by Roz Denny
Once she gave up and just sat, Sarah dozed off and missed the muffled whine of the Porsche when it finally did arrive. The house was dark.
Mike exploded through the front door and hit the lights, catapulting his mother from her chair.
One look at her grimy face and the boy stopped his excited dialogue about the boat. "Gee," he observed, "Mom looks like that rose again, don't she, Gabe?"
Under the harsh overhead lights, Gabe appeared so much her opposite—calm and cool in his white shorts and bright yellow tank top—that something in Sarah snapped. Catching Mike to her roughly, she demanded, "Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Why didn't you call?"
Her outburst took Gabe by surprise, but he knew her well enough by now to tread lightly, even though he still wasn't certain why her soft brown eyes were always guarded. The agency application had revealed nothing, and this morning Mitzi Kealoha had been hesitant to talk about her friend. Over the course of the day he had learned from Mike that there were no grandparents, that there was a father who never sent so much as a birthday card and that Sarah was often too tired to have fun.
Mike tore free from his mother's grasp and ran to Gabe. He threw his arms about the man's waist. "Gabe and me had fun today!" he cried.
Gabe reached behind him and closed the door. "What Mike did on my boat was work, Sarah. He waxed the railings and helped clean the galley cupboards. It wasn't all play," he said in a reasonable tone.
"It was fun," Mike insisted. "I got to run up the sail, and Gabe and me fished off the dock. Sheena came by. Wow, Mom! You oughtta see her bathin' suit. It was neat-o."
Gabe tried to explain. "It was the color. He likes hot pink. She was on her way to Morgan Tate's pool party. I think Mike wanted us to go."
Sarah pulled the boy back. "That would be foolish. He doesn't know how to swim."
"Gabe said he'd teach me," Mike said, stamping a foot. "Someday, I'm gonna find my dad's boat. I bet he wouldn't make me call home, neither." He turned, about to flee the room.
Gabe blocked his path. "I think you owe your mother an apology, kicker. I gave you telephone numbers the other day. Did you forget to pass them on?"
Mike hung his head. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Sarah smoothed a drooping lock of hair out of her eyes with a trembling hand. "Go get cleaned up. You and I will discuss this later."
The child looked subdued. "Gabe was gonna take us out for hamburgers. Does this mean we don't get to go?"
Gabe moved to the center of the room. He would have tried to reason with Sarah if he hadn't gained a closer look at her pallid face, her stricken eyes. "Why don't you go wash your hands, Mike?" he suggested quietly. "Give me a minute with your mom. If we don't go for burgers tonight, we'll do it another time."
"But, Gabe—"
"Go on. Scoot, or we won't go next time, either."
"Yes, sir." The boy shuffled his feet and frowned, but he went without another word. Sarah didn't notice that Gabe stepped closer and blocked the bright light from her eyes.
"Sarah, what's wrong?" With gentle hands, he turned her rigid body toward his taller frame.
Suddenly her whole body began to shake. "Do you see what you've done? Mike has never ever mentioned finding Farrell. He's always been content! Until now."
Without a care for his clean shirt, Gabe pressed her smudged face into the cradle of his shoulder and held her tightly until the shudders coursing through her began to subside. All the while, he murmured soothing words, gently rocking her. "I doubt Mike meant a word of that. It's just, well, he was so excited about his day. I don't think he was prepared for your anger. You know how kids are. It was his way of striking back."
Sarah struggled for release and he let her go immediately.
"I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I don't normally fall apart like this. I'm tired, and I was so worried." She began to rub her upper arms.
"I'm not surprised you're tired." Gabe replaced her hands with his own and slowly massaged warmth into her icy skin. He frowned down into her eyes. "This time today was for you, Sarah—to pamper yourself. Instead, you cleaned all day. The house sparkles. As we drove in, I noticed all the shrubs had been trimmed and the flower beds weeded. Ye gods, woman! I've known some compulsive people, but…" He loosened his grip and tried to get a smile out of her.
"If your idea of pampering is polishing boats, finding a good wave and having a bevy of pretty women on shore to stroke your ego, then save your lecture." She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tight to keep them from shaking. "Please leave. You've done enough for one day."
His eyes flashed, then cooled. "Are you quite finished? I happen to be on vacation, which you would have known if you'd read the letter from the agency. And if you'd looked at your packet and studied the mission statement, you'd see our purpose is twofold—to provide a child one-on-one time with his or her friend and to give the parent a break. Now go sit down. Put your feet up and think about what I said for five minutes. I'll fix us some coffee. Afterward, Mike and I'll go out and grab something to eat while you shower." With a broad sweep of his arm, he picked Sarah up and deposited her none too gently in a high-backed recliner, then yanked up the footrest in a move that dared her to object.
She didn't. She simply stared, openmouthed.
Satisfied, Gabe spun on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Damn, but she was a stubborn frustrating woman. Why did he bother?
Part of Sarah wanted to end things here and now. Another part felt foolish, guilty, remorseful. Why did she become so irrational around Gabe? Closing her eyes, Sarah experienced a rush of shame. How could she tell him that she didn't know how to accept pampering? That she was afraid of history repeating itself? And therein, she supposed, lay the real problem. He awakened feelings in her she didn't want awakened.
When Gabe returned with a steaming mug of coffee, Sarah was curled up and sleeping like a kitten. Seeing her softened by sleep, he was struck by a sudden urge to kiss her awake. He recalled how nice it had felt to hold her. Coffee slopped over the mug's rim. He bit back an oath just as Mike dashed into the room.
The boy's face was freshly scrubbed and his blond hair clung damply to his forehead. Gabe put a finger to his lips. Mike nodded. "I know why she's tired," he whispered loudly. "You should see my bedroom. She squeaked it clean."
Gabe smiled. "She squeaked a lot clean today, kicker. What do you say—shall we surprise her and fix dinner? I think we owe her, don't you?"
Mike stood there, considering.
Gabe thought perhaps he was expecting a lot. He knew how badly the child wanted to go for hamburgers. Yet it was important that he learn to give and not just take, to show consideration for others.
The low rumble of their voices nudged Sarah awake. From beneath sleepy lashes she saw how her son looked at Gabe. She ached at the way he wore his heart on his sleeve— more fragile than she'd ever imagined.
"I guess it's my fault she's mad," the boy conceded after a moment's deliberation. "I should've give her the phone numbers. So let's fix dinner."
Gabe set Sarah's cup on the low table and squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Good choice, my man. But you don't deserve all the blame. Next time, we'll communicate better before we leave." Silently they tiptoed out.
Sarah yawned and stretched.
After a while, she dredged up enough energy to leave the chair. Although she was relieved to have Mike home, those ambivalent feelings she held about Gabe Parker left her mind jumbled.
Only Mike's earlier comment regarding the way she looked drove her to more than a quick shower. A hot bath was in order. While water ran in the tub, she shed her grungy jeans. Every muscle protested. Sighing, she slipped into the steaming water and leaned back. And she dawdled, thinking Gabe would get tired of waiting and leave. She couldn't hear them—perhaps he had. It was too quiet. In that case, she'd better get out. Eight-year-old boys could get into a lot of trouble if left alone. Quickly she pulled the plug.
&nbs
p; Her work in the yard had given her skin a golden hue. The green silk blouse she selected to wear complimented her heightened skin tone and brought out the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Shorts would be cooler, but what if Gabe was still here? Self-conscious, she donned a pair of well-washed jeans, instead.
Mike's radio had begun blaring from his room. Enticing aromas wafted from the kitchen, more or less confirming that she hadn't outwaited Gabe. Sarah hadn't thought herself hungry, but now she was famished.
She paused at the door to the kitchen and watched him efficiently tend various bubbling pots on the stove. Gabe seemed at ease with a dish towel draped carelessly about his lean hips to serve as an apron. Her heart did a funny tumble in her chest. The two men she'd known best, her father and Farrell, had deemed the kitchen women's territory. Neither would have been caught dead behind a stove, to say nothing of wearing an apron.
"Hello," she said, once the surprise had passed. "Are you single-handedly responsible for all these mouthwatering smells?"
Gabe turned with a broad smile, which quickly changed into a long low whistle of approval. "My, what magic there is in a little soap and water." He brandished a spoon. "Mike said you like spaghetti. It's quick and easy, and it goes with the red wine I grabbed on the way here. Mike got a soft drink. I trust that's okay."
Sarah pushed herself away from the door frame and peeked into a bubbling pot of sauce. "Mmm. Heavenly. I love spaghetti. So you're a gourmet cook?"
Even white teeth gleamed from Gabe's tanned face as he threw back his head and laughed. "I'd hardly call boxed spaghetti and canned sauce gourmet cooking, Sarah. But I'm relieved Mike didn't just talk me into fixing it because it was his favorite, next to hamburgers."
Sarah watched his strong throat as he laughed. Her gaze shifted to the springy tuft of hair showing above the scooped neck of his snug tank top. Unconsciously she wet her lips and looked away. She felt… dizzy.
Gabe's eyes locked on the small sweep of her tongue. He closed the distance between them until he could actually feel her tremble. He wanted so badly to kiss her. But before their lips touched, the shrill screech of the stove's timer broke them apart. With a guilty start, Gabe turned to check a steaming pot. "Break out the wine, woman!" he said in a husky tone. "That dreadful noise means our dinner's ready." Was he crazy? Kissing her would complicate everything.
Sarah was glad of the opportunity to busy her hands. Furtive glances showed Gabe calmly draining the spaghetti noodles. Sure that her own cheeks matched the dark red of the wine, Sarah found herself resenting the fact that he seemed undisturbed. "I'll get Mike," she said, nerves frayed. "He should be helping."
"He did set the table, buttered the French bread and put it in the oven," Gabe said. "I didn't want something boiling over on him."
"I'm not accusing you of anything," she said, lifting a brow.
"It'd be the first time, then," he muttered as she left the room.
It occurred to Sarah that Gabe might not be so unaffected by her, after all.
Mike was lying on his bed, out like a light. When she tried rousing him, he only mumbled and rolled over. After several attempts, Sarah gave up. She'd keep a plate warm in case he woke up later. Although she didn't like the idea of sharing an intimate dinner with Gabe Parker, she didn't think it fair to let his culinary efforts go to waste.
"Can you believe that munchkin fell asleep?" she said lightly as she entered the dining nook and Gabe looked expectantly behind her.
"Do you want me to try waking him?" He set his napkin aside and began to rise.
She shook her head. "I've learned to let sleeping bears lie."
He smiled and assisted her into the nook with its built-in bench seat against the wall. Then he lifted his glass of wine in a toast. "To uneventful hibernations."
She laughed, touching her glass to his. "You know, you make it darned hard on a woman to stay mad. I intended to duke it out with you over several things, not the least of which is making me go gray from worry." She held out a few strands of sleek brown hair, not a gray one in sight.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said simply. "Mike seemed to be having a good time. It never entered my mind that you wouldn't jump at the chance for extra hours. Forgive me?" He decided it was best to lay all his cards on the table. "You don't look any the worse for it now." He raised his glass to toast her again, his gaze frank and admiring.
Sarah was reminded anew how much his eyes resembled Mike's—especially when he'd been naughty and knew it. However, the lips touching the wine glass were not those of an eight-year-old. They were the firm mobile lips of a man. Seeing the way they caressed the frosted crystal sent unexpected shivers up her spine.
She shifted on the bench and turned her own glass by its stem. Farrell had been quick to beg her forgiveness, too. But his apologies were nothing more than a means to get his own way. "Let's eat before this gets cold," she said crisply.
Tension was back thick in the air. This time, Gabe sensed it had little to do with him. At least he hoped that was the case. Yet he didn't want a repeat of today. He pulled out his billfold and removed a business card. He got up quickly to retrieve a pen he'd noticed on the little desk in the hall and scribbled on the back of the card. Then he pushed it across the table.
"I don't want you worrying," he said. "I've listed all the numbers where I might be. The marina, my apartment, my parents' home and the beach house at Sunset. Although I'm not competing in the Grand National Surfing Championship this year, they've asked me to judge. Qualifying starts in a couple of weeks. I'll be taking another week of vacation, so I'll be at Sunset Beach a lot."
He glanced up and caught a flash of something he couldn't quite identify in her eyes. "Maybe you'd like to come for the finals," he offered. "It's over a weekend. Mike would have a blast. And a couple of days in the sun would do you good. What do you say?"
"No!" Her fork slipped through her fingers and crashed against her plate. "And you can forget taking Mike to your boat again. It's not an environment I want to encourage."
Puzzled, Gabe countered, "What kind of environment do you think it is, Sarah? I don't have wild parties or sex orgies. My friends and staff are clean-cut decent people."
"Really?" Sarah gave a careless toss of her head. "What about Sheena's hot-pink bathing suit? I know what sells boats—women draped all over them in sailor hats and string bikinis."
Despite his better intentions, Gabe's gaze slid from her lips to the pulse pounding at the base of her throat—then lower to the open V of her silk shirt. "I don't employ bikini-clad women. My grandfather built a craft that sold on its own merit. I do likewise." He leaned toward her, an elbow on the table. "Out of curiosity, Sarah, what kind of suit do you wear swimming?"
"I don't," she said, still processing what he'd just said. Then, when his eyes widened and she realized how her reply sounded, she sat up straight. "I mean, I don't have time to waste swimming."
He smiled a lazy smile. "I like the first notion better."
Even though Sarah wanted to be indignant, her body had other ideas. No one had assessed her this thoroughly as a woman in a very long time—if ever. Her pulse leapt. "Don't," she said, flustered. "Why are you staring at me?"
"Incredible." Gabe shook his head. "People travel thousands of miles to enjoy our beaches, and you're telling me you and Mike don't go. I don't understand why not, but it does explain his preoccupation with swimsuits."
"That is precisely what I want to avoid." Her hands balled into fists.
"The truth is, Sarah, that he's at the age when boys start looking at pictures of women and they speculate."
"At eight?" She sounded shocked. She was shocked.
"Eight or eighty, Sarah. It's normal." His eyes strayed to her blouse again. A wry smile played at one corner of his mouth as he looked away and ran a finger around the rim of his wineglass. "Believe me, it's normal."
Suddenly everything Sarah kept bottled inside—the fear that Mike would turn out like his father erupted. "I signed Mike up
for Befriend an Island Child because I wanted him to learn life doesn't begin and end at the beach. I had hoped he'd see women being treated with respect, tenderness and love." She hesitated, realizing her own desires were spilling into this conversation.
Gabe chewed and swallowed the bite he'd taken. Then he pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, confronting her. "Respect, tenderness and love begin at home, Sarah. You have to be his role model, his example. What kind of messages are you sending him?" At once he felt like a rat because her face fell and her eyes looked terribly sad. Damn! Something about that look drew his sympathy.
Tiny, strangled protests lay trapped in Sarah's throat. She crushed her napkin and her hand brushed her wineglass. It toppled. Tearing her gaze away from Gabe's, she frantically mopped at the spreading red stain with her napkin.
He reached across the table and grasped her hand, his thumb circling her palm. "Leave it. We need to settle this now. Why do you mistrust me, Sarah? How can I possibly help Mike when you act like I'm Jack the Ripper?"
A surge of male heat and the faint essence of his tangy after-shave stole what breath she had managed to salvage. Wave after wave of desire broke over her, causing her to fight as never before against her own needs. life wasn't about desire. Life was about practicality, commitment, responsibility. She had to end this. "Perhaps you seduced the last mother you dealt with in the program, but I didn't sign my son up because I was a sex-starved divorcee."
"Don't be insulting!" he snapped. "The guardian of my former agency assignment was a grandmother. She had warmth and passion enough to take on raising her wayward son's child—to keep the boy from living in drug-infested squalor. That, Sarah, is what breeds respect."
Gabe threw down his napkin and got to his feet. "I'm sorry if I stepped over some invisible line. I can be as distant as you want me to be. I told you before that you set the rules." His tone was cold. Harsh.