Don’t try this at home.
Particularly not in stilettos—which on Harper Cassidy were easily as dangerous as the lethal weapon for which they were named. She hadn’t quite mastered walking in the borrowed heels, so what on earth made her think she could climb a ladder?
Her own warnings came back to haunt her: dress for the task and never step on the top two rungs of a ladder. Just last week Harper had stressed these points to her class of female DIY students. Luckily they couldn’t see her right now, teetering on the top rung of the hardware store’s employee-only ladder in a full swinging skirt; not practising what she preached.
Her left hand clutched the shelving unit while her right pushed at a pile of boxes stacked dangerously close to the edge. Below her stood a little boy, his cherubic face upturned as he watched her manoeuvre inch by creeping inch towards her target, an arrow shot from his bow. She groped along the shelf until she touched the arrow’s shaft and could flick it close enough to curl her fingers around it.
‘Got it!’ Thank God. The little angel had been halfway up the ladder himself before she’d talked him down. Harper leaned over with a wobble and dropped the toy gently into his reaching hands. He caught it, crossed his eyes and poked out a long, blue-stained tongue before running away up the aisle. She almost laughed. Not at the blue tongue but at the irony. Taken in again by an attractive male, albeit a baby-faced seraph, only to discover he was a fiend.
Inching back, she grabbed the shelving unit to rebalance as black spots danced before her eyes. Her palms sweated and her head ached with the idiocy of her predicament.
She was meant to be preparing for her meeting with Cliff King—the Cliff King, of King of the Castle, New Zealand’s biggest home improvement franchise—not rescuing other people’s children. Was she nuts?
Her stomach flopped, reminding her how important it was she impress Mr King. An extra little flutter reinforced the point. Or maybe it was just empty. She’d been too fidgety to eat and had arrived at the megastore way too early. She twisted her wrist to look at her watch—still seventeen minutes to kill.
The movement unbalanced her and one high-heeled foot shot out from the ladder rung. Her right hand clawed desperately, failed to find purchase and she fell sideways.
She crashed down, expecting to feel her skull hit the floor, her brain leaking out onto cold grey concrete. Her eyes squeezed tight against the impact.
But it never came. Instead, she found herself dangling bum up in mid-air. Hands grappled, holding her tight and her head banged against a muscled, denim-encased thigh.
Harper gasped as her rescuer jostled her upwards, flipping her as easily as a pancake to cradle her in his arms. The blood that had rushed to her head took a few moments to return to where it belonged, leaving Harper giddy and displaced.
‘I got you.’ A deep voice resonated calm. Strong arms held her safe and steady. Sagging with relief, she absorbed the unfamiliar warmth as her heartbeat settled and the tension left her body. She breathed a deep rushing breath.
It seemed unreal. Maybe she’d bumped her head after all?
But no, this was happening. The man hoisted her into a more secure hold and strode off up the aisle. Her eyes jerked open and she snapped out of her happy place. Oh God. He’s carrying me away. ‘Put me down. Please.’
‘In a mo’. I need to get you somewhere comfy.’
‘Down on the ground is comfortable.’ She pushed against him. ‘I’m fine. I don’t need this.’ She gave a frustrated little kick. ‘Someone might see.’
‘Princess, once I know you’re in full working order, you’ll be free to go.’ He carried her through the store, his long purposeful strides taking them to the outdoor furniture department. He paused, looking around and with a satisfied grunt lowered her gently into a green and white striped lounger, propping her up in a sitting position.
Harper stared at him as he perched close to her. Holy moly, he was the most gorgeous hunk she’d ever had the good fortune to see, smell and be manhandled by. Her hands gripped the plastic-wrapped armrests. Stacked furniture and a strategically placed sun umbrella blocked the harsh store lights, creating a cosy corner blessedly free from the prying eyes of shoppers. But alarmingly intimate. Harper’s pulse skidded, crashed, then kick started again.
‘Does anything hurt?’
‘You mean apart from my pride?’ said Harper, trying not to stare. She forced a smile. ‘Thank you for catching me, but I really am fine.’ Her tongue tripped over the polite lie and her heart thumped as hard as her head.
He smiled a genuine, dazzling, make-your-knickers-fall-away smile that would’ve had her flat on her back seeing black spots again if she hadn’t been so safely propped into position. Heat roared through her, finally settling low down in her core.
He was lovely. She had to get out of there.
But he scooched in, blocking her escape route. He filled her senses with the essence of hot summer nights, sending another round of shock waves rippling through her.
Too close. Close enough to see right into the depths of his eyes—blue-grey eyes the colour of a stormy southern lake. Deceptively un-summery eyes that a girl could drown in. A small groan escaped her lips. Luckily he misinterpreted the sound.
‘Are you sure your foot’s okay?’
Her foot? It could’ve fallen off for all the notice she’d taken of it. Except now he’d shuffled back and his hands were on her ankle, gently exploring for injuries she knew damn well weren’t there. His touch on her bare skin was electric, zapping straight to her nether regions. Her heart beat even faster, frighteningly so. The cold heart, which had been closed for so long, leaping into overdrive at this totally inappropriate moment with this perfectly inappropriate stranger.
This was all wrong. He had his hands, strong and gentle, on her, and instead of pushing him away and getting on with her business, she was noticing the colour of his eyes. And that he had a five o’clock shadow although it was barely past lunchtime.
Next thing she knew, she’d want to reach out and touch his cheek. She craned a little closer … but prudence intervened and she leapt up off the chair. She made a grab for her shoe and, hopping, pulled the other one from her foot as she looked round wildly for her handbag.
‘My bag!’ She turned to race back to where she’d left it, high on a shelf near the fiend’s arrow. She needed her brochures, her business cards and her notes for her meeting. As she made her escape, the concrete smooth and cool beneath her bare feet, she was aware of her rescuer hot on her heels.
Back in the aisle a half-full trolley surrounded by upturned paint pots marked the spot where she’d left her favourite handbag and her composure. She shoved the shoes back on her feet and grew a couple of inches in the process. But not nearly tall enough to reach her bag.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Mr Lovely gently peeled her hand off the ladder and nudged her aside. He climbed to the second rung, snagged the bag easily and dangled it out of reach as he stepped down. ‘You shouldn’t be up ladders in those shoes.’
Like she didn’t know that. Harper felt a burning red wave riding her cheeks. Normally she wore sneakers. Or boots. Today’s pretty dress and girly shoes were an anomaly. Which, given how things were turning out, might never be repeated. She made a grab for her bag.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ she said, her voice stiff. This rescue was over. No matter how enticing he might be, towering above her all broad shoulders and masculine strength, she didn’t want a hoo-ha or a lecture.
Or for him to see how much he affected her. She took a huge breath and ordered her erratic pulse to behave. ‘I had to help a little boy. He was too small to climb up by himself,’ said Harper, unable to prevent the croak in her voice.
‘I caught the tail end of that. He fired at my head and made me drop my stuff. Just about took my eye out, the little sh—nightmare.’ He flashed the smile again, though this time his voice was gentle. ‘And to think you put your life on the line for the spawn of Satan.’
‘I’m sure he’s a good kid. It’s not his fault his parents are neglectful.’ It hadn’t been hers, either. Harper fiddled with her bag, pretending to adjust the strap while she adjusted her face.
‘I really must go now,’ she said, her voice unusually breathy. ‘I’ve got a meeting and I can’t get sidetracked.’ Particularly by a man masquerading as King of the Castle’s answer to Prince Charming and Sir Lancelot all rolled into one.
There had to be something wrong with him because her brain, hormones and all the bits in between were telling her otherwise and they always got it wrong. Her instincts towards men were off and not to be trusted. The same way her mother’s and sister’s instincts were off. Whether it was genetics or simply a case of bad role modelling had become irrelevant over the years. Either way Harper tended to avoid men. Especially the attractive ones.
And this man was beyond attractive as he continued to talk in a deep voice. Clear, well-spoken words that barely made sense to her addled mind. She found it easier to concentrate if she didn’t look at his mouth. Or his jawline. Or his beautiful, dark tousled hair.
‘You’re sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’ His eyes searched her face.
‘No thanks, it was just an unexpected ladder incident.’ One she’d definitely be adding to her list for future ‘ladder safety’ sessions.
‘You should be able to shop in a store like this without risking death.’ He stared curiously at Harper, as if trying to ascertain whether she really was okay. He was lovely, but clearly he thought this was a situation. One he needed to handle. Harper didn’t want to be a situation that needed handling. She handled herself.
She dragged her gaze away for a quick glance at her watch. Only eleven minutes until her big meeting and she needed to get her head in the right space. Flittery flutteries returned to dance in her belly.
‘I’m fine,’ she said again.
But Mr Lovely wouldn’t let it go.
‘You’re allowed to not be fine, after a fright like that,’ he said. ‘We should protest to the management; they need more staff on.’
‘We—’ Harper placed heavy emphasis on the word, ‘—shouldn’t do anything. I said I’m fine.’
He took a step towards her. ‘I know the big cheese here. I’ll get you a discount or something.’
Just drop it. Harper didn’t like him thinking she was a victim, some tragic babe in the woods. He might be the most swoon-worthy rescuer to walk these wide aisles but rescue services were no longer required today. This babe fended for herself, in and out of the woods.
‘Just because I’m a woman alone in a hardware store doesn’t mean I need help. It’s 2015 not 1815.’ Her words blurted out harsher than intended and her face, her neck, even her ears flamed once more as she bent with a stiletto-induced wobble to pick two long-handled paint brushes off the floor. ‘Here,’ she said, holding them like a crucifix, ‘you might need these to fight off any other blue-tongued devils you encounter.’ She shrugged, awkwardly hitching her large bag on her shoulder and then walked back up the aisle the way she’d come.
Full of regret she’d arrived for her appointment so early, Harper wandered aimlessly through the store. A quiet spot in the power tools department offered a measure of privacy and she took a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure. She pulled her notes out of her bag, clutching them as she practised her spiel in her head. It’d taken days to perfect her pitch, but months to set up the meeting. Cliff King had repeatedly put her off. Too busy. Away travelling. At a funeral. His secretary gave every excuse imaginable until Harper had all but begged, offering to meet him anywhere, anytime.
Finally he’d condescended to an appointment. And she was ready—okay, maybe not champagne-chilling-in-the-bucket ready—but positive all her hard work would prevail.
Or rather, she had been ready. Harper studied the checklist in her hand. Now, for the first time, her DIY Divas logo didn’t soothe her. Bulleted list points ran into each other and words jumped all over the page. Her nerves jangled. Her eye twitched. Her world had pitched sideways as she had when she’d tumbled into that man’s arms. She pressed her fingers against her offending eye.
Stop thinking about the gorgeous man.
Peering round a chainsaw display she squinted at the shiny double doors separating the large store from the corporate offices. The wattage of a thousand bulbs illuminated the way through the lighting department, reflecting off the concrete floor. In seven minutes she needed to walk through that halo of light, through those lustrous high-gloss doors, wow Cliff King and convince him he needed DIY Divas. The success of her business depended on it.
‘What’s a pretty girl like you want with a chainsaw?’ A nasal male voice interrupted her thoughts.
Oh for God’s sake. Harper took a deep breath. She didn’t look that good in her dress and heels but true to form, the Cassidy Curse, which compelled all Cassidy women to choose the wrong type of man, also required they attract them too. The squat Neanderthal before her was a case in point.
Thoughts of Mr Lovely drifted into her mind, but she pushed them aside. Tempting rescuers and grinning cavemen—all equally unsuitable for a woman whose mission in life was to be the epitome of independence.
Harper turned, putting on the bunny-boiler smile she’d perfected for moments like these. ‘You’d like to see what I can do with a chainsaw, would you?’