Move,he thought, exasperated. If she was still in the shop when he came in, he’d have to wait for Darian. He pictured himself browsing around a few shelves stocked with hardware, nails and brads and divots, while the woman stood at the counter and Darian threw smoldering glances at him over her shoulder. Tension would build between them, spurred by the fact that they weren’t alone. When she finally left, he’d pretend to be preoccupied, studying a hammer or a set of wrenches, letting Darian get a good, long look of his backside. Maybe he should tuck his shirt in? Bend a little too, let the jeans mold to his ass. Footsteps would approach—despite his size, that man could move quietly when it suited him. Stacy could almost hear that deep voice rumbling up from behind him, sexy and low and intimate the minute the bell above the door stopped tinkling. “Hey Stace…”