Guarded Passion

by Bonnie Dee

  I went back upstairs and did a quick cleaning of the three bedrooms there. Jonah’s, of course, but also the two seldom-if-ever-used spare rooms, the doors of which were usually closed. Apparently after his brothers left, Jonah had stripped any personal flare from the bedrooms. No posters or personal items to suggest the characters of the boys who’d lived here. The rooms were plain and sterile, ready for guests or for the day Jonah chose to sell the house.

  But he kept the dinosaurs, and the tin bird whistle, I thought. He cared enough to keep a few mementoes of their past.

  The man was a mystery. On one level, he seemed devoid of passion, utterly reserved and businesslike. Yet he had a hidden sentimental streak, and a kindness and desire to help people. As for the passion…I’d experienced firsthand what happened when he unleashed it from its cage. Weeks had passed, and his kisses were still branded on my memory.

  The upstairs took little time, no matter how thorough I tried to be. Once again, I realized Jonah had basically created this job for me. His spotless house didn’t need my biweekly care, not even if I spent one of those two days concentrating on windows or cleaning out the fridge. He’d gotten along fine without a cleaner all this time, and he was just throwing me a bone—which I had to gratefully accept. But I worried he’d change his mind, maybe get tired of his philanthropic effort, and cut me loose. If that happened, I wouldn’t go back to Cock Teasers. I’d have to look for even more cleaning jobs, or maybe try to get hired on as a maid at that Holiday Inn.

  After dusting, vacuuming, and mopping the first floor, I moved the clothes along in the laundry. When I headed toward the kitchen, Jonah’s and Travis’s voices floated from the room, along with the scent of cooking.

  “Want some lunch?” Jonah glanced at me from where he stood by the stove, making grilled cheese sandwiches.

  I caught my breath. He had Travis standing on a chair right beside him, and was showing him how to turn the bread with the spatula. I rushed over to rescue my son from danger, whisked him off the chair and away from the stove.

  He wiggled like an eel in my arms. “Mama, I’m cooking! Put me down.”

  I couldn’t hold back my irritation at Jonah. “He’s only three! What were you thinking?”

  Jonah raised an eyebrow as he finished flipping the sandwich. “I wouldn’t let him get too close or get hurt.”

  I continued to wrestle with Travis, who squirmed his way down my body until I set him on the floor.

  “Now he’ll think he can do this at home. He might try to turn on a burner by himself,” I scolded.

  Jonah looked from me to Travis, who stopped whining and froze under the big man’s stern regard. “What’s the number one rule about stoves?”

  “Never touch without a grown-up,” Travis quoted dutifully.

  “And the number two rule?”

  “Never ever touch without a grown-up.”

  “Or what happens?”

  “I get burnded.” He held his hand palm up and shook it as if it were on fire.

  Jonah returned his powerful gaze to me. “He won’t touch the stove without your help.”

  “Still, I wish you’d have asked me.”

  It was my decision to make, damn it. I was the mother. I kind of hated how Travis had fallen under Jonah’s spell, how much he clearly looked up to him just because he was a man. It was as if I could feel my little baby already slipping away from me, turning into a boy, and later a man. A sense of loss stabbed as I saw the future unfolding.

  Recalling that Jonah had done me a big favor by not only letting me come to work with my son in tow, but also keeping him entertained, I calmed down and added, “Thank you, though, for hanging with him.”

  “No problem. He’s a good guy.” Jonah smiled at Travis, and my son beamed back, and I felt simultaneously touched and rejected.

  “Sit down.” He indicated the center island. “Have a sandwich and soup.”

  I couldn’t refuse. He’d set three places. There was a bowl of cut fruit, carrot and celery sticks, and three bowls filled with steaming-hot soup. Jonah had bothered to prepare it. I had to eat it. Besides, my stomach was rumbling steadily. Breakfast was long ago and too little.

  I filled Travis’s sippy cup with juice and placed it by his plate, noticing that Jonah had only put a tiny bit of soup in the bowl and an ice cube was rapidly melting to cool it. Jonah placed a half sandwich on the plate, and, while I set Travis on the stool, he cut that half into quarters.

  I snapped on Travis’s bib and pushed him close to the counter. He pulled a fistful of dinos from his pocket and arranged them around the edge of the plate, talking to them about the meal they were about to consume.

  I took my place across from Jonah and smiled at him. “Thank you,” I said once again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “It’s just soup and sandwich, not a big deal,” he said gruffly, then focused on his food.

  I did the same.

  The three of us sitting and eating together like some make-believe family felt strange. It made me want things I couldn’t have, and think things I shouldn’t think. Even if Jonah Wyatt was actually interested in dating and not just laying me—and nothing he’d done recently indicated he wanted either of those things—I had to remember who he was. A good, responsible mother didn’t date a pot grower, even one who was apparently getting out of the business. Besides, he was my boss, and a relationship might mess things up.

  I devoured the salty golden cheese and crisp bread and the delicious soup and tried not to think about it.

  “Minestrone?” I asked.

  Jonah nodded. “Homemade. Most of the vegetables are from the garden, and I canned the tomatoes myself.”

  “Yucky soup,” Travis added to the conversation.

  “Full of good vegetables,” I said, but offered him a few carrots to nibble on.

  Jonah smiled at me, and I smiled back, and for a moment, it didn’t feel awkward or strange at all. It felt like being part of a family.

  Chapter Ten

  Rianna

  After lunch was finished and we’d cleaned up the kitchen, I thanked Jonah yet again, then went to find Travis, who’d returned to the living room to play with his toys.

  I walked in to find my boy crashed out on the carpet, the dinosaurs scattered around him and one still clutched in his hand. When he was ready for a nap, he would always pass out wherever he was. I gathered the few toys that were Travis’s and put them in his bag, then collected the dinosaurs and handed them to Jonah, who’d followed me into the room.

  My fingers brushed his palms as I deposited the plastic animals into his cupped hands, and that mere brush of skin sent my pulse racing. Jonah studied the dinosaurs a moment, perhaps considering saying Travis could have them.

  “I’ll keep them here so he has something to play with next time he comes,” he said at last and put them in a drawer.

  I knew better than to wake up Travis and get him to walk to the car. I’d have to suit up in my coat and boots, then carry him out.

  “You could let him sleep for a little while,” Jonah suddenly said. “I’ll lay him on the couch so he’s more comfortable.”

  And what would we be doing while Travis slept? It was pretty clear Jonah didn’t want me to go, that somehow, crazily, this had turned into some sort of date. But what exactly did he want with me—a little conversation and companionship, or something more physical? Was he finally going to cash in all the kindness chips he’d built up and demand payment?

  “I…uh…” I fumbled for words, not sure what I wanted to say. Most of me didn’t really believe Jonah was that manipulative, but on the other hand, the man had tried to buy me the first time we met. And in my experience, most men weren’t nice just for the sake of being nice. They generally expected something in return.

  “I could show you the rest of my Legends and Royals collection.” Jonah didn’t meet my gaze. His hands jammed into his pockets, he looked past me at the window. He seemed about as nervous as I felt.

/>   I laughed to break the tension. “You had me at baseball memorabilia. Sure, I can stick around awhile. Travis is a bear if he gets woken up, and I’m pretty sure it’s cold enough outside, he wouldn’t stay asleep even if I carry him.”

  Again I forced myself to stop questioning and second-guessing every decision I made. It was no big deal to stick around awhile, let Travis nap, and enjoy Jonah’s extensive collection. What did I have to get home to, really? A shitty little trailer with a furnace that couldn’t keep up with the cold now that winter had set in.

  Jonah scooped Travis off the floor as if he weighed no more than a feather and set him on the couch. I set down my tote bag and covered my adorable sleeping angel with a soft throw at the foot of the couch. His cheeks were flushed as always. He had his dad’s blond hair and fair skin. And his eyes moved rapidly under his eyelids, no doubt dreaming of dinosaurs.

  Jonah beckoned me to follow him from the living room to the den. No open concept in this old-fashioned house. Each room had its purpose, the living room with its TV and the dark and masculine den holding Jonah’s collections. He moved to the stereo and put on an album.

  I dropped onto one of the leather armchairs and looked around. Of course, I knew the room intimately now that I’d cleaned it a few times, but I hadn’t noticed before how absolutely Jonah-like it was. Everything was perfectly neat and organized, from his wall of LPs to the fringe on the oriental carpet, which lay perfectly straight. For a man who didn’t like mess, he was surprisingly good with children. Though I had to admit Travis had been on his best behavior today. What would Jonah do if Travis threw a tantrum in front of him, or spilled grape juice on this fine carpet, or scratched one of his precious record albums? It wouldn’t happen, because Travis would not be coming here with me again. I’d nearly pinned down a new babysitter. I just had to negotiate a price with the girl.

  Jonah had put on a classic rock album, songs I’d heard in passing on an oldies radio station. I liked music, but didn’t really know artists or even song titles. I hadn’t had a lot of exposure. My grandmother listened to the same few inspirational Christian albums over and over until I wanted to break them. I listened to popular music in high school, but anything much earlier than 2000 was foreign to me.

  Jonah bent to take a scrapbook from a bottom shelf. His jeans-clad ass faced me. How could I not stare at it? Taut and hard and with those ridiculously long legs ending in sexy bare feet. He often walked around the house in bare feet, and every time I had to sneak a peek at them, at their sheer size and their nakedness, it made Jonah seem more approachable and human, less controlled and remote.

  He turned around, and I jerked my gaze up to his face, but I could feel myself blushing as if I’d been caught. “So, what’ve you got there?” I asked to distract from my nervousness.

  Jonah didn’t sit in the other chair—his usual seat—but squatted beside mine so we could both look at the scrapbook. His nearness—right by my shoulder, his breath touching my arm as he leaned to flip open the cover—set my nerves jangling. But very soon, I stopped obsessing over the man beside me as a much bigger obsession seized my attention.

  I love baseball. I’ll listen to or watch about any game that’s on. But I freak over my Kansas City Royals and our very own Lexington Legends. I may not have been in Sawville long, but I’d lived in southeastern Kentucky all my life. The Legends were my team, their games the one constant during the upheavals in my life.

  I pored over baseball cards and talked stats with Jonah until all traces of sexual tension disappeared. Baseball and sex cancel each other out.

  He leaned against the arm of the chair and pointed out a ticket stub. “The first time I actually went to a game. J.D. and Micah bought a pair of tickets for my birthday. Of course, then they had to fight over who got to go with me. In the end, Micah let J.D. have the other ticket. Said he had better plans than a dumb baseball game.”

  “Sacrilege,” I gasped.

  “For Micah, a chance to hook up with a girl always trumped everything else. He never really got the magic of baseball. It was a cold rainy day, and the Legends lost, but it was bliss to me.”

  I sighed, picturing the green diamond of Whitaker Bank Ballpark, imagining myself in one of those stadium seats I’d only seen on local TV broadcasts of the games. “I would love to go there someday. It’d be like a pilgrimage.”

  Jonah sat up straight. “You’ve never been?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never even been to Lexington. It’s kinda far away.”

  “Only a couple of hours.”

  “I never had a car I could trust to drive that far. Besides, I’ve been sort of caught up in the drama of my life.” It was embarrassing to admit how provincial I was. I’d lived in one small hill town or another since I was born. I hadn’t really seen or done anything.

  “I’ll take you in spring. I have season tickets. We’ll go to a game.” He looked into my eyes with that dark sincere gaze, and I felt like I was drowning in two deep pools. “That’d be nice.” I couldn’t imagine it actually happening, but what else could I say?

  Suddenly, the band on the stereo sang my name, or something close to it. “Hey! I know this group. It’s uh…”

  Jonah’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know Fleetwood Mac?”

  I punched his arm lightly. “Sorry, I’m not like eighty-five years old.”

  “Neither am I, but they’re… It’s classic rock. That’s like not knowing who the Beatles are or something.”

  “Know who?” I pretended ignorance, and Jonah’s shock turned into horror.

  “You don’t know who the Beatles are?”

  I grinned. “Of course I do. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Name them,” he challenged.

  “John, Paul, Ringo and, uh, the other one.”

  He covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh my God.”

  “Kidding!” I crowed and proved it. “George. But seriously, I haven’t listened to a lot of classic rock, even though I danced to some at the club.”

  “What do you like?” He cocked his head, and a lock of hair fell over his forehead. He looked so adorable with just that little bit of disarray. I wanted to pull on that curl.

  I named a few pop and hip-hop songs I’d liked back in the day, and Jonah sort of winced.

  “Now, when I’m not singing along with Travis’s kid CDs, I mostly have the radio on country.”

  “No!” Jonah shook his head and jumped up. “Modern country music isn’t the real deal. You have to listen to Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, and George Jones, all the old-timers, to get what the music’s supposed to be about.”

  “Oh, do I?”

  He quickly changed the record to scratchy twangy music that sounded like it was recorded in an oil drum instead of a studio. The singer was too nasal in my opinion, but the beat was catchy, and my feet wanted to dance. I jumped up and reached for Jonah’s hand.

  He pulled away. “What?”

  “Come on. You can’t put on a two-step and then not dance.”

  “I don’t dance. I can’t.”

  “I’m not asking you to twerk. It’s the two-step, for God’s sake. Everybody can two-step. I’ll show you how.” I grabbed his hand. “Just put your other hand on my waist and then count out the beats. One-two, one-two, one-two. Get it?”

  Jonah lumbered like a bear as I propelled him around the small area. His hand was so hot wrapped around mine, and his shoulder beneath my palm practically burned me. I skipped him around till he got the rhythm and then let him lead me instead. I wasn’t sure if I was breathless from the fast pace or from his proximity.

  “See, not so hard.” I smiled up at him, and the corners of his mouth tipped up slightly in that trace of a smile that seemed to be all he had to give.

  Just then, the song changed. The next number was a waltz, slow and sweet with a fiddle playing the aching melody. Something I’d heard on Grandma’s old record player back in the day. I showed Jonah how to modify his step to a one-two-three pattern.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t dance. He acted as if he’d never set one foot on a dance floor.

  “Don’t look at your feet and don’t count,” I told him. “You like music. Just feel the rhythm.” I took my hand from his shoulder long enough to point at his eyes, then mine, indicating where he should be looking instead of his feet.

  We moved around the room in small circles, and as Jonah gazed into my face and stopped thinking about his body, he grew considerably more graceful. He had to have natural rhythm in order to love music like he obviously did.

  “Good,” I praised him. “Now why don’t you try to give me a twirl?”

  “A twirl,” he repeated. “I just got the hang of this part.”

  I chuckled and cut him some slack. It felt pretty good to have his hand warm against my back and his other clasped tight around mine. I didn’t mind dancing slow and close.

  Closer.

  Closest.

  We were barely swaying now, looking into each other’s eyes and forgetting the music completely. His face expanded to fill my sight. My gaze zeroed in on his mouth. I rose on my toes and lifted my face. In the moment before it happened, I caught my breath and then…our lips touched as light and soft as a fall of snow, but not cold. Warm and strong, his lips pressed against mine.

  It felt like a second shoe dropping, as if I’d been waiting for this with my breath held since the first time we’d crashed together. Some part of me always knew it was coming, knew we couldn’t avoid colliding again. And I craved it. I wanted his kiss and his strong arms, sliding around me now to press me even closer to him. No pretense at dancing any longer, we held each other and our tongues slid around each other’s. Jonah nearly crushed the breath out of me with his strong embrace. I couldn’t inhale, but I didn’t want to. I only wanted more of this, kissing and rocking against each other and losing our minds in a flood of passion.