Two

Emily Poole made sure nobody was around before she let the smile break free. She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to cool the warmth flooding her cheeks. She was blushing, actually blushing! Well, why shouldn't she? She'd never had someone try to flirt with her in the grocery store before. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Not really.

And certainly not anyone like him.

She laughed again at the memory of the man standing before her, those two ridiculous cucumbers in his hand. That was definitely a first. Another blush heated her face when she recalled her answer to his ridiculous question. That was another first, for her to try and flirt back.

And he was cute, whoever he was. A head taller than she, a nice muscular build without being too muscular. Thick brown hair, tousled and shaggy, hanging over the collar of his t-shirt. And those eyes! Gorgeous brown eyes with alluring gold flecks that made her feel like she was melting when he looked at her.

And he had been flirting with her!

She couldn't wait to get home and call Monica to tell her about it. Then again, maybe not. Her sister had been in an odd mood lately, subdued and withdrawn. No, it was probably better if she didn't tell Monica.

And she shouldn't be standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking the way as she relived the last few minutes, not when she still had to finish up here. Just a few more things and she could get home, settle in for the day and just relax and pamper herself.

She was overdue for a day of pampering—about two years overdue.

Emily turned the cart around, heading down the frozen food aisle. If she was going to do a pampering day right, she needed ice cream. A nice pint of thick, creamy ice cream. She paused in front of the shelves of ice cream and studied them through the clear door, trying to decide which one was best for pampering.

Chocolate, definitely. And not plain chocolate, either. No, she wanted to really indulge. Something with nuts and marshmallow and maybe even bits of fudge.

She opened the freezer door and reached in, her hand ready to close over the container, a taste of heaven in a pint.

"Ah. My favorite."

The warm voice came from her left, close enough to send shivers along her spine. Emily froze, her hand not quite wrapped around the pint, and turned her head.

Her gaze met the gorgeous brown eyes of the man who had been flirting with her moments ago. She blinked, wondering if maybe she was seeing things, then jerked her hand from the freezer and closed the door.

No, she wasn't seeing things. He was still standing there, watching her with the most adorable crooked smile she had ever seen. And she hadn't imagined things earlier: he really did have an accent, the sound warm and mellow, soft and entrancing.

He watched her for a long minute, those gorgeous eyes sending shivers dancing across her skin. Then he reached beside her and opened the freezer door, pulling out two pints of the ice cream. He placed one in her cart then held the second in his large hand, his gaze moving back to hers.

He stood close to her, close enough she could feel the heat rolling from his body. Warm, inviting.

Too close.

Emily yanked her gaze from his and took a hasty step back, trying to put distance between them before she did something completely out of character.

Like lean forward and press her hand against his chest.

Or press her lips against the firm flesh of his tanned neck.

Or just lunge toward him and wrap her body around his.

What was with her? She didn't act like this. Ever. She was usually so calm, maybe even a little distant. And she certainly never thought about throwing herself at any man. That wasn't her.

Maybe she should just open the freezer door and climb inside. Maybe that would calm her rioting hormones until she could reclaim control of her wayward thoughts.

Especially when he kept looking at her like that. Like she was an ice cream cone that he wanted to lick up.

And oh, that was such the wrong thought to have, especially when he kept looking at her with those gorgeous brown eyes and that adorable crooked grin.

"I am Jean-Pierre. JP." He held his hand out and she stared down at it, not quite sure what to do.

"You're French!"

"French-Canadian."

Had she insulted him? No, she didn't think so. Although maybe she had said something amusing because his grin widened a little. Then she realized he was still holding his hand out. She reached out with her own, surprised at the warmth of his skin when he folded his fingers over hers. Surprised at how small and pale her hand looked in his.

Surprised even more when he raised her hand to his mouth and lightly grazed her knuckles with his lips. Fire exploded deep inside her, warming her from within as flames licked across her skin. Her fingers tightened around his, as if eager for another touch. Her mind reeled, slightly off-balance before regaining a small semblance of sense.

She tugged her hand from his and pulled it behind her, almost afraid she'd reach for him again. Why was she being so silly? He was just flirting with her. Nothing more. And no matter how much her body might want to, she certainly could not jump him in the frozen foods section of the grocery store, even if it was the desserts aisle. Not even if he was looking at her like that. Watching her. Waiting.

His grin widened as he tossed the pint of ice cream in the air, his eyes never leaving hers. He caught the pint then leaned forward, his voice whisper-soft and too enticing. "And your name is?"

Of course! Her name. He was waiting for her name. "Emily."

"Emilie. A beautiful name for a beautiful angel."

She snorted. She couldn't help it, would have preferred not to, not when the sound lacked all grace and composure. A beautiful angel? Her? Now she knew he was nothing more than a determined flirt.

"Not hardly."

He raised his brows, in either disbelief or silent question. "You don't think so?"

Emily shook her head. "No, not really."

"Ah. But they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, eh?"

Emily opened her mouth then promptly closed it again. She had no idea what to say, no idea how to respond. He must have sensed her discomfort because he chuckled, the sound low and warm and entirely too dangerous.

"Would you have dinner with me, Emilie? Tomorrow night."

"I—" She blinked, not quite believing her ears. He was asking her out? Seriously? But why? Men like him didn't notice her. Men like him—men who screamed sex appeal—didn't ask women out. Women asked them out. Why would he even be remotely interested in her?

She shook her head and tried to step back. "I don't think—"

"Please? I would very much like to get to know you better."

Maybe it was the melodic tone of his voice. Or the sincerity she heard in the words. Or maybe it was just the novelty of having someone like him notice her, for whatever reason. She didn't know why, only knew that her gut was telling her to say yes.

Or maybe that was nothing more than her traitorous hormones talking.

"I—"

"We can meet somewhere. That way you don't have to tell me where you live. You'll feel safer that way, yes?"

That thought had never even crossed her mind, which let her know more than anything that she needed to have her head examined. Was she actually considering saying yes? Yes, she was.

"Um, okay. Dinner. I can do dinner." Her hormones kicked up a notch and started rejoicing. She mentally kicked them back and tried to offer him—Jean-Pierre, JP—a small smile. "Just dinner."

"It would be my honor." His grin blossomed into a full smile. It took all of Emily's self-control not to jump him right there. His grin was adorable. But his smile—his smile was lethal, all heat and unspoken promises of delights yet to come.

Of delights yet to be discovered.

"Do you have a pen?"

"A pen?"

He grinned again then nodded. "So I can have your number. So I can call you tomorrow."

"Oh. Um, yeah." She pulled her gaze away from his, her heart stammering in her chest as she dug through her small purse. She pulled out a pen and tried to give it to him, experienced a moment of confusion when he stepped closer and held his arm out to her.

Then she realized he wanted her to write her number on his arm. She hesitated then carefully took his wrist in one hand, surprised at the thickness of it, surprised at the hard muscles she felt just below the surface of warm, firm flesh. And not just his wrist—his forearm as well. The man was nothing but a solid wall of muscle.

She pushed all thoughts of exploring that wall of muscle from her mind, refused to think about how it would feel to have that warm hard flesh pressed against her body. And then she had to think, tried to remember her own phone number so she could write it down.

On his arm.

He glanced at the numbers, written in her bold, blocky writing, then looked up at her and smiled. Before she could react, he grabbed her hand again and brought it to his mouth, the firm flesh of his lips soft against her skin as they grazed her knuckles once more.

And his eyes never left hers, not once.

"Until tomorrow night, my Emilie."

She tried to swallow, could barely nod as he released her hand. He grinned again and nodded his head in a slight bow then moved past her, tossing the ice cream pint in the air as he moved down the aisle.

Emily stared after him, wondering if her mouth was hanging open in shock.

Wondering what she had just gotten herself into.