Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep Read Free

stomach, all tightened. The minor repairs on the building were supposed to have been finished last week. The receptionist for the building firm Richard had hired had promised faithfully.
    A pulse pounded behind her eyes. ‘Frieda’s Fiction Fair’—the sign on the bookshop’s awning—was being replaced. With…
    ‘Jaz’s Joint’!
    She shot to her feet. Her lip curled. Her nose curled. Inside her boots, even her toes curled. She’d requested that the sign be freshened up. Not…Not…She fought the instinct to bolt across the road and topple the sign-writer and his ladder to the ground.
    ‘I’ll be seeing you then, shall I, Jazmin?’
    With an effort, she unclenched her teeth. ‘Absolutely, Mrs Lavender.’
    She forced herself to take three deep breaths, and only then did she step off the kerb of the island. She would sort this out like the adult she was, not the teenager she had been.
    She made her way across the road and tried not to notice how firm her offending tradesman’s butt looked in form-fitting jeans or how the power of those long, long legs were barely disguised by soft worn denim. In fact, in some places the denim was so worn…
    The teenager she’d once been wouldn’t have noticed. That girl had only had eyes for Connor. But the woman she was now…
    Stop ogling!
    She stopped by the ladder and glanced up. Then took an involuntary step backwards at the sudden clench of familiarity. The sign-writer’s blond-tipped hair…
    It fell in the exact same waves as—
    Her heart lodged in her throat, leaving an abyss in her chest. Get a grip. Don’t lose it now. The familiarity had to be a trick of the light.
    Ha! More like a trick of the mind. Planted there by memories she’d done her best to bury.
    She swallowed and her heart settled—sort of—in her chest again. ‘Excuse me,’ she managed to force out of an uncooperative throat, ‘but I’d like to know who gave you the authority to change that sign.’
    The sign-writer stilled, laid his brush down on the top of the ladder and wiped his hands across that denim-encased butt with agonising slowness. Jaz couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to follow that action with her own hands. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms.
    Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the sign-writer turned around…and Jaz froze.
    ‘Hello, Jaz.’
    The familiarity, the sudden sense of rightness at seeing him here like this, reached right inside her chest to twist her heart until she couldn’t breathe.
    No!
    He took one step down the ladder. ‘You’re looking…well.’
    He didn’t smile. His gaze travelled over her face, down the long line of her body and back again and, although half of his face was in shadow, she could see that she left him unmoved.
    Connor Reed!
    She sucked in a breath, took another involuntary step back. It took every ounce of strength she could marshal to not turn around and run.
    Do something. Say something , she ordered.
    Her heart pounded in her throat. Sharp breaths stung her lungs. Connor Reed. She’d known they’d run into each other eventually, but not here. Not at the bookshop.
    Not on her first day.
    Stop staring. Don’t you dare run!
    ‘I…um…’ She had to clear her throat. She didn’t run. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d stop working on that.’ She pointed to the sign and, by some freak or miracle or because some deity was smiling down on her, her hand didn’t shake. It gave her the confidence to lift her chin and throw her shoulders back again.
    He glanced at the sign, then back at her, a frown in his eyes. ‘You don’t like it?’
    ‘I loathe it. But I’d prefer not to discuss it on the street.’
    Oh, dear Lord. She had to set some ground rules. Fast. Ground rule number one was that Connor Reed stay as far away from her as humanly possible.
    Ground rule number two—don’t look him directly in the eye.
    She swung away, meaning to find refuge in the one place in this town she could safely call home…and found the bookshop