Unless…
“No single mothers, right?” he asked, adamant against such complications. “Nobody—”
“Stop fretting,” Sophie said. “Like you, none of them will turn into a pumpkin or need to pay off a babysitter at midnight.”
Relieved, Eli didn’t hesitate to take a look at the photos on Sophie’s phone. Three pretty faces and he decided meeting them would be no hardship. Clearly pleased as well, Sophie let him walk her from the building and give a grateful kiss to her cheek as goodbye. Her vehicle exited the lot as he watched, then he headed to his own and made the short drive home.
Entering his house through the garage and into the kitchen, he breathed deep. Okay, the air hadn’t lost all its girly notes, but he was accustomed to the mixed fragrances of several perfumed products. At the refrigerator, he pulled out a cold one and popped the top.
Taking a sip, he walked to the foyer to retrieve the mail that had been slipped through the slot on the front door. Worthless circulars and a catalog of pricey lingerie, addressed to Lynnie. Frowning, he tossed it face down on the coffee table in the family room and dropped to the couch. Should he say something to her about it? Have another talk about boys and what they wanted?
A thought that only chafed at him as he recalled what he wanted for the next couple of weeks.
Shit.
He flicked on the TV remote and rolled through the channels. Nothing appealed to him. Not sports, not politics, not some explosion-heavy movie that he’d seen before.
Four thousand cable channels and he could only think how quiet the house was over the rat-a-tat-tat of an assault weapon coming from the surround speakers.
Maybe he should start a load of laundry.
Then, horrorstruck by the reflexive thought, he jumped to his feet. No red-blooded American male was going to fill up the washing machine on a Friday night. Well, he had in the past, upon discovering that the soccer uniforms or the dancewear weren’t clean for Saturday morning, but the past was over, at least for the next couple of weeks.
To escape any further domestic urges, he exited the house.
Some fresh air, he decided, would clear his head and sweep away old habits which were dying much too hard. He was supposed to start livin’ the life. Now. This evening.
Though the sun remained in the sky, the day was cooling down and he was glad he’d pulled on a sweatshirt. The front lawn looked a little ragged and he’d get on it first thing in the morning—unless he suffered from a hangover, in which case he’d give himself a pass until noon.
Of course, he hadn’t even consumed half the beer he’d started, but there was still plenty of time to tie one on. Swinging bachelors could do that.
All part of livin’ the life.
At random, he took a right at the bottom of the drive. The road wasn’t bounded by sidewalks, but a whitewashed split-rail fence delineated the King property. He ambled along it, focus straight ahead, when the tinny sounds of an old pop tune reached his ears. Something about a party.
Glancing to his left, he saw the small stucco house, shaded by a huge, gnarly-armed oak. No fence sat between the road and the yard beneath the tree’s overhang that was mostly packed dirt with the occasional sprouting of ivy. Then out the open front door a girl-child danced, a pink plastic boom box clutched in her small fist. A dog, fur golden and shaggy, trotted at her heels.
Then its head came up, and with a booming whoof, it raced in a direct path toward Eli.
Shit. He braced for impact, maybe even bloodletting.
At the last moment, a sharp whistle caused the creature to stop in its tracks, long ears flying out. It looked toward the shrill noise. So did Eli.
There she was. Sloane Clarke. In another pair of jeans, the same sneakers, a T-shirt with Duffy’s Does It Green & Local stretching across her ample breasts.
He wished he hadn’t noticed that. He wished he hadn’t seen any of her again, because he’d already spent too much time banishing the woman from his mind, where she persisted in returning to linger at its fringes. Because last night, he’d decided it was best to pretend she didn’t exist.
She, however, seemed to have no such ambition as she jogged across the dirt to the edge of the road opposite him.
Her breasts bounced as she did so, and he comforted himself by deciding that no man under eighty would have been able to not-see something like that. But as she got closer, he took control of himself and fixed his gaze on her face.
Those big, round blue eyes. That bow-shaped mouth.
God.
“How are you?” she asked, those lips stretching into a smile. Her teeth were small and white.
Eli had no idea why he imagined them taking a bite, right on the meatiest curve of his pec. He was a sick bastard, he decided, to have such ideas when her dog was right there.
Not to mention her kid, who was now spinning in circles to what he now recognized was a Pink tune, sung in childish voices. An old CD, he guessed. His sisters used to play similar ones, covers of top 100 pop tunes produced for the under-twelve crowd.
“Eli?”
He forced himself to look at Sloane again. “Hey. Yeah. Hi.”
The dog moseyed toward him, so Eli put out his hand, palm down, and let the animal sniff his fingers. It took a micro-second for the dog to approve before he was pushing his head into Eli’s hand.
Petting was imperative, of course. No man could pretend this friendly pooch’s existence away. “Hello, boy,” he said warmly, and the dog’s body wiggled with happiness. “You’re a good one. You’re a very good one.”
“That’s Boo,” Sloane said.
Eli quirked a brow at her. “Say again?”
“Paige named him. He came into our lives before she turned two and at that time ‘boo’ was pretty much the word for everything besides ‘mama’ and ‘more.’”
“Got it.” But that reminded Eli again of why he should steer clear of the lady and her kid. He understood all about children and pets in a way lots of men twice his age did not. Spring break was supposed to be just that—a break from his past.
Today began his time to focus on himself and pleasures of the flesh, not concerns over a dog that needed a fenced play area and a child—
No, he was not going to think anything about the child.
So he turned his gaze back to Sloane and steeled himself against the impact of that curvy body, that curly blonde hair, that ridiculously plump mouth that would look best red from kisses or wrapped around—
No. Not letting thoughts like that in either.
“Are you eating okay?” the woman said, cocking her head.
“What?” He sounded like a bear.
“I’ve got that job, you know, to keep an eye on you.” A gleam of mischief sparked in her eyes.
Shit, he almost found it as appealing as her stupendous rack.
“I don’t need a keeper,” he ground out, because he didn’t dare share any humor with her. Keeping himself detached from the woman in every manner possible was serious business.
“Okay,” she said, and he had the feeling she was still laughing at him. “But let me know if you need a hand with a stroke some time.”
Was she offering him a hand…stroke? His eyes bugged out. “What? What are you talking about?”
That mouth of hers twitched. Oh, yes, she was definitely laughing at him. “Stroke your jaw, Eli, so I can truthfully tell Molly you’ve been employing your razor. What else could I possibly mean?”
She could possibly be trying to drive him nuts. Tempt him into sleepless nights for the next two weeks when she was right across the street and he was near-desperate for sexual companionship.
If Sloane Clarke wasn’t everything he didn’t want to get entangled with during his bachelor vacation—and when his real life returned—he’d be slinging back those same innuendoes and then following up on them.
But she was and so he wouldn’t.
Without another look at her, the dog, or the kid, Eli turned in the direction of h
ome. To take a cue from that Pink song that seemed to be on continuous play, it was time to get his spring break party started.
* * *
Sloane couldn’t let Eli go like this. Not when he was wearing that testy expression on his face that instead of intimidating her only made him seem more human. Manageable. A guy typically worn out by a long work week.
Last night she’d babbled and flushed hot like a red pepper but she was over all that silly physical response now. She didn’t have the time or an inclination for a crush, so she’d crushed it.
“Eli,” she called to his retreating back. “Stop a minute.”
One foot in the air, he hesitated, then he squared his shoulders and made an about-face. Boo rushed him again, clearly expecting more pets.
Which he automatically provided. “You like dogs?” she asked.
He blinked at her, as if mildly insulted. “Of course I like dogs.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“I’ve had dogs my whole life.” A pained expression crossed his face. “Our last one lived to thirteen. We lost Rover a few months back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Rover?”
“Allison drew the short straw and got to name him. She was seven.”
Sloane smiled. “Rover’s good.”
Eli’s fingers continued fondling the dog’s ears. “I felt blessed at the time. The twins were going to choose Hoopsie.” His free hand rose, stop sign-style. “Don’t ask.”
“Okay, I won’t ask about that. But I wondered…” She pulled on the hem of her T-shirt and told herself it wasn’t a nervous gesture. “Well, you’re welcome to join us for dinner. Nothing special, spaghetti and salad. Paige loves pasta.”
His gaze flicked to her daughter, flicked back. “Thank you, but no. Despite Molly’s dire warnings, I’m actually perfectly capable of making myself a square meal.”
“It’s not that. It’s—”
“And I have calls to make. I’ve…uh, lined up some dates for the next couple of weeks and I need to make reservations, that kind of thing. You know.”
She supposed he meant reservations for dinner, what one might do before a scheduled night out with another person, but Sloane had no recent experience of such a thing. “I see.”
He glanced down at the dog, then back up at her. “Maybe you have some suggestions.”
“About?” she asked, puzzled.
“A place where a woman might like to eat dinner or lunch. You know.”
Again with the you know, when she absolutely did not. “I’m afraid single motherhood has left me no time for dating,” she admitted.
Now he exhaled. “So you probably get me.”
She cocked her head. “How’s that?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Paige stop playing whirling dervish to scoop up one of her dolls who had been lying in the dirt. Her daughter held the toy by the ankle and the skirt of its dress fell toward its head. Sloane stared, frowning. Was that a pair of her own panties twisted around Baby Sally’s waist and thighs?
But Eli was speaking. Returning her focus to him, she realized he and Boo had walked back toward her house and now stood at the mouth of the pathway leading to the front door. Half wine barrel planters flanked the brick walk, and she couldn’t help but notice that the purple petunias she’d planted looked thirsty. In the way of mothers everywhere, she multitasked by jogging to turn on the water at the hose spigot and then jogged back, dragging the length of green tubing across the yard, water flowing weakly.
“You were saying?” she asked Eli, and noted the glazed look in his eyes.
Registering moisture, she glanced down to see that during her manipulation, the hose’s nozzle had dribbled on the front of her shirt. The cotton had gone wet in two places, a dark splotch over her ribs and another over one nipple. To her mortification, the tip of her breast stiffened even as she forcefully willed it not to react.
Damn. Heat rushed her face, red pepper all over again.
“Um…” She glanced back at Eli who now seemed fascinated by the dog. “Uh…”
Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket.
Saved!
But upon glancing at the caller she realized this was no reprieve, not in the least. With one hand she accepted the call anyway, because avoidance only served as another tick against her.
She figured Diane Dunlap kept a handwritten list of Sloane’s sins.
“Hello,” she said, voice cheery. “How are you and Jeffrey?”
There followed the usual polite back-and-forth. Diane had country club manners and Sloane could picture the older woman, her platinum hair just so, her manicure pristine. “You want to talk to Paige?” she repeated, loud enough for her daughter to hear. Paige immediately glanced up, then shook her head with vehemence, clutching Baby Sally to her chest. “I’m sorry, Diane, but Paige’s taking a late nap. Perhaps we can call tomorrow—”
Her daughter’s grandmother interrupted with her opinion on late naps and how Sloane’s laissez-faire parenting style would cause them all great distress later on.
Though she knew the older woman had no claim to a perfect record herself considering her son’s reckless adult life, Sloane still felt her shoulders slump as the criticism pierced her weakest spot. It barely registered when Eli slipped the hose from her hand and took over the watering. She wiped her damp palm on the leg of her jeans and made an effort to change the conversational direction, interrupting Diane midstream.
“We’re looking forward to you visiting Sawyer Beach at the end of the month,” she said, infusing her words with every bit of positivity she could muster. “Paige will love to show you her artwork on the walls at Cozy’s.”
For some reason, Diane didn’t object to the hours Sloane had her daughter in Cozy’s Daycare while she worked at a small accounting firm as a bookkeeper. The older woman liked visiting the center and preened at the praise the staff shared with her about Paige. One might have thought the compliments were earned by Diane herself—certainly she considered them a reflection upon her, in any case.
The call continued, Sloane deflecting complaints or criticisms whenever possible by asking about Diane’s husband, Jeffrey, or telling an amusing story starring Paige. It would have helped if her daughter had been willing to get on the call, but she was often cowed in the presence of her larger-than-life grandmother and even hearing her over-loud voice through the phone could turn Paige shy. In the morning hours there was a better chance that the little girl would forget some of her self-consciousness and respond more naturally.
“What can I do to ensure you have an enjoyable stay while you’re in the area?” she asked. While Diane and Jeffrey had once lived in the nearby larger city of San Luis Obispo, they’d moved to Florida along with a group of friends to a gated community and golf course living. Of course, they’d lived in a gated community on a golf course in SLO, but the lure of their friendships had been stronger than that of staying near their married-with-no-children daughter as well as their granddaughter, born of a woman whom Diane had never considered right for her son.
Not good enough. That was the actual phrase. Sloane had never been good enough for JJ— Jeffrey Junior.
Though truth be told, JJ had never completely pleased Diane either, despite her love for him and how she’d been blind to most of his faults.
Those faults that she had acknowledged she’d consigned to a blame bucket labeled with Sloane’s name.
“We’ve decided to stay in Sawyer Beach to be closer to Paige,” Diane said now, “instead of being with Rona at our old house.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Sloane managed to choke out, even as dismay overwhelmed her like cold water rising from her ankles to the top of her head, drowning her. “Though I’m sure Rona will miss her time with her mom and dad.”
“Our priority is Paige,” the older woman told her. “Now that she’s nearly four, we intend that she comes to know us very well.”
Sloane heard the words as a warning. From the very beginning, Diane had made ve
iled references to taking her daughter from her, and as the call wrapped up, Sloane couldn’t ignore a bone-shaking anxiety.
She needed to hold her child. Stat.
Starting toward Paige, she blinked a couple of times, bringing the bigger picture into focus. Still occupied by Baby Sally, Paige was trying to stuff its splayed plastic fingers into the sleeves of a pink dolly coat, seemingly oblivious to the adult on her left. Eli.
Sloane’s heart lurched, jolted by the sight of the man, who’d apparently finished watering and was now sitting on the same porch step as the little girl. He looked at ease, relaxed in his own skin.
And the right age to be Paige’s father.
Seeing them together… Sloane took in a breath and thought it through. It looked…nice, she decided.
Definitely not threatening, like Diane’s call.
As she drew closer to the pair, Paige made an irritated sound, frustrated with the task of dressing Sally. Without missing a beat, Eli reached over to pluck the toy from the little girl, his big hands deftly fitting the garment onto the small toy, even to the point of fastening tiny buttons into the tiny buttonholes.
Sloane stared, as did Paige, who slid her little bottom closer to the man.
“I want to let you know I’ve been nonstop parenting pretty much for the last eleven years,” Eli said, his gaze still trained on Baby Sally.
“Um, yes?” Sloane had heard this from the twins.
“So I have this idea of looking for a little fun during the next couple of weeks while my sisters are gone,” he continued.
“Right.”
He passed the doll to Paige, who took it without hesitation and also didn’t move away from her spot pressed to Eli’s side as she began fussing over Baby Sally.
“I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t report back to them on my…” He seemed to think. “Comings and goings.”
NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2) Page 3