Color rose in her cheeks. “My mannequins are fully clothed.”

“Right-in a way that’s as obvious as a slap in the face.”

“Slap in the face…” She smiled sweetly. “Is that an invitation?”

He made a tsking noise. “I didn’t know you harbored violent tendencies.”

“Only toward people who constantly wear on my nerves.”

“Speaking of wearing on my nerves…” He jerked his thumb toward her shop. “That window display is, um…”

“Provocative? Interesting?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘over the top.’”

“Thank you. I accept your compliment.”

“I didn’t pay you one.”

“The fact that you noticed the display is a compliment in itself.”

“Obviously our last conversation regarding toning down the displays fell on deaf ears.”

“No, I heard you.”

“Ah. Then this is a problem of you not knowing the difference between hearing and listening.”

“I know the difference. But I also know the meaning of ignoring.”

“Obviously.”

“And this is a problem of you not knowing the meaning of the word playful. I suspect you wouldn’t know playful if it jumped up and bit your butt.”

“Undoubtedly because you don’t know me.”

“I don’t? That’s odd. I feel as if I know you very well.”

She didn’t add the word unfortunately, but it was clearly implied. “As I feel I know you,” he murmured. “How…lucky for both of us.”

“Hmm. Not certain lucky is the word I’d choose, but then, we don’t agree on much, do we?”

“I think the next time we agree will be the first time.”

“At least we can agree on that. And in that spirit of peacemaking…” She nodded her chin toward the crowds of people. “The party is a huge success. Whoever planned it did a great job.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You planned all this?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. You don’t strike me as the party-planning type.”

He was tempted to ask what type he did strike her as, but decided he didn’t really want to know, especially as he doubted it would be complimentary. Instead he smiled, a gesture he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Managing property isn’t the only thing I do well.”

“I know. You’re also adept at aggravating the tenants. And apparently you also know the name of a good party planner.”

“Part of being a good manager is the ability to delegate.”

“Uh-huh. So, will you be stopping in for a coffee? We have a special Valentine’s sugar cookie you might enjoy. It’s in the shape of lips.” She shot him another sweet smile. “I call it Bite Me.”

Paul made a choking sound, indicating a smothered laugh, and Evan turned toward his friend. Damn, he’d completely forgotten Paul’s presence, and Madame Karma’s as well, an oversight he blamed on the thoroughly irritating Lacey.

“Thanks, but I’ll delegate coffee duty to Paul.” Evan then turned toward the fortune-teller, who he noticed was studying him with undisguised interest. Holding out his hand, he smiled. “Madame Karma, I’m-”

“Evan Sawyer,” the gypsy-garbed woman said in a low, compelling voice. Before he could recover from his surprise that she knew his name, she clasped his hand firmly between both of hers while her eyes, so dark he couldn’t discern the pupil from the iris, seemed to bore into him. “Your aura…” she murmured, sandwiching his hand tightly between hers “…it is exceptionally bright. And strong. You will allow me to read your fortune?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Evan said politely, ignoring the smirk on Paul’s face he saw from the corner of his eye.

Madame’s gaze bounced between him and Lacey several times, then she nodded solemnly. “Excellent. Let us begin.” She released his hand then made a shooing motion toward Lacey. “Off with you, my dear. Mr. Sawyer and I have much to discuss.”

Evan couldn’t think of a single thing that he and Madame Karma would have to discuss, but since it seemed there was no avoiding it, he might as well get this fortune-telling hooey over with. He’d listen and nod, then thank her and escape.

How bad could it be?

3

IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT WHEN Lacey locked the door to Constant Cravings and headed across the courtyard toward the multilevel parking garage. The damp scent of rain still lingered in the air from the sudden bursts of storms that had blown through earlier, complete with thunder and lightning. Luckily the party had been winding down by then. In fact, the storm had helped her sales, as many party goers had sought refuge from the weather in Constant Cravings.

In spite of her aching feet and back after the long, hectic day, she couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. Today’s Valentine’s Day party had resulted in record sales as well as three orders for party-themed cookie platters, with potentially more to come.

At 9:00 p.m., after setting the Closed sign in the window, she’d spent the rest of the evening baking crumb cake and cookies for tomorrow and doing paperwork-maybe not the most romantic way to spend Valentine’s Day night, but in her experience a lot less trouble than men.

If only crumb cake, cookies and paperwork kept a girl warm at night, it would be a perfect world.

And speaking of warm…It could stand to be a little warmer outside. An unseasonably chilly breeze brushed across her bare arms and she quickened her pace, wishing she’d brought a sweatshirt from home.

After entering the ground floor of the parking deck, she headed for the elevator and pushed the up button, then leaned wearily against the wall. She heard an engine rev to life and seconds later saw a cream-colored SUV heading toward the exit. As the car drove past her, she realized the driver was none other than Evan Sawyer.

“Good riddance,” she murmured to the fading glow of his taillights as he disappeared around the corner. It figured a workaholic like him had been slaving till midnight on a Saturday, and Valentine’s Day no less. Certainly no surprise that a pest like him didn’t have a date on the most romantic night of the year. You didn’t have a date on the most romantic night of the year, either, her pesky inner voice reminded her.

Okay, fine. But she could have had a date if she’d wanted. Barbara had wanted to fix her up with a marketing executive at her office, but she’d turned down her best friend’s offer. She just hadn’t been in the mood to suffer through what would likely turn into yet another awkward first date, especially with an executive type whose first priority was undoubtedly his career, as was the case with nearly all the executive types she’d ever met. Which made him, sight unseen, not her type. While her state of date-lessness was dragging on far longer than she’d anticipated, she simply hadn’t met a man recently who interested her enough to break the cycle. And speaking of far longer than she’d anticipated, what was with this elevator?

She pushed the button again, but after waiting another two minutes decided it must be out of order. “Great,” she muttered. Hiking her purse’s shoulder strap higher, she pushed open the door leading to the stairwell and proceeded to climb six flights of concrete steps to the rooftop level, then continued across the freakishly cold, windy lot to her parking spot at the far corner.

By the time she sank behind the wheel of her car, she was cold, exhausted and impatient to be home. She slid the key into the ignition and turned her wrist.

And heard nothing.

She tried again, and only silence greeted her. Not even a tiny growl of life emitted from the engine.

Damn. She’d had a similar problem last summer and the culprit had been a dead battery. Suspecting that was the case, she flipped the switch for the interior light. Nothing.

“Ugh,” she moaned, flopping her head back against the leather headrest. First the elevator, now the car. And talk about lousy timing. Not that there was ever a good time for a dead car, but c’mon! Midnight, after an exhausting day, when your teeth were chattering from the cold, was a particularly sucky time.

Drawing a deep, weary breath, she dug through her purse for her cell phone and wondered how long it would take her roadside service company to arrive. No point in calling one of her friends instead-unlike her, they all had dates for Valentine’s Day. And while she didn’t doubt one of them would come to her rescue, she didn’t want to disrupt anyone’s romantic evening.

But when she found her cell, she discovered, much to her aggravation, that her phone was suffering from the same fate as her car-a dead battery. How was that possible? It had been fully charged just this afternoon.

Well, how both batteries had gone kaput at the same time didn’t really matter. What mattered was now she was going to have to hoist her tired ass out of the car and trek all the way back to Constant Cravings to use the phone there. Muttering hostile and uncomplimentary words under her breath toward all things mechanical, she trudged back toward the elevator, only to recall that it wasn’t working.

“Perfect. Just perfect. Could this night get any worse?” She stomped down the six flights of stairs, and the instant she exited the stairwell and stepped onto the sidewalk she was hit by a blast of chilly air and the undeniable realization that, yes, this night could indeed get worse. Because the first thing she saw was Evan Sawyer, standing next to his car, which was stopped in the fire lane. He’d removed his suit jacket, loosened his uptight tie, unfastened the top button of his dress shirt and rolled back the sleeves. She’d never seen him so casually undone. By damn, he looked almost…human.

He was frowning at his cell phone with a ferocity surely meant to set the instrument on fire. The stairwell door slammed shut behind her and his head snapped up. His eyebrows rose at the sight of her, and then he once again frowned.