Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(26)

Harper was well aware of the connection between her job and her personal life. Growing up with an actress for a mother, who was happiest when center stage, and being overshadowed by her had become a way of life. No matter how boldly she behaved or dressed, Harper had never managed to find her own spotlight.

Something she was determined to change.

The shop door opened and in blew a warm gust of summer air—and her second chance. Clay was no longer in the dark suit and tie he’d been wearing when he’d returned home from San Diego a few hours ago. It seemed Dr. GQ had shed his professional attire for something more date-like—dark jeans, blue button-up, and a to-go bag from the Sweet and Savory bistro—too big for a party of one, but not big enough to be leftovers.

“Hey,” she said, walking over to meet him, happy she’d worn her favorite dress. It wasn’t red, but it was a bold teal and bohemian, and it made her butt look amazing. Not that he was looking at her butt right then, but if he did she knew it would look its best.

He smiled and then the most wonderful thing happened. He leaned in and kissed her. Not on the mouth, but on the cheek. A sweet and charming greeting that felt safe and warm—and encouraging.

“Am I interrupting?” Clay asked quietly, taking in the ten sets of eyes curiously aimed in their direction.

“Eyes on your own canvas, I’ll be right back,” Harper said, and after some disappointed grumbling, paintbrushes were moving again. She slipped off her smock that read FLOWER POWER, in case Clay wanted a better view, and ushered him outside. “They should be fine for a few minutes.”

“As long as they know you can see them, you mean,” Clay said, and Harper had to laugh.

“Yup, as soon as I turn my back, paint will fly.”

“If Tommy is doing a craft, I can’t turn my back for even a second without fearing the glue will wind up in his mouth and the house will explode in camo-colored paint bombs.”

“Tommy’s a smart kid with a big imagination, and he’s very talented,” she said, knowing it must be hard to keep up with a kid as high-energy as Tommy. “And you’re a good dad for indulging him.”

“Thanks. Being a single parent wasn’t how I imagined this all going, and this last year has been rough, but I finally feel like I’m getting a handle on things. San Diego got me thinking that I should find a way to carve out some time for myself again. Like you said. Maybe even get back out there and start meeting people like—”

People like me? Harper wanted to ask, because when Clay had returned from his trip earlier that day, she may have only imagined the way he’d looked at her when he’d seen her in his bed watching cartoons, but she wasn’t imagining how he was looking at her now. As if he wanted to kiss her.

But a squeal erupted from inside, and Harper turned to find two students mixing all of the colors into one.

“You’d better handle that.”

“Yeah.” Harper stuck her head in the door. “William. Violet. What are the rules when we use acrylics?”

Both kids stopped to look at her, then their hands went behind their backs. Too bad their brushes were dripping paint all over the floor.

“No mixing,” Violet said innocently.

“Then what are you doing at the supply table?”

“Mixing black paint,” William said. Violet held up her brush and smiled in agreement.

“You both have black paint”—she lifted a brow—“at your easels. Which is where you should be standing.”

“Yes, Miss H,” they said in unison, then moped back to their respective places.

Harper closed the door. “Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem.” Clay laughed, a warm and understanding laugh, and she felt everything inside her go soft. Clay understood kids, understood her job. Being a single dad made him the perfect match for her. Yet she didn’t feel any tingles today. “I came by to say thanks for watching Tommy today. He really had a great time.”

“I did too. Tommy’s a great kid and we had fun.”

“Which is why I wanted to give you this.” He held up the bag and smiled. “I asked around and found out that you have a sweet tooth. And since you’ve been so slammed, I wanted to indulge you a little, for saving my hide.”

“I do like sweets. A lot.”

Blaming the lack of tingles on stress and knowing it was now or never, Harper licked her lips to bring Clay’s attention there, then thought of a sexy scene from a book she’d just read and flicked her hair. Because, according to rule six in creating lasting appeal, feeling sexy makes one appear sexy—and with being covered in finger paint and glitter glue, Harper needed a little help in the allure department.

She wanted Clay to see her as more than a friend who was good with his son. She wanted him to see her as a sexual being who would be good in his bed.

Lowering her voice, she leaned in and rested a hand on his arm, making sure her head was tilted in case he wanted to aim that cheek-kiss somewhere more central. “You know what else I like a lot?”

Clay shook his head.

“When it’s a little dirty?” a voice cut in.

Before Harper could respond, she was spun around and two full lips crashed down on hers. Hard and demanding and with enough irritated male to have her staggering back. Because it wasn’t Clay cashing in on those benefits she was so eager to dole out—it was her very own kissing bandit there to steal more smooches.