But saying yes would get him out the door, and really, hadn’t she already screwed up his normally calm life enough tonight?
“Really, Gavin, it’s fine. I just got caught up in the moment, that’s all. No harm done.” Sloane smoothed a hand over her hair in an effort to hide her wince. The words tasted like a two-day hangover, but it was too late to take them back now. As much as she hated it, sticking to her retreat was best for both of them.
“I see,” he said, pulling his T-shirt all the way on with a solid yank. “Well, glad I could help you out with that.”
Ouch. Okay, so she might’ve earned that one. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
“No, you’re right.” Gavin had his shirt buttoned and tucked in so fast, Sloane barely had time to blink. His tone harbored no heat; in fact, it didn’t harbor . . . well, anything.
Just like the rest of him.
“I should’ve kept my cool, and I didn’t. It was my mistake. Like you said, no harm, right?”
She nodded, her next word merely a whisper. “Sure.”
“Okay. See you Monday, then.”
Chapter Twelve
Gavin drifted slowly, vague snapshots of black silk and reckless, wanton curves flickering through his memory in individual frames. Velvet laughter unspooled in his ear, and he reached out, wanting to kiss the lush, pink lips responsible for the sound and ravage them until they parted in a perfect O of needful surprise.
But then his hands landed on empty space and thoroughly rumpled covers. The sunlight stabbing past the blinds in his bedroom sent a rude good-morning jolt, an all-too-stark reminder that he’d spent the night alone.
“Shit.” Gavin jammed his eyes shut in self-defense, and the image in his mind’s eye scattered. For a moment, he wished hotly for it back, but then everything surrounding last night’s events tripped into place in a series of resounding thuds. The sheer, open joy on Sloane’s face as the wine delivered an obviously cherished memory from her palate to her brain . . . the feel of her skin, softer and more electric than the dress that covered it . . . wanting to please her, not for the primal satisfaction of it, but because he craved the sound of her satisfaction even more than his own . . .
And the harsh realization that everything that had happened between them was just her latest impulsive experiment. Come on, had he really fallen for that orgasm thing? It had probably just been the bow on top of the sure-why-not package, a bending of the truth that meant nothing more to her than a night of sinfully good rolling around.
“Doesn’t matter.” Gavin’s grumble fell flat against his pillow. The truth was, Sloane had no obligation to him other than to temporarily take care of Bree, and he’d hadn’t exactly discouraged the I-know-how-to-have-fun banter when he’d grabbed that bottle of Château Bellevue Mondotte from La Dolce Vita’s wine cellar. They were probably equal in the blame department. He really should just chalk it up to no harm, no foul.
Except that he couldn’t get her out of his head for all the grapes in Tuscany.
A quick glance at the clock told him he’d lingered in bed a lot longer than usual, and he threw back the covers with a start. He hadn’t slept past ten since before his mother had gotten sick, and the fact that he’d let himself do it today sat like a brick of unease in his gut. Going through the familiar motions soothed his nerves, and by the time he made it down the hall in search of coffee, he’d relegated the memory of that sexy black dress—and the woman who wore it—to the back of his mind.
His routine hit the skids as soon as he reached the kitchen.
“Whoa.” Gavin blinked, uncertain he was in the right house. A stainless steel skillet cooled over a dormant burner on the stove, empty save for some dregs of bacon grease streaking the bottom. Shells from a couple of eggs lay, cracked and discarded, on the butcher block, and a carton of orange juice stood crookedly next to them like a sentry gone askew. Bree sat, perched in one of the tall chairs at the counter of the breakfast nook, a single earbud tucked beneath her sloppy ponytail and a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth.
“Did you . . . make breakfast?” His words were hushed by complete surprise, but she jumped anyway.
“Oh!” Bree silenced her iPod with an abrupt flick and dropped the bacon back to her plate. “Um, yeah. I was hungry, and you were asleep. Sorry about the mess.”
Gavin shook his head, still trying to process it. “How long have you been up?”
“I don’t know. Not that long,” she said, shrugging a shoulder from beneath the ocean of her hooded sweatshirt.
“You’re dressed,” he pointed out, remorse seeping past his foggy shock. He should’ve set his alarm.
Another shrug, this one less pronounced. “So are you.”
He opened his mouth to counter that he was always dressed in the morning, when something on the counter in front of her yanked at his attention. “Are you reading the paper?”
Bree straightened as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Finally, she said, “Yeah,” but didn’t elaborate.
His curiosity spurted, and although he didn’t want to push her so hard she clammed up, he couldn’t let it go. “That’s new,” he said, keeping his voice purposely casual. Maybe if they had a no-big-deal conversation, she’d open up a little.
Much to his surprise, the impromptu tactic actually worked.
“Yeah, well, it’s important to be informed. I don’t want to be an idiot.” She shrugged, but rather than aiming herself toward the door, she resumed eating her breakfast.
Gavin bent his emerging laughter into a wry smile, not wanting to scare her away by seeming too eager. “I guess not. I’ve got to give you some credit, though. Reading the paper is a smart way to go.” He crossed the kitchen to dig for the coffee beans and the grinder.
“It was Sloane’s idea. She said it’s a good way to practice interpretive reading. You know, telling the difference between opinion and facts?”
Surprise streaked through him, but he buried it in the cabinet under his hands. “That’s why she’s the tutor.” The bag of coffee beans hit the countertop with a plunk, but he forced his hands to steadiness. He was an adult. Of course he could handle this accordingly.
“Oh, yeah, speaking of people who take care of me, Mrs. Teasdale called while you were sleeping.” Bree took a bite of bacon while his stomach plummeted to the vicinity of his kneecaps. How had he missed the phone ringing?
“She did?” Gavin’s stomach kept descending. Something told him it hadn’t been a social call. “Did she leave a number?”
Bree nodded, a wisp of hair falling over her eyes. “Yeah, but she told me everything you need to know.”
“What?”
“I’m a teenager. We’re really good at talking on the phone,” she said with a matter-of-fact eye roll. “She said that her sister’s insurance wouldn’t cover a full-time caregiver, so she won’t be back for another six weeks.”
“Six?” He fumbled the lid to the bean grinder, and it clattered to the floor with a noisy rattle. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. She was really apologetic and stuff. I had to tell her three times I’d be okay. She said she’d try you back later to talk to you herself.”
Gavin blew out an extended exhale, sorting through the options. “Well, I guess I can put in a call to the babysitting service and tell them I still need someone temporary.” It had been over a week since that first call. They had to have a line on someone he could use by now.
Bree busied herself by folding the paper into a crisp rectangle. “Or we could just keep Sloane.”
Gavin’s muscles pulled tight over his bones in a totally involuntary response. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not? I mean, she’s already taking care of me, right?”
Suddenly, he had the urge to put something stronger than coffee in the French press. “It’s not necessarily that easy. She’s not a full-time sitter. And anyway, it’s just six weeks. I’m sure the agency can send us a great temporary sitte
r.”
“If it’s just six weeks, then why can’t you just ask Sloane?” she asked, her frown deepening. In spite of the sassy delivery, the question made sense, and Gavin knew it deserved a legitimate answer. After all, she was old enough to have at least a little bit of say in the matter.
He was just fairly certain that because she makes me want to flush caution down the toilet was outside the realm of an appropriate response.
“She’s writing a book, Bree. She might not even be able to do it.” Gavin paused. “I thought you said she was weird, anyway.”
Bree dropped the last bite of bacon to her plate and shoved it away. “She is.” Her chin and her voice both dropped a notch, and she refused to meet his eyes. “But she’s nice, too. And, you know . . . I just thought since I’m getting good grades now, and since it’s not permanent anyway, that it wouldn’t be such a big deal.”
Several emotions flooded through him all at once, and each one took a whack at his composure. Bree wasn’t wrong about her grade in English. Her teacher had sent him a glowing e-mail detailing Bree’s progress in class. Hell, she was even reading the Sunday paper of her own accord. While Sloane might consider herself the antinanny, Gavin had to admit that she wasn’t the bad influence he’d feared in the beginning. But more importantly, in the ten months since their mom’s death, Bree hadn’t asked him for a single thing.
And she was asking now.
“Bree, I—”
“You know what, forget it.” She jumped down from her chair in a rush of gangly limbs. “It was a stupid idea. It doesn’t really matter who my babysitter is. I don’t need one, anyway.”
“I’ll ask her first thing tomorrow morning.”
Bree stopped halfway across the kitchen floor, a look of true shock painted on her girlish features. “You will?”
Gavin released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You’re right. You’ve done great work with Sloane, and the two of you already know each other. It makes sense to ask her first.” He took the plate from Bree’s hand, meeting her eyes before turning to walk it to the sink.
In a move that shocked him to stillness, she fell into rhythm next to him, popping the carton of orange juice closed and returning it to the fridge. After a minute, she said, “Then why don’t you want her to do it? Don’t you like her?”
Damn. Gavin didn’t know which was worse—having her moody and monosyllabic, or having to answer the really hard questions. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to decide how to proceed.
“I just know she’s pretty busy with her book. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, in case she has to say no.” Okay, so it wasn’t the entire answer, but more than a kernel of truth lay at the heart of his words. While he’d do his best to put his impulsive foray with Sloane firmly in the rearview mirror, asking her to stay on might not be enough. He’d found out the hard way how fickle she was, and there were no guarantees that she’d agree to six more weeks of babysitting when she’d made it clear it wasn’t her forte.
She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl who stuck around.
Bree curled her arms over her chest, and for the first time, Gavin noticed not just that she was vulnerable, but how badly she wanted to hide it.
“Oh. Well . . . do you think she will? Say no, I mean?”
The look on her face sliced through him without warning, and in that moment Gavin knew he’d do anything to erase the painful lines etched around her eyes.
Including whatever it took to get Sloane to say yes.
“I don’t know. But I’ll do my best to work it out.”
Monday morning hit Gavin with more than its usual vengeance, and he threw an extra scoop of grounds into the French press even though he’d already had three cups and it was going on eleven o’clock in the morning.
Yesterday’s conversation with Bree seemed to have exhausted their monthly allotment, and she’d lapsed back into paltry one- or two-word answers to his questions before her mad scramble for the bus a few hours ago. Still, something about her had softened just slightly around the edges, and her scowl wasn’t quite as caustic, even though she’d still aimed it at him a few times for good measure during breakfast.
Okay. So maybe breaking into a celebratory mood over a little less attitude from his sister was a bit much. But for now, he’d take it.
The sound of a car door slamming in the driveway drew his attention, and he headed toward the front of the house, pausing only briefly to give his tie a quick tug in the living room mirror before opening the door.
“Good morning.” Gavin leaned into the brilliantly chilly late morning to usher Sloane inside the house, and she breezed past him with a wide smile.
“Good morning, yourself. I got your message to come a little early. Does Bree have a half day at school or something?” She peeked out at him over the edges of the fluffy white scarf that swallowed her up to her chin, and Gavin found himself wondering how on earth anyone’s eyes could be so blue.
“Oh, ah, no. Bree will be home later.” Unrelenting heat stirred to life at the sight of her, and when she unwound the scarf to reveal the sleek, bare column of her neck and the snug sweater beneath her coat, he nearly forgot the intended topic of conversation.
Knock it off. This isn’t about you, he hissed at himself, but apparently his dick had been absent on the day they taught obedience.
“Okay, then I have to admit that you’ve got me confused. Is Bree okay?” Sloane’s shadowy lashes swept upward, marking her surprise as she hung her coat in the foyer and followed him toward the back of the cottage.
Gavin took a steadying breath. “She’s fine, but I wanted to talk to you when she wasn’t here.”
The dainty riot of Sloane’s bright red heels came to an abrupt halt against the hardwood. “If this is about the other night, I—”
“Actually, it’s not.” His gut tightened. Okay, so cutting her off bordered on rude, but there was no need to waste time and risk an awkward conversation over something she meant to sweep under the rug, anyway. They’d agreed to move on, so that’s exactly what he’d do.
“It’s about Mrs. Teasdale,” he said, turning to meet Sloane’s eyes.
They rounded, right along with her mouth. “Your regular babysitter?”
“It looks like her family emergency is going to keep her out of town for another six weeks. The circumstances are pretty unexpected. She just let me know.”
Gavin had finally spoken to Mrs. Teasdale yesterday afternoon, and the poor woman had sounded genuinely upset that she wouldn’t be able to return as promised. It was easy to see why Bree had jumped to reassure her, and in the end, he’d done the same. After all, taking care of her family should be her number one priority.
“Oh,” Sloane said, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “That sounds bad. Is she okay?”
He nodded his head to reassure her. “She’s fine. But it leaves me in a bit of a jam with Bree.” He paused. “One I was hoping you might be able to help out with.”
A look of realization crossed Sloane’s face as she finally connected the dots. “You want me to stay? For six more weeks?”
“I understand that you’ve got other obligations to consider. But yes. I was hoping maybe we could work something out.”
Her expression rippled with a hint of something odd that he couldn’t quite pin down, and it looked out of place on her pretty face. “Like what, exactly?”
Gavin aimed for nonchalance. “Well, since everything went so smoothly last week, it would essentially just be an extension of our arrangement.”
Sloane’s brow kicked up. Now that was an expression he was familiar with.
She said, “What about the babysitting service? I’m sure they could come up with someone a lot more qualified to look after Bree for six weeks.”
“Last week went well, plus Bree has made some pretty impressive strides in her schoolwork since she started working with you. I’d say that makes you pretty qualified.” Damn it, he should’ve known Sloane
would balk at sticking around. She probably had some impulsive to-do list she was raring to get back to or something.
Nope. No way. He’d sworn to do his best to convince her, and this passive complimentary stuff wasn’t going to cut it. He took a step toward her out of instinct.
“Look, I know you’ve got a book to write and a life to live. Kids aren’t your thing, I get it. But Bree asked for you. She wants you. So I’d be really grateful if you’d consider it, because Bree’s well-being is my thing, and I promised her I’d do what I could to make it work.”
Sloane’s lips parted, and shock commandeered her features. “But that’s . . . that’s crazy. She’s barely said ten words to me that I haven’t had to coax out of her with a bribe. Why would she want me?”
Gavin took another step, stopping right in front of her in the sun-filled kitchen. “The why of it doesn’t matter. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s good enough for her.”
“What?”
Oh, hell. He must’ve said something terribly wrong, otherwise why would she be looking at him like he’d just kicked her puppy? He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to strong-arm you. I know you’ve got a book to write, and—”
“I do. I have a book to write.” She blinked, and the words seemed to kick-start her into gear. She looked at him, her face suddenly shrewd. “You’re sure it would only be for six weeks?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Teasdale had been pretty adamant, plus he didn’t want to scare Sloane off. If worse came to worst, he’d figure something out. “I’m sure.”
She nodded, and when she met his gaze with her crystal blue stare, he felt it deep in his gut.
“Okay. I’m in.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Hey. It sounded important, so I came bearing food.”
“I don’t know about important,” Sloane said, taking the white paper bag from Carly as her friend hustled into the bungalow they used to share. “Can’t a girl kill a couple of hours before work with her best friend?”
Stirring Up Trouble Page 14