Unconscious Hearts, Page 3

  I push down my disappointment and do my best to forget him ... even when I feel the overwhelming need to go in search of him.

  Maybe I will get another cat.

  And that's the last thing I remember before the tequila and good music take over my rational thought.

  It's just Thorn

  I smile at the customer, waiting for the next question to come. It always does. Always. It doesn't matter that I've built a reputation of selling only authentic luxury items in my store. It doesn't matter that, in twenty years, there has never been a counterfeit sold in this store. People always ask. Some just with a little more class than others.

  "You sure this is real, honey?"

  The corners of my lips threaten to fall from my fake smile, but I hold them up and relax the impatience from my body.

  "Yes, ma'am. As with all our items, they come with a letter of authenticity. However, I can assure you that this purse is one hundred percent authentic as it was purchased right in front of me in London about three years ago."

  "Paris, you say?" the older woman asks with a tilt of her head.

  I give her a shake of my head, spying her hearing aid, and repeat myself.

  "Well, I've always wanted to go to Paris. I hear it's lovely. But London is one of my favorite places to visit."

  "It is lovely," I respond, a familiar lump making its way up my throat.

  "You won't go down on the price at all?"

  Piper pokes my side from where she's kneeling next to me, placing some new jewelry pieces in the display case next to the register. She knows how I feel about London, and it has nothing to do with the city. I ignore her, knowing if I look down, she's probably just going to make a ridiculous face.

  "Prices are firm, I'm sorry."

  The older lady gives a wave of her hand, her sweet little face still alight with happiness. "Nonsense, sweet child. I probably would have paid more, but it doesn't hurt to ask anyway. I can't believe someone would part with a Louis Vuitton bag that looks brand new. My dear old Henry, he's put up with my spending for sixty years. Trust me, one little purse isn't going to make him blink now."

  For the first time today, my smile comes freely. "I imagine he won't."

  "I'll take it. And those earrings your friend is fiddling with. Are those Chanel?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And they're real too?"

  Piper stands, wearing a huge grin, the curls around her face bouncing with her exuberance. "Oh, yes. Ari here wouldn't dare have something fake in Trend. Just like your beautiful new purse, these beauts come with the same guarantee of authenticity as well as their original purchase documents and packaging. We just got them in the other day, too. Such a good find."

  She reaches out, and one weathered finger grazes the studs. "That's good, honey. My great-granddaughter is graduating from college this weekend. Do you think she'll like these?"

  I let Piper continue the conversation while I busy myself with pulling the paperwork for each item. Carefully folding them and stuffing them inside an envelope with the logo for Trend, I make a mental note to reorder before I go home tonight.

  The two continue to chat while I ring her up, scanning both the purse and earrings before turning and wrapping them up--one of my favorite things to do while at work. I could spend all day stuffing tissue paper into boxes and arranging each item perfectly so it looks as if the items are lying on a tissue throne, before placing each light gray box into a lavender glossy shopping bag with Trend embossed on the outside.

  Chic.

  Sophisticated.

  The perfect packaging.

  Always.

  Just like my mother taught me.

  Make sure they get an experience, my sweet girl. The same as if you were to buy something lux brand new. The packaging is just as exhilarating as the purchase itself. Don't ever deny someone that experience.

  My mother's voice wisps through my thoughts, sounding as if she spoke them right next to me. I smile at the bag, the familiar twinge of her memory pulling on my heartstrings as something I can finally remember without the searing pain accompanying it.

  "Looks like Ari's got you all settled, Mrs. Larkin. If you need anything, just give us a call. I placed our business card in with your purchase receipts--both original to the items and the one for today. We also provide you with a care card for your purse. Just some basic information on how to keep the leather and canvas healthy," Piper says with a smile, picking up both the shopping bag with the purse and the gift-wrapped earrings before walking around the glass display case to stand next to our customer, Mrs. Larkin. "Now you lead the way, and I'll walk you out."

  "Nonsense, honey. I might be old, but I've been shopping longer than you've been alive, I imagine. The day I need help carrying my bags is the day someone should take my credit cards away from me."

  Piper giggles. "That may be so, Mrs. Larkin, but walking you out gives me a chance to talk to you about that stunning Rolex you're wearing."

  The older woman's eyes crinkle with humor. "I think I see now how you two manage to have such a lovely stock here."

  "Now, Mrs. Larkin, are you suggesting I would try to talk you out of your watch?" Piper continues, guiding her right out the front door.

  I laugh to myself softly. Piper's not shy when it comes to talking customers out of something she wants. I have no doubt Mrs. Larkin will be back with that watch and a handful of other items that Piper will convince her to sell with the promise of cash or store credits.

  "Didn't you have an appointment at six?" Piper asks, coming back in and flipping the lock on the front door.

  Glancing at the clock, I frown. "Yeah. I completely forgot. I guess he changed his mind about selling the collection we spoke about."

  "Do you want me to stick around? Just in case he shows?"

  "No, Pipe. I've got it. I have some accounting to do anyway."

  "You sure? Matt and I don't have anything planned tonight."

  Ugh, Matt. In the three weeks since our girls' night, he's been on his best behavior, so of course, it's all sunshine and roses for Piper, once again thinking he's not an evil jerk.

  I open my mouth to respond, but shut it with a frown when the loud rumble of a motorcycle vibrates through the shop. Piper's head snaps in the direction of our front windows.

  "Holy cow," she gasps a second later.

  "Ditto," I breathe, not looking away from the tall man staring into the store from atop his big, black, shiny motorcycle.

  Though he's still wearing his sunglasses when the sun has already dipped below the trees, I can feel his eyes on me. Whatever he sees, it must have been what he's looking for because a second later, he's removing his helmet. One long, jean-covered thigh flexes as he pops out the kickstand, then the other comes up and over the bike before he straightens, placing the black helmet down where he had been sitting moments before.

  He's huge. Something I can tell without standing anywhere near him. Heck, even his shoulders top over the roof of my SUV he's parked next to. The black shirt stretched over those shoulders looks like a second skin on him, taking him from huge to massive.

  "Pinch me," Piper gasps.

  "Me first," I blurt, feeling my face heat instantly when Piper looks away from the stranger and studies me with a keen eye.

  "No way!" she exclaims. "You'll definitely need to pinch me first, girlfriend. Sweet little Ari Daniels, interested in a man! It's been so long since that's happened, I forgot you weren't a lesbian."

  "Don't be a twit, Pipe."

  "Oh, no you don't. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome has awakened my best friend from her long nap of celibacy and disinterest in men. Where's my phone? I need to record this moment."

  "You make it sound like I'm some spinster, living alone with my cats." One perfectly arched brow rises, and I narrow my eyes at my best friend. "I have one cat, Pipe. That doesn't mean I'm close to giving up on life and collecting more."

  "Yet. You aren't collecting cats yet. But after six years, I'm just glad yo
u've found a way to let those butterflies stir up attraction in your body."

  She forgets all about me and my butterflies when a hearty thump comes from the front door. My heart feels like it's about to gallop right out of my chest when I turn and see the biker at my door, one big fist resting against the glass he just knocked on. Before I can do anything short of blink, Piper springs forward and unlocks the door, flinging it open.

  "Hiya!"

  He looks down at her, his expression giving nothing away. His sunglasses are gone, and from a few feet away, I watch as he takes in my best friend. It isn't a shock to me that he's showing interest in Piper--she's stunning--however, the disappointment I feel over it is.

  I take a quick second to look him over now that he's closer than the parking area. His black hair is longish on top, shaved on the sides, and a complete mess from the helmet he pulled off moments before. I bet, when he takes the time, it could be styled perfectly in that rugged yet sophisticated way that men do. My gaze sweeps over his face, memorizing each attractive feature as quickly as I can--the strong nose, full lips, and powerful jaw that no amount of stubble could hide. He's the definition of perfect. I quickly glance down his body, seeing the tattoos on his arms and hands before going back to his handsome face.

  It's during my perusal of his face that I realize my mistake. A tiny tightening of his jaw, making the area right near his ear flex, draws my eyes up, meeting his with a gasp I'm helpless to contain when I find him looking straight at me.

  "We're closed, but if you want to come back tomorrow, we open at nine," Piper continues, not even fazed by the stifling electricity zapping around her, lighting an invisible path between this man and me.

  When was the last time a man affected me so carnally that the attraction wrapped around me like a thick fog? I shift on my heels, not knowing what to do other than just stand here and gape at this man. His eyes narrow, but aside from that, he doesn't move to come into the store. I know exactly when I last felt a connection like this. Good heavens, what is wrong with me? Twice in a handful of weeks and I've turned into a lust machine I don't even recognize.

  "Of course, I'm sure Ari wouldn't mind if you wanted to glance around a little while I finish cleaning the store up," Piper carries on, her voice sounding muffled through the pounding of my heart.

  His gaze leaves mine, and he frowns down at Piper. Huge. I wasn't wrong. Piper's a few inches under six feet in flats, and this guy makes even her look small. Then again, being only five-foot-two, mostly everyone is a giant to me.

  After a beat, his full lips open and his tongue comes out to wet them, rolling over his bottom lip in a slow and lazy glide that effectively kills any chance I had at regaining any rational thoughts.

  Damn, that's hot.

  "You both here alone?" he asks, his voice sounding rough and gritty--unused--rumbling out deeply. Something else I feel zap right through me.

  "It's seven o'clock," I say as if that's explanation enough.

  "Right," he grunts. "If I'm too late for my appointment, I can make a new one. Though I'll be late for that one too."

  Well, if that wasn't enough to knock some of the lust drunkenness right out of my sails.

  "You're Mr. Thorn?" Piper questions on a shocked gasp.

  "Evans," he strangely responds.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Last name. It's Evans. I'm just Thorn."

  "Oh, uh, okay. Well, Mr. ... I mean, Thorn, we can keep your appointment tonight since you're here. No sense in making a new one if you'll be late for that one too," I confirm, walking back around the glass display and placing my hands on the cool surface before continuing. I hope I sound more put together than I feel because at this point, it sounds like he's just speaking Muppet mom. "Did you have someone else bringing the collection we discussed?"

  His gaze moves to my hands and the case under them. I have no doubt my defensive move of placing something between us didn't go unnoticed. Piper clears her throat, waiting while volleying her attention back and forth between the two of us. When he steps deeper into the store, she moves to relock the front door, then turns and moves to the shelves of purses. Unlocking the glass door, she straightens a few of them--even though they were already perfect. Nosy Piper. Her eyes remain on us and not the bags she's making a new mess of.

  "I got pictures. Didn't want to drag all that shit over here if you weren't interested in taking it off my hands."

  With great effort, I manage to keep my smile and not frown at him. "With all due respect, Mr. Evans--"

  "It's just Thorn."

  "Right, well, just Thorn ... I'm sure you'll understand that, with the nature of what we do here, I need to inspect each item listed for consignment thoroughly to verify authenticity before I can make you an offer. Not just that, but the offer may vary due to condition and such."

  "Yeah, I figured as much, but no way am I dragging that much shit over here unless it's something you're interested in. And I don't want consignment. You offer straight buyouts?"

  I nod. "We do. Of course, you would make more if you went with consignment, though."

  "Yeah, I get it. I don't care about making more. I just need it gone. Here are the pictures."

  When he pulls out a thick stack of photos from his back pocket, my eyes grow wide. I knew he had numerous pieces from the message Piper took when he made his appointment, but I didn't know he had this many. The top image alone has my mouth watering.

  "That's a Birkin!" Piper gasps, looking around his body at the same image that has my purse addicted soul crying tears of joy. We get Birkins every few years, but they always go quickly and, unfortunately, never to my own personal collection. I know Piper's been salivating for years to get one, but even with her employee discount, she's never bought one when it came in. Neither have I, though.

  "I take it that means something?" he asks.

  "Something? It means so much more than just something," Piper gasps with a giggle.

  "Yeah, got that. Also, not interested in hearing why."

  I don't look up, but I can only guess my sweet friend is shooting daggers. Lifting my hands off the glass, I reach for the stack of photos. My hands shake the whole time, something I'm sure doesn't go unnoticed. In my line of work, it helps to know what you're looking at. I can spot a counterfeit bag from a mile away at this point. Because of the guarantee we offer, I have to know what I'm looking at. Otherwise, I would spend thousands on something only to find out it's fake when I get down to appraising its authenticity? Nope. Not this chick. I didn't study myself into the ground to turn around and buy fakes. It doesn't hurt that, in each picture, you can tell these purses are coming from a very well-off household. Just the way they seem to be displayed alone is telling, but each and every one looks like it has never been used. You don't spend that kind of money to have this size of a collection, and apparently never use them, if you don't have an overabundance of money to throw away.

  "I'm sure you understand now why I didn't want to drag all of this out of the house and across town. If you're interested, I can arrange to bring them here tomorrow."

  "Interested is a mild way to express how I feel about all of these," I mumble, flipping through each photo with glee. "And the original owner?" I ask, hating that I have to.

  "Dead."

  I jerk my eyes from the photo I had been studying of a stunning Louis Vuitton trunk and meet his. My mouth opens a few times to try to speak, but finally, I take a deep pull of air before releasing it and nod at the odd indifference I see in his eyes.

  Not just green, I muse, not giving myself time to analyze the look in his gaze. Stupid or not, that's all I can focus on. His eyes. They're the most hypnotizing mix of blue and what looks like a million different shades of green. Stunning.

  "I can prove that I have ownership of them, if that's what you're needing."

  I flip through a few more pictures, trying to get over the nervous butterflies this man has kicked up in my belly. "I mean no disrespect, but given the enormity of thi
s collection and all ..."

  When I get to the last picture, I still can't believe how many extraordinary pieces this man is parting with. Then again, what would he do with them other than sell if the original owner is no longer around to enjoy them? Not like he's going to carry them.

  A little laugh escapes my lips at that thought, and my cheeks burn. I clear my throat, trying to play my laugh off, embarrassed by my inability to act like a grown woman around this man.

  "When would you like to arrange a time for me to come and look at them in person? It'll save you the trouble of having to bring all this in."

  His eyes spark, and those stupid butterflies start to flutter in pure chaos.

  "How about now?"

  "Now?" I squeak out.

  "No time like the present. I have a busy night ahead of me and an even busier week, so now's probably the best I've got for at least a few weeks or so."

  I glance down at the glorious photos, knowing stock like this would fill my bank account for a long time to come, but the thought of going off to the unknown with this stranger is not exactly how I planned to spend my Friday night. Plus, he could be some serial killer trying to lure the unsuspecting store owner off to her death.

  "The house is over in The Orchard. If it makes you feel better, your friend over there can take a picture of my driver's license, and you can stay on the phone with her the whole time. I just need this shit off my hands, so I can finally sell the damn place."

  And for what feels like the millionth time since he walked into my store ten minutes ago, my face goes from pale to red.

  "Lead the way," I find myself telling him, not sure if I just made the biggest mistake of my life or the best decision for my business.

  The Orchard

  "The Orchard. Of all the stupid places I had to go in order to get to the promise land of luxury brand items, it had to be The freaking Orchard." I turn my signal on and follow the man in front of me, careful not to get too close to his black beast of a bike. "Piper, seriously, THE Orchard."

  "I know, Ari. I don't blame you for not being excited about that, but just think about it this way. You get all of that in Trend, and you are made, girlfriend! We're talking house paid off, car paid off, and you can finally take me on that European vacation I've always wanted to go on. Plus, The Orchard is a huge development. The chances of you running into anyone you know are slim."