Twenty-four year old graphic artist Bailey Jazincski ended her longtime relationship months ago. To move forward, a new job in a new town felt right. The smoldering attraction for her new boss, not so much. Tony Shepard, the owner of AJAK’s Signs, is a real sweetheart, a natural flirt, and completely unavailable. Just ask his live-in girlfriend.
Tony flirts all the time, but he would never cheat, just like he would never cross a line with an employee. But the thing he can’t figure out is how that line with Bailey grew so thin. She’s unlike anyone he’s ever met. She’s also an extraordinary asset to his growing company, and he wants to keep her around almost as much as he wants—her.
Will Bailey and Tony follow the signs? The Signs of Love.
Excerpt:
A puddle of paint had formed between her feet. She stretched the fabric further away from her body. If she moved, it would drizzle everywhere, and there was no way she’d ever be able to take it over her head and come out clean. “Cut it off.”
Tony laughed. Actually, it was more of a chortle. “You want me to cut your shirt off?”
“Yes, yes, it’s an old shirt.” She snagged the shirt from the clearance rack at Target two years ago, but the jeans she’d had since ninth grade. She only wore them today because she figured she wouldn’t be around paint. The shirt was a no-brainer, but she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her favorite pair of jeans into true work jeans just yet.
“Are you sure?” Tony questioned, and she shook her head. “Okay. Let me find some scissors.”
Was it her imagination, or did he sound vastly more excited than he did a second ago?
Bailey peeked down the inside of her shirt. “Oh shit.” Figures, her last clean bra was her Victoria’s Secret bra. The skimpy black lace accentuated her cleavage and barely covered her nipples. She really needed to catch up on her laundry. Great.
“What, did it get on you?” Tony hurried across the room with a pair of orange-handled scissors.
“No.” Bailey closed her eyes briefly. “Umm. You do know—this is no big deal, right?” Her voice fluctuated. “I guess I’m trying to say that a bra is very much like a bathing suit.”
Broken glass crunched under his shoes as he maneuvered to stand directly behind her. “Yeah, I get that.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “And it’s okay because I’ve seen bras before too.”
She distinctly heard the smile in his voice without having to see it. “I’m sure you have,” Bailey said more to herself than him.
First, Tony gathered her thick hair into a makeshift ponytail. Then he tugged the back of her shirt free from the waist of her jeans and smoothed his palms over her back. “Are you ready?”
What was I thinking? “Yes, yes—just do it.” This couldn’t get any worse.
But then it did. Cold metal touched her skin. “Auh!” She jerked backward.
“Shit.” Tony grabbed her hips. “Don’t move your feet.” He yanked her backward against his—front to steady her balance. “Watch the glass.”
The scene in her mind played out in real-time: Tony holding onto her hips from behind, her bent over, and a whole lot of pushing and pulling. “Oh my gosh.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes closed from the absurdity of being semi-turned on. “The scissors were—cold.”
“Okay, hold on.” He rubbed them against his jeans. “That’s still two for flinching, but I’ll wait until we’re done.” He brought the scissors back to the base of her spine. “All right. Let’s try this again.” The scissors traveled up her back, slicing the jersey material in a rhythm of brusque chafing. He made it to her bra. “Whoa, or should I say, wow?”
“Just hurry.” She blurted.
“Don’t worry, I’m almost…done.” Tony snipped through the collar and tossed the scissors onto Lazlo’s counter. Her daisy yellow crew neck peeled away from her shoulders and landed in the puddle of paint in front of her.
She had barely uprighted before an arm circled her bare torso, and her feet left the floor. Tony was carrying her away from the paint and the sea of broken glass.
Her half-clad body buzzed when his warm breath fanned over her skin. Cradled in his arms, his smooth, spicy scent floated under her nose. She could drown in that scent.
Tony reached the other side of the shop and stopped. His Adam’s apple dipped right before her bare feet landed on the cold concrete floor.
Being this close to him, her attention-seeking nipples had already firmed up like little berries, and her stomach was probably wrapped around her spine. Any chance of modesty she may have had was lost the second her shirt came off.
His gaze raked up her body. “Well…” He tried—unsuccessfully to hold back a smile. “That’s one hell of a bathing suit.” He reached for her chin. “Hold still. You have one little speck of paint right here.” He rubbed it away with the side of his thumb. “I think you may have actually come out of this unscathed.” A warm gleam entered his eyes.
“Whoa! What the hell?” Max stood in the middle of the hallway, gapping. “You guys need a couple more minutes?”
Tony grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around, shielding her from his friend. “Christ, Max. I told you to wait in the car.” He whipped his navy blue t-shirt over his head and started shoving it over hers. It fell onto her body with the warmth of his skin still in it.
“Here, you can keep it. I’ll grab another shirt from my office.” He jogged across the shop and retrieved her tennis shoes beside the banner. “You may need these.” He offered her shoes, then tapped her shoulder twice. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”
Bailey shook her head. “No, I’ll clean this up. You should go. Really Tony. You and Max go have lunch.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I am.”
“All right, like I said, I won’t belong.” He took several steps backward before turning away. In all, probably about three seconds. But they were the longest three seconds of her life.
