SEALed With a Kiss: Even a Hero Needs Help Sometimes... (12 page)

Jax wandered over to a section of the garage behind where the cars were parked. All sorts of household detritus was crammed in, thick dust testifying to how long it had lain undisturbed.

Pickett saw his interest. "You're looking at something else I haven't wanted to touch. You should have seen what was crammed in the house. My great-uncle had the property and I don't think anything had been thrown away for fifty years."

Jax bent down to look under the pile. "
You
have a
generator"

"I do?"

Jax pointed.

"Oh, that. I guess it's a generator. There's no telling when's the last time it worked."

"
You
have a
generator.
What are we doing standing here talking?" Jax handed her a card table, covered with spider webs, which instantly flopped a leg.

"Yechh! Spider webs! I hate spider webs."

"Sorry." Jax shifted and sorted old suitcases, a toaster with no cord, part of a plow, a chamber pot. "Hot damn!" He smeared the dust from the manufacturer's name. "The Army still uses these. This is a workhorse."

The enthusiasm, not to say joy, in his voice was unmistakable. Pickett rubbed spider webs from her hands and shook her head. There was no accounting for taste. The junk people paid Isabel good money for proved that ... And Isabel
did
have a bed Pickett would be willing to take off her hands.

"Do you like it?" Pickett inquired politely. "If you want it, you can have it."

Jax stared at her blankly for a moment. "Pickett,
you
want it. It. Makes.
Electricity,"
he softly emphasized each word.

"Yes. I. Know," Pickett matched him perfectly, the dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth. "It. Doesn't.
Work."

Jax grinned. "It's going to."

Pickett stuffed the package of frozen hamburger Jax had brought from the cottage into the freezer compartment. He'd also brought an ice chest full of ice. Putting bags of ice into the refrigerator once the power went off would extend the life of her perishables. In fact, she should put some in now, so they'd stay frozen longer. To make room she pulled out the loaf of whole-wheat bread she kept on hand for guests and set it on the counter to thaw. One good thing about having company for a hurricane: she had a better chance of using up her food before it went bad.

Pickett found gallon plastic bags and opened the ice chest. It was going to be a miracle if Jax could get the ancient generator running. She chuckled soundlessly. What was it about men and smelly mechanical things? You'd have thought he was a teenager handed some cherry bombs when he saw the grimy thing lurking among the cobwebs at the back of the garage. It was a leftover from her great-uncle's tenure of the property, so there was no telling when it had last worked.

She was only glad the man had something to do. Something that got him out of the house for a while until she could adjust to the fact that for the next day or two he was going to be in it. She was too aware when he was around. And he made her feel like she didn't fit inside her skin. Her breasts felt too large and seemed to press against her clothes. Her hips felt too loose, her eyes too hot.

The plastic bag she was scooping ice into slipped from her grasp and hit the floor, scattering ice cubes in all directions.

Oh, this had to stop! Now she was as distracted when she was only thinking about him as she was when he was actually present. Abruptly she raised her head and listened. She could no longer hear sounds of play coming from the side yard. A quick look out the window showed a light rain being borne on fitful gusts, but no dogs or boy. She stepped outside. They were not on the porch that ran around three sides of the house.

Remembering the fun Tyler had had jumping on the pile of lawn-chair cushions, she peeped into the cobwebbed window of the shed where they had been piled. There he was.

She circled to the front of the garage. Jax squatted beside the generator. In the airless heat of the garage he had taken off his T-shirt, and his broad shoulders gleamed with sweat in the dull light. His hands were dirty and a dark smudge traveled up one long forearm, skipped a space, then continued across defined pecs. He balanced on the balls of his feet, poised and motionless, as if he could remain in that position indefinitely, and yet he rose in one flowing movement when he heard her approach.

Pickett laid a finger against her lips. "You've got to see this." She motioned him to follow and led him back around the garage to the shed door. She opened it then stood aside so he could see.

On a haphazard pile of flowered cushions the little boy slept surrounded by dogs. Tyler lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, one grass-stained knee cocked. On either side of him, Patterson and Lucy also lay on their backs, their legs spread, paws in the air.

Only Hobo Joe was not asleep. He reclined at Tyler's feet, studying the intruders with level yellow gaze. He twitched his nose as if to test their intentions, then, apparently satisfied, sighed and rested his square head on his paws.

It was a darling tableau. Too precious not to share, but a lot of men wouldn't let themselves react to something so frankly sentimental. She'd already observed how often the expression on his face hid as much as it revealed. Pickett tilted her head to catch Jax's reaction. His eyes were soft, blurred a little with unshed tears. Rosy color suffused his cheekbones and his lips were relaxed, turning up at each corner. She expected him to be amused by the scene, perhaps touched by its sweetness, but not this naked—what? Love? Tenderness? Longing? Carefully she laid her palm against his biceps.

She was so close he could smell her shampoo and the same scent he'd noticed in her bedroom. Her palm, warm and soft, rested lightly on his upper arm. She was looking at him, not the sleeping child, a bemused smile on her face, her eyes ocean-deep and liquid.

With a crooked little smile he tilted his head to the scene in the shed. She nodded.

And that's when it happened. He looked into her tilted eyes with the golden flecks, her lips open in a little smile, and he just had to kiss her. She had so many smiles. Winsome, flirtatious, mischievous, humorous. This one was just ... sweet. Precious. He just had to kiss it. He cupped her shoulder with one hand and bent toward her.

Her shoulder was soft, firm with feminine strength; the bones felt oddly fragile under his cupped palm. Slowly, he bent toward her, until their lips just touched.

Fuck. He'd kissed her. He promised himself he wasn't going to put any moves on her and then the first time she got within arm's length—he kissed her.

Hell, he was a guest in her home. He hadn't missed that wary look when he and Tyler drove up. Any woman would or should be wary in a situation like this. So he was going to do the respect bit all the way.

And then he kissed her. And the part that really twisted his tail was that it wasn't even about sex.

Not that he wouldn't like to have her naked under him, all soft, sweet curves. He'd wanted her from the first time he saw her, all cool and prissy, with that you'11-never-fuck-me attitude.

A woman like that might tick him off, and God knows after Danielle he'd learned never to take one seriously, but they sure turned him on.

He'd wanted to muss her hair, and tease her by flicking open a couple of buttons of that cool silk. God, who would have known, when she took off those restrained silk shirts and rich-girl slacks, she'd have a little body that was all curves? He felt his body tighten.

He hoped he hadn't scared her, or screwed everything up. Wouldn't you know that the time it was not about sex would be when he'd forget his good intentions?

She had touched him first. For most women that was a signal, a come-on. But that was no excuse; she was a toucher. She seemed to always have her hand on something, soothing, smoothing, fingering. Her dogs, Tyler—she even petted her house plants.

When he'd set that big-leaf thing down in the shed, she had stroked it and talked to it, reassured it that it would be safe from the hurricane. Then Tyler had leaned up against her, one arm wrapped around her creamy thigh, and questioned her about the safety of every item in the shed.

Tyler might be silent around his father and grandmother, but he had no trouble talking to Pickett. "Yes," she had assured him with grave patience, "the plants are safe, the chairs and the cushions are safe, the grill is safe," while she stroked his hair and traced the rim of his ear.

"And you, Tyler, are safe because your daddy has big, strong arms, and he will keep you safe." Then Tyler did something strange. He leaned even closer and whispered, "Is
he
going to stay here with us?"

"Yes, precious." She smoothed his hair back from his upturned face—touching was just her way. "He's going to stay in the house with us and we will all be safe."