Closing my eyes in silent thanks, I opened the door, wrapped my hand around the last tub of ice cream and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Another hand was on the carton, the long, strong fingers latched around the lip of the lid like demon claws from the darkest depths of hell.

Snarling, I turned around. My mind went blank for a second as I took the would-be thief in. Hot shivers skittered along my spine. What a face… And what a waste.

Longish black hair that reached a little below his ears. Strong, bold lines. Brilliant, piercing blue eyes and a thin, straight nose. His lips were a little puffy, like he’d gotten really lucky in the genetics lottery or lightly cuffed in the mouth. Probably the latter. Anyone who’d snatch someone else’s ice cream…

“Let go,” I said in my no-nonsense tone, the one that used to put fear into people before I’d quit my corporate job to be a writer.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You let go. I touched it first.”

His voice was low and a little husky, reminding me of aged whiskey with a smoky finish. I liked it, which was annoying.

“In your dreams.” I tried to hiss it at him.

He ran his tongue over a row of perfectly straight white teeth and squinted at me. “Do you know who I am?”

Was he serious? I let my gaze roam over him. It took a while because he was so tall. But I wanted to be thorough…from his head to the broad shoulders and lean frame with ropey muscles, the nicely formed chest peeking through the V of a slate-gray shirt, narrow hips and nice pair of legs encased in black jeans…then back up. He had tattooed forearms and one of those huge wallets on a chain attached to his belt.

He looked at me like he was waiting for me to fall at his feet.

Puh-leeeze.

“As it happens, I don’t know who you are. Do you know who I am?”

The man pulled back a little, eyebrows rising. It was his turn to run his gaze over me. Slowly. Insolently. And the skin along my spine and chest felt weird, somewhere between a hot tingle and an itch. I grimaced. Probably dried sweat from the exercise. Back sweat and boob sweat were the worst.

I was most definitely not thinking about him naked. Or in my bed.

“No,” he said finally.

I gave him a fake smile. “So we’re even.” I tugged at the tub, but he still wasn’t letting go.

I didn’t have all night to fight this guy.

How should I make him back off…?

I flicked my eyes down. “Oh my God!” I screeched, infusing the high-pitched yell with all the disgust I could muster. “There’s a cockroach on your foot!”

“What?” He looked down, flinching.

And his grip on the ice cream relaxed. I yanked it away and placed it firmly in my cart.

“Hey!” he protested.

“What?” I put a hand on my chest with all the innocence I could muster. “You’re the one who let go.”

“That was cheating!”

“What are you going to do? Fight me for it?”