The Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

by Donna Fasano

  Reece stood there until he heard her bedroom door close. He raked his fingers through his hair, unable to believe what he'd just done.

  * * *

  Maggie flung herself onto the bed, her body still throbbing from Reece's touch, his kisses. With her eyes closed, she could still feel his fingers caressing her flesh. Still feel his mouth on her lips, her neck, her breasts.

  Why had he refused to come upstairs with her? It just didn't make sense. Reece had brought her to orgasm, so in return, she felt the need to do the same for him.

  Give-and-take. That's what making love was all about. Hadn't she learned that from living with Peter? Hadn't he drummed it into her head that that's what a man expected; that a relationship was made up of equal parts of give-and-take? Equal parts.

  Maggie had always felt that reasoning somehow squelched the spontaneity in their short-lived relationship, and in their lovemaking. But Peter had been adamant, and he'd been an excellent scorekeeper. Peter had never reached out to her, or anyone else, without knowing something was in it for himself.

  But Reece wasn't Peter. He didn't act like Peter; he didn't think like Peter. Maggie sat up on the edge of the bed.

  But was he really all that different?

  She was grateful for Reece's help, his protection. And he hadn't seemed to want anything in return. Then she had offered to watch Jeff. Even more than that, she'd offered to try to counsel the boy. Maggie had felt comfortable with that give-and-take. It somehow made them... even. It had felt comfortable; it had felt right.

  But now Reece had refused to make love with her—after he'd pleasured her so. Did he plan to hold this over her head?

  Heaven knew Peter took that very same tactic at the end of their relationship. Maggie still burned with the humiliation of how he'd made her feel.

  That experience was what had prompted her to leave Peter. It's what had prompted her to steer clear of all women-using men. And from what she'd seen in her job, every single male seemed to fit that category.

  Well, Reece Newton might confuse the hell out of her, but she'd be damned if she would allow him to make her feel like she owed him.

  * * *

  Monday morning Maggie awoke to find bright sunshine pouring through her bedroom window. She heard the television blaring and knew that Jeff must be awake. This was to be their first day together.

  She padded to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and washed the sleep out of her eyes. After running the comb through her short locks, she went back to her room and pulled on a pair of shorts and a matching knit top. She reached for the door, then turned back to hunt under the bed for her canvas sneakers.

  As she tied the laces, she realized it would be important for her to make Jeff feel comfortable. Only then would he talk to her openly. The two of them needed to become friends, she decided as she pulled open the door and headed down the stairs.

  "Hi," she called to Jeff, who barely glanced up at her.

  The cartoon that had him mesmerized was some futuristic military type featuring shoot-'em-up violence.

  "Has your dad left for work?" she asked over the zapping of lasers and building explosions.

  Jeff nodded silently, his eyes still glued to the screen.

  "Hey, Jeff." She waited until the boy finally looked at her. When he did, she said, "How about turning that off and we'll get some breakfast."

  There was a moment of hesitation, and then Jeff reached up and snapped off the TV. He followed her into the kitchen.

  "So, what'll you have?" she asked, pulling open cabinets. "There's cereal and milk. I see peanut butter and jelly. Or there's fresh fruit in the refrigerator."

  "Can't you cook?"

  She lifted one shoulder. "Sure, but why go to so much trouble so early in the day?"

  Maggie stopped suddenly and turned to face him. Not wanting him to get the wrong impression, she said, "I can cook. I just choose not to in the morning, is all."

  "Well, that's good to know," Jeff said wisely. "'Cause you'll never catch yourself a husband if you can't cook."

  Whoa, she thought, tamping down the nettle his statement aroused, the fireworks have started early. "And what makes you think I'm out to catch myself a husband?"

  "That's what girls do." Before she could answer, he went on, "My dad says that girls are always lookin' for the easy road."

  Maggie wasn't even certain that Jeff knew what that meant. Oh, he had the pieces of the chauvinistic puzzle, all right, but there was something in his innocent face that told her he hadn't really figured out the whole picture yet. His tone and naive expression told her that he hadn't made the connection between 'finding a husband' and a woman's 'taking the easy road'.

  "Well," she said, "I'm not sure I agree with your dad." She turned and pulled a box from the cabinet. "How about some corn flakes?"

  Jeff nodded his head.

  "You grab the milk," she told him. "I'll get us a couple of bowls and spoons."

  Soon they were sitting at the kitchen table munching on crunchy flakes of cereal. "Like I said," Maggie went on, "I don't agree with your dad. Take me, for instance. I've never been married. I've worked to support myself all my life. I haven't needed a husband to survive."

  Without a thought, Jeff blurted, "Just like my mom. She's got a career."

  Maggie had thought to ease into the idea of counseling this child. She'd meant to take a couple of days to get to know him, and then broach the subject of women gently, gradually. However, here she was, embroiled in a conversation that could very well blow up in her face.

  She didn't want to talk about Jeff's mother. The woman shouldn't be blamed for wanting to live her own life, yet at the same time, Maggie didn't think she could ever find an excuse for a woman who completely abandoned her own son.

  "I guess you're right," Maggie said slowly. "With regard to a career... I guess I am like your mom." Then, in an effort to put the emphasis back onto herself, she said, "Would you say that I've taken the easy road?"

  One of his shoulders jerked up and down. "I guess not."

  The next few moments were spent eating in silence. Jeff seemed to be mulling over what they'd talked about, his furrowed brow a sign of bewilderment. Maggie hadn't meant to confuse him; she'd only wanted to make him think. And it looked as though she'd succeeded. Maybe counseling Jeff was going to be easier than she'd thought.

  Maggie was just scooping up the last corn flake floating in the milk in her bowl when Jeff reasoned aloud, "So, women either get married... or they get a job."

  Where was this child from? Mars? Did he not see the working women all around him? In the mall? The grocery store? On the nightly news broadcast? In school? Did he really believe these women didn't have husbands and families?

  "I have a job," she told him, "and I'm not married. But that doesn't mean that all women who have a job are single."

  Jeff looked dubious.

  Then a simple idea struck her. "Jeff," she said, "what was your teacher's name?"

  "Mrs. Johnson. Why?"

  "Do you know what 'Mrs.' means?"

  "Well, sure," he said. "I'm not stupid."

  She smiled gently. "I didn't think you were. 'Mrs.' means there's a 'Mr.', right?"

  Jeff nodded. "That's what it means."

  "Did Mrs. Johnson ever talk about having any kids?"

  His shoulder hopped up again. "Well, sure."

  Maggie waved her hand in a sweeping gesture. "There you go. A career woman with a husband and family."

  His brow furrowed deeply, and he shook his head. "But, Maggie, everybody knows that bein' a teacher isn't a real job. Gosh, they get the whole summer off. That's not working."

  She ground her teeth together to keep from growling, and when her frustration refused to abate, she got up from the table and walked to the sink. Smacking a knot on his head would not be wise. Counseling this kid was going to be a little trickier than she'd first imagined.

  Chapter 8

  Maggie walked along the shore of the bay, look
ing out on the calm, silvery water. She dreaded going back to the house. Oh, her days with Jeff were going as well as could be expected. He continued to test her patience, but that wasn't the reason behind her dread. Reece was.

  When he arrived home from work, the atmosphere became strained. Reece treated her with a bright friendliness that was so false it was sickening, and unable to help herself, she acted the same in return.

  The thing that stood between them was as glaring as the noonday sunshine.

  An orgasm.

  Her orgasm.

  And both of them saw it just as clearly as if it has been a bright red piñata dangling between them every time they looked at one another. Well, at least she knew she thought about it. How could he not do the same?

  "Maggie! Dinner's ready."

  She looked up toward the house, where Reece was cooking burgers and franks on the grill. Reluctantly, she directed her steps up through the yard.

  Forcing herself to think on something other than Reece and the awkwardness between them, she focused her thoughts on her and Jeff's exploits of making potato salad earlier that afternoon. One corner of her mouth quirked up involuntarily. She'd wanted to prove to the boy that she could indeed cook, and she felt it could only do him good to participate in the deed.

  Jeff had been excited—at first. Removing the skins from the potatoes with a vegetable peeler was a new experience that held his attention. For all of five minutes. He'd actually enjoyed chopping and measuring the other ingredients; however, he'd moaned and groaned all through the cleanup phase of the operation. But in the end, Maggie knew he realized how much effort it took to prepare the food for a meal.

  When she reached the deck, Reece said, "I sent Jeff in for plates and napkins."

  "I'm sorry," she told him. "I should have been helping, instead of out there daydreaming."

  "Nonsense," he said, his tone just a tiny decibel louder than normal. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."

  "Yeah, well, it wouldn't hurt me to help out."

  He had his back to her, his fingers flexing on the tongs as he plucked frankfurters off the grill. The very same fingers that had skittered so silkily across her skin, across her breasts.

  Stop! she silently raved. Just stop.

  Her heart tripped an erratic beat, and all she could think about were the fantastic sensations that had coursed through her when she'd been in Reece's arms.

  Please, stop doing this to yourself.

  Thankfully, Jeff came out onto the deck carrying three plates and several napkins.

  "Didja tell Dad?" the boy asked her.

  "Tell him what, hon?"

  The tips of his ears tinged red when he heard the nickname. She certainly hadn't meant to embarrass him, and she warned herself not to get into the habit of using the affectionate endearment.

  "You know," Jeff went on. "That I was enough to have Susan what's-her-name spinning in her grave."

  Reece cast her a humorous look of curiosity.

  "Susan B. Anthony," she told him.

  "Ah," Reece commented, "I remember reading somewhere that she fought for women's rights."

  "She fought for men's rights too." Jeff's chest puffed out proudly at the thought of teaching his father something.

  Reece's brows rose as he glanced at Maggie.

  "Well, Jeff," Maggie said gently, "what I told you was that Susan Anthony wanted men to be granted their rights and nothing more, and women, their rights and nothing less." She looked at Reece. "That was sort of... her motto."

  Reaching out to pat his son on the shoulder, Reece asked him, "And what was it that you did that had poor Susan spinning in her grave?"

  Jeff's chin dipped, and he hemmed and hawed.

  "He, ah," Maggie began, "didn't want to help clean up the kitchen after we'd dirtied every bowl in the house making potato salad."

  "You made the potato salad?" The question Reece directed at his son was overflowing with pleasant surprise.

  "He helped make the potato salad," Maggie corrected.

  "Yeah," Jeff said, excitement lighting his brown eyes. "And it's awesome. Ya wanna taste it?"

  "Sure, I do."

  Maggie touched the boy on the forearm to keep him from darting from the table. She was pleased with herself when she didn't grumble as she stated, "Maybe we should stick to the topic here for just a second?"

  "Oh, right," Reece said. "If you helped make the mess, Jeff, you should help clean it up."

  "My point exactly," Maggie said.

  "Well..." Jeff looked at his father with wide eyes. "I didn't think Maggie would mind if I went fishing. I slaved in that kitchen this afternoon," he went on candidly. "I deserved a little relaxation."

  Reece's brow creased with a frown. "Don't tell me you left the mess for Maggie."

  "Of course I didn't—"

  Maggie could see that Jeff was avoiding her gaze, and he looked worried now that he might be reprimanded by his father. She bet he was now sorry he'd ever brought up the subject of Susan B. Anthony and her grave-spinning.

  "I helped her wash every single bowl and spoon that we used."

  Squelching a snicker, Maggie added, "Yeah, but only after I threatened to toss you into the bay if you didn't."

  Jeff seemed to shrink where he stood. He eyed his dad, waiting to see if imminent punishment was coming his way.

  "You threatened him?"

  "I sure did."

  Maggie caught Reece's gaze, and for the first time in days, the tension between them seemed to melt. They laughed, long and heartily. Finally, Jeff threw his hands into the air and joined them.

  "Come on," Reece said. "Let's eat before everything gets cold."

  The three of them sat down at the table and began passing buns and bowls of food.

  "You're going to eat a hot dog?"

  The stunned expression on Jeff's face nearly made Maggie laugh out loud again. But she forced herself to repress such a response. She could see this was opportunity for another small lesson in what had become, over the past two days, the child's reeducation where the female of the species was concerned.

  "I certainly am going to have a hot dog," she said easily, forking up a juicy frankfurter and plunking it into a soft bun.

  "But... but," Jeffrey proclaimed, "don't you know that they're full of fat? I've never in my whole entire life seen a woman eat a hot dog. On TV, while all the guys are chowin' down on smothered hot dogs, all the girls always stick to salads and diet soda. Everybody knows girls, I mean, ladies need to keep a trim figure—" He stopped himself and eyed Maggie.

  "Too late," she said, having made a habit of questioning each and every ridiculous generalization the child made.

  At least he was catching himself now. And he'd also begun using the words woman and ladies, rather than calling all females girls, so Maggie felt they were making some progress anyway.

  Maggie rolled her eyes at Reece, who sat at the opposite end of the table. She reached for the mustard.

  "And tell me, Jeff," she said lightly, "why you think women need to keep a trim figure."

  Jeff cut a glance at his father and saw he was going to get no help in that corner. "Well, ah, I guess..." Finally, he shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe they're afraid of being called names."

  "Maybe you shouldn't believe everything you see on TV," she told him. Then she added, "You probably watch way too much TV." She'd decided early on not to emphasize his negative, chauvinistic attitude by telling him how dumb he sounded, but to rephrase his generalizations into more-positive words. "If women want to keep trim, it's because they want to live a healthier lifestyle, right?"

  Jeff blinked once, twice. "Well... sure, Maggie."

  "And it's okay if I eat a hot dog once in a while, right?" she asked. "As long as I don't overdo it. But then, you and your dad don't want to overdo it eating fatty hot dogs, either, huh?"

  Again, the little boy blinked, and Maggie could tell his brain was churning. Eventually, he said, "We sure don't. Do we, Dad?"

&nb
sp; Reece shook his head in answer, but Maggie couldn't help but notice he hadn't said a word during the discussion. She couldn't tell if that was a bad sign or a good one.

  Well, she decided, he told me to do what I could about Jeff's attitude. And that's exactly what she was working on.

  "Pass the onions, would you, please?" she asked Jeff.

  The boy sat there motionless, staring at her.

  She could see the unspoken questions in his eyes. She stifled the long-suffering sigh that her body, and her tried patience, yearned to exhale.

  Maggie had no idea what Jeff's problem was now. But this was how her life had been since Monday; Jeff questioning every move she made, every word she spoke. He looked at her half the time as though he thought she was an idiot, and the other half the time as though she'd grown a third eye smack in the middle of her forehead. He couldn't figure her out; however, she was pleased that he continued to try. If he was learning anything from Maggie, it was clear that Reece's son was slowly realizing that women were both a bewilderment and a wonder.

  Well, it was high time Jeff came to understand what every other human male spent his entire life pondering!

  "Jeff," she said patiently, "please pass the onions."

  He looked at the container of diced onions and then back at her.

  Suddenly, Maggie realized what he was thinking. How could she even think of eating anything so obnoxiously smelly when there were men present? his round-eyed expression seemed to say. Didn't she know that, as a woman, she should keep her breath fresh and clean for the benefit of the regal males around her?

  She stood up, reached across the table in the most unmannerly way possible and snatched up the small bowl of onions.

  "Look, Jeff," she said, scooping up a spoonful of the smelly stuff, "you have onions on your hot dog, and your dad already ate one that was smothered in onions. Why should I suffer? Why should I be deprived?" She bit into the tiny piece of heaven and chewed. "I say we should all have onion breath together."

  Jeff mouth parted, his gaze silently shouting, Someone save me from the raging lunatic!

  Then he looked over at his father. "She's talkin' with her mouth full," he said, his tone brimming with amazement and disbelief.