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****
Jeff lifted the lock of silky blonde hair and rubbed it between his fingers and thumb, not even realizing he’d reached out to touch her before the act had been accomplished. The smell of strawberries assailed him, sending a fiery sensation through his system that was addictive—way more addictive than he’d first feared.
She smelled like fruit and warm honey and woman, and for a moment while she was completely still, he let himself enjoy the rush of heat that volleyed between them. But then she jerked from him, pushing herself into the counter, as if to move away from him, to take herself out of his reach.
That she would try to get away from him set off a dark challenge that made his fingers tighten of their own accord. His temples began throbbing as he felt a driving need to exert his dominance. He held still a moment, searching for a measure of control that was, for some reason, eluding him.
Walking into this room when he knew that his kid and hers were occupied elsewhere hadn’t been premeditated. He hadn’t thought his actions through. He’d simply acted. And now, here he stood, a wave of lust surging through his veins so strong that he knew his libido wasn’t the least bit in check.
The situation was completely fucked up. He should have taken her back to town that first night and dumped her at the motel—even if he’d had to pay for her stay upfront. Nothing good could come from her being here.
Nothing.
Except for the one thing that had driven him to walk into his kitchen and crowd her against the sink, he needed nothing from her. She couldn’t cook worth a damn, and while he appreciated clothes that he hadn’t had to launder, clean underwear wasn’t exactly enough to warrant the upheaval she was causing in his life.
And by God, she was causing some serious upheaval and he didn’t care for it one damn bit.
But before he let this go one step further (like he could fucking stop it), he needed more information. There was one thing that was niggling at him, and he needed to put the problem to rest before he allowed his body off the hook—he didn’t have much choice—he knew damn good and well his cock was going to win this particular fight, and probably sooner rather than later.
Releasing the lock of hair, his hands came up and fisted around her upper arms. He felt her freeze immediately, but other than her sharp intake of breath, she made no sound and didn’t try to get away from him. She was wearing a short-sleeve shirt, and the feel of her silky skin under his fingers was making his cock pulse with the fury to mate.
Refusing to push against her as his body dictated, he brutally ignored the spurt of desire that was trying to take over his senses—and his entire goddamn life. Holding her tightly, he cleared his throat and asked his question, hoping it wouldn’t cause her pain. “I need to know something. And trust me, if you’re not honest, I’ll be able to tell.”
She jerked and then stilled, softly nodding her head as if to give him the go ahead.
“The baby’s father—you said he was dead.” He paused and waited but she gave him nothing forthcoming, so he continued, “Is he really dead, as in dead and buried, or is he just dead to you?”
When she remained mute, he wasted no time but swung her around until she was facing him, drops of water slinging this way and that. His hands found purchase on her upper arms once again as she lifted her head and stared straight at him.
As he watched her and waited, he acknowledged the fucked-up mess of shit that was beating through his head. He wanted the man dead. He wanted the fucker who’d impregnated her to be gone from this earth. He knew the feelings were screwed up—shit, if he’d believed in that fiery place called Hell, he figured his feelings on the matter would swiftly damn him to the place. Shit, he wouldn’t be a mere passenger on the road to hell; he’d probably be driving the bus that was headed straight down.
But the right or wrong of it didn’t seem to matter to him, not in the slightest. And when her soft pink lips opened and her jaw worked as if she were trying to form an answer, he had zero control when his hips pushed against hers—just that much.
She sucked in a startled breath, stared at him, and licked her lips. “He’s dead—as in dead and buried—in a better place, you know?”
“And that’s the truth?” he questioned, even though everything indicated she was telling him the truth—the openness of her expression, the non-defiant stance of her body—and the sadness in her eyes.
Fuck.
“Yes,” she whispered, staring up at him, her lips subtly quivering.
At her answer, the knot in his gut stopped churning and then dissolved completely. An insane feeling of owning her came up and wrapped around his throat; he had to force himself not to drag her from the room that very instant.
But he admitted it: He needed her. In his bed. Naked. Every minute she was in his house, every second that her scent permeated his home, made him want her in his bed all the more. Of course, if he were being honest with himself, he knew that he’d take her any way he could get her—whether the baby’s father was alive or not—he sincerely doubted there was a force on this earth that would be able to stop him. But now, with the information she’d imparted, he felt as if nothing was standing in his way. The woman could be his if he wanted her—her kid didn’t worry him at all—it was only the idea of another man having a claim on any part of them that had been fucking with his head.
But now that problem had been laid to rest and his decision had already been made.
How fast could he move her from the kitchen to his bedroom? How many times would it take to turn the fire that was exploding in his veins down to a low simmer?
Jesus, there was something about her. Something he wanted, but there was another problem as well. Although she had a baby of her own, something almost innocent radiated from her eyes. “How old are you, girl?” he asked, knowing as the days passed, she began looking younger and younger.
“Twenty-five,” she answered, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips in agitation. “How old are you?”
“Too damn old for you,” he shot back, feeling older than dirt in that moment. But at the question that showed, at the very least, her curiosity about him, Jeff felt scorched from the inside out. What the hell was he doing? And could he slow the fuck down for a moment to analyze the right and wrong of it?
Just as he was about to allow himself a single taste, he heard Zach come to the doorway and he froze in reaction. Knowing it was too late, that his boy had already seen him touching the girl, Jeff kept his hands on her, but he turned and glanced at his son. The boy was watching them with a knowledge that couldn’t be denied, and without saying a single word, he turned and left the room as silently as he’d entered.
But the encounter was the swift kick in the ass that Jeff needed. He had to protect his son—always. He’d never brought a woman home before, never exposed his kid to the seedier aspect of his life and he wasn’t about to start now. If he was going to start anything with this girl, and he knew he would, then those things needed to take place late at night, after the kids were asleep. Coming to grips with that fact, he slowly released her from his hold, noticing the exaggerated breath she took when he did so.
Her reaction tested him further, but he was in control, goddammit. His muscles straining, his cock pushing against his jeans, he turned to leave the room before he fucked up completely.
He was halfway to the door when her ultra-feminine voice stopped him. “Mr. McIntyre,” she started softly and then paused, just that small amount of attention all that was needed to make him grit his teeth and fist his hands against the temptation of her femininity. He turned toward her and waited for her to continue. “The baby’s name is Hannah,” she announced, her words containing a hint of remonstration as if he’d offended her in some way.
She wanted to get testy with him? He had news for her. He was walking a tightrope with his sanity and she was the one who’d put him on the brink. Not thinking of what he was doing, he twisted around and strode back toward her.
Wrappi
ng his fingers around her chin, he lifted it, demanding her unstinting attention. “I got it. Her name is Hannah,” he fired back, his fingers pinching into her skin, making his own demands known. “And Janet—just so you’ll know. My name is Jeff, not Mr. McIntyre, and if I hear you call me that again—well, let’s just say—you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
With that, he released her and walked from the room, the stunned look on her face branding itself onto his brain as he locked himself in his study, cracking the seal on a new bottle of Crown Royal.
****
Saturday morning dawned and with the new day, a new determination was born within Janet. She was going to learn how to cook, dammit, and she was going to start learning that very day. With all the complicated crap that was swirling around in the house, she felt a need to be in control of the kitchen, if nothing else.
When Jeff had questioned her about Hannah’s dad, she’d wanted to ask about Zach’s mom in return but she hadn’t had the nerve. Turnabout was fair play, but somehow, she hadn’t thought the surly rancher would agree with her. So she’d bitten off her own questions, but she was curious, dammit.
She put the question of Zach’s mom from her mind for now and settled on learning her way around a kitchen. She was smart—she could learn to cook. All she needed were some books.
And on top of that, she hadn’t been farther than the porch and yard since she’d arrived and that had been days now. She deserved a little time off and although she hadn’t asked him, she figured that Jeff had already had her car repaired, because that seemed to be the kind of guy he was.
So, now was as good a time as any to ask, especially since she knew he was in his study.
Zach was enclosed in his bedroom working on a school project, and with Hannah balanced on her hip, she took a deep breath and knocked on the study door.
“Yeah?” she heard boomed from behind the solid wood enclosure.
She took that bark to mean it was okay to enter, so she twisted the handle and opened the door, refusing to be cowed. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
He tossed his pen down and with a dark look, motioned for her to come inside. She took a swift glance around the imposing room she’d only taken a feather duster to once before. The room reeked of masculinity and money with dark leather furnishings and a state of the art computer system.
Without speaking, he motioned her into one of the two chairs facing his desk, and she swiftly sat, balancing a happy and gurgling Hannah on her lap.
Dark eyes focused on her before glancing at Hannah and then back again. “What do you need?” he asked, a slight impatience showing in the frown between his brows.
She swallowed her hesitation and girded her loins. If she wanted to keep this job, (and that was debatable) first and foremost, she had to learn to cook. “My car. It’s not out front so I was wondering if you’d done anything with it yet?”
