Just for Appearances

by Jenna Rutland

  She dashed to the table to join the boys and glanced at her watch in ten-second intervals while she devoured a plate of toast and eggs. They were actually good. It was really unfair that he could look that good, charm her sons, and cook, too. At this rate, she better start a list of things her heart shouldn’t get used to.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said, obviously misinterpreting her worried expression. “It’s your first day. Your boss will know you’re anxious. Just relax, Einstein.” He tried to reassure her, and she thought the gesture sweet. “We’ll be okay. Stay at work late if you need to. I’ll be here when you get home.”

  Well, that image certainly didn’t calm her nerves. With a few hours of restless sleep behind her, she felt nowhere near refreshed enough to begin her first day of work. While she’d struggled to find sleep the night before, her mind had wandered from images of John taking over complete control of her house to her children spending weeks without her—and not caring. When she had dozed off, her dreams were filled with erotic images that involved her handsome Nanny McHeartbreaker.

  With one more peek toward the kitchen clock, she pushed away from the table and raced around in an attempt to gather her needed paraphernalia. “Has anybody seen my keys? I’m sure I put them right next to my purse.” She scanned the kitchen. “If I only knew where I’d put my purse.”

  He approached her, arms loaded with purse, keys, a brown paper sack lunch, and a second to-go cup of coffee. And, of course, he wore a devilish grin. She clamped her lips together to keep from laughing. The guy was so desperate for her help that he was turning into a single mom’s dream man right before her eyes.

  She sent him a grateful thanks with her eyes, then yelled for the boys. “Okay, guys, I’ve got to go. Come see me off.”

  In a lineup that would make the army proud, they stood in succession, shortest to tallest, to endure the kiss headed their way. One by one, she placed a peck on their cheek, told them good-bye, and accepted their wishes to have a good day. Last in line, John leaned down to receive his good-bye kiss.

  He always had been a flirt. But she laughed. “Nice try.”

  With a smirk and a shrug, he said, “Worth a shot.” He flunked in his attempt to keep a serious expression on his face. “See you tonight.”

  She glanced at his chest, then back into his eyes. With a wink, she said, “Love the shirt.” And wasn’t she proud of herself for almost being able to ignore the image her stupid brain conjured up with the way he said tonight.

  …

  “Mac, we want to wear our lucky T-shirts to practice this afternoon, but Mom forgot to wash them.” Aaron’s big brown eyes, which mirrored his mother’s, had their desired effect on John, and he soon found himself gathering laundry.

  “Give me anything else that can be washed with these, guys, like jeans or other dark shirts. I might as well do a whole load.” One more thing he could help her with. How the hell she did all this on her own mystified him. The sudden consciousness seized him of how much he admired her. She possessed a strength that in some women would likely appear masculine, yet for her, it somehow added to her femininity.

  With arms full, he headed to the laundry room. He set the dirty clothes aside, opened the washing machine, and was visually blasted by an explosion of vibrant colors. Little scraps of purple, red, and blue fabric dotted the bottom of the washing machine. What the hell? She had apparently forgotten to transfer this load into the dryer. He lifted out the scraps of material one by one and soon realized he held her underwear. Bras and panties. Some so skimpy, he wondered how they hadn’t disintegrated in the wash cycle. With his thumb and forefinger, he transferred each piece of silk and lace from the washer to the dryer. Turned on by the wisps of material, he noticed his hands actually shook. God, he had to get a grip.

  Had she always worn sexy underwear? He was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t remember what she wore underneath her prom dress all those years ago. After all, he had been the one to slide her panties down her long legs. But their color had been the furthest thing from his mind.

  Now he faced a whole new problem. How in the hell could he ever look at her again without wondering what she wore underneath her clothes? And how could he control his imagination as it conjured up images of Rachel wearing the items he had discovered? It would drive him insane.

  Chapter Four

  It had been the longest day of Rachel’s life. Giving birth seemed effortless compared to the ten-hour workday she’d completed. Would every day be like today? Coworkers’ and physicians’ names, correct procedures, and expectations swirled through her mind like fallen leaves on an autumn day. After she’d parked her car in her drive, she leaned back against the headrest and released a drawn-out sigh, the peacefulness of her SUV a welcome refuge. In silence, she remained inside in an effort to switch her thoughts from work to home, hoping the tightness would ease from her stomach.

  Thoughts of John filled her head for the umpteenth time that day while she stared across the small patch of lawn to where her house lay. A grin escaped her lips when she remembered lunchtime. Seated in the cafeteria, she had opened the paper bag with minutes to gulp down her food before a meeting with her boss. Stuck to the bottom of the sack was a small yellow sticky note. The familiar bold handwriting greeted her. Hope you’re having an amazing day, Einstein!! The simple sentiment took him seconds to write, but the thoughtfulness of his gesture remained with her the entire afternoon.

  It had also served as a reminder to talk him up to her coworkers and get them interested in his project. Which also was a much-needed mental memo that he was a temporary fixture in her life.

  She climbed out of her car, thankful to once again be in familiar territory. Except lately nothing seemed familiar. John was in her house and had spent the entire day with her children. He had penetrated her home, her boys, and her life. And it was only day one.

  She gave in to the tension that had evolved throughout the long hours of the day as her stomach twisted in tight knots. How had the boys managed today? Did they miss her? How disappointed would they be that she was late for dinner, a promised pizza at Rosie’s to celebrate her first day of work?

  She took a deep breath, then tried to relax while she grabbed at the back screen door. Huh. The handle stayed intact. An incredible aroma of tomato sauce and Italian spices invaded her nose. A backward glance toward the yard assured her she had the right house.

  It took her weary eyes seconds to adjust to the scene that greeted her as she entered the kitchen. John and the boys worked together in the cozy room, engrossed in creating what appeared to be pizza. With the four of them unaware she had come into the room, she used the borrowed time to absorb the scene before her. The shock of their closeness—already—hit her full force. She bit down hard on her lower lip in an attempt to hold back unwelcome tears. She stared down at her feet and kicked off her shoes. She should be the one in the kitchen with the boys, laughing and cooking dinner. Could she be replaced so easily in her sons’ lives? And by a man who’d be leaving them at the end of the summer?

  She plastered a smile on her face and forced some happy-mom cheer into her voice. “Hey, guys!”

  “Mom,” the boys yelled in unison.

  “We’re making dinner.” Their tomato sauce grins spread across their faces. “Mac’s helping us,” the twins explained.

  “Oh.” To her dismay, her voice faltered. She cleared her throat with an awkward cough. “I can see we won’t be going out for pizza tonight.” A tense silence enveloped the kitchen. She didn’t wait for a reply. She jammed her keys into her purse and tossed it on the counter.

  John shifted his attention to her. “Sorry.” He shrugged an apology. “After you called to say you’d be late, I thought I’d make dinner. I figured you’d want to stay in. The boys talked about pizza…”

  Who wouldn’t want homemade pizza instead of fighting a crowded restaurant or eating lukewarm takeout? Unfortunately, the latter two options were all she would have been able to offe
r after the day she’d had.

  With a long, exhausted sigh, she forced a smile. Don’t be a jerk. “It’s okay. I don’t feel like going anywhere.” Why did she suddenly feel defeated?

  The boys continued to apply toppings to two circular shapes of dough blanketed in sauce. She approached them and gave each a kiss and simultaneous squeeze. “How’d your day go? Have lots of fun?”

  For the next ten minutes, she listened to details of their jam-packed, fun-filled day. Swimming with Mac. Baseball with Mac. Mac becoming their new assistant coach. The awesome hot dogs Mac made for lunch. On and on the stories went, until Rachel’s throat tightened. Wasn’t she happy they’d enjoyed their day with John? Would they ever describe a day spent with her with such excitement? Would the jealousy that penetrated her heart go away? Would he break their hearts when he left them?

  He studied her for a moment as if to decipher her mood, then turned toward the oven. He gestured toward the door. “I’ll pop these pizzas in the oven, then be on my way,” he said.

  She nodded her head in agreement amid the boys’ protests. Of course they didn’t want him to leave. Should she ask him to stay for dinner? Probably, but she wouldn’t. This was her first opportunity of the day to spend time alone with her sons. Besides, he had to be anxious to leave. Did he have plans for the rest of the evening? If so, would he be alone or did his plans involve some else? Someone female?

  She gave herself a mental slap. It wasn’t any of her business what he did with his evening. “Mac’s been here all day, guys. I’m sure he’s ready for a break.” Her attention rested on him while she spoke to the boys. “He’ll be back again tomorrow. Let’s say good-bye so he can go home.”

  Aaron voiced his unhappiness. “Can he stay for dinner? We want him to try our specialty.” He tried his best Italian impression as he touched his forefinger and thumb. He kissed them and said “voilà” as the other boys giggled at his imitation of an Italian chef.

  John cleared his throat and paused before he answered. “How about if you save me a piece, and I’ll try it tomorrow?” he offered. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight anyway, so I think I’ll shove off. See you guys in the morning.” After a fist bump to all three, he pulled the dish towel off his shoulder and tossed it on the counter, then headed to the back door.

  She managed to stay a step ahead of him and opened the door without hesitation. “Good night,” she mumbled.

  “Yeah, ’night. See you tomorrow.”

  With an odd stab of disappointment, she closed the door behind him and took a second to rest her head on the screen in hopes of regaining some strength. Instead, fatigue settled in, and she suppressed a yawn as she returned to the boys and dinner.

  Several hours later, she lay in bed as her listless body gave over to exhaustion. Had she thanked him for anything he’d done today? Taking care of her children? Making dinner? Fixing the screen door? Had she asked how his day had gone?

  No to all of them.

  She drifted off to sleep as she cursed her ex-husband for putting her in this position.

  …

  John entered her house the next morning, listening for any signs of life. Silence greeted him. No coffeemaker spitting. No groaning water pipes. No SpongeBob screeching. Everyone must be asleep. He didn’t have to glance at the clock to know at least one person should be up by now to get ready for her day.

  He progressed through the house and halted when he reached the hallway that led to the bedrooms. First door on the right. He had entered it for the first time yesterday after doing her laundry. Putting the items on her bed had seemed like a safe enough idea.

  Decorated in soft shades of blue and beige, the room had a subtle sensuousness. It wasn’t overly feminine, but it reflected a very passionate woman.

  Was she still asleep? They had never discussed what he should do in this situation. He sure as hell didn’t want to get on her bad side by doing something he shouldn’t. Somehow he’d ticked her off the night before. But other than make dinner, what had he done wrong? Damn, how he had wanted to stay. Ask about her day. Discuss her job. Just be with her. Instead, he went home and ate a bowl of cereal, dissatisfied because his mouth craved the taste of pizza. And Rachel.

  And that was one craving he needed to ignore. She wasn’t the same woman that she was years ago. She’d been somebody’s wife and now was the mother of three. Years ago, he’d wanted her and thought that she wanted him, too. And look how that had turned out. She’d pushed him away. He’d let her.

  All his life, he’d been the type of man who’d never left anything unconquered. He’d climbed K2. Gone scuba diving with sharks. Even become a marathon runner and had won a few high-profile races. And then he’d found a job he’d loved and had turned it into a full-time passion. But the one thing he hadn’t been able to conquer was his memories of Rachel. Always Rachel.

  So when he’d returned home and his mother had said she needed help, he swore that once and for all, he’d face her, help her, get her help in return, and mentally put her firmly in the friend zone where she belonged. And then he’d move on.

  He’d expected her to be tired, overworked from being a single mom to three boys, and nowhere near as pretty or as sweet as he remembered.

  He’d been dead wrong. At her open bedroom door, he stopped, peered into her room, let his eyes rest on the figure in the queen-size bed. Well, well. What, overslept again? This from the woman who never oversleeps? Temptation overwhelmed him and, having no control, he moved to stand next to the bed.

  Hands tucked under her pillow, she lay on her side facing him, an angel in the dim morning light. No privileged blanket or sheet lay over her luscious body. Her slender throat and ivory shoulders were exposed while the curve of her breasts played peekaboo with the top of her pale blue nightgown with each breath she took. The promise of warm, silky skin invited his caress. Angled toward the bed, he reached out to wake her.

  Unexpected movement behind him caused his hand to still in midair. As he shifted his attention to the open door, all three boys lunged at him.

  “Surprise attack,” they yelled. Unprepared for the onslaught, he lost his balance as they jumped on his back. The movement plunged him down onto her. Reflex kicked in. He braced the majority of his weight on his forearms, which stopped him short of smothering her.

  Her eyes flew open. “What in the world…what are you doing in here?”

  The response came in the form of giggles.

  John took in her bewildered face mere inches from his. “Good morning.”

  She gritted her teeth and struggled beneath him. “Get off me.”

  He didn’t want to embarrass himself by his physical reaction as her warm body shifted, but if she didn’t stop squirming that’s exactly what would happen.

  He chuckled as he started to rise off her. “We’re under a surprise attack.” Aaron and Andrew pounced once again, which caused John to lower back onto Rachel until their bodies smashed together. As each boy took his turn to jump onto the bed and land on him, he could do nothing to hide his response to the movements that thrust his pelvis against hers.

  He tried not to think about what was happening, but then desire spread across her face, her breathing labored. It had been dark the first time he’d made love to her, and he’d missed the heat, the passion, revealed in her big brown eyes.

  Probably not a good thing to think about if he his goal was to draw the line at friendship.

  “You need to get off me,” she whispered. “You’re in my bed, and the boys…”

  “Are innocently playing,” he finished with a smile as the giggles picked up in tempo.

  The jumping turned into tickling, and after a moment Zak cried, “Mac, get Mom! She’s really ticklish.”

  He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Oh?”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Aaron took both her hands, and with the strength of a seven-year-old, pinned her arms above her head.

  “Okay, guys.” John wiggled
both eyebrows. “Where’s the best spot?”

  “Boys, that’s enough.” She strained against him but directed a soft, indulgent expression at her sons. “I’ve got to get ready for work. Leave Mac alone so I can get up.”

  “No way, Mom. We’ve got orders from the captain.” They glanced toward John.

  “Yeah, well, the captain will be court-martialed if he and his troops don’t retreat,” she said.

  He peered over his shoulder at the boys. “What do you think, guys, should we go ahead with the plan or back off?”

  The boys chanted, “tickle, tickle,” until she bit her lip in an obvious attempt to hide a giggle.

  With a wink, John said, “Sorry, Mom, you’ve been overruled. Tickling it is.”

  With one hand poised in the air, he wiggled his fingers and kept his eyes on her. He asked the boys for directions. “Okay, men, where am I headed?”

  “Her sides. She’s really ticklish there,” Andrew said, then whispered to his brother, “This is so cool.”

  Aaron sat by in anticipation while Zak was reduced to hysterical laughter.

  “I’m not ticklish.” Rachel tried her best to sound calm, as if the thought of being tickled was boring and would have absolutely no effect on her. Unfortunately, she was unable to hide the development of a full-force smile, which gave her away. “You might as well forget about it.”

  “No way. The men and I,” John said with a nod toward the boys, “never back down.”

  Amid the shouts of encouragement from the boys, he started his onslaught. His hands traveled up one side and down the other until she was transformed into a heap of squirming, shrieking, head-thrashing female.

  “Stop. Please. Stop!”

  “You give, Mom?”

  “Yes, I do.” She laughed. “Stop, please.”

  He stilled his hand in midair and took in her appearance. She was out of breath, her hair was an unruly mess, and her wide smile lit up her beautiful face.