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For some reason, the fact that the woman didn’t like him and made no effort to hide it, well, that got under his skin. Him. Wyatt Blackwell. The man some said had ice in his veins. The guy who had no problem taking a corner at one hundred and eighty miles an hour.
“Are you Auntie Regan’s boyfriend?”
Wyatt had just doffed his boots and paused, midway between shrugging off his thermal button-up. The girl, Harriet, stared up at him with big eyes and an expectant look on her face.
“Oh my God, Harriet. No.” Regan was already in the kitchen pulling out the coffee machine. Guess she was in a hurry to do the polite thing and send him on his way.
Wyatt winked at the little girl and grinned when she did a pirouette.
“Nice place,” he said, walking toward the large granite island separating the kitchen from the rest of the living space. Her home was open, with high tray ceilings and lots of windows that overlooked a snow-filled yard. Tasteful décor and neutral colors, coupled with wide plank flooring, stainless steel appliances, and light gray tiles in the kitchen, gave the place an urban, modern feel. Yet as he sat his butt onto one of the chairs at the island, he saw a few things that were all Regan.
The Hello Kitty cozy over her kettle.
The Hello Kitty tea towels that hung from her sleek gas oven.
Oh, and the Hello Kitty artwork on the wall near her fireplace.
“Your house looks new.”
“It is. I moved in a few months ago.” Her voice was neutral. He supposed it was better than the biting tone she’d had earlier. “Jarret’s family built it.”
Regan grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, affording him a perfect view of her butt. She filled out a pair of jeans the way a woman was supposed to, and he took his time studying them, liking her curves and the way the small of her back dipped as she stretched to get the mugs.
Harriet pulled herself up onto the chair beside him and leaned on her elbows, looking up at him.
“You have pretty eyes.”
The little girl had moxie, and Wyatt chuckled. “So do you.”
“I know.”
He liked this kid.
“My daddy tolded me I have the prettiest eyes ever.” She giggled. “Even prettier than Mommy’s.”
“Your dad’s a smart man.”
Her lips pursed. “If you’re not Auntie Regan’s boyfriend, then why are you here?”
“Harriet Grace Thorne. Inappropriate.” Regan frowned from across the kitchen.
“My mommy tells me that too,” Harriet whispered, eyes on her aunt. “That I’m appropriate all the time.”
“The word is inappropriate, Harriet. And your mother is right,” Regan said dryly.
Wyatt hid a smile. “I believe it.” He cleared his throat. “To answer your question, your aunt and I went to school together.”
Regan placed a steaming mug in front of him, along with cream and a sugar bowl.
Jordan trotted into the kitchen with a bundle of fur on his heels. His cheeks were flushed and a lopsided smile curved his mouth. “That was a big one,” he said, huffing for breath.
“Thanks for sharing.” Regan rolled her eyes and shook her head, a small smile on her face. Wyatt liked it. The smiling. The way it softened her eyes. The way it drew his gaze to her mouth.
The kid climbed onto the only seat left, leaving Wyatt boxed in by the twins.
“You feeling better?” Wyatt asked, sipping his coffee.
“Oh yeah.” Jordan grinned.
