Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(117)

The closer he gets, the better I see, and the more I lose every wit I've got.

He’s insanely tall, dark-haired, as sleek as the luxury SUV he’d whipped into park behind my delivery van that should've found a permanent home in the junkyard years ago.

Holy Hannah. I’m probably shaking harder than this kid for all the wrong reasons.

Trembling, just at the sight of this guy’s icy-blue stare.

I have to remind myself to breathe again as he steps past me. Total mistake.

Because when I take a long breath, I get a subtle whiff of cologne and beast that's enough to cause daydreams for years. Then this hulking, too-perfect-for-life thing speaks.

“What’s going on here, Ben? You know the rules. Straight home after school.”

His voice is as smooth as the rest of him. Husky. Sexy.

What the hell am I thinking? Or doing?

I pivot, so I can look up at him without getting a kink in my neck, trying not to focus on those lady-killer eyes as I point at the skateboard. “Seems Ben here forgot to look both ways before crossing the street.”

Color drains from his face, too. Not as thoroughly as Ben’s, or mine, but noticeably.

He shoots forward, grasping his son by the upper arms. “Ben? Are you okay?” He pats down both sides. “Hurt anywhere? Hit?”

“No, I’m fine,” Ben answers, his eyes on me. Full of pleading. Begging for mercy.

“Well, I'm glad, but...” He huffs out a breath. “Damn it, Ben. There are rules for a reason. No skateboarding downtown. No skateboarding anywhere in the winter, and yeah, it still counts, even if we've only got ourselves an inch of snow. You know that. You know that’s the end of it, too. This can't happen again.”

Ben nods, almost on the verge of tears.

Then he gives his son a hug. And I mean a real, solid hug. One that seems to embarrass the boy as much as it hurts my heart because it's so deep and honest. Because this man knows how close he came to losing him.

The boy's reaction is natural. It happens with kids his age. Someday, Ben will realize how much hugs like that can mean, but today isn’t someday.

I’m a bit surprised by all this, not to mention the fact that big daddy hasn’t turned on me like a grizzly bear yet. Put the blame on me. That would be par for the course.

“Won't happen again,” Ben echoes weakly, still looking back at me.

Again, empathy for the kid runs me over. Little brat or not, he deserves his second chance at life.

“The skateboard got the worst of it,” I say.

I can’t really read the look the man casts my way, but if I had to choose, I’d have to go with a who the hell are you? translation.

It's a miracle I can even talk. He's even better up close.

I think it's those uniquely vicious, rare, pale-blue eyes of his that do it. Leave me delirious. Make it brutally hard not to stare into them.

It’s hard because they're so bold. So exceptional. So unreal.

Keeping an eye on me, he drops his arm away from Ben and steps forward, toward the van. A solid kick dislodges the skateboard from the bumper and out from under the tire.

“I'll handle this. Get in the truck, Ben, and take your board.”

That was a command. A stern one. Which Ben immediately follows.

In a blink of an eye, this guy went from caring father to drill sergeant. I’m not thrilled by the shift because I’m next in line. A little more empathy swells in my heart for Ben. My father can be a drill sergeant, too.

I brace myself, ready for the blame, for this whole incident to be thrown back in my face.

“Thought you said the skateboard got the worst of it,” he says, walking around the front of the van.

I follow, cautiously, realizing I haven’t paid any attention to the van.

“That no parking sign took out your mirror and smashed the passenger door.”

I follow his gaze, seeing exactly what he's pointing to. Then I gasp.

The mirror's left hanging by wires, and the door is dented, still up against the sign, just like he said.

“Have you called the cops yet?” he asks. “Or your insurance company?”

“No, I hadn't realized how bad it was,” I say sheepishly, sizing up the damage. “I mean...it's not worth the hassle of a police report and the van isn’t worth the deductible. We only use this thing locally for deliveries.”

Wait. Something about that word shakes my brain alive again. “Deliveries!”

I scamper around the front of the van, to the driver’s door, then rip it open. “Damn it!”

It's worse than I even feared. The cake box slid off the seat and hit the floor when I hit the curb.

I climb in frantically, reaching down, grabbing at the mess. My stomach drops. The beautifully packaged cake is now a misshapen mass of frosting.

“I take it you were in a hurry?”

“Yeah.” Fat lot of good it did me. I grab my cell phone and flip open the case to check the time. Less than two hours. Not nearly enough time to bake another cake.

“Where was the cake going?”

“A retirement party.” I glance at the mangled mess in the box. It’s clearly beyond repair.

I so don’t need this. Not today. Not now.

“Where? Whose party?”

I stumble back out of the van. “Why does it matter? What is this? Fifty questions?” Frustrated, I shake my head. But I shouldn't take this out on him. “Just up the road. Byron Paumer, head of Paumer Architecture. He’s officially turning the business over to his son, Blake, at five o’clock today. Which means I don’t have time to bake a replacement.”