could find out about Princess Cruises ® and Emerald Princess . Marin dropped her phone into her purse and headed for her car. Halfway there, she hit a patch of ice, and her feet flew out from under her.
“Ahh!” Marin flailed, tossing her latte up into the air. She latched on to the back end of the pickup truck beside her. Somehow, she managed to keep from falling. Sort of. “Whew.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her racing pulse to slow down.
“Thanks,” a disgruntled masculine voice grumbled. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I stopped for coffee.”
Oh no. She peeked at the man and pushed herself to standing. He was covered in her coffee. Why couldn’t she have splashed her drink all over the hood of someone’s car, or held on to the stupid cup? Nope. That’s not how things worked, not for her, anyway. To make matters worse, the man dripping salted caramel latte happened to be extraordinarily good looking, not to mention well dressed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Sexy brown eyes met hers. “Not your fault,” he conceded, shaking droplets of coffee off the bottom of his black leather jacket. More of her beverage of choice had found its way into his thick, wavy dark hair, and the front of his gray gabardine slacks now sported brownish spatters—all the way down to his knees.
“Great move, by the way, tossing your cup into the air like that.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “Are you OK?”
Nodding, she stared. Gulp . Her heart fluttered like a fangirl’s catching sight of her favorite star. My oh my. Why did men always get the long, thick eyelashes? If guys like this one belonged to her social club, she’d gladly overcome her social anxiety and become a regular. “I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.” She moved to less slippery asphalt. “It’s the least I can do.”
“If anyone should pay my dry cleaning bill, it’s the coffee shop. They are responsible for the condition of the parking lot, after all.”
“Maybe, but they aren’t responsible for the way I tossed my coffee.” Purely a Marin move. Childhood taunts echoed through her head. Marin the Menace ,her brothers had called her, or Spill Meister . She’d dash to her car right now if she didn’t fear slipping again, and this time landing on her squashed pride. She pointed to the white crystals sprinkled over the lot. “Besides, someone did put down salt. They just missed a spot or two.”
He shook off a few more drops of coffee. “And now you’re without your morning caffeine, and I’m drenched. At least let’s go inside and demand a replacement”—he sniffed at his jacket—“caramel latte.”
Great. Mr. Latte-Drenched-Hot-Hunk was the confrontational sort. Too bad. Confrontation, along with icebreakers, gave her hives. “Um…”
“Let’s go see justice done, shall we?” He gestured toward the coffee shop.
Yep. Probably a lawyer. Not her type at all. Torn between her addiction of choice and her wish to avoid making a scene, she took a step back. “It’s not their fault I have a tendency to toss things in the air when I’m startled. Anyway, it’s unlikely the coffee shop owns this lot any more than the other stores in this strip mall do. I doubt they’re responsible for the maintenance, and I’m not holding them responsible for replacing my coffee.”
Not to mention she had no desire to draw even more attention to her slip-and-toss maneuver. Her cheeks burning, Marin fished through her coat pockets for one of her cards. “Here,” she said, thrusting the business card his way. “Send me the bill for the dry cleaning.” With that, she turned on her high-heeled boots and trod carefully toward her car, sans her morning latte. She eyed the long line of cars queuing up to the drive-through window.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found her latest victim watching her retreat. Another flutter, this one in her midriff, brought a twinge of regret. Really, she had no time for dating, and after
Karen Duvall Ann Aguirre Julie Kagawa