I sigh, shaking my head and groaning. This is going to put me back even further and yet . . . how can I say no? How can I—

Beep. Beep.

The horn sounds off in the back alley and echoes through the closed security screen door. Before I can even reach it to see what’s going on, Sammy is there opening it for me and looking around.

I will say it’s definitely nice not to have to worry about leaving here at night. For the most part, the neighborhood I’m in is safe, but between the alley, the shady characters that sometimes loiter in it, and now all of Jase’s curious fans, having Sammy here is a definite bonus.

But the thought vanishes when the car comes into view.

Sleek. Black. Expensive.

The passenger-side window rolls down, and there he is—Jase, one arm slung over the steering wheel, his hair a little mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it. The streetlights catch on the ink lining his forearm, the silver glint of his rings.

How is it possible to have forgotten how gorgeous he is? How is it fathomable that I would have ever looked at him and thought he wasn’t my type?

Perfect case of don’t judge a book by its cover.

And in this case, he’s temporarily mine.

He smirks, like he already knows the kind of day I’ve had.

“Need a ride, Cookie?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the way my lips twitch. “Hmm. I’m pretty sure my husband might not be too thrilled with the idea of me getting in the car with some dark and mysterious man.”

“I think I can take him.”

“Really?”

Jase taps his chin, considering. “In fact, I know I can.” He looks over his shoulder and then back to me. “Quick. Get in before he finds out.”

He winks and I shake my head. Within seconds I have the bakery locked up, my purse in hand, and yank open the passenger door and slide inside. God, is this the first time I’ve sat down today?

His scent wraps around me instantly—clean, musky, and just a little like leather.

Jase looks at me for a beat, eyes flicking over my flour-dusted shirt, the tension still clinging to my shoulders. His voice is the exact opposite of how he looks when he speaks, “Rough day?”

I sink into the seat, letting my head fall back. “You have no idea.”

His smirk fades into something almost . . . compassionate. He reaches for the radio, scrolling through stations until soft rock filters through the speakers, like he knows I need something easy.

Like he actually sees me.