Does he have a gorgeous wife and a few genetically privileged children at home? A quick glance at his left hand revealed a ringless finger. Not that I cared! Mr. Hottie, Aaron would never be interested in me.
Aaron lifted the flat tire free and swung it into the trunk of my car like it weighed no more than a piece of paper. Then he lined up the spare and pushed it into place. I held out the handful of lug nuts, still shining my phone on the tire so he could work. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude filled me.
“Thanks again, Aaron. I really appreciate your help.”
He paused with the tire and turned to me. “It’s no problem. I’m just glad I was here to help.” His eyes scanned the empty parking lot, a frown forming on his handsome face. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here so late? After dark? It’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”
I should be offended. I mean, I did live in New York City for five years. Talk about dangerous! But there was something really nice about Aaron’s concern. It was good to know chivalry wasn’t dead.
“Well, it was still light when I finished. But then I realized my tire was flat. And when I went to get the spare I remembered I had all my supplies in the trunk and had to move them to the backseat.” I shook my head. “By the time I finished with that, it had gotten dark.”
Aaron nodded. I could tell he didn’t like my answer, but refrained from scolding me. He reached out to take a lug nut from my hand, his warm fingers brushing against my palm sending tingles up my arm. I prayed he wouldn’t notice my trembling. There was something about him- not just his good looks- but something else- that made me want to draw closer to him.
He worked in silence after that and I tried not to enjoy the feel of his skin on my hands each time he picked up a lug nut. It was only a matter of minutes before he cranked the jack, in reverse this time, lowering my car to the ground- the spare securely attached. As he stowed everything in the trunk, I wished for some tangible way to offer my thanks. I knew there was no way this guy was gonna let me pay him for changing my flat. Of course!
“So, I know you came here to exercise and this kind of defeats the purpose, but I have to thank you somehow,” I mumbled almost more to myself than him as I rummaged through the backseat of my car. Aaron frowned as he shut the trunk door.
“No, you-”
“It’s nothing much,” I interrupted him, smiling just a little as I thrust a couple of plastic wrapped sugar cookies into his hands. “And you might have to run a couple extra laps to work them off,” I teased.
Aaron grinned as he looked at the cookies in his hand. “So, that’s the thanks I get? Extra laps?”
I laughed. “Hey, they’re worth it. That’s probably my best recipe.”
Aaron looked at the cookies again, brows knit together. “You made these? Did you decorate them, too?”
“Yeah. That’s the fun part.” And it was. Sugar cookies were my favorite thing to bake. I decorated them with royal icing and sometimes an airbrush and markers. The ones I gave to Aaron were left over from an order for a baby shower (that could explain the baby name verbal vomit from earlier) and they were shaped like baby bottles and iced and piped in baby blue and I’d written ‘baby’ down the center. They turned out so cute.
Aaron looked impressed. “What are you a professional baker or something?”
“Uh-huh. I just opened a bakery in old downtown a few months ago.”
Aaron’s brows pulled down. “Yeah, Paris something. I’ve seen it. That’s you?”
I nodded, a little surprised Aaron noticed my bakery. He did not seem the type to pay attention to cutesy shops like mine. “That’s right, Paris Cupcakes.”
“Yeah, it’s not far from the fire station.” He glanced down at the cookies again, before cocking a brow at me. “Cupcakes?”
I rolled my eyes a little. “You have to read the fine print. Paris Cupcakes and other fine desserts.”
“Like cool baby bottle cookies,” he winked.
“Yes. But not just baby bottles,” I informed him. “I can make Christmas ornaments that look so real your mom would hang them on her tree. And animals, any kind of animal. Flowers. Cars. Trucks. Planes.” I was getting carried away. But I really did love decorating sugar cookies. It was therapeutic.
“Huh. Who knew?” Aaron said, turning the cookies over in his hand.
Suddenly, I felt even more awkward. Why did I go off rambling again? I needed to get out of there. “I should get home, I have an early day tomorrow.”
“It was nice to meet you, Paris.” I liked his voice. It was low and smooth and sexy. My cheeks flushed at direction of my wayward thoughts.
“You, too.” I reached for the handle of the driver’s side door and pulled it open. “Thank you again. So much.” I hoped he could hear the sincerity in my voice.
He just nodded, his expression unreadable. “Drive safe.”