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She should’ve figured it would come down to bribery. “Well, your brother is paying me to keep an eye on you, so leaving youalone-alone is out of the question. However”—Sloane enunciated each syllable as if it were its own word, cutting Bree’s pouty moue of protest off at the knees—“if you’re willing to drop the ’tude and bust your buns to get that stack of work done satisfactorily, then sure thing, kid.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked Bree right in the eye. “Once we’re square, you can stay in your room ’til school starts on Monday, and I won’t knock unless the house is on fire. Fair?”
Without a word, Bree turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.
“Great.” Sloane winced. If humor and bribery were out, she was going to have to resort to some pretty ugly tactics to get this job completed. Damn it, she should’ve known better than to think she could actually pull this off. But no, her stupid heart had to go and lurch like it had been cattle-prodded as soon as Gavin said their mom had died of cancer, just like her father. The next thing she’d known, she’d impulsively agreed to do a job she knew nothing about.
Between her bank account and her heartstrings, Sloane had gone temporarily insane. Maybe she could call the babysitting service and explain things, see if they couldn’t find someone,anyone,to come and relieve her. This had obviously been a mistake. Clearly, she wasn’t—
“So, can we get this over with?” Bree’s voice startled Sloane as much as the request. She tried not to let it show as Bree swung her humongous backpack from her shoulder with awhump. Not wanting to waste the opportunity on a little thing like being shocked down to her toes, Sloane scrambled to answer in spite of her surprise.
“Um, sure. Will the breakfast bar work for you?”
“Whatever.” Bree hefted the bag back up and headed to the nook, but Sloane stopped her cold, stepping in to place a hand on the girl’s forearm.
“Uh-uh. Our terms were that you lose the attitude while we get the work done, kid. You don’t have to shower me with platitudes, but that word’s gotta go.” She dropped her hand, but didn’t step backward to let Bree pass.
She narrowed her eyes, her lashes drawing low in shadowy disdain. “That’s censorship, you know.”
“I prefer to think of it as a respect issue. No morewhatever,otherwise the deal’s off the table.” Two could play at the not-budging game, and although Sloane really didn’t want Bree to recant, she also wasn’t going to let a thirteen-year-old push her around. No matter how much closer to greener pastures the money would get her.
“Then no more calling mekid,either. I’m not a baby.” Bree’s hands went to her hips in true I-mean-it fashion, and Sloane nodded. After all, she was right.
“Deal. But I don’t do freebies. Slip up at your own risk.” Despite trying to keep her poker face intact, Sloane couldn’t help the satisfied smile tickling her lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Bree measured her with a hard stare. “Whateveryou say.”
“I say let’s get started.” She paused just long enough to let Bree think she’d gotten away with one before amping her smile to grin status.
“You’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’m notkidding.”
* * *
At ten past midnight,Gavin gave in and admitted that the ache in his bones might be permanent. The fact that he’d been largely distracted by having sent his broody, moody sister home in the charge of a quick-witted child-phobe only added to his stress. He knew from his limited observations that Bree usually steered clear of Mrs. Teasdale, avoiding contact despite the sweet old woman’s efforts to make Bree feel comfortable and cared for. Sloane was different, though—young and sharp and openly brazen. Clearly, Bree saw her as a repeat performance of Caroline, although Gavin had to laugh at the thought. If ever there was a polar opposite of his ex-fiancée, Sloane was it.
Besides the child-phobe thing, anyway.
Gavin pulled his Audi A5 into the gravel drive next to a sporty little silver Fiat and coughed out a laugh. Jeez, the damn thing was more clown car than real vehicle, with just a tiny bench behind the two front seats and a mere bubble of space parading as a trunk. With the assistance of the three-inch heel on her boots, Sloane had stood eye level with him at the restaurant, which was no small feat at six-foot-one. How on earth she managed to fold her long, lean frame into such a tiny car was mind-boggling. In fact, it had to be the last damned car on the planet he’d expect her to drive.
Then again, surprise might be par for the course where she was concerned. This was a woman who laughed when strangers overheard her talking about her most intimate secrets. Although they couldn’t be that secret if she was willing to admit to them so freely. Take that orgasm thing, for example. Surely, she’d been exaggerating. No way could she have meant she’dneverever come during sex with another person. She probably had her pick of men and women wanting to please her in bed.
Heat crept into a few long-forgotten places, lingering enticingly, and his eyes shuttered closed. The image of Sloane, with her sassy attitude and lips so full they were practically extravagant, hit him without remorse. The heat became a tingle, then a full-on tightening as he conjured what he’d do if it were him in her bed, tangled in her messy sheets.
That glimpse of bronze-toned Mediterranean skin he’d caught earlier when her shirt had ridden up flashed like a wicked temptation in his mind’s eye, daring his imagination to touch her. He pictured trailing slow, languid kisses from that hot sliver of her belly up to her high, firm breasts. He’d tease her nipples in seductive, slow circles with his mouth, daring her to dance on the edge of release before dropping past the indentation of her navel to taste the scorching heat of her—
“Jesus Christ.” Gavin barked out a tight, involuntary laugh. This exhaustion was seriously messing with him. What Sloane did in bed was none of his business, speculative or otherwise. Even though it was only temporary, she was looking after his sister, which was only the cherry on top of all the reasons it was a bad idea to entertain explicit thoughts about her.
Bracing himself against the dead-of-night January chill, he made his way up the walk, forcing his inner teenage horn dog to default to the reality of being an adult. He was impressed to find the deadbolt firmly turned even though Sloane was expecting him home, and he flipped the key in the lock with a firm twist.
“Hey. I’m back.” He stopped in the entryway to the living room, purposely keeping his distance so his overactive imagination wouldn’t get any more crazy ideas.
Sloane blinked up from her cross-legged perch on the couch, peering at him from beneath the brim of the same kind of floppy sun hat his mother used to wear at the beach.
“Oh, crap. Is it midnight already?” She slid the blue and white striped hat from her head, and her tousled hair looked worse for the wear, like she’d spent the evening trying to tug it from its roots.
He nodded. “Quarter past.” Curiosity gave decorum a nosy shove, and he gestured to the fabric in her lap. “Kind of cold for one of those, isn’t it?”
She tucked her pencil behind one ear and frowned. “Writing ritual. Think of it like a lucky jersey. Only sometimes the luck is optional.” Crumpled sheets of notebook paper circled her like a failed-attempt force field, and she dropped the legal pad she’d been cursing from her fingers to her lap.
Gavin shifted his weight from one loafer to the other. “I take it the tutoring didn’t go so well.” He gestured to the scattered yellow papers, most of which had been deposited at the foot of the couch, and tamped down the urge to pick them all up and head for the garbage can.
