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What He Looks Like Naked
I wantto stamp my foot, I’m so frustrated. “I’m sorry to disillusion you, but nobody died and left you king of the universe. Orme.”
He folds his arms and scowls at me. “You always this much of a pain in theass?”
The nerve of the man. “Could you not speak that way in front of my daughter?”
He looks at Sophie. “Sorry, kid.”
Sophie, who’s usually shy with strangers, giggles at him. The man smiles back at her … and my heart stutters.
The smile takes him from striking to devastatingly sexy. I get tingles in places that haven’t tingled in quite sometime.
With an effort, I will my unruly body into submission and focus on what’s important. “I just need a waitingroom.”
The man shifts his gaze to me, and there’s something working behind his eyes that makes me nervous. But all he says is, “You can wait in thecafé.”
I don’t want to wait in the café. I’ll have to spend money, and I’ve barely got any left. “There’s not just a regular waiting room?” I try again. “Some chairs in the office?”
“No.”
Jerk. “Then please get out of myway.”
He doesn’t budge. “You got two choices. You can haul your pretty ass to thecafé—”
“Language!” Isnap.
“Sorry, kid,” he says in a way that makes clear he’s not sorry at all. “Or I can pick you up and carry you there.”
“I — you — you’re outrageous!”
“Yeah. So which is it gonnabe?”
“You can’t dothis.”
One dark eyebrow wings up. “Wannabet?”
Days of strain, fatigue, and fear take their toll. Tears prick behind my eyes, and I have to close them as I fight to keep it together.
Suddenly, a large, warm hand curls around the back of my neck, inside my hair, right against my skin. It shocks me, but somehow steadies me at the same time, as if it’s rooting me to the earth, keeping me grounded in reality. “Hey, now. Hey.” His voice has gentled. “You’re gonna beokay.”
I don’t believe it. But I have to be okay, for Sophie’s sake. I open my eyes to see him bending down, his big body looming over us. It should feel threatening, from a man I met less than five minutes ago, but instead it seems protective.
“We can’t go to the café,” I whisper, afraid my voice will break if I try to speak normally.
“The café is the waiting room. Everyone hangs out there.” His voice is still gentle. “And you’ll get the customer discount.”
“But I’m not a customer. I just need water for my radiator.”
“You might need oil. That makes you a customer.” He turns and guides me toward the door, his hand still on myneck.
“I can get there.”
“If I let you go,” he says in an easy, conversational tone, “you’re gonna leave. Drive away in a car that ain’t working right, and break down a few blocks away, or worse yet, on the road outside of town somewhere. Not happening.”
I hate that he’s right. If it were just me it wouldn’t matter, but I can’t risk that happening with Sophie in the car, not on a day like this. He pulls the door open, and we go out into the muggy morning.
When we reach Gilda, I stop. “I need to get her diaper bag.” The man waits while I unlock the car and retrieve the bag from the back seat, and then we set off again across the parking lot, his big form moving with surprising grace. At least his hand is off my necknow.
As we near the café, Sophie catches the scent of food. She’s been quiet and watchful through all this, as is her way, but now she pats me with one chubby hand. “Mama, pantate?” Which means pancake.
My heart melts, and I smile at her. “Yeah, baby. We’ll get you a pancake.” I glance up to see the man watching us, and something in his dark eyes makes a shiver run down my spine in a way that has nothing to do withfear.
He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, bar none. I don’t even know his name. What is wrong with me that I keep wondering what he looks like naked?
When we reach the café, he holds the door for us and then follows us in. The coolness of the interior is a shock after the oppressive warmth of the parking lot. The place is packed, and the waiting area is full. My heart sinks.
It can’t be the only place in town, so its popularity must mean it’s good … and therefore expensive. Or it could be popular because it’s barely adequate but has good prices. The decor, though, doesn’t say greasy spoon; it says upscale family restaurant.
On top of all that, with how crowded the place is it’ll take us forever just to get seated. We need to go somewhere else, maybe walk to a park if there’s one close by. But before I can tell my determined escort that, a young woman in slacks and a smock top hustles over tous.
