Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(15)

There went the heart-flutter. The one she worried would turn into a flap. She swallowed thickly as he straightened away from her, keeping his hand on her back. He sneaked a glance over at Lyon who was ignoring them both, then Evan’s turquoise eyes turned back to her, traveling her face before he spoke again.

“I saw him sad. At age three. Because his mom was gone.”

At the inference of them grieving over Rae, the flutter dissolved into an ache.

“Don’t wanna see that sadness again. No kid should lose his mom that young.”

“Neither should her husband.”

His eyes met hers. “Neither should her best friend.”

She gave him a weak smile of agreement. They’d all lost her, and it’d been as unfair as Rae missing out on every moment since. She grasped his arm with one hand, running her fingers lightly over the sparrow tattoo on his arm. Rae’s tattoo.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re an amazing father.”

She felt him lean in the tiniest bit closer. “Think so?”

When she lifted her eyes from the ink, she found him watching her mouth. At that moment, a moment of mutual comfort turned into something… more. Something unexpected. His arm was wrapped around her on one side, his palm high on her back, and her hand was squeezing his forearm. They were holding one another. And now she was admiring his lips, too.

So wrong.

Sorry, Rae.

“Dad!” Lyon’s raised voice made her jerk. “Swimming!”

She yanked her arm away, but Evan moved until his palm rested on the back of her neck.

“Okay, bud. Get your stuff.” When he turned back to her, his eyelashes were narrowed over his blue eyes, a hint of a smile playing on his mouth. “Ace.”

Fluttering. So much fluttering.

“Hmm?”

A gentle squeeze to her neck and then, “We’ll continue this later.”

With that cryptic promise, he gathered up Lyon and left her house.


*


The next morning, Charlie was hunkered over her computer working on Sofie’s promotional brochure. The lighting in the photos of Sofie needed a few touch-ups thanks to the darker corner where they’d shot them, but Faith’s needed none. Helping the cause were her enviable bone structure, straight back, and flawless skin. She decided to ask Faith to be on standby in case she needed a model.

A knock on her sliding door made her turn her head, where she saw Evan, a mug in each hand, and Lyon, hands cupped on either side of his face, peering through the glass.

She grinned, stood, and opened the back door. Then took in Evan’s stunned expression and realized belatedly she didn’t look her best. She went to work straight out of bed and was still wearing pajamas. Striped cotton shorts and a thin cotton shirt… and she hadn’t brushed her hair.

“Oh, my hair.” She lifted her hand to her head in apology. It must be a rat’s nest.

Lyon walked past her, paying her no attention, but Evan’s dark brows were near his hairline.

“I’ll go brush it.” She backed away to let him in. “I woke early and got so wrapped up in what I was doing…” She spied the mugs he was holding. “You brought me coffee? Thank you so much. What time is it, anyway?”

He didn’t answer, simply abandoned both mugs on her kitchen table, then startled her by gripping her arms and pulling her to him, so tightly her breasts smashed into his chest. That’s when she realized something else: she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t move,” he instructed, his voice rumbling along her rib cage, which happened to be butting up against the hard muscle of his chest and torso. “Buddy,” he told Lyon, “wait outside while Charlie gets ready, yeah?”

From the refrigerator, he argued, “But I want juice.”

“I’ll bring it out.”

Lyon lurched to the door, giving a preemptive Geez, Dad, before he slid the door shut behind him. He forgot his anger the moment his feet hit the porch, jumping down the three steps and running along the edge of where the grass met the beach.

She dragged her gaze from the sliding door to Evan. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hands clutching the sides of his T-shirt. “I didn’t think.”

He looked down at her face, then lower, to her thin-and-getting-thinner T-shirt, something in his eyes she didn’t quite recognize.

“Don’t apologize, Ace. We barged in on you. But you’re going to have to start thinking, babe, because my kid won’t be seven forever.”

She cringed. “Oh, and I look—”

“Amazing,” he said on a low growl.

She felt her eyes blink, then widen, and angled her chin in a way that if he leaned a few inches closer, their lips would touch. Not in a friendly, hello-how-are-you kiss, but in a real, pliant-lipped, slightly open-mouthed kiss.

Oh. Oh, she’d like that.

“Sorry?” She was pretty sure he’d accused her of looking amazing. That couldn’t be right.

“If I’m alone next time,” he rumbled again, “feel free to answer the door just as you are.” He shrugged one eyebrow. “Or wearing less.”

She blinked. Was he… kidding? Maybe he’d suffered a head injury this morning. Maybe she had. Maybe she was unconscious, in an ambulance on her way to the ER instead of in her kitchen pressed against Evan’s body, his tattooed, corded forearms locked around her.