by Traci Hall
“It’s my passion,” Franco said, following her to the door. Like you. He watched the way her hips filled out the back of the short dress. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Sarah woke his libido and dared him to think outside Mr. Mom.
The sound of the water in the bathroom and the dog barking let him know his daughter was busy brushing her teeth.
“Passion.” Sarah repeated the word, her back to him.
“Like you,” he said aloud this time, wanting her to see they might have more in common than she thought. “I tend to follow them.” He opened the front door, allowing her to go into the foyer. Then, because he had to, because if he didn’t he would regret it, he caught her arm and pulled her close. “There is nothing wrong with passion.” He pressed his mouth to hers and tasted the sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. “I like you, Sarah, but we won’t be friends.”
Chapter Eight
Sarah stumbled to her truck and climbed in, her short dress hiking to her upper thighs. Did she care? No.
He kissed me. Holy shit, he kissed me. He smelled like brandy and tasted like spice, his lips firm, his tongue teasing the edges of her mouth. She didn’t remember kissing being so hot, or she might have missed it more.
She knew he’d be great. His strong hands cradling her hips, his upper body melded to hers, his upper thigh slightly pressing against the juncture of her legs.
Not just a kiss, but a steaming hot melding of mouths that brought to mind images of them together. Preferably naked.
She couldn’t go swimming with him in the ocean. For one thing, she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands to herself. She’d want to plunge her fingers in his thick, dark hair. Caress his broad, bare shoulders. And whatever else she could reach.
Like you, Sarah, I follow my passion.
She never would have been brave enough to initiate that!
Pulling into the street toward home, she almost missed the turn because she kept reliving the way his hands had felt on her body.
Martin was right—she’d forgotten what it was like to be a woman. Should she start screaming about unmet needs?
Laughing at herself and her ridiculous, over-reactive response to Franco’s hotness, she parked the truck. Her cell phone rang and her first thought was wondering if it would be him.
I like you, Sarah, but we are not friends.
What the hell did that mean, anyway?
She shook her head to clear it and read the screen. When she was away from work, she forwarded the Pet Rescue phone to her cell phone. Ah, hell. Talk about a buzz-kill.
“Pet Rescue, how can I help you?” At nine thirty on a Wednesday night?
“There’s something stuck in the garbage can on my back porch.” The woman’s high tones conveyed her fear.
Sarah looked down at her pretty borrowed dress. Time to get back to the real world. “And you don’t know what it is?”
“It’s probably my neighbor’s cat.”
“Have you tried taking the lid off of your garbage can?” Sometimes people didn’t think of the simple things.
The female voice lowered. “What if it isn’t a cat?”
Sarah exhaled. She’d run into that before and had her friend Rick on speed dial. “What is your address?”
The woman rattled off something just a few blocks away.
“Could you please hurry? I’m worried. I don’t want it to suffocate or anything.”
In a trash can? “I’ll be right there.” Sarah kept an emergency pair of coveralls in the back of her truck and an old pair of sneakers just in case.
“I live alone,” the woman said. “It’s dark. You probably think I’m a wuss.”
“I don’t, actually,” Sarah said, responding to the emotion in the woman’s voice. She repeated what her mother had told her earlier. “We need to stick together.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’m the house at the end of the block.”
Sarah found the one-story rancher overgrown with tropical palms. There were no outside lights, which created a shadowy and spooky atmosphere. Swallowing hard, Sarah got out of the truck, and opened the back. Bite sticks, gloves and a net. She shimmied into the coveralls and stuffed her feet into the sneakers, hoping she wasn’t disturbing any spiders since she had no socks.
The woman called from her front porch, “Hello?”
“It’s me, Sarah Murphy.” Sarah shut the back of her truck. “I’m coming.”
“Thank you.” The woman, middle-aged with graying hair, shorts and an oversized t-shirt, joined her at the edge of her lawn. “The rattling is getting louder.”
Rattling? “No problem. As you can see, I’ve come prepared.” Sarah lifted her tools, the coveralls bagging around her body.
“The neighbor’s cat had kittens once under the back porch, which is why I wonder if one got caught in my trash can. They were so mad at me when I called the pest control people, but how was I to know, right?”
Sarah nodded. “We’ll know in just a minute what you’ve got back there.”
She went with the woman around the house, carefully following in her footsteps since there was no light.
“Here we go.” The woman climbed the steps of the screened back porch, opening a squeaky door that aggravated whatever was in the trash can.
Sarah tightened her grip on the bite stick, and grabbed her net in the opposite hand. “You can go inside if you’d like. I’ll take it from here.”
The woman folded her arms and shook her head. “I just want to know.”
“All right. Stand back.” Sarah took a deep breath and lifted the trash can lid with the bite stick. Hoping to see whiskers and pointy ears, she was disappointed when she heard the clackity-clack scratching of nails against plastic.
“That doesn’t sound like a cat,” the woman said, her voice up a few octaves.
“No, ma’am.” Sarah wished she could just put the lid back on and call it a day, but she had to know what was in there. A bird? A possum?
“Could it be a raccoon? What if it has rabies? I have dogs, you know. You’ll have to take it. You’re a no-kill shelter. I read that on your website.”
“For dogs and cats, pets. Raccoons are pests.”
And she wasn’t sure that’s what they were dealing with. Sarah set the net down and forced herself to pick up the garbage can lid and peer inside.
Snapping jaws greeted her from a furious young alligator and she jumped back, accidentally bumping into the woman, who screamed.
“Gator,” Sarah said, quickly tightening the lid down as her adrenalin pumped through her body like an electric jolt—reminiscent of the hot kiss from Franco earlier. It was her night for sensory overload. “You have to call a different number for that.”
“Will they hurry? You can’t just keep a gator out here!” The woman was a bundle of nerves, her hands shaking as much as her voice.
“Let me give you their number. Don’t worry. I’ll sit with you until they get here.”
“Thank you. I have small dogs, you know.”
Got it lady. Sarah pulled her cell phone from her large front pocket. “I have them in my contact list. I’ll just do it.” She pressed the number, which rang five times before someone answered.
“Rick’s Rodent Removal.”
“Hey Rick, it’s Sarah. How do you feel about alligators?”
“Nice,” he answered gruffly, as if he’d been sleeping. Pest duty was also an all-hours gig. “How big? Do I need the dart gun?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. About four feet at the most, tip to tail? And furious at being trapped in a garbage can for hours.”
“I’m on it.” He coughed, then released a loud sigh. “I am up. I am on my way. Hey Sarah, you have no idea how cushy you got it, running that shelter. I spent the earlier part of today wrestling a python in Cypress Swamp.”
Sarah, for all her love of animals, didn’t really care for snakes. “And how’d that go?”
Rick chuckled. “I won. Duh.”
“Glad for that.” She rattle
d off the address. “We’re in the back. You’ll need a flashlight.”
By the time Rick removed the gator from the woman’s property, and the woman gratefully paid the pest removal bill, Sarah trudged back to her truck. No money in her pocket, but sometimes that was just how things went.
Sarah’s phone rang again as she pulled into her parking spot. She automatically answered as she juggled her purse for the house key, which she kept on a separate ring so that Martin could borrow the truck as needed.
“Pet Rescue, how can we help you?”
“Hi honey, it’s your mother. How was your date?”
“Mom, it was not a date. Just a nice dinner between friends.”
“Friends? Not a thank you from a client, like it started out?”
Her mother was a freaking hound dog on the scent of some juicy news.
“Friends. The dress was great, by the way. I wore the green one.”
“Well, no wonder he wanted to be friends. That dress is magical. I’m surprised he didn’t steal a kiss.”
Sarah sucked in a breath.
“Sarah? Was there a kiss?”
“I gotta go! I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
She hung up, wishing she could turn off her phone, but part of the contract with the city was that she was on call in case of a pet emergency. Thinking about the contract made her think about the roof, which made her stomach hurt.
How could she come up with enough money to keep her business? She’d saved, and then the air conditioner broke and had to be replaced. The patch for the roof hadn’t been cheap to begin with. Sarah dug in her console for an antacid then got out of the truck.
Sarah walked inside her apartment and flipped on the lights. The dogs were curled up, side by side, on the couch, like the best of pals.
“Hey guys!”
They barked, jumped off the couch and raced her down the hall. She undressed quickly, hanging the green miracle on a hanger on the back of her door. Sarah chose boxer shorts and a tank top to sleep in, keeping her phone within hearing distance.
“Want to go out?”
Sarah had a private courtyard with a patio and fence that allowed the dogs to have space to run. It might not be a view of the ocean, but it was home and she liked it. The dogs finished their duties in record time and when she asked them if they wanted a treat, they both eagerly watched to see what kind.
The pumpkin got extra moves from both of them. She made a cup of tea and went back outside, thinking over the kiss and what she would do about it. “It was awesome, guys. Electric. Probably not a good idea to do it again, you know? I’m not saying I’m going to do anything. But man, his kiss made me realize what I’ve been missing.”
Her puppies curled up together on the giant dog bed she kept on the patio. Benny and Pippa had found each other in a dog-eat-dog world.
Maybe there was hope for her.
*****
Franco couldn’t believe he’d kissed Sarah. And now he was left with a hard on that had no intention of leaving any time soon. She’d responded, hot and heavy. Her mouth had been made for him, her lower lip plump and perfect for nuzzling.
And her hips? Good God, there would be no sleep tonight.
He got out of bed and walked to the window overlooking the beach. Pitch dark but for the occasional peek of the moon behind a cloud. When was the last time he’d even wanted to touch a woman?
But it was Sarah—just Sarah that woke up his senses. He brought up the image of her sitting back against the sofa on his balcony outside, that shimmering green dress resting at her tanned thighs, the brandy in one hand, the cigar in another.
Blowing smoke rings, for God’s sake, like she’d done it all her life. What else had she learned at college?
Her hair was soft as corn silk, the colors similar. Yellow strands to the purest white. She was meant to be in the sun. Would she join them Saturday?
Now that he’d tasted her sweetness, there was no way he couldn’t go back for another sip.
What of Bella? Dating—if he decided to date— as a single parent complicated things. Perhaps he shouldn’t have companionship for himself until Bella was older. He regretted the thought. The image of how naturally Sarah had kissed Bella tonight, helping her off the stool, stuck in his mind.
What if Bella needed a woman in her life, too?
The right woman.
Franco pounded his fist against his palm. “Enough. We will take things one day at a time, just like we’ve learned to do.”
So saying, he picked up his iPad and searched the snorkel trail, making a mental note to have the little boat serviced before Saturday.
He heard a sniffling sound and got up, his heart racing as he went down the hall toward his daughter’s bedroom.
She slept with the door cracked open, as he did.
Paisley looked up from where she was curled in a ball at Bella’s back. Her silky ears shot up, then she tucked herself back to sleep once she recognized Franco.
Bella flung her arm out. “Mama,” she said, her voice breaking.
Mama?
“Wake up, Mama. Please wake up.”
Franco’s body broke out in chills. He’d made sure Bella had therapy too, but she never talked about finding her mother, dead in the bathtub. The professionals said to give her time. That she was so young, she might repress the memory in order to heal.
He crossed the room in silent steps, pressing his hand gently to Bella’s forehead as he sang her a song. A Brazilian lullaby meant to chase bad thoughts away.
You don’t belong here, Bianca. Get out.
Franco would stand guard and make sure of it.
Chapter Nine
Franco flipped a blueberry pancake and checked the clock on the microwave above the stove. Fifteen minutes extra sleep for Bella, since she hadn’t slept well. Damn Bianca anyway. He set the pan to the back burner and walked into Bella’s room and switched on the light.
“Morning, princess. Time to get up before I give Paisley all of your blueberry pancakes.” The puppy yipped excitedly.
Bella sat up in bed, her hair a cloud of chaos around her small face. Olive-skinned with oval, dark eyes his daughter tugged at his heart. Bianca had been blue-eyed with paler skin and chestnut hair perfected in a salon, a petite woman who photographed even better than she looked. It was too bad that people’s insides and outsides didn’t match, like he and Bella had talked about.
It would sure make things easier.
“Daddy, doooon’t!”
“I was just teasing, Isabella. No tears.”
It was too late. He should have known better, after a rough night, to think she might be in the mood for jokes. Franco pulled her from bed, flinging her over his shoulder as she cried.
“You get special treatment today! Carried to the breakfast table so that your princess feet do not even have to touch the ground!”
“Daddy,” Bella giggled through her sobs. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“All right.” He set her down, realizing that her blue pajamas, covered with trains and elephants, were getting short at the ankle. “Bella, I think you are getting taller.”
“I am?” She climbed into her chair at the small round breakfast table. “I want to be as tall as, as,” she frowned, thinking of something. “As you, Daddy.”
“I would like that, but you need to eat your pancakes.”
She cut into the one he had waiting. “I want to be tall,” Bella said. “Not round.”
Franco laughed. “People come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Not square. Or triangle.”
“True. Maybe you do not need to go to school today, since you are so smart, Miss Isabella de Silva.”
“I do need to go!” She finished her pancake and drank her milk. “I like school.”
“I am glad that you do.” Franco topped off his coffee from the pot he had brewing on the counter. “What are you doing today?”
“We have a math test. I’m going to get an A. What are you going t
o do today?”
“I am going to order supplies. And check a breeder who wants to sell a Chihuahua-Poodle mix. A chi-poo.”
Bella started to laugh. “You said poo.”
“I know,” Franco said, shaking his head as he drank the dark roast he preferred. “I think they’ll sell.”
“Like Sarah’s dog treats?”
“We will see,” Franco said, hiding his immediate reaction to hearing Sarah’s name. He’d finally succeeded in putting her to the back of his mind, and now here she was, front and center. “If she wants to put the effort into getting something together, we can help her.”
“That would be nice, Daddy.” Bella got up from her chair, bringing her plate and empty glass to the sink. “Thank you for pancakes. Blueberry are my favorite.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Franco finished his mug and set it on the counter. “Race you. Twenty minutes before we get to the front door. Go!”
He’d already taken care of Paisley and all he had left to do was grab his iPad, phone and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Since Franco had fired the last nanny, he hadn’t bothered with getting another one. He’d already been doing the household duties.
Funny, how “chores” provided boundaries.
He used to hate them as a kid, but did them anyway or his allowance was zero.
As an adult, it was a privilege to have a full time staff. Not one he wanted at this stage in Bella’s life. Maybe once she was older…right now, being immersed in routine and family was what she needed, and Franco was determined to give it to her.
“I win,” she said, standing by the door wearing her school uniform, her backpack at her feet.
“It was close,” he said, grabbing the keys to his Volvo.
“Close doesn’t count,” she said, darting toward the elevator to press the button.
“Where did you hear that?”
“From you!” Bella laughed and got in, pushing the L for Lobby.
They waved to Bob, then went to the carport. They’d only been doing this for two months, but they were getting it down to seven minutes flat. He dropped her off at a private charter school that had plenty of educated staff and no budget cut worries.