by Zara Keane
Luca peeked out from behind his father’s legs. “She’s a fish killer.”
“Good lord.” Olivia approached the door and shook out her umbrella. “How were the other candidates?”
“Equally uninspiring.” Jonas gestured for her to enter. “We had a militant smoker who refused point-blank to respect our home as a no-smoking zone.”
“Then there was the chakras lady,” Luca piped up. “She was going to chakra autism out of me.”
Olivia’s slim shoulders heaved with laughter. The narrow entry way seemed to shrink with her in it. Which, given her size, was ridiculous. He felt a stirring in his groin and exhaled sharply. Now was not the time for his libido to make its presence known.
“I promise not to smoke, kill fish, or chakra anything when I babysit for you, Luca. Sound good?”
The boy nodded. “Thanks for my Easter egg. It was yummy.”
Her warm smile was infectious. “You’re welcome. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes. But I’m done talking. I need to finish building my spaceship.”
“Go on,” Jonas patted him on the shoulder, and the boy scampered off in the direction of the living room.
Olivia slipped off her blue raincoat, sending rivulets of water dripping onto the thread-worn mat. “Sorry to barge in without calling first.”
“No problem. For once, our living room is looking respectable. Come on through.”
“Yeah,” Luca called over his shoulder. “Dad cleared the sofa. Now we can sit on it.”
Jonas’s cheeks grew warm. “We’re still settling into the new house.”
When she registered the moving boxes stacked in a haphazard fashion throughout the cottage, Olivia’s eyes danced with merriment. “So I see.”
“What can I do for you?” Jonas asked, settling into an overstuffed armchair. “Do you need the key to the cottage?”
“No, not at the moment.” Her every thought flickered across her face in the jerky motion of an old film reel. Her total inability to suppress emotions was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her all those years ago.
“What’s up?”
Her lower jaw flexed and she averted her gaze. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Is this about the lease?” Feck. If she backed out of the deal now, the time he’d spent placating his mother on the phone last night would have been for nothing. That phone call had more than filled this week’s hassle quota.
“Yes, it’s about the lease.” Her tone was tentative. “My loan application was rejected on Tuesday. I need to find a bank willing to loan me money, and I haven’t found one yet.”
Jonas frowned. “I thought the loan was a done deal once you had the lease.”
“So did I.”
He shifted in his seat. “Where does that leave our arrangement?”
“As it stood before, if you’re willing. I can cover the rent for a few months, plus your father’s fee. My start-up grant was approved on the condition I raise the rest of the capital. I do have some savings, and they will cover most of the set-up costs. I need a bank willing to loan me the difference or I’ll have very little to live on while I establish the business.”
Jonas leaned forward. “Did Aidan wreck your chance of getting the loan approved?”
She fiddled with her fingers. “I can’t prove anything—and he admits nothing—but I suspect he exerted influence over Paddy O’Neill.”
“The vindictive bastard.” He should have expected Aidan would do something to jeopardize the café.
“My sentiments exactly, but it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on it.”
“Don’t stress it. I’m not going to back out of our deal.” As long as she had the first few months of rent, he could afford to be magnanimous.
“Thanks, Jonas.” She paused and then laughed. “I seem to be saying that a lot these days, don’t I? Who’d have thought?”
Jonas shifted, a prickling warmth creeping up his neck. “No need to thank me. We both benefit from the arrangement. You get a place for your café. I get a babysitter for the month of May.”
“Speaking of which, when would you like me to start looking after Luca? I still have to work my notice at Aidan’s practice, but I have some holidays saved up.”
He stared at her, trying to make his mouth form words. Few people on the planet possessed the ability to rob him of speech. Olivia was one. “You don’t mind using your holidays?”
“Of course not. We have a deal.”
“How does next Monday sound? We can start off by you having him for an hour or two and work it up from there.”
Her fingers flew over her phone’s display, bringing up her calendar. “Yeah, Monday afternoon should work. The new oven is being installed in the morning, and I want to try it out. Are you interested in helping me bake, Luca?”
The boy didn’t glance up from his Lego. “What? Yummy stuff?”
“I hope so. I’m trying a few scone recipes in the new oven. You can be my taste tester.”
Luca fixed Olivia with an unblinking stare. “Okay. But I’ll tell you if they’re gross. If that’ll upset you, I’m the wrong kid for the job.”
Olivia choked back laughter. “Honesty is what I’m looking for. I think you’ll be ideal.”
Her eyes met Jonas’s for the briefest of moments, and the smile on her face faded. “I’d better get going. I’m on my lunch break, and I don’t want to push my luck with Aidan.”
Jonas leaped to his feet and accompanied her to the front door.
She touched his motorcycle helmet, still in its usual spot. A pang of regret squeezed his insides. “Did you buy a new bike?”
“No. I might someday, when Luca is past his ph—”
“His what?”
“Phase. He was getting panic attacks whenever I went out on my bike. Worried I’d have an accident.” He focused on the smooth surface of the helmet. “The attacks stopped the day I sold the Harley.”
“Wow. You loved that bike. I remember—” she stopped and their eyes locked, shared memories reflected.
Olivia cleared her throat. “I’d better go.”
“Best of luck with the loan.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it. See you next week.”
After she stepped out into the rain, he stared at her retreating back through the colored glass.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Olivia is pretty.”
Yes, she was. More than pretty. Beautiful enough to rob him of speech and sanity.
“She’s a lot prettier than Jacinta. And she smells better too.”
Jonas let out a bark of laughter and ruffled his son’s hair. “Come on, mate. Let’s finish putting together your spaceship.”
Chapter Fourteen
SHE WAS HUMMING AGAIN. Jonas shoved his desk chair back from the computer screen. More than two weeks had passed since he’d lost his mind and offered Olivia the lease for the cottage. In that time, rainy April had changed to warm May. The cottages were soundproofed, but the heat had driven him to open his office window.
His new neighbor was proving to be a damned nuisance. If she wasn’t humming, she was singing, and if she wasn’t humming or singing, she was chattering to her friend Jill or to his father’s workmen. The irritatingly cheerful noises next door, combined with the delicious baking smells, were tormenting his senses. They were making it impossible to concentrate on the task at hand: namely, killing his next victim in the most gruesome manner imaginable.
Jonas massaged his throbbing forehead. After a brief reprieve when the earache cleared up, Luca was back to not sleeping. And if Luca didn’t sleep, his father didn’t, either. To add to the pressure, Jonas was due to meet his agent in Dublin in a few weeks. He’d promised her polished proposals for his next two novels plus two scripts for a potential new TV series. For the first time in his career, he was facing a deadline he doubted he could meet. And for the first time in months, he craved a cigarette. But it had taken him so long to kick the habit there
was no way he was going to succumb.
He needed air. Yeah, a walk along the beach would do him good. Jonas locked the door of the cottage and headed down the short garden path. Christ, not even the garden was safe. The flowers reminded him of Olivia’s perfume—something fresh and floral.
“Dad.” Luca stood on the threshold of the café, a cream bun in one hand and his dinosaur encyclopedia in the other. “Where are you going?”
“For a walk. Want to join me?”
The boy shook his head. “We’re busy baking. Wanna come in? I have to pick fresh flowers from the garden. I’m helping with the window display.”
Jonas hesitated. He should keep walking. Melodious humming and the scent of fresh scones wafted through the door. “Maybe for a minute.”
Inside the cottage, the café was taking shape. The kitchen was already in place, and the newly painted white walls gleamed. Olivia was alone in the kitchen, wrestling a tray from the oven.
“Hey,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
***
She jumped at the sound of his voice and her hand brushed against the oven door, sending heat searing through the soft flesh. “What are you doing here?” In the few days since she’d taken possession of the cottage, he’d never once ventured inside, confining their contact to curt business e-mails and text messages.
“The smell wafting in my windows lured me round.” An amused half-smile broadened. “Among other things.”
A jolt of electricity coursed through her veins. “Other things?” she asked, tilting her nose in the air. She channeled bored indifference. At least, that was the aim.
“Luca asked me in. Do you know you have berry juice all over your cheek?”
Drat. Her right hand flew to her face on instinct, the stinging pain reminding her it was the one she’d just burned. She emitted an involuntary hiss.
“We need to get that hand under cold water.” He moved toward her with the stealth and grace of a panther. “Sorry for startling you. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me with your humming.”
She cradled her sore hand protectively. “It’s fine,” she lied. Actually, it hurt like the devil.
Jonas raised an eyebrow. What cruel gods had blessed that man with such long eyelashes and bestowed short, stubby ones on her? “Do you want a blister?” he demanded.
“No,” she muttered.
“Put it under running water.”
He turned on the kitchen tap and let the water run a moment. When he was satisfied with the temperature, he reached for her arm. As if in a trance, she let him guide her hand toward the cool flow. The rush of adrenalin this time had little to do with the relief of ice-cold water cascading over her burn.
“Is that better?”
“Yes,” she murmured. There was something perverse about getting turned on while treating a burn injury. She hadn’t been this close to Jonas in years. Not since…before Bry drowned. She swallowed hard, and her heart beat an uneven rhythm in her chest. When was the last time she’d felt sexually aroused? Six months? A year? So long ago, she’d all but forgotten the sensation.
His strong fingers skimmed the sore spot on her hand. “You need ointment and a bandage.”
“There’s no need.” She made to pull her hand free and winced from the pain.
The sensual lips formed a sardonic half smile. “There’s every need. Do you have a first aid kit? If not, I have one next door.”
“There’s one in the cupboard over the stove.”
He pulled away, causing an odd yearning in her for his return. “This it?” He held up a small green pouch for her inspection.
She nodded and watched him wash his hands before removing ointment and gauze from the kit. Her intake of breath when he spread gel on her hand was as much a reaction to his touch as it was to the pain from her wound. His big hands were surprisingly gentle. The sensation of his fingertips moving across wounded skin was part bliss, part torture. He was close enough for her to catch a whiff of his aftershave—something spicy paired with something inescapably male. Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat.
“Did your father tell you about the sink? He said I should ask you to fix it, but I didn’t want to interrupt your writing time.” Now she was babbling. Fantastic.
His dark eyes rose. “What’s wrong with the sink?”
“The part underneath the sink is leaking.”
“I’m no plumbing expert, but I’ll check it out. Did Dad leave any tools here?”
“Yeah.” She pointed to a small tool kit on the kitchen counter. “You sure this isn’t dragging you away from your writing?”
“Nah,” he replied, investigating the contents of the box. “I need a break. Sometimes focusing on something practical helps clear my mind.” He knelt down before the sink, fiddled around, and poked his head out. “This needs tightening. Won’t take me a minute.”
The denim of his jeans molded his buttocks to perfection. Warmth coursed through her body. She should look away but couldn’t drag her attention from him. She fanned herself. The heat was unbearable—and it wasn’t all down to the warm weather. “Thanks. I was worried I’d have a flood in here before evening.”
“It’s not that serious,” he said in amusement.
He removed a few tools from the kit, the names of which eluded Olivia. She’d imagined having Liam O’Mahony and his crew underfoot would be awkward, but it was nothing compared to being in close proximity with his son. Actually, she and Liam had formed a working arrangement that suited both of them: They ignored one another unless communication was necessary, and Liam got on with his job. Olivia looked around the café in appreciation. There was no denying he’d done excellent work in record time. Although there were still a few minor things to be done, she was on schedule to open on the first of June.
“Not bad, eh?” Jonas’s deep rumble interrupted her thoughts. He clambered to his feet and cast his gaze around the kitchen.
“The café? Yeah, your dad and his team are doing themselves proud.”
“You and Luca are practicing using the equipment?” he asked, nodding toward the cooling tray of berry scones.
“I want to become familiar with the oven before we open. Getting the timing wrong for a recipe when we’re in a rush would be disastrous.”
“I’m sure you’ll have everything under control. You’re the type.”
“Are you disparaging my Type A personality?”
He chuckled. “Your words, Olivia, not mine.”
For an instant, their gazes held and time stood still. He took a step closer, his eyes warm with—was that desire?—and his gaze riveted on her mouth. Her breath caught. Was he about to…
“Dad? Olivia?”
They froze millimeters apart.
Luca stood in the center of the café, bearing a basket of flowers. “What do you think? They’re pretty, aren’t they? I picked ten of each color.”
“Uh, yeah.” Olivia took an awkward step back and shoved a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re gorgeous. Thanks for picking them.”
The little boy smiled but didn’t meet her eyes. They were making progress, she and Luca. More frequent eye contact would come with time.
In the distance, the church bells chimed.
Jonas cleared his throat. “Is it that time already? I’d better get back to work. Send Luca over for his dinner in an hour or so.”
On instinct, she caught his arm. His warm brown eyes burned into her. “Speaking of Luca…I’m to collect him tomorrow at three o’clock, is that right?” she asked in a faltering voice. It would be her first time looking after Luca outside the café, and she was dreading the occasion. Baking with him for an hour was one thing. What would she do to entertain him all afternoon?
“Yeah, if you can swing it.”
“Of course I can. Babysitting was part of our arrangement. What time should I bring him home?”
Jonas disengaged himself from her grasp and packed his father’s tools back into
their box. “I finish writing at around seven.”
“Okay. We’ll be back by then. I’ll give him something to eat before I drop him home.”
He shook his head. “No need to go to any trouble.”
“It’s not a bother,” she insisted. “I eat dinner at around five. Does he have any food allergies?”
“No food allergies. Pollen and dust set off his asthma. You got my e-mail with details on his asthma meds?”
“Yeah. My youngest brother has it, so I know what to do.”
“Excellent.” He gave a brief nod, his gaze darting away. “If there’s any problem, give me a ring.”
“There shouldn’t be,” she assured him with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll be round after lunch to collect his car seat.”
“Okay.” He placed the tool kit back on the counter. “See you tomorrow.”
He flashed her a bone-melting smile and exited the café, leaving Olivia with the tantalizing scent of his aftershave and the unwelcome notion she was finding him far too attractive for comfort.
Chapter Fifteen
LUCA’S PROGRAM WAS HELD in the center of Cork City. Olivia arrived early, found a parking space near Mercy University Hospital, and availed herself of the opportunity to window-shop while she killed some time. The summer fashions were out in force. She gazed wistfully in the window of a tiny boutique on Oliver Plunkett Street. If only the price tags weren’t way beyond her tight budget.
The main shopping area was a short walk down the quays from the building in which Luca’s therapy program was housed. She found the modern red brick building with ease and took the elevator to the third floor.
The instant she stepped out of the lift, she was greeted by the sound of kids yelling. Oh, boy.
Luca’s teacher-therapist, Ms. O’Brien, was expecting her and waved through the glass door in greeting. Ms. O’Brien proved to be young, blond, and exuberant.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she gushed, pumping Olivia’s hand as if she were a visiting celebrity. “Jonas said you were coming today. I will warn you Luca is a bit out of sorts. He likes routine, and he’s used to his dad or his gran collecting him. I reminded him throughout the morning that you’re coming. Hopefully, that will make the transition smoother.” The teacher pivoted on her fuchsia slippers and trilled: “Luca! Olivia’s here.”