Dating a Single Dad (14 page)

But she hadn’t worn it since last summer and had forgotten that the scoop neck had started to sag, revealing a hint more cleavage than she had anticipated. The shoulders were a tiny bit too big, giving them the tendency to slip off her shoulder. And the fabric was just sheer enough that if she wore the wrong color bra, the outline could be detected.

Because, of course, when she made her last-minute change before leaving tonight, she had forgotten that the girls were clad in hot pink satin.

Forget confident, competent professional. After a half hour of dancing in this outfit, she was going to look like a milkmaid in heat.

There was nothing to do about it now. She had to go out there, fake her way through this and try to forget that Hank would be one of the ones whose eyes would be glued to her every move. But only her feet, right?

“Right,” she told her reflection, fully expecting it to burst into laughter at her pathetic attempt at rationalization.

She gave her neckline one final tug, let loose with one of her favorite Russian swear words—sometimes it was very handy to have a brother who played hockey—and pushed herself out the door.

Showtime.

* * *

H
ALF
AN
HOUR
into the first rehearsal, Hank made two decisions. The first was that if he were going to put himself through this—onstage, no less, in front of a town full of people who would be only too happy to remember his last public attempt at dancing—Millie was going to owe him a nursing home approximately equivalent to the Taj Mahal.

The second was that bright pink had become his new favorite color.

Not that he was trying to look. Hell, no. At first all his energy went to following the steps. Brynn kept up a rousing line of chatter, praising, teasing, cajoling. Cash stumbled a lot, Carter was frustratingly good and Moxie strutted like someone forty years younger. Millie’s cheeks glowed and her thumb was nowhere near her mouth, so he called that a double win. His own movements were stiff and jerky at first, but if he focused very hard on what would come next, he could push the thoughts of public humiliation to the background.

Too bad he couldn’t do the same with thoughts of Brynn.

She faced the wall of windows as she demonstrated the steps for them, so she couldn’t see that he was drinking in her every move. At first he told himself it was necessary. Hey, it wasn’t like he had a lot of practice with this stuff. But as time went by and even his mother was staring at Brynn, he decided it was okay to look. So look he did. He couldn’t kiss, couldn’t touch, couldn’t do any of the hundreds of other things he longed to do, but dammit, he could look.

So while he stumbled along, his eyes feasted. Her feet were smaller than he’d realized until he watched them point, tap and scuff. Her leggings ended just above her ankle, revealing the bottom edge of what he was pretty sure was a tattoo. Maybe someday he could cradle her foot on his lap and push up the edge of those leggings while pulling down her sock. He could run his finger over the edges of whatever design she had inked there, tapping and sliding and tracing until his palm flattened over it and slipped higher, sliding over her skin, and—

No.

Her calves seemed more muscular than he’d thought, though given the number of times he’d spotted her heading out for a morning run or jumping from rock to rock with Millie, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Her blouse came to midthigh but didn’t conceal the swing of her hips as she stepped and turned.

Maybe they could do a conga line. He could be behind her. His hands would close over those swaying hips and he would be able to feel the muscles ripple beneath them slower, then faster, sideways, then back and forth—

No!

He dragged his gaze higher. Her back. He could look at her back. Sure, hers led to curves and valleys that called to him, but her back itself was safe. Maybe even a little too wide across the shoulders if he were being totally objective. Yes. He could look at her back as much as he wanted.

Until the dance went on and the body heat went up and her blouse began to stick to her skin. And the outline of her bra—so flimsy, so forbidden, so magnetic—grew ever more impossible to ignore. When her blouse slipped off her shoulder, exposing another strip of mesmerizing pink, he stumbled straight into Millie and almost knocked her to the floor.

And he’d thought that making himself dance again would be the definition of torture.

At last the hour was up and Brynn called a halt. The music ended and was replaced by laughter and groans echoing through the lobby. Millie ran to her grandpa. Carter and Cash swarmed Moxie. Taylor handed Brynn a water bottle. She took it with a smile, tipped it up and drank. His eyes traced the exposed skin of her neck. His hands relived the heat they had found there. Her hair flowed back. His fingers curled as if they were once again cradling her head and filling himself with her want, her
need,
that had matched his. His breath caught and his mouth went dry and he knew he had to find some reason, some excuse, to touch her again. Her hand, her arm, maybe the small of her back as he helped her into the truck.

Then she turned back to them and he spun away—

And caught his mother watching him with a look of total satisfaction on her face.

* * *

B
RYNN
CLIMBED
INTO
the Tundra while Hank got Millie settled into the second seat. Despite her fears, the evening had gone off well, at least from what she had seen. No one had laughed at her, no one had caught the moments when she screwed up, no one had been unkind enough to mention that by the end of the evening she might as well have been wearing searchlights on her breasts. Taylor had never mentioned Carter or gone near him. Yep. Total success.

Except that with every step and every twist, she had practically felt Hank watching her. And instead of doing the smart thing and ignoring it, or trying to discourage it, she had, well, reveled in it.

There was no other way to describe it. She had sensed his gaze following her moves and she’d put a little more oomph in her hips, a little more shimmy in her shoulders and little more breath in her laughter. It was wrong and stupid and precisely what she wasn’t supposed to be doing, but, God help her, she had done it anyway. She had been aware of his gaze and even more aware of her body, of the need prickling along her arms and legs and everywhere in between, and somewhere during the night, the brazen milkmaid she’d been imitating set up shop inside her.

Which would have been okay if she could have jumped in her sane and sensible little hatchback and scooted home through the cool night. But no. She had thought she had this all under control and agreed to ride with him. So now here she was, beside him in a truck that all but oozed masculinity, breathing in the slight tang of him, knowing that she was the reason he was so sweaty. Knowing, too, that if not for Millie chattering behind them, she would be plotting ways to put that already sweaty body through some more dips and turns.

“So the dentist said I hafta stop. But I like my thumb. I need it. How do I sleep if I don’t have my thumb, Brynn?”

She muttered something soothing and stared out the window. There were reasons she couldn’t get mixed up with Hank. Good reasons. She just wished she could hear them over the chorus of
want, want, want
pounding through her head.

Other than Millie, no one spoke. She didn’t know about Hank, but she was scared to say anything. She probably should congratulate him on taking the first step, thank him for trusting her to not make a fool of him, but she had the horrible feeling that if she said his name it was going to come out floating on a wave of pheromones that she was incapable of controlling.

Control. Stay in control.

At last they turned off the road and bumped up the rutted path to the cabins. Each pothole, no matter how gently Hank eased over it, sent new ripples of alertness running through her. How was she supposed to forget about her body’s wishes when every jolt sent her swaying toward Hank’s shoulder and left her various bits and pieces saying, “Hey, remember us? We’re here, and damn, we’re hungry!”

“Ow! Daddy, those bumps made me bite my tongue!”

You’re not the only one, Mills.

At last the car jerked to a halt.

“Can I open the door, please, Daddy?” Millie scrambled free of her booster and leaned over the seat, dangling between them. “I hafta pee.”

“Sure.” Hank handed her the keys. “I’ll be right there.”

“No! I want to do it myself. You stay here and watch me. You, too, Brynn. I can do it!”

Shit.
Brynn undid her seat belt in preparation for a fast escape.

“’Kay, Mills. But hurry up, okay?”

Millie kissed Hank’s cheek and scrambled out of the truck, slamming the door behind her, plunging the cab into shadows. Brynn held her breath. Surely she had at least one brain cell that hadn’t been hijacked by the knowledge that it was dark, they were alone and they weren’t likely to be interrupted for at least two or three minutes.

She slid a bit closer to her door, trying to block the little voice whispering in the back of her mind, reminding her that two or three minutes could make a hell of a difference in a person’s state of mind. Or body. Or even both.

The door to the house flew open. The kitchen light clicked on. Millie dropped her coat to the floor and disappeared inside.

“I guess it’s safe,” Hank said.

Brynn knew what he meant. Millie was in the house and he could join her without intruding on her independence. They should get out of the truck and go their separate ways. She knew it.

Yet somehow her body interpreted his words as meaning that it was now safe to dive-bomb him.

She sprang across the seat. Judging from the speed with which his arms closed around her, she wasn’t the only one who had been primed to move. She pushed him back against the door and twisted sideways and almost climbed on top of him as she searched for his mouth, tasting the leather of his jacket and the salt of his skin and then, sweet heaven, the heat of his lips against hers. One of his hands slid under her coat and the other cupped her bottom. He tugged, she wriggled and in a moment she was straddling him, kissing him and wanting him more with every slam of her heart.

“Brynn. Jesus, Brynn, we—”

She didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to acknowledge anything but the heat and the need. She pushed against him. He pulled her tighter, pressing against her in all the hungry places. His hand went to her shoulder and she tried to shake her head, to tell him no, but still he pushed. She opened her mouth to protest but then he nuzzled her breast and his hips hit a different angle and the light washed over her and—

The light?

Shit!
Millie!

Brynn blinked against the sudden brightness and stared stupidly at the child standing in the now open rear door. Her brain whirled, her body howled and beneath her, she felt Hank stop, drop and roll back against the seat.

“What’s taking you so long?” Millie asked.

Brynn took a deep breath and prayed that the oxygen she was inhaling would be loaded with mind-clearing substances. If they were very, very lucky, Millie would stay there on the running board and never once clue in to the fact that her daddy was currently beneath a very disheveled Brynn.

“Hey, Mills. Your dad said something about running down to the Grindstone cabin—I think he said he left his wallet there today. And wouldn’t you know it, I knocked my purse over and all my stuff went flying. My, um, my lipstick rolled over here and I had to dive for it. Give me a minute and I’ll be right there. Are you scared in the house all alone?”

She edged herself upright as she spoke, doing her best to tug her clothes into position while easing around the steering wheel and chattering in hopes of distracting the child.

“Okay, I have everything now. You go on inside so you don’t get cold. I’ll be right behind you, and Daddy will be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Okay.”

Brynn pulled away from Hank while Millie ran inside once again. Disentangling was a lot more complicated than getting tangled up had been. Also a lot less fun.

Light fingers brushed her cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Not nearly as okay as she would like to be.

“I’ll be fine.” The words came automatically, years of habit rising when needed.

“You can go straight to your place,” he said. “I’ll tell her I caught up with you and sent you home.”

“It’s okay. I can—”

“Brynn.” The urgency was back, thickening his voice and sending sparks skittering beneath her skin once more. “If you step into my house tonight, I will lock you in my bedroom until Millie is asleep and then I will finish everything we started here. And even though that sounds like the best idea I’ve had in my whole freakin’ life, we both know that—”

“It would be stupid. Right.”

“Not stupid.” He sighed. “But not in anyone’s best interests, either.”

She nodded and reached for the handle. She felt she should say something, do something, but for the life of her, she wasn’t sure what.

And for the first time ever, she knew there was no way she could fake her way through.

CHAPTER NINE

A
FTER
A
NIGHT
spent alternating between fury and frustration, with a healthy side of guilt just to add excitement, Brynn dragged herself into the office with the biggest coffee and the most decadent doughnut to be found this side of Toronto. She set her haul on the desk with a defiant air, fully prepared for Taylor to make a crack about a rough night.

“Morning.” She refused to even pretend to describe it as “good.”

Taylor made a small sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. Brynn looked at her, fast, but Taylor was firmly focused on whatever was on her computer screen, so Brynn opted to let it go. She busied herself with arranging her food substitutes and opening her laptop. She kind of hoped that Taylor’s reading material would take a long time. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to put on the bright and cheery act quite yet.

“Come to me, my sweet.” She cradled the coffee as if it were a hummingbird egg, delicate and precious. Ah, God. There was nothing like that first perfect sip of heat and sugar and—

“Ian wants to set a date.”

Oh, hell.

Brynn closed her eyes, allowed herself one more moment of just her and the beauty that was caffeine, then took a deep breath and pushed her worries to the back of her brain. So she was messed up over Hank. That was nothing compared to what Taylor was going through.

“Tell me.”

Family first, Brynn.

Taylor sniffled, stood and shot a pointed look at Brynn’s doughnut. Good thing she’d opted for lemon-filled instead of one with a hole. Then, after carefully closing the door, Taylor pulled her chair up close.

“We were talking last night, and I— Oh, Brynn, it’s so hard. I really do like him. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to think I was in love, we might have been such awesome friends. Because he’s funny and he’s got these insights and...”

The temptation to interrupt and get the conversation back on track was strong, but Brynn tamped it down. Taylor was so busy listing Ian’s good points that she was doing Brynn’s job for her. Shutting down the flow would be counterproductive. Instead Brynn settled for nodding, making sympathetic noises and doing her best to banish the memory of Hank’s lips at the side of her neck. He’d had just enough stubble on his jaw to scrape her skin. She hadn’t noticed it at the time, but this morning, one look in the mirror had made her grateful she’d brought a couple of high-necked sweaters with her. A quick wardrobe change and the proof of her mistake was hidden from the world.

But she knew. And her usual pattern of accepting and moving on wasn’t doing a thing for her today.

“...I convinced him that we really needed to wait until he came home to make any decisions, but, Brynn, this is so damned hard.” Taylor’s eyes filled with tears.

Oops. Shouldn’t have let her go on this long.

“Stop.” Brynn made herself speak far more brusquely than her heart would have chosen, but sympathy wouldn’t help at this point. “You’re not going to start crying. You can’t. You have a meeting in twenty minutes, and Carter is going to be there. You will not give any hints whatsoever that you are anything but a competent, happily engaged professional. Got it?”

Taylor’s eyes were far too wide and glittering for Brynn, and her chin had that wobbly look that spelled danger, but she blinked furiously and nodded.

“Good. Did you listen to yourself just now? To that list of Ian’s good qualities?”

“I never said he was a lousy person. He’s a great guy. If I had any brains, I would be head over heels for him. But I’m—”

“Not trying.” Brynn made a point of sniffing the air. “Why don’t I smell his aftershave? You know you’re supposed to wear it.”

“Oops.” Taylor opened the bottom drawer of her desk, pulled out a bottle and dabbed obediently.

“Now. Eyes closed. Deep breath. Remember inhaling this when Ian wore it. Remember how it smelled on you after you held him. Remember...remember his hand at the small of your back. His other hand is holding the back of your head and his fingers are pushed up in your hair. They’re so strong.... Remember how it felt to walk into this office and be all prim and proper on the outside, when inside, all you could remember were the things you had done with him the night before, the things no one else knew about—”

Oh,
crap.

Somewhere along the line she’d closed her own eyes. She opened them fast, but standard-issue beige walls and neutral desks couldn’t blot out the bright colors blooming in her memory—the red of Hank’s shirt beneath her palm, the hint of darkness along his jawline, the deep brown of his eyes when he opened them after kissing her senseless. All she could remember was that perfect moment, that fast heartbeat, when nothing mattered but want and need and promise.

Oh, shit, she was in trouble.

Taylor, good girl that she was when she wasn’t committing emotional adultery, sat in her chair with a faraway expression on her face. She hadn’t seemed to notice Brynn’s lapse. Hallelujah. It gave Brynn a moment to slug down more coffee in the hopes of searing the truth into her head.

After a long moment of silence, Taylor breathed in again, slow and deep. When she opened her eyes she seemed more relaxed, and her smile wasn’t quite as heartbreaking.

“Thanks,” she said simply. “That, um. Wow. It helped. A lot.”

No, no, no.
“Really?”

Taylor laughed. “You shouldn’t sound so surprised. Whatever happened to projecting confidence in your ability?”

Brynn raised her cup as if in a salute. “Bite me, goof. You’ve never seemed so receptive before.”

Taylor shrugged, feigning casual, but there was no hiding the way she averted her eyes. Or the pink creeping up her neck.

“You painted a pretty vivid picture there. Made it a lot easier for me to pull up some...some good memories.”

Oh, hell. Did that mean that Brynn was going to have to relive Hank’s kisses every time she was trying to help Taylor? Was she doomed to weeks of self-torture in order to maintain her cousin’s engagement and protect Northstar?

Brynn had the sudden, horrible feeling that something that had already been complicated had just become a hell of a lot more so.

* * *

H
ANK
SPENT
THE
next two weeks walking around with the proverbial angel and devil on his shoulders.

Avoiding Brynn was impossible. Between the nights when she looked after Millie and the weekly festival meetings and dance rehearsals, she was always there. Even when she wasn’t in his face she was in his head. He turned on the TV, the Leafs appeared and all he could see was her in her jersey. He walked into his bathroom, her perfume lingered in the air. He took Millie out for dinner and ordered chili and realized that it wasn’t nearly as good as Brynn’s.

And every time he hopped into the truck, he remembered the way she had clutched him, the heat and weight of her over him, the fierce desperation in her kisses. Every drive became an exercise in torture and a nonstop recitation of the reasons why getting involved with her would be a bad choice. Unfortunately, the more he listened to himself ticking off reasons, the more he was able to rationalize them away.

She was going to be leaving.
Well, he wasn’t looking for anything permanent, anyway.

He didn’t want Millie getting too attached and getting hurt, especially with another Heather arrival and departure on the horizon.
Still true. But he doubted she could adore Brynn any more than she already did, so the farewell was going to be painful no matter what. Besides which, Heather seemed pretty positive that this transfer was going to be long-term, that any return to Vancouver Island would last only as long as it would take her to settle her affairs there. Not to mention that he was now going to have some child-free time on alternate weekends, time when he could do anything he wanted and no one would be the wiser....

She was his sort-of employee.
Except not really. He wasn’t at the dairy anymore, and she refused to take money for child care.

And then there was the fact that he had promised his mother he would start dating again. Sure, her focus was on getting him married off and acquiring more grandchildren, neither of which seemed likely with Brynn. But he’d been out of the dating pool a long time. Wouldn’t it be good to ease himself back in with someone he already liked? Someone who already knew he could be grumpy and busy and sure as hell seemed to like him anyway?

Needless to say, he didn’t offer any more rides to or from rehearsals. Neither did she.

But after driving himself around the bend and back with trying to figure out what he should or shouldn’t do, he decided there was one thing he could do. Something to repay Brynn for the help with Millie. And, if it meant she might end up sticking around a bit longer, well...

To do it right, though, he needed help. The thought stuck in his craw until he rationalized that it was okay to ask for assistance when he wasn’t the one who would be benefitting. It was a slightly self-serving kind of logic, but since he was planning to tap a lawyer for aid, he figured it was appropriate.

He waited until the next Friday, knowing full well that Carter was always in the Comeback Cove office then and that he kept the afternoons clear for catch-up work. Hank walked into the office at noon, his arms filled with strategic gifts which he dropped on Carter’s desk before taking a seat.

Carter did the eyebrow-arch thing that Hank suspected was one of the first lessons they taught in law school. “What’s this?”

“This,” Hank said, hefting the bag that was filling the room with the aroma of meatballs in sauce, “is lunch. This bottle of rye is a bribe. And this visit is your chance to finally redeem yourself for the Great Pop-Tart Disaster of our childhood.”

Carter stared at him for a moment before nodding. “Close the door.”

Hank held in his grin until he was up and facing away from his brother.

Talk was light while they ate—the usual catching up, a few Millie stories, some conjecture as to whether or not their mother would be planning a giant welcome-home party for Ian. Hank made it through the meatball subs without once mentioning Brynn. He figured he deserved a reward for that, so he broke out the dessert he’d hidden in the bag.

“Whoa. Doughnuts, too?”

Hank set the six-pack in front of Carter, who opened it with a whistle. “Honey dip, maple glaze, walnut crunch—all my favorites.”

Hank nodded.

Carter sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I have to tell you, Hank, you have me worried. These are major-league bribes. Well beyond traffic tickets. Your divorce is final, your truck can’t go fast enough to get a speeding ticket and you already bought the cabins. So who did you kill?”

“I need some help.”

“No shit, Sherlock. We’ve known that for years.” Carter grabbed the walnut crunch. Of course he picked that one. He knew damned well that Hank had a soft spot for walnut crunch.

“I want you to suggest something to Moxie. It has to be done in such a way that she’ll never guess I was behind it.” He swallowed. “Her or Mom.”

Carter stopped chewing for a second, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Well, well, well. Hiding things from Ma and Moxie? That’s world-class.” He took another bite. “So you and Brynn finally got a clue?”

“What? No, shit, it’s nothing like—”

“I thought you seemed less grouchy lately. Figured you started taking some new vitamins or something. I never thought you might have a helper adjusting your attitude. Does Ma know? No, wait. She doesn’t. If she did, she’d be bugging you instead of riding my ass about asking Jenny in Accounting to Sunday dinner.”

“You know, I’m only paying in food and booze. There’s no billable hours involved here. You don’t need to keep flapping your mouth to make this take longer.”

“Good point.” Carter raised the doughnut in Hank’s direction. “Talk to me.”

“It’s pretty simple. And yeah, it does involve Brynn, though not the way you think. But since that’s the way Ma thinks, too, I have to be kind of, you know, subtle.”

“Spit it out, Hankie.”

“I think she’s smart and a good worker. I want someone to drop a bug in Moxie’s ear about finding a permanent job for her.”

“You want us to offer her a job.”

“Yeah.”

“Because she’s smart and hardworking.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Carter grinned. “I knew you had the hots for her. Cash said no way, but I told him, hell, yeah.” He let out a hoot of laughter. “Wait ’til he hears this!”

Dammit! Why had he thought he could pull this off? “It’s not like that, and if you say one word—”

“Not even the one you want me to whisper in Moxie’s ear?”

Ah, hell. “She’s been a real help with Millie,” he said stiffly. “I thought I could do something nice for her without it turning into a federal case. Guess I was wrong.”

“Well, little brother, if you want to do something nice—purely for altruistic reasons—then I guess I can do the same. It so happens that Moxie and I were already discussing something along those lines. Unfortunately for you, though, the lady seems to prefer job-hopping. Free as a bird, and all that jazz. I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Other parts, maybe, but not my hopes.” He reached for the bottle. “But I’m keeping the bribe anyway.”

“That’s for your silence.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Hankie. I don’t know how to tell you this, but everyone knows you’ve got it bad for her. We go to those rehearsals and you’re either making sure you don’t look at her—not a good plan when you’re learning a dance, I might point out—or drooling so bad that the rest of us have to steer around the puddles. I gotta say, though, you have good taste. A little above your gene pool, maybe, but she’s a good one.”

“You know what? This was a stupid idea. You don’t want to listen to me, you just want to hear yourself talk. I’m out of here.” He stood and grabbed for the doughnut box, but Carter was too fast for him, seizing him by the wrist.

“Hank, listen to me. Believe it or not, I’m glad you’re showing some interest in a woman again, okay? You’ve been turning into someone we don’t know. It’s nice to see the old you coming back.”