A Bit of Sass

by Sarah McCarty

  As soon as she sat, Jacob was in front of her, feet planted a good shoulder’s width apart, hands fisted on his hips. The set of his jaw said his day had been harder than even she had imagined. The first words out of his mouth confirmed her suspicions. “Your kids are monsters.”

  This was supposed to be news? “I warned you that they could be trying.”

  “Trying?” He ran his hand through his hair, found the strands randomly escaping from his ponytail and viciously ripped out the elastic holding his hair back. “What I want to know is where did the two little angels I played with all week go?”

  “Should I infer from your rather…frayed demeanor that you didn’t encounter them today?”

  “Hell, I’m not even sure the children I watched today were yours.”

  “I’ll go check, if you want, but I’m pretty sure they are.”

  “Then I think you ought to take the royalties from your book and set up a psychiatric fund for those two. CJ is borderline manic and Corrine has—” He was forced to halt his diatribe to take a breath. Apparently, it helped, because he took another. He picked up a handful of metal cars from the floor, stacked them on the table, and met Sass’ gaze before informing her, “Corrine definitely has multiple personalities.”

  “How many?”

  “What?”

  “Personalities. How many personalities does she have?”

  “I counted five in the hour it took me to get her to bed. And trust me, none of them are pleasant.”

  “But CJ has…?”

  “Two.” He paced off the small rectangle of her living room. “Only two, and if I were you, I’d be thanking my lucky stars for that. He could be,” he couldn’t hide his shudder, “like Corrine.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Jacob dropped into the recliner across from her. His head lolled back against the chair as he waved her request forward. “Fire away.”

  “What did you give CJ to drink today?”

  He was immediately on the defensive. “He had some orange juice, some of that LactAid milk, a little Pepsi, and some punch.”

  “Punch? I don’t have any of that here.”

  “We went to the store.”

  “Why?”

  He opened his eyes to glare at her. “Because you didn’t have anything in the house the kids like to eat.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t get on your high horse, I’m the injured party here. You set me up, woman.”

  She winced. “It wasn’t exactly a test, more of a proving of a point.”

  “Call it what you want, I knew what it was. I even expected it. I did not, however, anticipate any major problems in overcoming it.”

  “Overcoming what?”

  “Sabotage.”

  Sass took off her suit jacket. As she draped it over the back of the couch, she said very carefully, “I did not sabotage your day with my kids.”

  “What do you call not having anything in the house the kids liked to eat?”

  “Par for the course.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  It wasn’t worth arguing about with him. “Can we get back to the punch question?”

  “Sure.” He flicked his wrists in a despairing gesture that said, “Why the hell not?”

  “What kind did you get them?”

  “The red stuff that you usually buy.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t buy them red stuff.”

  “Sure you do. There’s a picture on the bottle of all this red fruit and a sappy little—” Realization dawned in a lowering of his brows. “They conned me, didn’t they?”

  “Well, you’d have to recount a blow-by-blow description of the conversation for me to say for sure, but I think it’s safe to assume you’ve been had.” She took pity on him and explained, “Red dye makes CJ hyperactive emotionally.”

  “He said he liked it.”

  “He does, it just doesn’t like him back.”

  The eyes that collided with hers were accusing. “You could have warned me.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t think it was necessary after spending fifty dollars at the grocery store yesterday in order to spare you just such an…exciting trip.”

  She noticed his hands were clenching and unclenching in his lap. There was a certain rhythm to the action that made her wonder if he was counting.

  “I don’t suppose Corrine has the same allergy?”

  “No. Red dye doesn’t seem to bother her in the least.”

  “Then don’t be too hasty in discarding the trust fund.”

  “Corrine has a flair for the dramatic.”

  “I don’t think you can dismiss it that easily.”

  She felt so sorry for his total exhaustion that she elaborated. “She is also extremely intelligent and stubborn.”

  This time he was the one who had the pity in his gaze. “Uh-huh.”

  “She is also three years old and, as you mentioned earlier in the week, looking for limits.”

  “I asked her what she wanted for lunch.” He got up from his chair. “She said yogurt, baby carrots and orange juice. It sounded healthy, so I gave it to her. She thanked me very sweetly.” He headed into the family room. Sass turned in her seat so she could keep him in sight. He was obviously looking for something. “She took one bite of the yogurt and declared herself allergic.” Again Sass was the recipient of one of those accusing glares. “She claimed it gave her a headache. The carrots were yucky. She spit them out on the floor. The orange juice she declared unpotable, because the carrot she dipped in it made it so.”

  “Is there a point to this?”

  “Yes. Your daughter has multiple personality disorder.” He was bent over an end table, rummaging through the debris. His voice had a slightly hollow quality due to his position. “I took the food away and put her to bed. Five minutes later, she came out holding her tummy, claiming she was starving.”

  “I hope you sent her right back to bed.”

  Jacob spun around. “She was crying!”

  “She should have eaten her lunch.”

  “Well,” he glared at the fingers of his right hand. “I made her a new lunch.”

  Which Sass was willing to bet she hadn’t eaten either. Corrine was not big on the midday meal. Jacob confirmed her guess.

  “She didn’t eat that either.”

  “I know I wrote down on the sheet that Corrine sometimes doesn’t eat lunch. Didn’t you read it?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair as he stood up straight, keys in his left hand. “Skipping meals is not healthy, and she can’t afford it. Hell, a stiff breeze would blow her away.”

  And all that fighting with her strong-willed daughter over a meal she didn’t want had left him looking like the slightest breeze would blow him away, she thought. He was a good man, and a determined one, but he was no match for her daughter. Corrine could turn on and off the tears with an ease that would make a Hollywood actress turn green with envy. “Did she take her nap eventually?”

  A touch of guilt crossed his face, and Sass knew the answer before he gave it. “Well, no. She’s afraid of her room, you know.”

  Only when it was time to sleep, she thought.

  “I held her and rocked her for awhile, but as soon as I put her down, she’d start screaming and crying.”

  Well, the reason for that protest wasn’t too hard to figure. “You ignored her, of course.”

  He looked appalled at the very notion. “She was sobbing and begging me to help her. I couldn’t. No one could.”

  Yes, you could, Sass thought. You could if you went through it every day and saw the light of victory in the little minx’s eyes when the ploy works. Of course if tears didn’t work, she switched to a new tactic, but apparently, Jacob hadn’t held out long enough to know that.

  “So, bottom line, Corrine didn’t take a nap.”

  “No and I can tell you this, I was never as happy to see bedtime as I was tonight. If one wasn’t crying or screaming, the other was holle
ring and pointing a finger.”

  “At least you got them down.”

  “CJ was a breeze. He ranted and raved all the way to the bedroom, but by the time I had Corrine’s teeth brushed, he was out cold. Corrine took a little longer.”

  “I’ll bet.” Curiosity made her ask. “How did you get her to go to sleep?”

  He looked a little sheepish as he confessed, “I stood in her doorway glaring at her for the hour and a half it took her to grow bored and fall asleep.”

  “I’m impressed. It usually takes sitters two hours to get her down.”

  “Well, don’t be too impressed, by that time it was a matter of principle.” He turned toward the door. The only indication she had of his mood was the hand he slid under his hair to rub the back of his neck. The keys jangled in his hand. There was something so…odd in the gesture it took her a moment to register it. Defeat.

  “Do you know I actually yelled at CJ today? I didn’t just raise my voice, but I full out yelled at him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll recover.”

  In a voice that sounded as tired as the hills, he said, “Well, I’m not sure I will.” His keys jangled discordantly as he grabbed his coat out of the closet. The door swung open, echoing the forced calm he’d adopted. He paused, shoulders squared, hand on the knob. “You were right, Sass. I’m not cut out for this.”

  Chapter Eight

  She should let him go, just let him walk out the door. It was what she’d been fighting for. What she’d thought she’d wanted. It was certainly safer than what she was about to do, but she trusted Jacob more than she trusted herself. And if today, heck, the last week had proved anything, it was that Jacob wasn’t afraid to reach for what he wanted. He studied, he researched and he learned as he went, but once he decided on something, he didn’t veer from his course. And he was determined to have her as his wife and her children as his. For better. For worse. And everything in between. She reached for the buttons on her shirt. What more could a woman want. She got up. “I know what I want for Christmas.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression too blank. Too uncaring. Damn it! She’d hurt him.

  “That’s not my problem.”

  She walked toward him, putting as much come-hither roll into her gait as she could muster, all the while unbuttoning her shirt. “What if I make it your problem?”

  He faced her, the ruggedness of his features cast harsher in the shadow of the foyer, giving her no clue to his thoughts. “What do you want?”

  She stopped five feet away from him and three buttons short of total exposure. “You.”

  She reached for the front clasp of her bra. His gaze dropped. She popped the clasp. Her breasts spilled free beneath the open lapels of her blouse. His tongue moistened his bottom lip.

  She smiled and reached for the side on her skirt. “Close the door.”

  He dropped his coat to the floor. One push of his foot and the door thumped shut.

  “Lock it.”

  His lids lowered, his head canted to the left and that wicked smile she loved ghosted his lips as his right brow went up. “Make me.”

  She kicked off her heels and unzipped her skirt. She felt feminine and powerful as he watched the silky material slide. She caught it halfway down her hip with one hand. “Stalemate.”

  “Not quite.” He crooked his finger. She went.

  His fingers slid through her hair to curve around the back of her skull. “I don’t know squat about raising children.”

  She tilted her head back so she could see his face. “I don’t have a great track record as a wife.”

  “I’m going to mess up. Hurt you. Hurt the kids.”

  “On purpose?”

  His eyes were almost black in the low light. “No.”

  She stepped in until the heat of his body teased her breasts. “Will you cheat on me?”

  “Never.”

  “Beat me?” He drew her up onto her toes toward the descent of his mouth. His “No” brushed the surface of her lips in a shivery caress.

  “Are you going to run out when things get tough?”

  Her slip and skirt fell to the floor, revealing her thigh-high nylons and panties.

  “Hell no.”

  She braced her hands on his chest. “Then I guess we’ll have to do like everyone else does and work it out as we go along.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Do you have a better one?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s the one I’m going with.”

  His laugh vibrated against her as his forehead pressed to hers. “For a professional worrier, you’re taking some awful risks.”

  “It’s your fault.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  She kissed his chin. “You made me believe.”

  “In what?”

  “In you.” After today, there was no way she could ever think he wasn’t serious about being a good parent. He might be clueless in some areas, and trying too hard in others, but he was committed to them. Really committed. Joy bubbled alongside passion as she nipped his chin, running her tongue over the stubble-roughened curve. “You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

  With a shift of his hands, he took her weight, supporting her, facilitating the caress. “How can you be so sure?”

  She couldn’t begrudge him his need for the words. She’d put him through hell. She glanced pointedly around the remnants of her clean house, the smile within breaking free. “You’ve got staying power.”

  He tipped her face up to his, his gaze dropping to the smile on her lips, pausing there a moment before, with a quirk of his mouth and an arch of his brow, he met her gaze. “I let your kids run roughshod over me, and for that, I get you?”

  There was a world of satisfaction beneath that query—more than a hint of possession in the curve of the hands supporting her. Other men might have had qualms, needed reassurance, but not Jacob. Mature, confident, his determination ran as deep as his emotions. Once he’d set his heart on her, she’d never really stood a chance. Thank God.

  “No.” She stroked his cheek, the strong column of his throat, down to the open collar of his shirt, sliding her fingers beneath, savoring his heat, his strength. The love he offered her so freely. “You showed kindness, patience and love in the face of great provocation, and lucky me, that means I get you.”

  He shook his head and brought her groin snug to his. “I like it the other way around. My own little piece of Sass for Christmas.”

  She would have protested that sad play on words, but his mouth was back on hers, rubbing gently, his tongue licking lightly at her upper lip while his palm curved around her thigh, sliding toward her knee, pulling her leg up to his hip, opening her for the intrusion of his thigh, the pressure of his cock through his jeans.

  His tongue tapped the corner of her mouth, sending a jolt of sensation shuddering down her spine, dragging out a moan. “Oh, I like that.”

  So did she. She liked even more how his cock surged against her at her reaction. She liked knowing she could turn him on. “Hold still.”

  His eyebrow rose, but he didn’t move. “Why?”

  “Because I want to open my present.”

  His shirt offered no resistance, the buttons sliding easily from their holes. She pushed it off his shoulders, working it over the bulge of his biceps but leaving it tangled at his wrists. He tugged, holding his wrists out from his back as far as the shirt would allow. “You forgot something.”

  She leaned forward and kissed the small round nipple atop his right pectoral while she touched the pulse pounding in his throat. More evidence of his desire. “No, I didn’t.”

  While he searched her gaze for her meaning, she pressed against his chest, backing him up the four steps until his back hit the door. His eyebrow rose higher. “Feeling feisty?”

  “Very.”

  He tugged at his hands as she reached for the snap of his jeans. She shook her head. “You always take over just when I’m having
fun, but tonight you’re my present, and I want to open you and play with you without interference.”

  “And what about what I want?”

  She held his gaze as she unsnapped his jeans and slid the zipper down, watching the flare of passion narrow his gaze as his body went completely still. “That will have to wait until I’m done.”

  She tucked her hand inside the open fly, finding his cock hard and ready for her. She gave it a gentle squeeze. It throbbed and jerked within its tight confines.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he told her as if that should somehow scare her. She shook her head at him again, slid her hands under the waistband of his jeans on either side of his lean hips, and then around to the back, pushing the material down as she went, following them to the floor, until she was on her knees before him, his thick, hard cock dragged down by its own size, straining to reach her. She cradled it in her palm, petting it, marveling at its sheer beauty. “I love your cock.”

  “I’d rather you loved me.”

  She shook her head. As if there was any doubt that she did. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” She brought him to her mouth, lapping gently at the silken head before elaborating, “But I love your cock, too.”

  With a twist of his torso, he reached for her. Threads popped. His body jerked. His torso twisted, and while he managed to get some reach, the shirt held. She ignored his efforts, concentrating on the only thing that interested her. His cock. She leaned in. His fingertips touched her cheek. She closed her eyes on the rightness of the moment. A tap had her lifting her gaze. He had that smile on his face, that sensual, gentle melt-her-to-her-core sexy smile that made it oh so clear he liked what he saw, who she was. “Show me how much.”

  She did, swirling her tongue over the broad head before working him into her mouth. Curving her fingers around the rest, she pumped them lightly along his engorged shaft as she took him to the back of her throat, struggling not to gag as he bottomed out before retracing her path back up to the pulsing tip. His hips bucked and the door rattled as she lingered there, taunting him with little flicks and erratic pulses of suction. She teased him twice more before easing him in again, taking him as deeply as she could before backing up, doing it again and again, picking up speed as she went, matching her pace to the panting rhythm of his breath.