Third Time's a Charm

“The newlyweds are currently in Majorca, blissfully happy. And even if they were home, I’m not about to put up with all the bloody talking about their feelings. It’s not healthy for a man.” He peered at her through his lashes.“Looks like your place is the only one that will meet my needs.”



“The room’s no longer for rent,” she said flatly.



“A shame, really. I was looking forward to playing house with you, Rosebud,” he said.



She blinked twice in rapid succession, the only indicator that what he said had bothered her. “You said you were leaving for good.” Her fingers went to the necklace at her throat. And there was the second sign.



“You must have misunderstood.”



“No, you said—”



“I know what I said.” He also knew she had a wine-colored birthmark in the shape of her namesake that rested on her inner right thigh. He’d traced its outline with his tongue until she’d pleaded with him to stop teasing her.



Rose frowned. “But—”



“And it didn’t include the words: I’m leaving for good.” Although he would have preferred that to be true.



Her perfect lips thinned and she let go of her necklace. “Why are you here?”



He inclined his head to the side, trying to convey all innocence. “I’m being punished for helping right a wrong,” he lied. Okay, so the helping right a wrong and being punished wasn’t a lie. However, it wasn’t the real reason he was here, not by a long shot.



“Karma works that way,” Rose said.



He shrugged. “It’s rarely Karma, more like the powers that be.”



The town’s sheriff, David Turner, walked into the store, tipping his hat at the sisters. “Ladies.” He barely acknowledged Sasha. “Romanov.”



“Sheriff,” Sasha said. It was rare that a minion did anything on time, but maybe David Turner wanted to get this rather nasty deed over with.



Rose’s brow wrinkled. “I thought Missy didn’t need any more body butter for at least another month.”



Skye gave the sheriff a big grin. “Have you been eating it again, David?”



“Missy’s fine.” He tugged at his collar, an uneasy look passing over his face. “This is for you,” he added, handing Rose a white envelope. “Sorry, honey.”



The sheriff made a hasty exit and took off in his patrol car.



Sasha watched Rose closely as she opened it and read the official letter—one that he had his family’s attorneys craft—from the town’s tax administrator. Her face went white as the paper she was holding before color suffused her cheeks with bright pink.



“What’s wrong?” Skye asked, her voice rising.



Wordlessly, Rose handed it to her. She looked past him, out into the street and he felt the urge to comfort her. Guilt sprouted inside of his gut, threatening to grow before he ruthlessly squashed it. It was one of many emotions he couldn’t afford.



“How’s this possible?” Skye’s lips were bloodless. She crumpled up the paper and threw it at the door. “Ten years worth of back taxes because of a mistake in status. How can they do this?” She leaned against the antique hutch, her hazel eyes overflowing with tears. “How can we make next month’s tuition payment, the rent, and everything else?”



Rose opened and closed her mouth. Her eyes followed suit. When they opened again, Sasha was startled to see resigned defeat in them. He’d expected her to take charge. To march down to the tax office and demand they fix it.



“I’ll get a job cleaning McMansions at the beach again.” She stared at the window.



Again? When had she ever done that?



Skye shook her head. “What about Ivy?”



“Who’s Ivy?” He really should have investigated her family himself. Relying on others for information was proving to be mistake.



“I guess we’ll have to find a renter after all,” Rose said with a defeated sigh.



“What about him?” Skye gestured in his direction, but Rose was already shaking her head.



“No.”



He leaned his hip against the nearest counter and tried to take control of the conversation. “I’m the quiet sort. No pets and I don’t smoke.”



The two women ignored him.



He cleared his throat. “I’m excellent at meal preparations. Never leave the seat up either.”



Skye crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Rose. “Why aren’t you surprised about this letter?”



Rose said nothing.



Her sister’s hazel eyes rounded. “I can’t believe you’d keep something like this from me!”



Rose planted her hands on her hips. “You would’ve dropped out and God knows one of us needs to have a college degree. One of us needs to have a future away from here.”



“Don’t be ridiculous, Rose—”



Jumping in, he said, “I agree. I’m willing to pay whatever—”



“Get off your high-horse and rent the damn room to Alexander!”



“My high-horse? I’m the one who’s been supporting this damn family since I was sixteen,” Rose said, her cheeks flushing.



Skye lifted her brows slightly. “No one asked you.”



“Let’s talk about this later, okay?” Rose asked through clenched teeth. He was surprised that she had any enamel left with the way she ground them into each other.



“Fine,” Skye huffed.



“Good,” Rose agreed.



“I just don’t see why—”



“I said we’d talk later.”



Skye snorted. “You just want to have the last word.”



Rose made a face. “I do not.”



“Ladies, can we agree to disagree?” They both opened their mouths, but he raised a finger. “With a nod, if you please, my head is about to explode.”



To his relief they did as he asked.



He glanced to the right and groaned. Just what he needed—Jemma Leigh Jackson sashaying her way across the street. It had been relatively easy to chat her up, and she’d been a veritable treasure trove of information as she filled him in on all the gossip he’d missed since the last time he was in this backwards little town.



“I’ve never seen a man look at Jemma Leigh like that before,” Skye said.



He swung his gaze back, Rose’s lovely face filling his vision. “If one is going to pretend to wear designer, one must get a decent knock-off.”



Rose gave him a skeptical look. “Jemma Leigh is a former Miss North Carolina and all you can say is that she needs better clothes?”



“Just calling it like I see it, dear.” And he could always see the flaws in others. Clothing, make-up, personality…It didn’t matter. He appraised Rose, watching as her beautiful eyes glittered and narrowed at him. Well, not always.



“I hate it when a man’s all—”



“Charming?”



She snorted. “Try egotistical.”



He shifted his stance and heard the click of heels on the sidewalk. “Let the insanity commence,” he mumbled.



“Be nice, Alexander,” Rose warned.



“Hi, girls.” Jemma Leigh pranced inside Carolina Dreams with a friendly smile on her face as she waved. Then she waved at him and he waved back before he could help himself. “Yoo-hoo, Alexander! You didn’t say what time you’d pick me up Saturday night, silly man!”



He hadn’t said because he hadn’t agreed to anything. He didn’t have the time or inclination to get involved with anyone. For the past six months he hadn’t been involved with anyone but a woman with eyes the color of the Mediterranean at dawn, until he came to his senses and left before things could go further.



“Oh, that. Right, well...” He shot her a sheepish smile. “Currently, I find myself in need of permanent transportation.” That much was true. His driver would be leaving town this evening.



Jemma Leigh laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life. Skye muttered something about needing to do some office work. Rose said nothing, merely faded into the background. Or at least tried to. There was no way he’d ever forget she was in the room. He could identify her by scent alone. Night blooming jasmine. Subtle but powerful.



“Oh you! I’ll pick you up in my truck. Daddy just had it painted for me. Bright pink with my name written on the tailgate.” She leaned forward and pressed her hand beside her lip-glossed mouth. “Just in case I lose it in the Wal-Mart parking lot.” Jemma Leigh winked.



Oh, good God. “Wasn’t that brilliant of him.” Searching for the best possible way out, he thought of a few choice phrases that could nip this in the bud. But none were very nice. And Jemma Leigh struck him as a genuinely nice person.



Dammit.



“Sorry, Jemma Leigh, but Alexander is moving this weekend. He’s our new renter,” Rose said, surprising the hell out of him. She moved to stand beside him, so close that her arm brushed against his.



“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he murmured while mentally reviewing the list of all the reasons why he shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t kiss her plump lips when they parted for her sweet tongue to dart out and lick at the bottom.



“Jemma Leigh doesn’t need another heartbreak,” she whispered. Then she raised her voice and said, “Don’t you have plans with Jeremy Stafford that night? I heard he was taking you out to eat at Owen’s.”



Jemma Leigh’s smile faded. “But he smells like fish.”



Rose sighed. “That’s because he’s a fisherman.”



“I know.” Jemma Leigh’s sigh echoed hers.



“I bet if you gave him this—” Rose walked to a display case and grabbed a sage green bottle, “—and told him you’d love if he wore it for you Saturday night, he’d smell heavenly.”



Jemma Leigh squealed and hugged Rose so hard Sasha heard her grunt. “You’re the bestest. How much do I owe you?”



Rose stepped back and gave her a shy smile. “Consider it a gift.”



“I never did believe all those rumors about your family,” Jemma Leigh said, pulling out her cell. “I’m going to tweet this right now.” With another wave, she sashayed out the way she came in.



The sound of a baby crying interrupted the ensuing silence.



“I’ll get her,” Skye called, walking to the back of the store.



About a million things passed through his mind at once, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Who’s ‘her’?”



Skye held the baby in her arms and walked to Rose.



Rose lifted her chin and took the infant. “This is Ivy and she’s mine.”



If there had ever been a time he’d have liked to reconsider his current occupation as executive assistant to the destroyer of lives, this was it. Sasha resisted the urge to bang his head on the counter. Not only was Rose responsible for this store’s success and her sister’s college tuition, but she had a baby to support. A baby. With black curls and skin the color of cinnamon.



“Your daughter?” Probably the most ridiculous question he could come up with, but it would have to serve.



Rose nodded, their eyes meeting. Unable to withstand the questions lingering in his gaze, she looked away and pressed a kiss to the top of Ivy’s head. The baby blinked up at her with sleepy brown eyes.



Skye jiggled some keys. “As entertaining as you two are, I’ve got to get back to Greenville. My shift starts at seven.” She quickly gave Rose and Ivy a kiss and hug before slipping out the back.



“Alone at last,” Sasha drawled, a self-satisfied smile on his handsome face.



“Why are you really here?” Shifting Ivy in her arms, she reached for the open sign, flipped it around and locked the door.



“Because you’ve locked me in.” He took a step closer and she took one back. “Planning to keep me as your love slave, Rosebud?”



“Stop calling me that, Alexander.” Her birthmark throbbed as if in anticipation. She could still feel his wicked tongue tracing the outline of it.



He smiled and took another confident step, the motion of his lean body reminding her of a panther. By the time he quit walking, she was against the door, holding Ivy between them.



Slowly, he lowered his head. She sucked in a quick breath and turned her face away. His breath was hot on her neck, the tiny hairs on her skin standing at attention. The heat of his skin caressed hers and she half-expected—and to her mortification, half-hoped—to feel his lips.



Holding Ivy tighter, she closed her eyes.



“Sweet Rose, I’ll need a contract and a spare key.”



Suddenly, the delicious heat her body had been absorbing was gone. She opened her eyes to find Sasha standing a couple of feet away, rifling through his wallet. He pulled out some money and held it out to her. “Skye said rent’s five hundred a month. Here’s the deposit and I’ll get the rest out tomorrow.”



She pressed her nose to Ivy’s head, steadying her nerves before she spoke. There was no way she would ever let him know how much he still affected her. “Give me about fifteen minutes to print out a contract and pack everything up. Then you can follow me home.”



“I can’t.” He began striding to the back of the store.



She followed him to her office. “Why not?”



“Like I told Jemma Leigh, I need a car.” His was expression unreadable as he turned to wait for her to catch up. That was the worst thing about Sasha. She could never trust her instincts when it came to him. But she needed the money.



“Fine, you can ride with me when we’re done,” she said grudgingly.

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