“Okay, but he’s just a friend.”
“Honey, you tell yourself whatever you need to.” Talia gathered her boys, with the promise that she’d meet them all at the kiddy gym in just a few minutes.
• • •
It was strange not having the triplets around. Shannon’s first instinct was to let the guilt she felt over enjoying herself ruin the peaceful solitude of the moment. She was all about making sure she had plenty of “me time” after the kids went to bed, but this was different. It was daylight. She didn’t have to pick them up for two hours, more if she needed it, Talia had assured her. It felt like playing hooky. It felt naughty. It felt good. Forget the guilt—this was too precious an opportunity to pass up!
Shannon smiled cheerily when Dean opened his door and gently nudged her way past him with her arms loaded down with grocery bags. His mouth hung open and his hand still gripped the doorknob. She giggled, bumping the door closed with her hip and knocking him out of his reverie at the same time.
“So, where’s your kitchen?”
She looked around the tiled entryway. A chandelier, dripping with crystals, took center stage. To the left and right of the door were small marble tables, each holding an expensive looking porcelain vase. Those wouldn’t last a day in my house, was her first thought. Half her modest little cottage could fit in Dean’s foyer. And looking up the wide, gleaming mahogany staircase, she knew there was a whole lot more house than this.
“Let me take some of those.” Dean’s gaze was bemused as he slipped a few of the bags out of Shannon’s hands and nodded his head down a hall toward the back of what was clearly too big to have been given the title of summer home.
She followed quickly, trying to sneak a peek in each room that they passed. Oh, a pool table! Wow, an honest to goodness library, with a ladder attached to reach the higher shelves. Ms. Sheffield didn’t have a library in the main house.
Shannon’s grin widened when they reached the kitchen. Now this place definitely wasn’t built for a bachelor who lived on dry cereal and peanut butter sandwiches. This kitchen was meant to host grand parties and state dinners. Shoving the bags on the nearest counter, Shannon turned a slow circle, taking in the stainless steel appliances, the yards of granite countertops.
Everything was state of the art. And to think that it had all just been sitting here, unused, for all this time. It was a shame that such a bountiful kitchen should be so completely devoid of lingering cooking scents. Her imagination conjured a sweet, yeasty bread baking, and the pungent aroma of root veggies and beef simmering in a rich stock. Oh, the things she could create in here!
“So . . . I’m not sure what to say. I mean, ‘thank you’ is definitely in order, but . . . ” Dean put his own bags down and began rustling through the contents.
“You rushed out of the store so fast that I figured you weren’t nearly done with your shopping. I’m so sorry if we made you uncomfortable in there.” Shannon got busy unpacking the reusable grocery bags.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being pushy here, but I got a look in your cart before you took off.” Shannon stuffed all the empties into one bag and pushed it to the center of the counter. “You don’t really cook, do you, Dean?”
“That would be an understatement.” He rubbed his stubble roughened chin, looking sheepish. “I haven’t had to cook for myself. I guess when most guys are learning from their mothers, I was . . . busy.” He stared at a point just over her left shoulder.
“Well, today is your lucky day, my friend. I am going to teach you to cook.”
“And where is your posse while you are undertaking this thankless task?”
“I told you, it’s your lucky day.” She swatted him lightly on the arm. “The trips are in the process of being thoroughly run ragged so that by the time I pick them up they will beg for dinner and an early bedtime.”
“I guess that makes it your lucky day, as well, then.” His voice was a deep rumble she could feel inside her chest.
Dean leaned in close. He reached out a hand, his face so close she could feel his breath tickle her ear. Shannon caught just a hint of aftershave and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. Oh, he smelled good! Without realizing it, she leaned in closer, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her eyes were focused on Dean’s neck, the scent of his aftershave tempting her to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. Belatedly, she realized that his hand hadn’t been reaching for her, but behind her, where he picked up a package of chicken and carried it to the fridge.
Shannon tried not to sound like a drowning person when she finally sucked in a couple lungfuls of air. She took the opportunity to compose her features once Dean’s back was turned. Her heart was ricocheting all the way up and down her windpipe. She wiped damp palms on her jeans. Good lord, she had thought he was going to kiss her! Worse, she had wanted him to, and had felt a keening moment of regret when she realized she’d misread the situation.
“Are there any other perishables?” Dean had turned his attention back to her.
Not knowing if her voice would come out sounding wonky or not, Shannon decided not to chance speaking. Quickly, she scanned the items spread on the counter and slid the carton of eggs in his direction. She gathered up the frozen loaf of garlic bread and held it out at arm’s length.
She shouldn’t be here. This was a big mistake. No, leaving the kids with Talia was the bigger mistake. There would have been no chance for her out-of-work libido to suddenly get busy with three little munchkins watching every move they made. Shannon rubbed her bare arms, her skin suddenly prickly, too sensitive.
Dean was taking a long time putting things away. Shannon wondered if he was hiding in the fridge. Maybe she made him nervous. But he was in his own home now. He should be comfortable, right? How did this agoraphobia thing work?
Should she offer to leave? Who knew when she’d have another chance to help him help himself . . . without having to run herd on her young crew? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. When was he finally going to turn around? I’ve made a recluse even worse. I’ve broken him. Tears pricked at the tender flesh of her eyelids.
“So what are we going to make first?”
Dean had shut the refrigerator and was now looking from Shannon to the rest of the groceries laid out on the counter. He didn’t look freaked out. His smile was warm, friendly. His vibrant green eyes were a much darker shade than she remembered. Did he pay for those blonde highlights or were they natural? He coughed delicately. Oh God, he was waiting for an answer and Shannon was staring like a love-struck teen.
“I guess that would depend on what we have to work with.” Shannon pasted a bright smile on her face and glanced around the spacious kitchen. “We’ve obviously got a stovetop and oven. The microwave will do in a pinch.”
She almost apologized when she saw Dean wince at that last statement. She didn’t intend to make him feel guilty for using one of modern science’s greatest inventions. She just wanted him to know he had options, and those options grew exponentially when he thought outside of that stainless steel box.
“You mean, do I have pots and pans and all those doo-dads for cooking?” At her nod, he kept going. “Yeah, I think I’m about as well stocked as a person can get. They just don’t get any use.”
Shannon and Dean spent the next hour going through the kitchen. While they inventoried his cooking supplies, she quizzed him on what he liked to eat. His was a simple palate, classic meat and potatoes. He complained about the fact that there was no drive-thru burger joints within a fifteen-mile radius. Shannon actually had to agree with him on that one. Small towns, while charming, did have their drawbacks.
“There you go, that’s all the more reason to learn to cook at home. It won’t feel quite so much like a punishment.”
“When we were on the road I’d get so sick of fast food, uh—” Dean cut himself off abruptly, and made a lot of noise clanging pots together underneath the counter.
He was hiding again. On the road? What did he mean by that? Shannon’s brow wrinkled and she reached a finger up to smooth out the bunched skin. There was a lot more to her mysterious neighbor than she realized.
That may have been enough to turn away a lesser woman, but Shannon worked for a boss whom she saw maybe four months out of the year. Her days were consumed with cooking, cleaning, and keeping three preschoolers out of trouble. It wasn’t enough to keep her imaginative brain active. She craved adventure, mystery. She could be way off base about Dean, but she was having too much fun trying to fill in the gaps. Now if she could only convince her body that her neighbor was off limits. Men were trouble; even men with tight buns who avoided potentially revealing conversation by practically climbing inside their kitchen cabinets.
Chapter Five
She must think I’m a horse’s ass! Arms crossed over his bare chest as he raised his upper body off the floor for another crunch, Dean scowled. An image of the curvy redhead next door rose in his mind. He pictured her standing before him, delicate little hands braced on those scrumptious hips, a perfectly shaped brow lifted in mockery. Avoid intimacy much?
Dean closed his eyes and replayed the memory reel that had been on a loop since Shannon had left the other day. They’d been talking about not having the kids around. Naturally, his mind went . . . there. Who wouldn’t want to take advantage of a little alone time with such a sexy woman? He’d almost kissed her! What had he been thinking? This self-imposed isolation was wreaking havoc on his control. And then slipping up by talking about his past?
He could have come clean. It would have been a hell of a lot easier than keeping his former identity secret. Dean was so tempted to trust that Shannon was not like all the others. But trust was earned, and he hadn’t known Shannon long enough to build that platform.
Dean pumped out another set of sit-ups, then bounced up on the balls of his bare feet. He padded across the plush carpet and snagged his water bottle off the bedside table. Taking a few quenching gulps of liquid, he pushed open the slider and stepped out onto the balcony.
The balcony off the master suite of Dean’s house (he refused to call it a mansion) was what had sold him on the place. The Atlantic Ocean, in all her glory, spread out before him. From here he could watch the whipped up froth of a nasty storm or the placid calm of a warm summer day. The salty tang in the air soothed his senses, reminded him of his place in Malibu. He closed his eyes and listened to the surf, imagining he was back home.
He settled into a wrought iron chair, put his water bottle on the mosaic-tiled bistro table, and reached for the guitar that was always close by. His fingers picked out chords on their own, his voice rumbling out words to a song he’d sung a thousand times, if not more. Did he miss his old life? Yeah, but not in the way he thought he would. Dean tapped his foot and bobbed his head in time to the song, staring absently at the unbroken surface of the water.
Shrieks of laughter reached his ears from a point just below him and to the left. Shannon’s kids were playing in his yard again. He’d had to give up the ogre persona. They just weren’t buying it. He grinned, thinking of the three little rapscallions from next door. They were exactly what he deserved for thinking he could just escape from the world and no one would notice.
Except it wasn’t the kids who seemed to take the most notice. It was their mother. Shannon was so far removed from the type of women that ran in his social circle back home that he just didn’t know what to think of her. Is she for real? Had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. She didn’t seem to want anything from him. She thought she was helping him.
Okay, she was helping him. Dean didn’t know a spatula from a saucepan and Shannon had nailed it when she suggested knowing a few cooking skills would increase his food choices. It had been second nature to pick up the phone, back in Malibu, for whatever tempted his palate. In Scallop Shores, however, the only thing he could get delivered was his mail. Learning to become more self-sufficient was definitely something Dean would benefit from. Getting to spend more time with his fiery neighbor wasn’t too bad either.
Dean set the guitar down and stretched his long legs out on the chair opposite him. Reaching for his water bottle, he took a few pulls and wiped his mouth on his bare arm. He held the perspiring plastic bottle to his forehead and sighed as the coolness penetrated his heated skin. Eyes closed, he inhaled the clean scents around him. He picked out the beach roses that grew along the rocks. The tall pines were a sharp contrast. Then, ah, there it was. Shannon was putting her wet laundry out on the line. If he listened carefully, Dean could hear the snap of wet sheets and pillowcases.
He grinned. This woman had enough on her plate, raising three active five-year-olds. To bypass the convenience of a dryer spoke volumes about her character. Shannon was not afraid of hard work. In fact, Dean noticed she seemed to go out of her way to find the harder, more time-consuming way of doing something. Did the woman ever take a break? Did she have anyone who would help her out the way she had come to him?
Dean’s cell phone suddenly chimed to life in the bedroom. He ran in and grabbed it off the bedside table, thumbing the answer button before bringing it to his ear.
“Dean, Marty Kincaid here. I’m just making sure you got that paperwork I sent over last week.” The paternity suit paperwork that wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on? Yeah, got it.
“I got the paperwork, Marty. It’s a complete waste of both our time. You know that.”
“So you want to settle this one? She’s asking for a one-time payment of 2.4 million.”
“2.4? Not two million or two and a half million? 2.4?” Dean snorted. “She’s been watching too many lawyer shows on TV.”
“How do you want to handle this one, Dean? Are we settling?”
Something in him snapped. This wasn’t happening again. He refused to let this happen to him again. Nostrils flaring, fist clenching and unclenching, Dean gritted his teeth to keep from yelling at the lawyer who was really on his side.
“I’m not settling this one, Marty. I’m not the father. I know it. She knows it. She can rot in hell before she takes a free ride at my expense.”
“But you usually just settle to avoid the drama. What if this draws you back into the spotlight?”
“Get a DNA test. Nail her to the wall with the results. That witch is not getting her hands on my money.” Dean’s mood was reflected in the white caps that had appeared on the ocean’s surface. He glared at the horizon and the water got choppier still.
“I’m on it, buddy. We’ll set an example by Ms. Cresswell. Maybe this will be the last woman who cries Daddy.”
“She can be the last or not. I’m not letting myself be used as a convenient ATM ever again!” Dean disconnected the call and threw the phone on the bed.
The wind carried in the sound of the triplets giggling as they played. Dean was no longer in the mood to be charmed. Slamming the slider closed, he stalked from his bedroom. Pity party for one, now commencing.
• • •
“So, Brenna tells me your new neighbor is handsomer than her Ken doll. I’d say that’s pretty high praise, coming from a five-year-old.”
Shannon let out a belly laugh and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could wake the children sleeping down the hall. She snuggled into a corner of the couch, tucking her feet under a soft, yellow throw pillow. The laptop was perched on her knees and her mother smiled at her from 3,000 miles away.
“Yeah, Dean certainly has the ‘Ken doll’ look down. I can’t wait until it gets a little warmer and we get to see him without his shirt on.” She gasped in shock. “Oh God, I can’t believe I just said that.” Shannon darted her gaze away from the computer screen while a warm blush suffused her face and neck.
“Nothing wrong with that! Child, you closed yourself off to the opposite sex the second the door shut behind Vincent. You aren’t a nun, Shannon. Women have needs too.”
Fantastic. Modern technology has brought us Skype,
so that we may now have intimately embarrassing conversations with our mothers on the other side of the country, face to face. Shannon frowned back at her mother. The amused grin on the older woman’s face showed clearly that she didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Look who’s talking? Dad left when I was three. You never so much as looked at a man while I was growing up. You were always working.”
“Not always. Like I said, women have needs too.” Shannon’s mom, Catherine, arched one perfectly waxed brow.
“Ew! Ew! So not going there!” Shannon waved her hands in front of her face, willing herself not to think of her mother sneaking out for late night bootie calls. She shuddered.
“Okay, I’m done lecturing. But it’s clear you’re interested in this guy. It would just be a shame if you wasted an opportunity because of your . . . okay, our pasts.” Catherine leaned in close and her face filled up most of the screen. “So tell me about Dean. The kids think he’s the second coming.”
“He’s so nice, Mom. And he’s great with the triplets. He can’t tell Brady from Brian. I think he’s too embarrassed to say anything though. I can tell Brenna is developing her first crush. She’s already asked if she can have him over for a tea party . . . and the rest of us are not invited.”
Shannon reached out for her tea, cooling on the side table. She snagged a mini chocolate chip cookie from the small stack she’d allowed herself. Smiling at the computer screen, she nodded when Catherine lifted her own mug of tea and nibbled at a cookie that looked like it had come straight out of the same package Shannon’s had.
They called this their weekly tea time. Catherine had Tuesday nights free. She would Skype with her grandchildren earlier in the evening, allowing Shannon time to clean up a little while her kids were busy talking. Then after Shannon put the triplets to bed, they reconnected for some mother/daughter time. Catherine kept Shannon supplied with various herbal teas that her friend Trudy sold in her shop in Carmel. Shannon, in turn, would send her mother packages of cookies that she’d loved while living in Maine but couldn’t find in California.
Hearts Are Wild Page 27