Crossing Lines (8 page)

But what could he do? He couldn’t just leave her there, dealing with an injury and a five-year-old all on her own. And it was a good thing he insisted she come with him; otherwise, she would’ve ended up driving her truck home and probably doing further damage to her ankle.

The kids were having a great time, giggling and playing and chattering away in a language only they understood. They seemed to have developed their own version of pig Latin… or maybe it was excited kid speak. Either way, it wasn’t English or Italian and he
non capiva.

He checked the mirror and smiled at the blond hair and mirrored shades peering above his steering wheel. Samantha Wallace was tough as steel, and so was the little girl sitting in the seat behind him. When she heard her mamma scream and turned to see her fall, her look of terror and the wave of angst rushing from her tiny body nearly crippled him. As Sam writhed in pain with her teeth clamped down on her lip, Michaela fisted her hands at her side and mimicked her mamma perfectly.

Both would’ve felt better if they’d let the tears go, but he had to respect their grit and determination to lock down their physical and emotional pain and deal with it in their own way. Neither would’ve appreciated being coddled, so he shut down his Mr. Fix-it tendencies and his desire to nurture and met their needs with as much emotional aloofness and cool sympathy as he could muster.

After being in constant demand, Mr. Fix-it still reeled from being shoved to the side, unwanted.

He chuckled as he slid to the left, giving himself room to change gears on the Toyota four-by-four. He should’ve guessed her personal vehicle wouldn’t be a car. A truck was definitely more her style… a little one was perfect.

Man, rough sex with her would be complicated. He’d always be afraid of breaking her.

Wait… What? Rough sex?

Where the hell did that thought come from? Yeah, he thought she was hot. Yes, he was attracted to her on every level. Yes, he enjoyed rough sex sometimes. But why was he thinking about rough sex with the pixie… right now?

Because that’s where his subconscious mind had been parked and idling since she got up in his face and questioned his hearing.

He took a deep breath and shut down the raunchy thoughts revving his body into high gear, eager to turn thought into reality. For the next two weeks, or as long as he was involved with Lizbeth, Samantha Wallace was off-limits. A professional relationship, like he had with Wade or any of the other builders in the area, was fine. Anything more… was not. He was a strong-willed man; he could do this.

Besides, he wanted a new type of relationship, one based on more than great sex. He wanted someone he could talk to, about work, about fun stuff, about a dumb movie, or about nothing in particular. He wanted someone who would enjoy spending time in Riverside. Someone laidback and fun, like Kat and Erik and Steve. Someone who would become his entire world.

He had no idea if Samantha Wallace might be that person, but in order to get what he wanted, he needed to go about things differently. No more convenient lays and one-nighters. He needed to take things slow, lay the groundwork, build a solid foundation, and
then
take things to the physical.

He checked his rearview again, making sure Samantha was still with him, then turned into the neighborhood he called home these days. He stopped at the guard shack and waved to Lamar, the daytime security guard.

“You got yourself a new whip,” Lamar said, ambling over. He bent down to look into the truck and broke into a toothy grin. “And a new kid.”

Kevin threw his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to Sam who sat in his truck behind him. “A friend of mine hurt her foot, so she can’t drive a clutch. This is her daughter, Michaela.”

Hearing her name, Michaela peeked around the back of the seat and saw Lamar. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the patches on Lamar’s uniform and her mouth dropped open. “What’d you do wrong?” she whispered.

Nothing yet,
Kevin thought. “He’s the guard that works here and makes sure no one comes into the neighborhood who doesn’t belong.”

She looked around at the gated entrance, then peered through the windshield into the neighborhood. “Holy cow. You live here? In a castle?”

“Not exactly.”

Lamar rapped his knuckles on the bed of the truck. “Have a great day, Mr. Ma—” Catching himself, he cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Kevin.”

“Thanks, Lamar. You too.” He pulled through the gate and watched Lamar check Samantha over as he waved her past.

Once she passed by, Lamar’s grin was light-bulb bright as he gave a thumbs-up for Kevin to see in his mirror. Kevin waved out the window to show his agreement, then followed the winding road around to the Holden mansion, his temporary home away from home.

He pulled to the side of the garage and motioned for Samantha to park next to him. He pointed to her through his passenger-side window and said, “Stay right there and wait for help.”

By the time he got around to the other side, both kids had unbuckled their boosters and were clamoring out the back door. Spencer took off running with Michaela right behind.

Do kids ever walk?

As they disappeared through the side gate, leading to the pool and guesthouse in the back, he yelled, “Don’t go near the water.”

Surprisingly, Sam did as instructed and waited for his assistance. When he opened the door, she dipped her head and looked at him over her wire-rimmed shades.

Sea glass.

Her eyes were the most amazing shade of pale green he’d ever seen… like a beautiful piece of sea glass. He swallowed hard and steadied his breathing, trying not to lose himself in their depth. They flipped from him to the house, widened substantially, which only made them more beautiful, then returned to him.

“Holy Jesus,” she said. “This is your house?”

He reached for her hand to help her from the truck, but realized she still had a firm grip on the steering wheel. His blustering and bullying hadn’t intimated her in the slightest, but the monstrous house behind him seemed to have her frozen to the seat.

“No, this isn’t my house. This is the Holden estate. I live in the guesthouse in the back.”

After a lingering look at the house and a peek toward the backyard, she turned in the seat and allowed him to lift her out by the waist without any argument. Her jaw locked and teeth ground as he set her onto her feet. Her bad foot popped off the concrete driveway and she grabbed the door for support.

“Don’t move.” He grabbed her straw bag, which appeared to double as a purse and beach bag, and looped it around her neck,

As he picked her up and kicked the door shut, she said, “You don’t have to carry me. I can walk.”

He suspected the put-me-down rhetoric was pride talking, so he tested the theory by pretending to set her down.

Self-preservation had her grabbing his neck and holding on tight… at least until she realized what she’d done. A surprised gasp caught in her throat and she instantly relaxed her grip, then braced herself for the weight. And the pain.

Damn. Stubbornness was a character trait he knew intimately, but she even had him beat. How bad would she have to hurt before she asked for help?

“I’ll keep going,” he said as he rounded the front of her truck. “We don’t have all day.” He chuckled and added, “Well, we do. But I’m not spending it waiting for you to bunny-hop all the way to the back.”

Her heavy sigh of relief at not having to walk tugged at his heart. Her fiercely independent strength touched something inside and made him want to swoop in and protect her. To take care of her so she didn’t have to be strong all the time.

“It only took me twenty minutes to get to the truck,” she said. “It was a long walk… errr… hop.”

“Oh yeah, it’s at least fifty yards from the edge of the pavilion to that amazing space I got right at the front of the lot.”

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Her teasing tone relaxed his guard and without thinking, he laughed and drew her in close for a hug.

A flash of heat ripped through him as her breast pressed against his chest, and when her eyes fixed on his mouth and she bit down on her lip, he nearly stumbled and fell. He drew in a deep, calming breath, but the scent of her shampoo and sunscreen dug deep into his lungs, which only served to send the pulsating energy rippling through him straight to his dick.

Caught in the same current dragging him under, her breathing grew choppy and her arms tightened around his neck as her lips parted, ready and waiting to be kissed. His lips tingled, begging for a touch and a taste of her mouth, while the rest of his body demanded more.

A squeal from the backyard ripped through the magnetic energy pulling them together and broke the spell. He realized he’d stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk and was staring at her like a lovesick teenager—an awkward love-struck teenager who didn’t know what the next move should be. The very adult male in him had no hesitations about how to proceed, and based on her reaction, she was right there with him.

Shit, this so wasn’t the way to start off an afternoon of maintaining a professional distance and was nothing like hanging out with the guys. He’d never carried Wade around, and he sure as shit never wanted him so badly he could taste it.

Guilt over Lizbeth kick-started his ass and propelled him toward the backyard gate.

Searching for a plausible explanation for his hot-to-cold reaction, he muttered, “The natives are getting restless.”

As the gate swung shut behind him, the sound of the lock dropping into place rang out like a shot. So this was what it felt like to be locked in a pen with an exotic animal. Nerve-wracking. Exhilarating. Terrifying.

Two weeks… Surely he possessed enough self-control to keep his hands and mouth off her for two weeks.

S
am had never seen such a magnificent house, and while fascinated with the site layout, construction, and landscaping, she was intimidated by the enormity. “Who lives here?”

“Cynthia and Max Holden own the property,” Kevin said, easing her onto one of the poolside chaise loungers. “Max is currently indisposed, so Cynthia needs help keeping up with everything. Since I split my time between Myrtle Beach and Riverside, I don’t need anything bigger than the guesthouse. When their daughter, Callie, moved out, I moved in. The arrangement works well—”

Spencer and Michy burst through the open front door with towels in hand. “Can we go swimming now, Uncle Kevin?”

Kevin turned to Sam. “Can Michaela swim?”

“Yep.” She gave Michy her stern-mother face, which Michy returned with an I’m-too-freaking-adorable-to-ever-get-into-trouble grin. “No splashing.”

Michy’s grin slipped to a pout. “You aren’t coming in with us? You got on your bathing suit.”

Kevin’s head swiveled her way and his eyes lowered, as if trying to confirm visually.

She had no idea what he’d been thinking while carrying her to the backyard, but when he stopped and his hot, hungry eyes devoured her mouth, she nearly orgasmed on the spot. The sexual energy rolling off him had been a powerful shock, paralyzing her lungs. Trapped in his gaze, she couldn’t do anything but hold her breath and prepare for his onslaught.

Unfortunately, she’d been spared.

She didn’t know if he held back because of the kids, or because he wanted to be a gentleman and not move too fast. Whatever the reason, she hoped they passed that particular roadblock soon, because the real Kevin, in person and on fire, was a million times better than any fantasy.

Knowing he was attracted was the encouragement she needed to move forward with her plan to lure and seduce.

Michy hopped from foot to foot, waiting for Sam’s answer.

“I might get in a little later, sweetie.”
Right now, I’m going to sit here and work on my diabolical plan.

The words had barely left her mouth when Michy tossed the towel at her and chirped, “Okay,” then turned and ran full-throttle into the pool. Spencer dropped his glasses on top of his towel and ran after her.

“She’s devastated I’m not swimming.”

Kevin’s laugh was deep and throaty. “Yeah, she’s real torn up.” He picked up Spencer’s towel and glasses and set them on the chair before turning toward the house. “I’m gonna grab a beer. Would you like soda, beer,”—he grinned broadly—“whiskey to kill the pain?”

“Wow, you’re really going to be my cabana boy.” She wasn’t sure, but she might’ve accidentally sighed out loud. “I’m not much of a whiskey girl. The beer sounds great, but I better stick with water. Do you have any ibuprofen?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He crossed his arm over his stomach and bowed gallantly. “Coming right up.”

Several minutes later, he returned with a bottle of pain reliever and a soft-sided cooler. He unzipped the top, set a Budweiser on the ground at his feet, and grabbed a bottle of water. Holding it out to her, he said, “Sure you don’t want something stronger?”

A Miller Lite top peeking out of the ice had her biting her lip, reconsidering. The water would be the smart choice, but if she drank a beer, she’d have another excuse not to drive, at least for a while. Better still, it might give her the courage she needed to make her move.