Beefcake & Mistakes

by Fennell, Judi

  She should never have come back. She should have just stayed where she was and built their life there, never hoping for anything from her mother because the woman wasn’t capable of it anyway.

  “Who was it?”

  Sarge looked at her sheepishly. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Oh really? Yet someone with more time than sense can accuse me of that and you have to come disrupt my day? I don’t believe this.”

  She slammed her palms on the table and stood. God, when would it be over? Hadn’t she paid for that one mistake enough? Bad enough Dave had dropped her—and accused her of sleeping with someone else—but then to lose her baby the same day and her father… And now this.

  Jenna walked to the sink and leaned her hands on the cool porcelain edge. She stared out the window—right into the Mellors’ screened-in porch. Had they accused her? They had the perfect vantage point to see all the teenagers going in and out of her house, but those were kids for Pete’s sake.

  She hung her head. God, what a mess. And now Trevor would grow up with the insinuation—

  “If it helps,” Sarge said, “it’s not one of the neighbors. And he’s not really one to talk. But I had to do my job. You understand.”

  Oh she understood.

  He.

  The guy who’d been on her porch two hours ago when Jason had shown up—

  Oh no. Forty dollars an hour.

  And Jason’s parents paying her—

  Jenna’s shoulders started to shake. Forty bucks. No wonder he’d told her she should have some standards.

  “Jen? Honey? Don’t cry. I told him he was nuts. But I had to do something since he came to the station—”

  She whirled around. “Other people know about this?” A funny mistake was one thing, but gossip and public ridicule was something else entirely.

  “Everyone else told him it was a crock, too. Don’t you worry. We’ve got your back.” Sarge reached for something in his pocket, the chair leg scuffing the tile as he shoved away from the table. “But for the record, I do need to ask you to state what you’re doing here.”

  He flipped open the spiral notebook and licked the tip of his pencil.

  She thought only dime-store novel detectives nibbled their pencil tips, but apparently there was something to be said for small towns and their old ways.

  Sadly, there wasn’t nearly as much to be said for small town gossip mills. Whether or not she was guilty of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Idiotic’s assertions, the fact that he’d made them—and Sarge had had to “investigate”—was going to toss her name through all the mahjong and bridge clubs until the next scandal.

  She took a deep breath. This too shall pass. She had to stay here for Trevor. She couldn’t run like she had before. This was the only home he knew. She had a good job where she could have him on campus with her and be able to afford their home. Her childhood friends, the ones who hadn’t left, were here, and, most importantly, memories of her father and sister.

  “Okay, Sarge, for the record, no, I am not running a house of ill repute out of my home. I have a tutoring business. Everything is above board. I pay my taxes, have a special permit from the township, advertise, and get paid for helping kids improve their grades. I can provide testimonials if you need them.”

  Sarge dotted an i in his notebook then flipped it closed. He slid it and the pencil stub into his breast pocket. “That won’t be necessary, Jenna. We’re good. I just have to file the official report and we can all forget about this.”

  Easy for him to say. She wasn’t going to forget about it—

  Nor the man who’d put her back on the town’s gossip radar.

  Chapter Five

  Bryan drove by her house again on the way to his meeting with Gage. Yeah, it was out of the way, but he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave that kid in his son’s home.

  Luckily, the battered pick-up was gone. Good. The last thing he needed was a hormonal punk trying to out-testosterone him.

  He pulled against the opposite curb two houses down. It was a nice street. Homey. Victorian houses, picket fences, big old trees, perfect for climbing or fort-making. His dad had made the perfect hideaway for him and Kyle before he’d died. Bryan had been planning to do the same for his kids someday.

  No time like the present.

  He opened his door, about to step into the street when she appeared on the front porch.

  Jenna Corrigan. Bryan pulled the door closed and turned in his seat. Resting his right forearm on the steering wheel, he fingered her business card. Beige with brown lettering. All your instructional needs. As innocuous as could be. Gave nothing away. Perfect for vetting the clientele before taking on any unwanted assignments.

  How in God’s name had that muscle-bound kid passed muster?

  Bryan snorted. Did he really need to ask? She was late twenties/early thirties; the kid was just coming into his sexual prime. Bryan was no math scholar, but the equation was easy enough to solve.

  It was the parents’ involvement that stumped him. The kid’s parents were actually paying for it? God! His dad had died when he’d been fourteen, and, while Henry Lassiter had been a great father, he couldn’t see Dad being quite so progressive.

  Jenna dead-headed a few flowers from one of the hanging baskets and her shirt slipped free of her waistband. Tanned, toned skin peeked at him.

  Of course it would be. All that dancing and other, er, aerobics would keep her in shape. Maybe not stripper shape, but—

  Who the hell was he kidding? That was a stripper’s shape. The woman was perfectly proportioned—emphasis on perfect.

  Bryan pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t matter how perfect she was in the body arena; it only made her more unfit to raise his child.

  He reached for the handle again and had the door halfway open when Sergeant Benton joined her on the porch.

  Good. The cop was doing his job.

  Bryan squinted, trying to see her face, bracing himself against the tears he’d probably see. It was her own fault. If she weren’t doing something illegal, she’d have no reason to…

  …be smiling at Sergeant Benton.

  Nor should she be hugging the guy.

  Shit. Was that how it was? No wonder the cop didn’t want anyone reporting her.

  Hell. This had just gotten more complicated.

  Bryan put on his sunglasses and hit the pavement the minute the sergeant’s car turned the corner. He sprinted across the street, taking the four porch steps in two.

  The smile she’d had for Benton disappeared when she spun around and saw him, but only briefly. Then she pasted on a new one, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Of course, he wasn’t paying her or giving her kickbacks or looking the other way or whatever it was ol’ Sarge gave her in return for one of those smiles—and maybe a whole lot more.

  Bryan allowed himself to give her a quick once-over.

  “You’re back.” The frost in her voice when she answered told him she wasn’t overjoyed at the fact. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  If she only knew. “As a matter of fact, yes. There is.” He held up her business card between his first two fingers. “This. I’d like to hire you.”

  She arched a delicate eyebrow. “You do.”

  Not a question. As if she’d expected it. But if Benton had told her what he’d accused her of, she wouldn’t have been smiling when the cop left.

  Unless the two of them were cooking something up.

  Bryan cleared his throat. Conspiracy theories? First, he was seeing previously-unknown sons, and now this. He was getting paranoid. She’d given him her card; of course it wasn’t a surprise he was back. Sarge was a professional; he wouldn’t have spilled what he was there to investigate and he sure as hell wouldn’t have told her who’d accused her.

  “Yeah, I do want to hire you.” First time in his life he’d ever hired a hooker. He raked a hand through his hair. Even though he was hiring her, it wasn’t for what she thought—not f
or what anyone would think. The last thing he’d do is take advantage of what he was paying for. Not if he wanted the charges against her to stand up in a court of law—without getting his ass thrown in jail.

  “Are you sure my standards are up to yours? I mean, since I have such low ones.” She reached down for the watering can, giving him a quick peek down her shirt.

  On purpose? Maybe that was how she bargained. Give the customers a little sample, let them see what they’d be getting—

  “How much for the rest of the summer?”

  She rose slowly, the watering can still on the porch. Her eyes narrowed.

  Was she calculating her hourly rate? Forty hours at forty bucks per—not a bad weekly amount for a normal job. But for hers?

  Hey, Bryan liked sex as much as the next guy—some said even more—but he’d want a lot more than forty bucks an hour to do it full time.

  He didn’t even think he could do it full time.

  But then she cocked her hip and looked at him from under her lashes, making him re-think that last thought. His body was definitely up for giving it a go.

  Pity he didn’t remember being with her. That night had been one big vodka-infused blur.

  “I don’t work full time in the summer. I have a son to take care of.”

  “I’ll pay you to be available twenty-four seven. What’s that worth to you?”

  This time he did see wheels churning in her head and dollar signs in her eyes as if her face was a slot machine. A pretty slot machine, but one nonetheless.

  “You can’t afford it.”

  “You let me be the judge of that.” He crossed his arms. “How much?”

  “If we go by my hourly rate—”

  “How much?”

  She nibbled her lip.“Ten thousand.”

  “Done.” It’d take up the majority of the ROI he’d just received from BeefCake, Inc., but he would’ve paid twice that. Getting her to stop hooking was worth ten grand; her taking the money and him using it against her in a custody battle? Priceless.

  “I want cash.”

  Of course she did. And he’d demand a receipt. “Fine.”

  “All of it. Up front.”

  At least she was a savvy businesswoman. He should be happy her contribution to his son’s DNA was more than just good looks.

  “Not a problem. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He stuck out his hand. This was, after all, a business deal.

  But the touch of her skin on his felt as far from business as you could get. Almost made him wish he was going to get his money’s worth.

  She tugged, but Bryan didn’t let go. Matter of fact, he held her hand tighter. Tugged her closer. So close he could smell the scent of the flowers clinging to her hair and see her eyes—blue, not gray—widen. So close he thought about getting even closer and running his tongue over that cute Cupid’s bow mouth of hers.

  How many others already had?

  Right.

  Bryan leaned back, just enough to break the hold those lips had over him. “And let’s get something straight. From now on, you work for me, so no more Jasons. Got it?”

  Jenna tossed her head back and the smile she gave him was definitely real. Went all the way through those beautiful blue eyes. But it wasn’t exactly friendly.

  This time, she took a step closer. Until her knuckles were touching his abs, and his, hers. “I get it. But you need to get something. I don’t work for you. I work for myself and my son. I am employed by you. There’s a difference and it’s a big one.” She nudged him in the gut. “Don’t you forget that.”

  Oh he wouldn’t. Just as he couldn’t forget that he’d offered—and she’d agreed to—money for sex. And, ya know? Even if he wasn’t planning on collecting, she owed him.

  A kiss ought to do the trick.

  One second Jenna had been gloating about pulling one over on this guy, and the next she was in so far over her head she couldn’t see daylight.

  Who kissed like this?

  He was built like a professional athlete, all hard, ripped muscle, and he towered over her with leashed intensity. Strong fingers threaded through her curls, his big hands cradling her head. Lips that felt like heaven on hers. Just a tiny nip. Fluttery, even. But they sent a straight shot right to her core, fire burning along every nerve ending she possessed.

  He changed the angle of her head slightly, but, oh, it was enough to turn that fire up a few thousand degrees. His lips pressed more firmly against hers and she knew, in the far… back… dim recesses of her brain that this wasn’t a good idea, but for the life of her she couldn’t stop him.

  Not that she was trying very hard.

  It’d been a long time since Carl had walked out. Longer still since Carl had kissed her like this—actually, Carl had never kissed her like this.

  Mr. Gorgeous pressed her back against the porch railing, changing the angle and the pressure and the softness and the whatever-it-was that zinged through her, and Jenna realized no one had kissed her like this. Ever.

  When he kissed her yet again, a little more pressure, a little more insistent, Jenna realized she didn’t even know his name.

  Then he flicked his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she realized her own name was becoming a distant memory.

  And when he moved his hand along her back, then wrapped his arm around her waist, hiking her into the perfect position to feel that, hey, he wasn’t kidding here, she stopped realizing anything, and her body went on autopilot.

  A more-than-welcome involuntary gasp when his fingertips danced across the top of her backside gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue inside and taste her. Which gave her the perfect opportunity to return the favor, and, man, did he taste good.

  She leaned in to him and that was good, too. More than good. She slid her hands around him, feeling his obliques clench, his back muscles contract, and his legs bracket hers. It’d been so long since she’d felt this. This desire. Carnal and hot and utterly unexpected.

  From a guy who thought she was a hooker.

  When his lips moved along her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear, Jenna let herself fume for a bit on what he thought she was. What she was letting him think she was.

  Dammit. So, okay, he didn’t know her, but a hooker? Really? What was it about her that made him think so?

  His breath might be the right temperature of hot against her throat, but that thought was better than a dousing of frigid water to put things in perspective, and Jenna shoved against him to get away.

  But his arm only tightened, his lips became more insistent, and the rod against her abdomen jerked. The guy was presuming a lot.

  Ten grand pays for a lot of presumptions.

  His lips moved lower, and Jenna didn’t care what ten grand paid for. She didn’t need any more neighborhood gossip ruining her reputation and costing her her job.

  Anger overrode her libido—thank God—and Jenna wrenched herself free.

  “What? You want the money first?” Sarcasm not surprise—which quickly changed when she slapped his chiseled cheek with a resounding smack!

  A sparrow chirped from a tree limb by the porch, the only other sound. Well, other than their heavy breathing, passion—lust, attraction, whatever—still coursing through their veins.

  Jenna spun around and ran inside, slamming the door behind her and resting against it.

  Great. The noise had probably woken Trevor. Another sin she was laying at that guy’s feet.

  She peeked out the sidelight. He was still standing there, one hand rubbing his cheek, the other on the pillar that supported the porch roof. He looked at the door and Jenna jerked back out of view. She wasn’t up for confrontation right now.

  That would come tomorrow.

  The man had agreed to pay her ten thousand dollars for her services. She was so going to enjoy enlightening him as to exactly what those services were. After she took his money, of course.

  She’d give it all back. No need to get sued for fraud or whatever he’d trump up again
st her when he learned the truth, but this was going to be worth keeping up the ruse for the next twelve hours or so. Call her a hooker and report her to the cops without even asking her? Self-righteous bastard; served him right.

  “Mommy, can I come down now?” Right on cue, Trevor called her with the name that made her even happier than imagining the look on Gorgeous’ face when she tossed his money in it tomorrow.

  “Sure thing, Trev. I’ll be right there.” She glanced out the window as her new “employer” headed toward the curb.

  Tomorrow was going to be full of surprises.

  Chapter Six

  “So you let him think you’re a hooker?” Cathy, Jenna’s best friend, grabbed her arm and dragged her even farther from the picnic table where their boys were playing with modeling clay. The park was a much easier place to clean up, keep the boys busy, and give them a dose of vitamin D than either of their homes for their weekly play date.

  Jenna tapped the brim of Cathy’s straw hat that her friend had worn every second of every day in the five years since she’d had that melanoma removed. Cathy’s safety blanket, but one more reminder to Jenna of the fleeting nature of life. She’d lost too many people. “Yep. I let him think that. And I can’t wait to toss it in his face.”

  “Ten grand.” Cathy shook her head. “What I wouldn’t pay to see that.”

  “I’m sure it’d make me some kind of hooker’s hooker in his mind if I took money from you for that.”

  “Or make you a madam,” Cathy joked.

  They chuckled over it, but, really, it wasn’t funny. “Why does he think I’m a hooker, Cath? I keep replaying the conversation we had and all I can come up with is he must be nuts. Jason was at the house, but he’s a kid.”

  “A hot kid who’s got the hots for you.”

  Cathy had watched their sons in Jenna’s backyard on days Jenna had had to schedule sessions at non-nap times. Whenever the need arose, Jenna tried to schedule those sessions during Trevor’s play dates, knowing Cathy had the time off from work. Otherwise, it was always a juggling act to keep Trevor busy while she worked with her students. More often than not, she’d had to discount the session, so Cathy’s help was invaluable. As was her perspective now.