FATHER IN TRAINING (23 page)

"Or haunting me," he said grimly.

"Oh, Kyle, she's just a little girl."

"She's a barracuda. The only good thing about your being mad at me was that I didn't have to worry about an ambush every time I left the house. She was always waiting for me, wanting to do things."

"Do you want me to tell her to leave you alone?"

"No." He scooted forward until their knees were touching, then he stretched back on the bench and rested his head on his hands. "That would mean explaining why I'd like her to lay off and I still want to avoid hurting her feelings if I can."

"You're being very nice about this."

"Never tell a man he's nice. It doesn't do a thing for our egos.
Look, that
cloud looks like a dragon."

He stared at the sky because looking at
Sandy
was driving him crazy. Her breasts seemed to thrust forward in invitation and he couldn't stop wishing her nipples would get hard. He was horny and disgusting, but mentally beating
himself
up wasn't doing anything about reducing his state of arousal. Maybe if he stared at something other than her, he could calm down.

"It's not a dragon, it's a teapot."

"No way. That part sticking out at the back is the tail," he told her.

"It's the handle. See." She leaned forward and pressed her right hand on his thigh. With her left hand, she pointed up. He swallowed hard. Her nipples were getting hard, dammit. He could see the faint outline of them through her T-shirt. And she was burning him, the heat of her fingers searing through his jeans to his skin. If she moved her hand a little higher and touched him, he would explode.

He had to change the subject and fast. Talk about something nonsexual, he told himself. Something that would make her
stop
touching him.

"I never knew your mother was an alcoholic," he said.

His statement got the desired result.
Sandy
pulled back and straightened. "I didn't talk about it much."

"Do you want to now?"

"There isn't anything to say."

He continued to stare at the sky and let the silence of the peaceful afternoon surround them. "That one looks like a race car," he said, pointing. He glanced at
Sandy
. She stared at the picnic tabletop.

"I don't remember much about her," she said, tracing initials that someone had carved in the wood. "I suppose I've blocked it all out. I was pretty young when I figured out something was wrong. Sometimes she would be fine, but other times she would be asleep and I couldn't wake her up. I remember one time, crying for her to cook dinner. I must have been about five. She had passed out on the sofa. Finally, I made myself a peanut-butter sandwich. The next morning, she was sorry and promised it would never happen again. It did, of course. It never stopped."

Kyle sat up.
Sandy
turned toward the tabletop, swinging her outside leg over the bench and pressing her knees together.

"She dried out a few times. At first, I kept hoping it would work, but after a while I didn't expect anything to change. While she was gone, I stayed with friends. I spent the summer here, once, with my aunt, before I moved in with her permanently. I suppose that's where the control thing started. I remember being so afraid all the time. I couldn't count on her to take care of me, so I had to take care of myself. I know that's why I need to be in control now."

"You never saw your dad?"

"He didn't care about us." She looked at him, then away. "At least that's what my mom told me. I'm not sure I believe that anymore, but I never wanted to look for him or anything. There wasn't any point."

Kyle wanted to pull her close and comfort her. Not the adult
Sandy
. That woman didn't want to admit weakness. Instead, he ached for the child who had been left alone and abandoned by an alcoholic mother. He wanted to comfort the five-year-old who didn't have any dinner, and the second-grader who would have wanted someone to see her in the school play, but who probably hadn't told her mother about the event in case she showed up drunk.

"And then Thomas let you down," he said.

"I don't blame him for disappointing me," she said. "I'm beginning to see I was the one with the illusions. I wanted more than he could give. It's not his fault he wasn't responsible and together."

"But it is his fault he hurt his son."

She glanced at him. "How much did Blake tell you?"

"Enough for me to put the pieces together. Remember, I had a jerk for a father, too. I know what it's like."

"I worry about Blake. He seems to be doing better here, though. I'm glad he's friends with Robby. And I'm glad you've been there for him."

The praise made him proud and uncomfortable all at the same time. "Yeah, well, he's a good kid. They all are."

"Even Lindsay?" she teased.

"It's not that I don't like her."

"I know," she said. She angled toward him. "She's confused. I'm sure this is a phase that will pass. Right now, she's caught between being a child and being a teenager. She doesn't fit in either world. She's terrified of moving forward, but she's too grown-up to return to the past. Plus, Lindsay misses her dad a lot."

"She mentioned they did a lot of stuff together."

Sandy
smiled sadly. "Lindsay always had spirit. Thomas admired that. I probably shouldn't have let him favor her, but I didn't know how to stop it. Nichole was the baby and had me, so she didn't really notice, but I know it bothered Blake."

She rested her left arm on the tabletop. He placed his hand on top of hers. "If your marriage was so unhappy, why did you stay?"

"I used to ask myself the same question. I still don't have an answer. Partly it was for the children. I remembered what it was like having only one parent, and not a very good one at that. I wanted more for them. Maybe it was also that I didn't want to admit failure." She sighed. "I guess the truth is
,
I was afraid. If I left, I would be on my own. I didn't want to risk it."

"You're alone now," he said. "I think you're doing a hell of a good job."

"Thanks. Some days I think it's going to be fine. Other days I don't think I can make it. Then I remember I don't get a choice. They're depending on me. I have to make it."

He brushed his thumb against the back of her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth. He turned her hand over and rested his fingertips on her palm.

"You could get married again," he said, staring at the shape of her wrist and the clasp of her watchband. "It's not as if you're mourning the love of your life."

"I've already made one mistake. I don't want to make another one."

"What makes you think it would be a mistake?"

"The odds are not in my favor."

He glanced at her. Her eyes were wide and flickering with emotion. He thought he might have seen a spark of desire there, as well, but he wasn't sure. Or maybe he was sure, but he wasn't ready to act.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asked.

"I'd end up with another child. And I'm not talking about an infant. Actually, I wouldn't mind another baby." Her expression became dreamy. "I like babies."

"Me, too."

She blinked and looked away. "I wouldn't want another Thomas. Someone who only pretended to be grownup. If I ever get involved again, it's going to be with someone responsible, who understands life is serious business and we don't always get to have our way. I want a partner, not a playmate."

He chose not to take offense at her words, mostly because he knew she wasn't directing them specifically at him. She'd recited her list of requirements as if she'd spoken them before. They were, he realized, a talisman to keep away all that she was afraid of.

"You're putting up barriers to keep people from getting close to you," he said, "and calling those barriers 'responsibility.' I suspect that if you found a responsible man who was everything you wanted him to be, you'd get so scared, you'd take off running in the opposite direction."

"That's not true at all."

She tried to pull her hand free, but he wouldn't let her. "I also think that you'd come up with another list of excuses to keep from getting close. You don't trust what you can't control, and you can't control love. Or passion. You blame your failed marriage on Thomas, but how much of it was your fault?"

"Mine? He's the one who was always gone."

"You let him go. It takes two to fight,
Sandy
. You let him leave because you were afraid."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You're still afraid. Look at me and tell me the thought of making love with me doesn't make you tremble with fear."

She stared at him, then, and he saw her confusion. "I'm not afraid," she whispered.

"Then why are you shaking?"

Because she always reacted that way when she was close to him,
Sandy
thought. Because he made her think of things she wanted to forget. She didn't want her problems with Thomas to be her fault. She'd been a good wife. He was the one who—

She shook off the memories. She didn't want to remember any of this now. "I thought we were supposed to be having fun," she said.

His dark eyes flared with the fire of arousal. "Be careful what you ask for," he warned.

She looked at him and allowed the flames to burn away her doubts. She swayed closer to him. She could feel tremors racing up her legs and arms, and the fluttering of her heart, the sharp cadence of her breathing. She could lose herself in him, in the passion.

He swore under his breath and moved close to her. Before she could react or say anything, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

His mouth was hot and firm, the taste of his lips wonderfully familiar. She clung to him, angling her body toward him, trying to get closer and closer still, as if she could dissolve into him. He moved one arm to her shoulders, supporting her upper body, then scooted her nearer, so her hip nestled between his thighs. His free hand rested on her belly.

Even as she parted her lips to urge him inside, she willed his hand to move higher. Since she'd ridden on the back of his motorcycle, she'd been in a state of arousal. He'd been hard and unyielding to her curves, steady to her shaking. All male, designed with the sole purpose of making her forget herself. And around him, she did forget. Her responsibilities and sensibilities disappeared, until there was nothing but sensation—a world of heat and desire, where she at last understood the true beauty in the differences between male and female.

His mouth angled over hers as his tongue plunged inside. He swept around and over, searching out her secrets, making her tingle and gasp, making her clutch at him and no longer need to breathe.

She raised her hands to his head, tracing the shape of his ears, burying her fingers in his short hair. She wiggled her butt slightly and felt the hardness of him surge against her hip. In her mind's eye, she saw him popping open the buttons of his fly one by one. She saw him springing free,
then
imagined herself touching his silky length. Her fingers curled toward her palm in anticipation and she whimpered.

His free hand slipped up her midsection.
Yes,
her mind screamed. She arched forward, thrusting her chest toward him. His palm moved over her breasts, circling against her nipples. Electricity raced to her female place. She tightened her thighs together, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension there.

Around and around he moved, teasing her through the layers of clothing. She wanted more. She wanted to touch flesh.

She moved her hand down his shoulder toward his waistband. Without stopping to think or let
herself
get scared, she tugged his T-shirt free of his jeans, then pressed her hand against his bare belly. His muscles jumped at the contact. Curly hair tickled her palm.

He raised his head and stared down at her. Passion had darkened his eyes to the color of
midnight
. "
Sandy
? What are you doing?"