Swept Away by the Tycoon. Barbara Wallace

Smug Bastard might work today.

      “I wouldn’t want to waste a good coffee,” she told him.

      “Again,” he replied.

      “Excuse me?”

      “You mean you wouldn’t want to waste a good cup of coffee again. Though now that I think about it, you didn’t really waste yesterday’s drink, did you?”

      Chloe narrowed her eyes. She was so not in the mood.

      “Not a morning person, are we, Curlilocks?”

      “Depends on the company.”

      “Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “You wound.”

      If only. She looked away, hoping he’d get the hint and stop talking. Being here was awkward enough without the commentary.

      He didn’t. “I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”

      Neither was she, until she’d walked through the door. In fact, she’d stood on the corner for a good ten minutes, debating the decision, convinced the manager would toss her on the sidewalk the second she entered. Or worse, Aiden would throw an iced coffee in her face.

      In the end, pride won out. Stopping for her morning iced latte had been part of her routine long before Aiden came into the picture. No way was she letting some two-timing coffee jerk change that.

      “Why wouldn’t I come back?” she asked Slacker. He didn’t need to know about her indecision. “Like I said, they’ve got good coffee here.”

      “Better than good, if you ask me.” To prove his point, he took a sip. Chloe noticed the side of his left hand already had ink smudges. Today was a note writing day, apparently.

      “Although,” he added, once he’d swallowed, “if I were you, I’d ask another barista to wait on me. In case.”

      “I’m not you,” she reminded him.

      He surprised her by raking his eyes up and down her entire length. “That you’re not, Curlilocks,” he said with a rough-sounding growl meant to make her insides take notice.

      Chloe’s hand flew to her abdomen. Something about the man’s voice managed to get beneath her skin. He knew it, too; his eyes gleamed with cockiness.

      Keeping her head high, she headed to the register, where Aiden waited. “Hey,” she greeted.

      “Good morning. May I take your order?”

      That was it? Where was the glare? The terse words? The recognition? Surely she was worth some kind of reaction beyond a bland, generic greeting? “About yesterday...”

      “Did you want a coffee?” The bland smile didn’t slip. He was, for all intents and purposes, treating her like a complete stranger. As inconsequential as an out-of-state tourist. Punching her in the stomach would have hurt less. “The usual.”

      “Which is?”

      The cut deepened. Chloe’s eyes started to burn. She quickly blinked. He did not deserve the satisfaction.

      “The lady drinks iced peppermint mocha latte.”

      Looking over her shoulder, she got a shrug from the slacker. “You know my order?”

      “What can I say? Sit here long enough, you hear things.”

      “Don’t you mean eavesdrop?”

      His lips curled into a crooked smile. “Only on the interesting customers.”

      “No offense, but that’s a little creepy.” Even if her stomach did flutter at the idea that she qualified as interesting.

      “You say creepy; I say observant. Sort of a potato-potahto kind of thing. I like people watching.”

      “Let me guess. You’re a writer.”

      “If I am, then literature as we know it is in trouble,” he said, punctuating the remark with a low chuckle.

      How on earth did Del and La-roo not notice him sitting there every day? Even as possibly crazy slackers went, the man stood out in a crowd. What, at first glance, looked like street scruff was really very controlled. His hair was shortly cropped, and his not quite red, not quite blond stubble looked more like he simply couldn’t be bothered with pulling out the razor than a lack of grooming. His battered jacket was similarly deceptive. Looking closer, she recognized what had been a very expensive piece of leather that had been worn till the thing molded to his broad shoulders. It reminded her of the basketball sneakers she couldn’t give up even after she could afford better ones.

      “See anything you like, Curlilocks?”

      Crap. Chloe turned back to the register, hoping she didn’t look too flustered. “I was admiring your jacket.”

      His chuckle was low and raspy. “This old thing? I’ve had her for years.”

      Her? Much as she knew she shouldn’t, Chloe took the bait. “You gave your jacket a gender?”

      “Sure. Why let the big ticket items have all the fun?”

      “Interesting point,” she conceded. “I supposed you named her, too.”

      “Don’t be silly. That would be crazy.”

      As opposed to this whole conversation. Fortunately, Aiden chose that moment to return with her drink. “No need,” he said, when Chloe reached for her wallet. “It’s on the house.”

      “Seriously?” Didn’t she feel like a heel now. Maybe she’d misjudged him and yesterday’s situation. “That’s really sweet of you.”

      “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

      Her smile fell. “You mean you’re not trying to apologize for yesterday?”

      “Why should I apologize? I’m not the one who acted like a raving lunatic for no good reason.”

      No good reason? Chloe tightened her grip on the cup. He was lucky she didn’t give him a repeat performance. “Who did then?” she asked, forcing herself to step back from the counter before she could give in to impulse.

      The barista raised and lowered a shoulder. “Beats me. Note on the register says the next time you came in, your drink was free. Apparently someone appreciates acts of lunacy.”

      Chloe took another step back. The only people who knew what had happened were Larissa and Delilah, and as of last night, they’d vowed to boycott the café until “Aiden came to his senses.”

      “Must have been one of those random acts of kindness.”

      No, it couldn’t be. A glance at the front table showed a definite sparkle in the slacker’s ice-blue eyes.

      “Why would someone pick me?” Particularly when she’d been rude to him? Regret stole at her insides.

      Slacker leaned back, letting the hood of his sweatshirt become a gray cotton cowl around his neck. “Maybe that someone enjoyed seeing Don Juanista there get his comeuppance. I hear it took a couple hours to get the peppermint smell out of his luscious locks.”

      A snort escaped before she could stop herself. Aiden was so vain about his hair.

      “Too bad I didn’t snap a photo for the front bulletin board. I’m guessing there’s an awful lot of women who wished they could have seen karma bite ole’ Aiden in the rear.”

      “I’m guessing you’re right.” The realization brought back yesterday’s humiliation in force.

      Meanwhile, back at the register, Aiden had turned his sights to another woman in line, his grease pencil seconds away from marking his digits at the base of her cup. “Doesn’t look like karma bit all that hard,” Chloe noted.

      “Oh, but it will. You just wait. Ten years from now, that suffering