Free How Sweet It Is by Kate Perry

Marcel cackled.
    The man was too easily amused with himself. Finn shot him a glare as he closed the door behind him.
    As he let himself into his workshop, Marcel’s trombone sounded. It growled, slow and sexy. Finn wasn’t sure whether it was encouraging or mocking him.
    His mobile vibrated in his pocket. Taking it out, he frowned at the unknown number. He almost let it go to voicemail, but curiosity got the better of him. “ Oui ?”
    “May I speak to Phineas Buchanan?”
    He recognized Abigail Potter’s voice. He shook his head. “Ms. Potter, I haven’t changed my mind.”
    “Which is why I’m calling. I’m not sure I expressed the prestige that working on the Coronation Chair would bring you. Of course, in the interim you wouldn’t be able to talk about it, but after the restoration is complete it’d be fine.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not interested in the project. If you contact Philippe, he’ll be able to recommend someone else.”
    “Yes, but I’d rather have you.”
    “That’s not possible.” The door buzzer rang. Normally he hated when someone stopped by, but today he grasped at it eagerly. “I must go.”
    “Mr. Buchanan—”
    He hung up and went to his door. He should have known who it’d be.
    Viola Summerhill stood under the overhang in the doorway, probably to avoid the steady onslaught of cold rain, her hair loose and wind-blown. She wore a red winter coat, a white scarf, and crisp black boots. She had the kind of big, earnest eyes that made men do stupid things—that made them want to say yes.
    But he wasn’t going to say yes to her. He wasn’t going to sell his art, ever, not even for a stunning woman with trusting eyes.
    He crossed his arms. “Coming here repeatedly until I break down isn’t going to work. I won’t change my mind.”
    She pursed her lips. “Are you sure?”
    At least she didn’t deny her intentions. “Positive.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I came all the way to Paris for you. At least show me what I’m missing.”
    “I don’t show my paintings to anyone.”
    “You showed them to Jasmine.”
    “Marcel showed them to Jasmine.”
    “Where’s Marcel, then?” Viola craned her neck to look around him. “I’ll talk to him instead.”
    Finn folded his arms, trying not to be amused. “You’re incorrigible.”
    “I prefer persistent.” She sighed and speared him with a frank gaze. “Just one look, and then I’ll leave. I promise.”
    “And if I don’t, you’ll hound me until I give in?”
    “Yes.”
    He didn’t doubt it.
    He could just close the door in her face. He could lock himself in his workshop and refrain from answering the door or phone. But that’d mean not seeing her again, and that displeased him. How had she wiggled her way under his skin so quickly?
    She smiled sweetly, as though she could tell he was crumbling. “Just one peek. Please?”
    He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Stepping away from the threshold, he said, “Come in.”
    “You’re so kind to invite me in,” she replied with buoyant cheer. She unwrapped her scarf and set it with her purse on the floor. Unbuttoning the top of her coat, she shook the water off, hung it on a nail by the door, and surveyed the front area of his workshop. “What is it you do out here?” she asked, running a hand along a large chisel on his worktable.
    Distracted by the way her hand was caressing his tool, he barely heard her question. He had to turn away so he’d be able to keep his wits. “I restore antiques.”
    “Statues and furniture?”
    He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her bend over and examine one of his tools up close. He stared at the curve of her arse, and then he mentally cursed. “I never should have invited you into my space.”
    She turned around, amused. “Am I a vampire?”
    “If the cloak fits.”
    She grinned, and her entire face lit.
    It took his breath away. He stood stunned, his heart seizing, wanting to say something clever again so he could