Author: Jill Shalvis

She was wondering if that was good or bad when he added, “Sort of.”

Sort of? He “sort of” remembered her? What did that mean? She reached for her wine, wishing it was something harder.

“I remember there being a list,” he said. “A list of…Mr. Wrongs.”

She choked on her wine.

“And I definitely remember waking up in the ambulance with a mother of a headache.”

She was silent for a shocked beat while she digested this astonishing fact. He had absolutely no memory of the fact that he was supposed to be her date tonight. Well, that certainly explained a lot of things. Like being stood up. Damn, it was going to be hard to hold that against him, though she was willing to give it a try. “So I guess that the next time I make a date with a concussed guy, I should pin a note to his collar so he doesn’t forget.”

“Good plan.” His hand was next to hers on the table. He let his thumb glide over her fingers, a small, almost casual touch that sent a shudder through her. “I’m sorry I forgot our date,” he said. He was so close she could see every single hue of green in his eyes, and there were many. She could feel the warmth of his exhale at her temple. In the crowded Vets’ Hall, their nearness was no different from any other couple in the room, discussing their next bid, or laughing over a joke. But Mallory wasn’t bidding or laughing. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat and there were butterflies going crazy low in her belly.

“Am I on that list, Mallory?” he asked, low and husky. “Am I a Mr. Wrong?”

Oh God, she was in trouble now, because she liked the sound of her name on his lips. Too much. “Don’t get too cocky. There are others on the list.” She lifted her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.

He caught her hand in his. “Not what I asked.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “You’re on the list. You’re at the top of the list.”

Chapter 6

What came first, woman—or the chocolate bar?

Ty had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing, flirting with Mallory.

Scratch that.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He was feeling alive for the first time in six months. Possibly in four years.

She was looking at him, her sweet brown eyes lit, cheeks flushed. She was feeling alive too, he was guessing. But she probably wasn’t wondering if he still had a condom in his wallet, trying to calculate how old it might be.

But if she had a list, so did he. A short list of one, and she was it. “Why does a woman like you need a list at all?”

“Like me?”

“Pretty. Smart. Funny.”

She laughed, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have a lot of time to date.”

He could understand that. Hell, it’d been a long time since he’d dated. It’d been a long dry spell without a woman at all, and she was all woman. Her dress was a deceptively modest black number that had little straps criss-crossing across her back and fell to mid-thigh, molding her curves and whetting his appetite for more. Her heels were high and strappy, emphasizing world-class legs that had been hidden beneath her scrubs. She had her hair up in some loose twist with a few tendrils falling across one temple and at the nape of her neck. Her only jewelry was a little gold necklace—no earrings, nothing to stop his mouth from nipping her throat along his way to her ear where, if he was so inclined, he’d stop to whisper promises.

He shouldn’t be inclined. Mallory Quinn was sweet, warm, and caring. She was a white picket fence and two-point-four kids. She was a diamond ring.

She was someone’s keeper.

Not his. Never his. He didn’t do keepers.

And yet in that beat, with her mouth close to his, a smile in her eyes, he…ached. He ached and yearned for something. Someone. He wanted to wrap his arms around a woman, this woman, and lose himself in her.

A woman tapped Mallory on the shoulder, the same woman from before; tall, thin, and coldly beautiful, with a tight pinch to her mouth that said she was greatly displeased about something. Or possibly constipated. She wore authority and bitchiness as easily as she wore the strand of diamonds around her neck.

Mallory glanced up and straightened, her expression going carefully blank. “Jane,” she said, in a tone that told Ty that the woman was either her boss or her executioner.

“I need a moment,” Jane said.

Boss, Ty thought.

“Absolutely.” Mallory followed Jane out of the hall and into the foyer.

The auction was moving ahead at full steam now, and people were into it, jumping up and waving as they bid. Telling himself he had to stretch his aching leg, that he wasn’t at all curious about what had come so briefly over Mallory’s face, Ty left the hall.

In the entranceway, Mallory had her back to him, facing Cruella Deville. “Absolutely,” she was saying. “I’ll go upstairs and get it right now. Thank you for your addition, Jane.”

And then Jane went one way and Mallory the other, her sweet little ass sashaying as fast as she could move in those sexy heels.

Let it go, man. Let her go, he told himself. He’d heard enough from her mother to know she was a good girl just looking for a walk on the wild side. Probably she’d grown up in Lucky Harbor, which was pretty much the same thing as being in bubble wrap all her life. She was not for him.

Except.

Except here she was, clearly doing her damnedest to meet some pretty tough expectations from family and work and whatever, all while looking to spread her wings. She had guts, and he admired that. She was sexy and adorable, but no matter what she did to spread her wings, she wasn’t going to match him in life’s experiences.

Not even close.

She was clean and untainted and not jaded. She was his opposite. She was too good for him. Far too good, even when she was out there risking it all. She deserved way more than he had to offer, and he needed to just walk away. After all, he was out of here, maybe as soon as one more week. Gone, baby, gone.

He told himself all this, repeated it, and then followed her down the hallway anyway.

Mallory walked up the stairs, cursing the heels that were pinching her toes. Jane had sent her up here on a wild goose chase for an antique vase that had been accidentally left off the auction chopping block.

Mallory knew Jane’s family had built the Vets’ Hall in the early 1940s. Apparently the missing vase had sat in the entry for years, until last spring when the building had been renovated. The vase had never been put back on display and now Jane wanted it gone.

All Mallory had to do was find it.

The second story ran the length of the building. On one side was a series of rooms used by the rec center and other various groups like the local Booster Club. The other side was one big closed-off storage room. Mallory let herself in and flipped on the lights. Far above her was an open-beam ceiling and a loft area where more crap had been haphazardly shoved away. Mallory hoped like hell she wouldn’t have to climb up there in her dress and annoying heels to find the vase.

The place was warm, stuffy, and smelled like neglect. She took a good look around and felt a lick of panic at the idea of finding her way out of here, much less locating the missing vase. She moved past a huge shelving unit that was stuffed to the gills with long-lost play props and background sets, and various other miscellaneous items for which there was little use.

Not a single vase.

She walked past more shelves and around two huge, fake, potted Christmas trees before coming to a large stack of boxes leaning against the wall. Assuming the vase wouldn’t be stuffed away, she walked farther, gaze searching. Near the center of the room, she came to another long set of shelves. Here were some more valuable items, such as office equipment and furnishings, and miraculously, sitting all by itself on a shelf, a tall vase, looking exactly like the one Jane had described. Mallory couldn’t believe it. She picked it up and turned to go, and ran directly into a brick wall.

A brick wall that was a man’s chest.

Ty.

He’d appeared out of thin air, scaring her half to death. The vase flew out of her hands and would have smashed to the floor except he caught it.

His sexy suit might have given him an air of sophistication, but it did nothing to hide his bad-boy air. His hair was a little mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. In another man, this would have softened his look but not Ty. She wasn’t fooled. There was nothing soft about him. He was sheer trouble, and she knew it. “What are you doing?” she gasped, hand to her pounding heart.

“What are you doing?”

She snatched the vase from his hands. “Working.”

“Well, I’m helping my date work then.”

“You’re not my real date. You didn’t even know you had a date.”

He looked amused. “So you’re one of those women who holds a grudge?”

“No! I’m—”

From somewhere far behind them, the storage room door opened. “Hello? Mallory, dear?”

“Shit,” Mallory whispered, horrified. “It’s Lucille.”

“Your mother told you not to swear.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Mallory?” Lucille called out.

Mallory slapped her hand over her own mouth.

“Yoo-hoo…I saw your hot date follow you in here. I just want to get a picture of you two for Facebook.”

Oh no. No, no, no…Mallory turned in a quick circle in the warm, dusty, overstuffed storage room, desperate for a place to hide.

Ty must have seen her panic because he briefly held a finger to her lips to indicate he needed her silence, then took the vase in one hand and her wrist in his other and tugged her along, farther into the shadows.

She followed, walking on her tiptoes to avoid the clicking of her heels, when suddenly Ty pressed her against the wall. “Shh,” he breathed in her ear.

Stealth. She got it. She was depending on it. She also got something else, an unexpected zing from the feel of his mouth on her ear and his body pressing into hers.

“Mallory?” Lucille called out.