She squeaked and tried to stop, her feet stuttering to a halt on the cement floor only inches before they collided with the boots in her path. But while her body ground to a halt in time to avoid a collision, the liquid in her cup followed the laws of physics and kept going. She watched with helpless horror as coffee gysered up out of the oversized mug to splash across what seemed like an acre of camel-colored wool.

“Oh, damn,” she moaned, her heart sinking as her drink—coffee and chocolate syrup, for double the staining power—immediately began to soak into the expensive fabric.

“What the fuck?” a deep voice boomed, and a hush fell over the café as every head turned toward them.

The sudden absence of chatter made the canned music seem unnaturally loud, and it jolted her into action. She turned to the counter, the remaining liquid in her mug—not much of it, thank God—splashing across the surface as she reached for the pile of napkins at the edge. A wad of them in hand, she spun back to her latest catastrophe.

“I am so sorry,” she babbled, swiping at the growing stain in an attempt to minimize the damage. Maybe if she could keep it from spreading, it could be dry cleaned, and she wouldn’t have to stretch her already groaning bank account to replace the coat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“You should watch where you’re going,” the voice growled, and she winced at the sharp censure.

“I know, I know,” she said, still focused on the stain. It wasn’t spreading any more, giving her a glimmer of hope. “But my mug was so full, and I was concentrating on not spilling it.”

“Nice job,” he said sarcastically, and the apology she’d been about to offer—again—died on her lips.

She dropped her hand, the wad of wet napkins clenched in her fist. The sharp retort she’d been about to spit out died as she looked up into the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Because that was just the kind of luck she was having this week.

He was tall, with tawny blond hair and pale skin, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. The elegant coat she’d just ruined was draped over shoulders that seemed impossibly broad, the collar turned up to brush the curling ends of his hair. A thick scruff of beard covered his jaw, his generous mouth was currently twisted in annoyance, and she was sure his crystal-blue eyes would be pretty if he wasn’t glaring at her like she’d just taken a crap on his shoe.

Sure, because a handsome asshole is just what I needed. Thanks a lot, universe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone considerably less conciliatory than it had been. “It was an accident.”