Trouble Read online

  “Oh.” I exhale a laugh, unsure how to respond. I suck at compliments. “They’re mostly tropicals. Nothing special.”

  “I disagree. They’re very special.” He looks at me, and the arrogant clip in his voice sparks my memory.

  “I know you. You were in Daisy’s store that day in Oceanside. You’re the antiques guy. Stuart… No…”

  “Spencer.” Another tray glides past us, and I lift a flute off it to replace the one I tossed. He watches me. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  “No.” I take a sip to spite him. “And I don’t like men telling me what to do.”

  His eyes darken, and I feel it in all the right places. “I didn’t mean to overstep, Joselyn.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “I never forget a face. Definitely not a redhead.”

  “Redheads are trouble, don’t you know?”

  “I’m not afraid of trouble.” He grins, and his eyes trace the side of my face, down my neck, like a caress. “Daisy calls you something different. A nickname…”

  “Sly.”

  “I’m sure there’s a story there.” His deep voice does tingly things to my insides. “I prefer Joselyn.”

  I know about this guy. He’s the super-arrogant billionaire who was Daisy’s mentor when she worked at Antiques Today. It’s this big media company that has a magazine and a TV show where they do appraisals, kind of like Antiques Roadshow.

  He has a reputation for being cold and distant, and he’s clearly used to bossing people around. He wants to boss me around, and I feel a hostile horniness at the prospect.

  I want to rip his clothes off or pick a fight with him or pick a fight with him and then rip his clothes off and have rough, sweaty, angry sex…

  I have definitely had enough to drink.

  Setting my flute on a nearby table, I spot a familiar face holding a tray of finger foods. “Excuse me just a second.”

  I leave Mr. Bossy Sex-god to grab some alcohol-absorbing munchies.

  “Hey, Sly.” The friendly guy holding the tray slides a lock of floppy blond hair behind his ear.

  “Hey, Max. I didn’t know you were working tonight.” I shove a ham and cheese rollup in my mouth and take another off his tray.

  Max is unfazed by me stuffing my face. “Yeah, need the cash mon-ay. I’m heading to Melbourne Beach next week.”

  “Surf competition?” I stuff the second appetizer in my mouth and wrap one in a napkin. I wonder if I could put it in my hidden pocket or if it would leave a stain.

  “First of the Prime East competitions.”

  “Cool,” I nod, and the heat of a body warms my back.

  “Have you made a friend?” Spencer sounds annoyed, and I decide to forego the third appetizer.

  “Mm.” I swallow quickly motioning between the two. “Max, this is Spencer. Spencer, Max. We used to work together.” I give Max’s arm a squeeze. “Good luck.”

  Spencer’s brow is arched as we stroll towards the dance floor. “Where did you work together?”

  “I was a cater-waiter in college. I actually hired these guys for the reception.”

  “You’re a Jill of all trades.”

  “Master of none,” I mutter, as he takes my hand.

  “Let’s dance.”

  “You’re not here with anyone?”

  “I would never take a date to a wedding.” He acts as if it’s so obvious.

  “And why not?” My tone is defiant, and he pauses, studying me with a grin, like I’m one of those rare finds he and Daisy like to talk about. It tingles low in my stomach.

  “I have my reasons.”

  I allow him to lead me onto the dance floor. A slow Olivia Newton-John song I don’t recognize is playing, and the crowd has cleared after a boisterous round of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

  Spencer slides his hand to the middle of my waist, and our hands clasp. I lean closer, placing my eye at the level of his lips. He must be six-two, and I kind of love that he’s taller than me. I’m five-eleven, which means I’ve always been the same height or taller than my dates. I haven’t worn heels in years.

  I close my eyes, listening to the song lyrics as I inhale his luscious scent. Fuck you, Elliot drifts through my mind.

  “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…” His mouth is at my temple.

  “You secretly hate flowers?”

  A chuckle rumbles from his throat. “You have the perfect body for that dress.”

  My insides shimmer, and again, I’m at a loss. “You don’t think I need to lose a few pounds?” Elliot’s always commenting on portion size.

  “Don’t you dare. You’re a perfect hourglass, a vintage beauty.” He steps back, and gives me an appreciative glance. “I’m sure that’s why Daisy picked it for you. She has a great eye.”

  “Right.” We sway side to side, and I’m quiet.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “No. You didn’t.” I lean back, squinting an eye as I study his perfectly straight nose and wicked gaze. He’s more like a model or an actor than how I’ve always pictured an antiques dealer. “How does a man like you get interested in antiques?”

  “A man like me?”

  “Yeah. You’re not an old professor in a moth-eaten coat with crumbs in your beard.”

  “Thank God.” He exhales a scoff.

  “So what’s your story?”

  “I was born into it. My father had the largest, best-curated collection of priceless antiques in Newport. Drake Carrollton was the best in the business. A legend.”

  “Are you a legend?”

  “I’m an asshole.”

  His frankness makes me laugh. “I’ve heard that about you. Daisy says you’re Mr. Freeze.”

  “I don’t waste time on sentimentality. We deal with junk found in attics or sorted after the death of a relative. Your cousin gets too emotionally involved. It’s a waste of energy.”

  “Right.” I move my nose to his shoulder again so he doesn’t see me grinning at his arrogance. “She told me.”

  The song ends, and he gives me a little squeeze before releasing me. I miss the warmth of his body, but he slips my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me to the balcony.

  Guests shriek and funnel past us as the DJ launches into another banger. Their laughter and the noise of the music fade to a low roar as we step outside.

  It’s a warm, breezy night, and the scent of brine and salt air surrounds us.

  The lights of the beach houses and mansions lining the shore reflect off the water, and I remember how much I miss this when I’m in Columbia. Maybe Daisy’s right, and I need to ditch the idiot and move home.

  “How does a pinup like you get involved in flowers?” Spencer’s deep voice breaks my reverie.

  Lowering my chin, I exhale a smile. “Disney?” His brow furrows, and I continue. “I always loved watching those old parades, the Rose Bowl and Mardi Gras. Then my mom took me to Epcot once, and when I saw all the gardens, I realized people actually did this for a living. I couldn’t believe it.”

  The slightest grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and my bottom lip slides between my teeth. Spencer Carrollton is not a nice man. He’s an asshole my cousin also playfully refers to as Lucifer, which is a more fitting description from what I can tell at this point.

  Naturally, I’m wildly attracted to him.

  “Well, I can’t speak to your work as a waitress,” He leans against the balcony railing, crossing his arms. “But your skill as a florist is quite masterful.”

  I blink a few times, fighting a grin.

  His brows lower, and his frown returns so fast. Mercurial. “What?”

  “The way you talk.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you always speak like you’re reading from an encyclopedia?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He straightens as if I’ve offended him.

  “Your skill as an artist is quite masterful.” I imitate his voice in an affect
ed, snooty-nasally way.

  “I sound nothing like that.”

  I can’t resist. “I sound nothing like that.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop it.”

  His eyes flash with fire, and I wonder if I make him hostile and horny too. I press my lips together hard, but a laugh snorts through my nose anyway.

  Yep, I’m definitely a little drunk.

  He places both hands on the balcony rail on either side of me, caging me against his chest. “Don’t mock me, Joselyn.” His nostrils flare and his voice is low with a bit of a snarl.

  He might be Lucifer, but I’m a witch. “Or what?”

  The salt air stills around us. Everything stills, as if our chemistry has created a bubble just for us. The party noise is gone, and it’s him and me and electricity and this moment. His eyes darken and flicker to my lips as if he’s trying to decide.

  I’m not.

  I reach out and thread my fingers in the dark waves touching the back of his collar. His hair is soft, but his lips are softer. As soon as I press mine to his, he takes charge, pushing my mouth open and sliding his tongue inside.

  My knees melt. One large hand moves to my lower back, palm flat, radiating heat through the thin silk of my dress as he pulls me closer. His other hand grasps my face, two fingers against my cheek, his thumb under my chin, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.

  The way he kisses me… It’s like being devoured, yet savored. He slides his tongue along mine like he’s tasting delicious fruit. He’s minty and luscious, parting my lips with his and guiding them. My eyes roll back, and my panties drench when I feel his erection against my stomach.

  I exhale a moan, one hand still threaded in the back of his hair while the other grips his coat tighter, pulling him closer. Devour me…

  This. Is. Insane.

  The hand on my back slides lower, gripping the silk of my skirt, drawing it higher until his fingers slide against the bare skin of my ass.

  “You are so gorgeous.” It’s a low growl rumbling in his throat as his lips move to my jaw. “I have a room in this hotel. Let me fuck you all night.”

  Fuck me.

  All night.

  Yes.

  No.

  God, what am I doing?

  I struggle through the fog, the heat of what he’s doing to me, the gnawing ache between my thighs I know for certain he can satisfy. I’m breathing fast, my breasts rising and falling, and I flatten my palm against his chest and step away from the inferno of us.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” My chin drops, and I don’t meet his eyes. “I have a boyfriend.”

  “Dump him.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He studies me, not smiling. He’s gorgeous in this moonlight, hazel eyes full of lust, lips even fuller, pinker from consuming me. Fuck me all night…

  He doesn’t move, and I’m sure he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

  I know what I’ll do next.

  I’m doing it. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

  I turn on my heel, ready to run all the way home. I might be stubborn and impulsive, but I always do the right thing. No wickedly handsome CEO will change that. No matter how fantastic of a kisser he is. No matter how much I want what he could do to me. No matter how much of a douche my boyfriend is.

  I don’t do trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Spencer

  “Antiques Now.” My partner Miles snaps from where he stands behind his polished mahogany desk.

  I’m standing in his well-appointed, corner-office at Antiques Today, and he’s holding an oversized iPad, swiping repeatedly. “He has an exclamation point in the title. It’s like a disaster film. Earthquake!”

  “It’s Zoomer nonsense.” I take a seat in the leather chair across from him, unimpressed. “Is this why you called me in here? To discuss an unaffiliated scrub on the Internet talking about antiques?”

  “What are we going to do about this, Spencer?”

  “About what?” I straighten the cuff of my crisp white shirt inside my suit coat, and he turns the screen to face me.

  “Link Sherlock. He practically stole our name.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.” I study the shaggy-haired man-child with a beard in desperate need of shaping, dressed in sloppy jeans and a tee. He’s the disaster. “Ignore him.”

  Miles’s brown eyes narrow. At five-seven, what he lacks in stature he makes up for in theatrics. “He’s got this… YouTube and TikTok. The man has more than a million followers.”

  “He is not a man.” I find it difficult to take anyone seriously who can’t be bothered to wash themselves.

  It brings to mind a gorgeous redhead I know, who recently described antiques dealers as old men with crumbs in their beards and moth-eaten wool coats. Nothing like me, she’d said, swiping a silky wave of fiery hair off her ivory shoulder. She was gorgeous, full breasts, hips, tiny waist.

  I’d occasionally thought of her since the day we met in Daisy’s store, but that night at the wedding. That kiss… I’d wanted to explore every inch of her perfect figure with my mouth, learn her sweet spots, make her moan, but she ran.

  She said she had a boyfriend, but what man in his right mind would let her out of his sight? I’d expect her to demand better of a man. She’s fully capable. Is it possible she lied? Either way, she seems to have taken up residence in my mind ever since that night, like some unwelcome, redheaded Cinderella. Sin…

  “He’s courting Brimfield and Skinner.” Miles is still going on about the kid, and I file away my lusty thoughts. “Grafton was on his last episode.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters because when he puts them in front of millions of viewers, they’ll go to him first with their acquisitions. He’ll have first look at their catalogs.” My diminutive partner is apoplectic over this guy, and I try not to antagonize Miles when he’s having a moment.

  Inhaling slowly, I hope someone in heaven takes note of this. It proves I can be kind—when I have to be, which thankfully isn’t very often.

  “Let’s look at this from another angle.” I lean forward and place my forearms on my knees, clasping my hands. “This… Link Sherlock, despite the ridiculous name, is presenting the world of antiques to a new generation of buyers and collectors. They’re taking their first sip of coffee milk or venturing into the livestock shows in Branson.”

  Miles lowers his shaggy brow. “I’m not sure I follow…”

  “Mr. Sherlock will whet their appetite, but we own this field. We’ve made collecting antiquities an art. He’s a barker at the county fair. We’re the auctioneers at Southeby’s. They’ll come to us when they’re ready for class.”

  Miles leans back, stroking his short beard. “Class…” He lowers himself slowly into his leather desk chair and his lips pucker as he contemplates my words. “I like it, but how will they find us?”

  “The same way anyone finds anything of value. Word of mouth.” Pushing off my knees, I stand, ready to get back to my office and set up my next trip to Manhattan.

  “And Brimfield? Skinner?”

  “They’re smart to court his attention. He’ll bring a new audience, freshen the market.”

  “I think we need to remind them we’re here. Remind them we’re still top of the line, ready when they need us.”

  I’m not sure I like the sound of this. “How will we do that?”

  “A gala.”

  “Gala.” My lip curls. Large social events are not my cup of tea, and I despise party planners. They’re usually pushy, loud women with ideas I don’t like. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll do my usual rounds, pay them all a visit—”

  “Don’t get me wrong, friend, but you’re hardly the warmest cookie on the platter.”

  “I’m not sure I follow that metaphor. Still, I have established relationships. It’ll be fine.”

  “It’ll be old-fashioned. People want new things.” He’s on his feet, pacing the large, oak-pan
eled office. “We can go all out, maybe something outdoors, on Lake Murray. Luxury accommodations, a video montage of us through the years, SWAG bags…”

  “SWAG bags?”

  “Stuff We All Get. You know, robes and iPads.”

  “I’m aware of what SWAG is. How will robes and gadgets sell antiques?”

  “They’ll show we care.”

  “Here’s how we show we care. I have a meeting with Grafton in a few weeks. I’ll do a quick tour of our Vermont and Pennsylvania locations—”

  “I’ll save you the trip. We’re bringing them to us.” He smiles, and I can tell there’s no talking him out of this idea.

  Miles is five minutes older than me in this company, and even though we’re partners now, he still likes to pull rank when he gets an idea I hate. Sometimes it’s easier to let him win. With a sigh, I sit in the chair again.

  “So you’re thinking Lake Murray?”

  “You’re right.” He points at me across the desk. “The coast is better. Daisy’s there now. We can bring her onboard to help us. It’ll benefit her business as well. Win-win!”

  His suggestion eases my irritation slightly. Daisy is not an obnoxious party planner, and she’s connected to someone I’m very interested in seeing again. “It might be worth a try.”

  He pauses and studies me from across the desk. “That’s a sudden switch.”

  I’m on my feet again, straightening my suit. “Daisy’s wedding reception last month was quite elegant. She has good taste, and she knows our clients.”

  “Excellent. Set up a time for us to meet here in the office. We can hash out all the details, set a date, and get the ball rolling.” He returns to his chair, smiling with satisfaction. “Glad you discovered that girl.”

  At the moment, I tend to agree.

  Heading back to my office, I slide my phone out of my pocket and send a quick text to Daisy. Need to chat. Miles wants to host a gala in Oceanside. Hoping you’ll join forces.

  It doesn’t take long for her to reply. Ooo… a gala. I’m sure you’re thrilled. She includes a string of those small yellow faces that are either laughing or crying.

  I ignore her sarcasm. Would your cousin be available? Her floral work is stunning.