by Petrova, Em
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I should go get dressed. I have gardening tools in the shed out back. Why don’t you go take care of Kit and come back after lunch to get started? I should be through with my household chores and laundry and ready to help by then.”
“Hmm, a yard work date. I like the sound of that.”
“It’s not a date, Cris.”
“A man can dream, can’t he?” A wry smile pulled the corners of his mouth up and crinkled his eyes.
“I’m trying to draw a line, and you just keep crossing it.”
“Lines are like walls. There for people who don’t want it bad enough.”
Holding her gaze, he climbed one step closer. Bending at the waist, he pressed his lips to her cheek before she could pull away. And the second his lips touched her skin, she lost the battle to resist her growing attraction to the man.
He’d just declared his intention loud and clear. And Sarah’s resolve melted, a slow, gooey retreat that began in her brain and reached her heart. She was going to have to work hard to remember this sexy, wonderful man was a parent, and she had to stick to her hard and fast rule to not get involved with him.
And she had a feeling this particular strong-willed parent believed rules were for other people.
Chapter Six
At some point, Sarah’s life had gotten predictable. Weekdays she devoted her time to working at the school. Saturdays were reserved for cleaning her house. The exception today was she had to finish household chores faster because she was due at play practice at three. She’d paused her frenzied cleaning long enough to step out to her drive to take pictures of Kit’s artwork. Damn, the kid was talented. She stared at the artistic graffiti for a while, sipping coffee, enjoying the nuances of shading, perspective, and lines he’d added to the piece. When she drank the last sip of the now cool beverage, she stood, took a last look at the fence, then returned to her regularly scheduled cleaning.
Once she finished scrubbing the bathroom, she paused at the door to the spare bedroom. She’d converted it to an art studio so she could paint in her free time. Taking on the fall play had severely limited the time she could devote to the hobby. And while she tidied the room, she’d never really deep-cleaned it. She loved the jumble of colors, the smell of the cleaner she used for her brushes, the bright sunny light streaming in from the corner windows. A half-finished still life, a frozen-in-time moment filled with brightly colored objects, waited in the middle of the room. The canvas all but begged her to forego cleaning and play. She’d love a chance to blend colors to try to create the same shade of green as Cris’s eyes.
But not today. The schedule was full. She eased the door half-closed, almost like a promise she’d be back. But likely, it wouldn’t be until after the play ended.
In her kitchen, she took a moment to admire Mr. February on the sexy Men of Boston FD calendar hanging in the broom closet. The calendar was from five years ago. Her college roommate had given it to her for Christmas, and she couldn’t bear to part with it. She licked her lips as she regarded the picture. Cris Bayfield rivaled the model’s classic look and chiseled jaw. She wondered what he’d look like without his shirt.
Sarah slammed the broom closet door shut with a bang. She’d been working hard at cleaning her house since Cris had left after kissing her cheek. Hoping the physical labor could help her put the memory of his soft lips behind her. The line she’d drawn in the sand seemed nothing but a vague distraction for him. Like a hurdle he’d jump over and never look back.
Slumping against the wall, she swiped her arm over her brow. The day had started cool, but once the sun had climbed higher in the sky, it had heated up to the point of being unseasonably warm. Especially for late October. She’d already discarded the warm-up jacket she’d donned before she started cleaning and contemplated taking off her T-shirt to finish her chore list, which included scrubbing down the shower. Wearing only a sports bra and workout pants made sense for that messy job. Better yet, she’d wait until she had to take a shower before going to play practice this afternoon.
Decision made, she shoved away from the wall with a grunt. She crossed the sparkling kitchen to the sink to draw a glass of water.
While she sipped, she reviewed her progress. Floors swept...check. Mopping and vacuuming...check. If she wanted, she could eat off them. Hmm, maybe a naked picnic with Cris on the living room rug. She shook her head. She shouldn’t be ten steps away from considering any kind of romantic entanglement with him. It would be an epic mistake. Tension gripped her neck tighter than a fist trying to twist the lid off a pickle jar. Anxiety stirred in her belly at the memory of the confrontation in Tom Edwards’ office with the last parent she’d gotten romantically involved with. She’d be a fool to stroll—or sprint—to the bedroom with Cris Bayfield. So said her head.
Giving herself a little shake, she dragged her thoughts back to her review of the chores. Every surface in the house had been dusted, polished, or wiped down with soapy water. She’d put her mind to it and had turned into a whirling cleaning dervish.
The chime on the dryer sounded, reminding her to grab the load. She dumped the rest of her water in the sink then put the glass in the dishwasher.
She’d just washed her sheets two days earlier, but since she was cleaning, and thinking about Cris, she’d stripped the bed bare before she’d realized what she was about. God, if that wasn’t stupid, wishful thinking.
Planning to tackle her shower next, she yanked her T-shirt over her head, then dropped it in the laundry basket in front of the dryer. Opening the dryer hatch, a heated puff of lavender-scented air bathed her face. She dragged out the jumbled pile of pastel sheets, enjoying the heated feel against the skin on her belly. Giving in to the urge, she buried her face in the warm fabric and inhaled deeply.
She used her foot to close the dryer before heading back to her bedroom. As she made her way from the kitchen, the front doorbell pealed. Crossing the living room, she adjusted the bundle of sheets into one arm and propped the wad on her right hip.
When she swept the door open, her heart sped up as she caught sight of the subject she couldn’t put out of her thoughts.
Standing on the opposite side of the screen, a warm smile on his lips, Cris greeted her. “Hi. I...” He dropped his gaze to the sheets she’d clutched to her side, then her bare midriff, before jerking his glance back to her face. Heat, desire, and speculation moved over his expressive face. His smile tugged at invisible strings that connected her heart to her womb. “Um... I thought I’d get started on your bushes. Unless...”
Warmth that began on her chest rose on Sarah’s neck into her cheeks until she figured they were as pink as her sheets. Without a doubt, Cris would have finished his sentence with a suggestion of something they could do together.
Hoping to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts, she deposited the sheets on the table just inside the door. She turned back to face him. Pushing the screen door open, she invited him in. “You sure you want to do this? You must have something better to do with your time.”
The small entryway got cozier as he stepped over the threshold into her home.
“Nope. I owe you for being so decent to my kid. I always pay my debts. And until his ankle heals, I’ll be paying Trip’s as well.” He looked through the door toward the colorful fence. When he twisted, the bottom of his shirt lifted away from the top of his athletic shorts, revealing taut abs and a tidy little treasure trail down the center. “Besides, it’s a gorgeous day to be outside. Maybe the last nice day of the year.” He faced her again and caught her in the act of ogling his torso. He moved his hand to his bicep.
She bit the inside of her cheek and trained her gaze just over his shoulder. Damn, he seemed as nervous as she was. “If you’re sure. But I can’t help. I need to finish in here and then get to school for play practice.”
“I know you said you’d help, but I don’t expect that of you.” A flash of white teeth appeared between his lips as his
smile broadened. “It would be nice to have the company, but not necessary. Tools in the shed? I hope you have lopping shears. Some of those branches look thick.”
She nodded. “The shed’s unlocked. Everything you need should be in there.”
As Cris put his hand on the doorframe he stared at the pile of clean sheets on the table. “How long will you be at practice? Maybe when you get through, I’ll be done outside, and we could share a pizza or something.”
“Cris, I—”
“Hey, we have to eat. If you want, we could have Trip chaperone us. He has to eat, too.”
Having a student around might just keep her from throwing herself at the parent. “Fine, but my treat. I should be back by five. I still think I’m getting the better end of this deal.”
“I think it’s working out for both of us.” He winked at her. “Let me get to work. I think you’ll be impressed when I’m done.”
“Okay, but no bonsai trimming, and by all means, do not sculpt any of my bushes into garden gnome shapes. My neighbor has those in his yard. I wouldn’t want him thinking I was copying off him.” She shimmied her shoulders in mock shudders.
Cris tossed his head back and laughed a deep, rich sound that shook his body. “I think I can promise that won’t happen.” He continued to chuckle as he exited the house and made his way down the steps.
Sarah closed the front door behind him and leaned her forehead against it, shutting her eyes against the desire flooding her body. His laugh, his eyes, his body. No doubt about it. Sarah wanted the man.
Sick anticipation gurgled in her gut. Why the hell did he have to be a parent?
***
The sun was on its downward slope by the time she returned home. A glare reflecting off the gathering clouds had transformed Kit’s artwork to a glowing masterpiece of light and shadow. Goosebumps rose on her arms, but they morphed to the size of mountains when she spied Cris still at work in the backyard. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, shirtless, virile, and completely, deliciously lickable.
She bit down on the tip of her tongue, trying to convince herself touching him would be a really bad idea. It was a flipping shame her body refused to get the message. The tingling she’d fought to ignore since she’d opened the door to him earlier blazed to life as though hooked up to an electrical current.
Cris had draped his shirt on a nearby bush, and his chest gleamed with perspiration, evidence he’d worked hard. His athletic shorts rode low on his taut waist, not a spare ounce of flesh available to keep them from slipping farther. With the right amount of downward pressure... Sarah gripped the steering wheel to stop her from racing over to give the shorts a good tug. The rugged, muscular cuts on his hips over the elastic band played peek-a-boo with her heart.
When she eased her Camry up the drive toward her detached garage, Cris stilled from shoving yard debris into an oversize brown bag. Facing her, he propped his hand on his hips, framing the ridges of muscle marching up his torso. As if she needed her attention directed there.
Slipping the gearshift into park, she worked to school her face into her default assistant principal expression. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand after she dropped the keys into her handbag. Running her tongue over her lips, she shoved open the car door.
Cris sauntered in her direction, stopping long enough to pull his shirt from the bush. It was tangled in a branch, and he jerked, his bicep popping with the action. Oh, please, please, please, don’t put that shirt on.
“You’re back. How was play practice?” As he approached, he swiped the shirt down his chest, over the dark fuzz on his pectorals, then down the center line of tight, dark curls that disappeared into his shorts. Sarah turned to open the back door to grab the take-and-bake pizza she’d picked up.
“Good, it was good. The yard looks awesome,” she replied, even though she’d barely noticed what he’d done. Her brain screamed retreat as he advanced.
As she inserted the top half of her body into the car, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to regain a little composure before facing the man she hadn’t been able to stop daydreaming about. Even the frustration of an afternoon of dealing with teens whose hormones had hijacked their brains hadn’t stopped her from thinking about the many different ways she’d like to tangle in her freshly washed sheets with this man.
She shouldn’t be thinking this way about a parent, but she couldn’t seem to muster her own control. It was like her hormones were doing the tango, and she was just along for the ride. Need, strong, powerful...undeniable, rippled through her like a pond disrupted by a stone. Oh, Lord, she had to get it together.
Backing out of the car, her ass smacked into Cris’s groin. When had he stepped in behind her? Heat flooded her cheeks as she froze. He didn’t move except to lay a hand on the small of her back, then curved it over her hip, holding her in place. The semi-rigid line of his cock was a heated brand as it grazed her buttock. Snapping back to her senses, she jolted upright. When the crown of her head smacked into the doorframe, stars flickered in her brain.
Tears misted her eyes. “Oh, jeez!” She dropped the straps of her purse and let it fall to the ground. The burden of the pizza disappeared when Cris grabbed it. She immediately lifted a hand to rub the sore spot.
Cris backed away and rested the pizza on the roof of the car. “Aw, man, I’m sorry. That was totally my fault. Let me see.”
Stars continued to burst, blurring her vision. Sarah leaned into the vee created between the door and the car, massaging her scalp. She tipped the top of her head his direction. “I’m not bleeding, am I?”
Advancing again, he sandwiched her between the metal of the car and the steel of his chest. He smelled of sunshine and hard work with a hint of manly perspiration, barely masked by the clean scent of soap. His warm fingers wrapped around hers, and he pulled her hand away, holding onto it between their bodies. His touch was tender as he examined the sensitive spot, and his breath tickled her ear. “No blood, but you have a bump. We should get some ice.” He pressed his lips to the spot, ruffling her hair with the scruff on his chin.
She needed ice, all right. But not for her head. A nice, big bucket of ice-water to douse the flame of desire burning in her belly and lower.
Releasing her hand, Cris stepped away and moved around the door. Stunned by the mammoth size of her need, she remained in place while he collected the contents of her purse from where they’d scattered on the drive. She had to pull it together, but watching the muscles shifting in his naked back as he stooped, reached, and stretched made her want to explore the play in minute detail. Press her lips against the muscles, tongue them, maybe bite. Just a little love nip.
Cris rose and faced her, a curious smile on his lips, knowing heat in his eyes. When he handed her purse over, she slammed her mouth shut.
He gestured toward the house. “Ice?”
“Um, yeah.” Straightening, she tested her weight on legs that wobbled with wanting this man. Thank God they held, and she didn’t fall to her knees in front of him. That would put her at eye level with his crotch, and she couldn’t be trusted to hold herself back.
Tossing his shirt over his shoulder, Cris scooped the pizza off the roof of her car. Hallelujah! He didn’t pull the gray material on and cover up the glorious view.
With their dinner in one hand and her elbow in the other, he led the way to her house. Handing the pie over, he took the keys from her loose grip. He had the door unlocked and opened in short order and escorted her into her house. The lemony scent of the cleaning products she’d used earlier in the day cleared some of the fog away. The sting on her scalp took care of the rest. What the hell was wrong with her? Tears gathered and leaked from her eyes as Cris helped her toward the kitchen.
“Did you refreeze that ice pack after last night?” he asked.
“It’s in the door, bottom compartment.” Her voice quavered.
While he put the pizza on the counter and turned to rummage through her freezer, Sarah dropped her c
hin to her chest. Covering her leaky eyes with her hands, she laughed softly. Better to giggle hysterically than give in to the need to cry. Or any other needs.
Chapter Seven
By the time Cris turned back to her, her shoulders shook while the tears tracked down her face. “Sarah! What’s wrong?”
Laughter bubbled out of her mouth. “I just...” She paused, waiting until another gale of laughter passed. “It’s just so goddamn stupid, it’s funny.” She wheezed in a breath. Her legs quit cooperating, and she began to sink to the floor.
Cris jumped across the space between them. Tucking up behind her back, he eased her slide to the ground. When her bum tapped his groin, the response was immediate. His shaft tightened, filling. And there was nothing he could do other than mentally order his body to behave. Together, they slid to the floor until he cradled her between his legs. He wrapped his arms about her waist. The heat of her back seared his bare chest through the thin material of her soft denim shirt. The edges flapped open, and he smoothed his hands over her belly through the cotton of her plain white T-shirt.
Still giggling, she rested her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck. His errant thoughts made it clear this was exactly where he’d like her to remain for the next decade. The direct hit she’d scored on his libido had left him randy and ready. Except, she’d been injured. He had to curb the need to bury himself in her softness, pronto.
Cris lifted the icepack to the bump on her head. “I didn’t think you hit the door that hard. Should I worry about a concussion?”
“I don’t think the injury is severe. It’s more about my...pride. I was stupid and careless,” she explained.
He tightened his arm around her waist, moving his hand higher on her ribs. When she stiffened, he stopped just shy of the soft plump flesh of her side boob. “It can happen to anyone.” He rested his chin atop her shoulder. Her delicate, spicy floral scent enveloped his senses, making it hard to focus on speaking. “I, uh... I trip up stairs all the time. Surprisingly, the fire department doesn’t offer worker’s comp for stupidity.”