The Single Daddy Club Boxed Set

by Donna Fasano

  Maggie nodded.

  "I've got coffee brewing. You ready for a cup?"

  "That'd be great," she told him, making to stand.

  "No, no." He stayed her with a light touch on her shoulder. "I'll get it. What do you take?"

  Maggie relaxed. "Just a little cream. Thanks."

  He disappeared into the house, and she marveled at how the spot he'd touched on her shoulder seemed to grow warmer by the second. Closing her eyes, she sighed. She couldn't allow herself to react to this man. It was silly. Was she experiencing some sick psychological illness? She'd heard of twisted stories where abductees fell for their kidnappers....

  However, she hadn't been abducted, and Reece was no kidnapper. He was a generous man who had offered her sanctuary.

  Generous or not, he was a man. And the men she investigated were proof that relationships weren't worth the effort they took to cultivate. If that wasn't enough to convince her, there were always her memories of Peter—

  Maggie forcefully shut the door on those dark thoughts. The morning was much too bright and beautiful to be clouding the day with such black and shadowy musings.

  These feelings she was experiencing toward Reece were like weeds in the well-tended garden of her life. She might not understand them, but she didn't need to. What was necessary was that she rip them up by the roots, before they had a chance to spread.

  Reece came back out onto the deck. "Here you go."

  The task of accepting the steaming mug of coffee from him without touching his hand was impossible. The instant her palm brushed against the backs of his fingers, Maggie felt as if she'd been jolted with a small electric charge. She gripped the mug, the aftershock running the length of her arm and through her body, settling somewhere near her solar plexus.

  Blinking, she focused every ounce of her attention on the coffee and the rich-scented tendrils of steam rising from it.

  "Mmm. Smells good." She worked hard to keep her voice neutral, unemotional.

  Get a grip, she silently demanded of herself.

  "I came in early last night." Reece took a seat in the chair next to hers. "I was hoping to talk to you, but you'd already gone to bed."

  "Yeah," Maggie said, "I guess yesterday really wiped me out."

  As he sipped his coffee, he glanced at his watch. "I have a few minutes before I have to leave for the office. Do you mind if we talk?"

  "I don't mind at all."

  Reece hesitated a moment, then said, "I thought we should discuss our plans."

  "Our plans?"

  "Mmm-hmm." He rested his elbow on the chair's armrest.

  Maggie helplessly darted a quick glance at the corded muscles of his tanned forearms.

  "We need to come up with some way to find out who's been breaking into your home."

  "I can't let you get involved in this," she said, forcing herself to look into his face.

  Reece chuckled, and even though she knew she had to remain on guard, she had to admit she liked the deep resonance of it.

  "Don't you think I'm already involved?" His head tilted slightly.

  She had to smile. "Well, I don't want you becoming any more embroiled in my problems than you already are."

  "That's silly," he told her. "You said yourself you don't have anyone else to turn to." His voice went rough as he added, "Besides, I'd like to help you catch this creep. I hate the idea of someone preying on defenseless women."

  Her spine straightened. "I am not a defenseless woman," she said. "I may have been frightened. I may have even cried. But that does not make me defenseless—or weak—in any sense of the word."

  Shocked by how quickly her anger had consumed her, she fumed in the silence. The awkwardness that had suddenly sprung up between them stretched out as neither one of them spoke. The fact that he didn't apologize for his stupid remark only irritated her more because it meant he really believed the hogwash that had just come out of his mouth.

  Maggie stood up. But before she could go into the house—before she could leave his asinine presence—he stopped her by reaching out and curling his fingers around her wrist.

  She steeled herself. However, when his skin made contact with hers, she was rocked by the sensation that coursed through her entire body. She wanted to jerk her arm away, but something in his eyes restrained her. Some strong magnetic force had her gaze locked on his.

  "Sit down, Maggie," he said. "Please. Drink your coffee. I didn't mean to offend you."

  Slowly, she lowered herself into the seat and laced the fingers of both hands around the mug.

  She didn't know why she wasn't telling this man exactly what she thought of him and his views of defenseless women. Normally, she would have reamed out any man who would dare suggest she was anything but strong, intelligent, and independent.

  The coffee didn't seem to have any taste at all as she sipped and swallowed.

  "Do you have any idea who is doing this?" he asked.

  Her ire continued to smolder as she debated whether or not to answer him. His opinion where females were concerned might be idiotic, but the man had offered her a place to stay when she had nowhere else to go. For that reason alone, he deserved an answer of some kind.

  Finally, she relented. "Yes," she said. "I think it's the husband of one of my clients. His name's Buster. He's an uneducated chauvinist." She grimaced. "And I'm being quite kind in my description. His he-man mentality would lend itself perfectly to the stunts being pulled on me."

  "I see." He gazed out at the bay for a moment, then his dark eyes were on her once more. "So what do you propose we do?"

  "We?" She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her tone. "We are going to do nothing. I am going to get pictures of my client's husband, hopefully with his mistress, and then I'll deliver them to his wife. After that, the bad news will be out in the open, and there should be no need for the man to bother me any longer."

  Reece's mahogany eyes homed in on her, dark and intense. "I don't like the idea that you'll be out there actually seeking out the weirdo who is doing his damnedest to terrify you."

  Her gaze was drawn to the lines of worry bracketing his mouth.

  "I really would prefer to go with you." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "So, what time did you want to leave tonight?"

  Maggie realized that, in insinuating that he go with her, he was inferring that she couldn't take care of herself. Such a suggestion made by anyone—especially a man—would normally have made her furious. And yes, his ridiculous statement regarding defenseless women had irritated the hell out of her. However, there was something almost... nice about his offer to join her on the stakeout. Something that had her going strangely mushy inside.

  As she studied him in silence, the attraction that welled up between them was about as subtle as a two-by-four right between the eyes.

  The fierce thudding of her pulse sent blood whooshing through her ears, and she felt as though she had to drag oxygen into her lungs. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes darted from his, to the ultra-sexy crease at one corner of his mouth, to the firm line of his jaw and back up to his gaze.

  She couldn't believe how drawn she was to Reece Newton. It was almost as if the laws of physics had somehow become skewed, and gravity was pulling, pulling at her—not down, but toward him.

  Ignore it, she silently commanded. Ignore it and it will definitely go away.

  However "nice" it was to have Reece's concern, she couldn't allow herself to depend on anyone for her safety. She couldn't allow herself to be protected. She had to be totally independent. And she certainly couldn't allow herself to give in to this attraction she felt. Not after what she saw every day and every night on her job. The lying, the cheating, the pain, and humiliation. And certainly not after her experience with Peter.

  Yet she didn't want to injure the man's feelings.

  "Reece—" she reached out and touched him on the forearm "—I do appreciate your offer to come along. But this is my job. It's my problem."

  A tiny smile
sauntered across his mouth, and Maggie felt her heart skip several beats. Why did the man have to be so darned gorgeous?

  "I think you've forgotten something," he said, his wine-warm voice quiet and steady. "You have no car."

  The dismal reality of his words sunk into her head.

  His smile widened wickedly. "So, like I said, what time did you want to leave tonight?"

  Chapter 4

  "I can't believe I actually talked my way into this."

  Maggie chuckled at Reece's groaning complaint.

  "Surveillance work could never be described as glamorous," she commented. "It involves hours of waiting and watching—" she grinned at him across the dark interior of the car "—and then more hours of waiting and watching."

  They were parked on the narrow dirt shoulder of a road that, although paved with asphalt, barely made it into the tertiary category. Maggie lifted her binoculars and peered toward the dimly lit doorway of the Candy Bar, a run-down roadhouse patronized by a rowdy motorcycle gang.

  "I never knew such a place existed in Bayview," Reece had said when they first arrived.

  She had told him he would be surprised to know how some people chose to entertain themselves after the sun went down. And she'd been amused by his disapproving attitude when he'd discovered this wasn't the first time she had staked out the Candy Bar in an effort to get the pictures she needed for her client.

  "Sometimes it takes several weeks of watching—"

  "And waiting," he'd interjected.

  She had chuckled. "Yes, and waiting to gather the evidence my clients are paying me to get. But don't worry, the place closes down at two. These people may like to carouse at night, but they'll be heading home soon. Most of them have respectable day jobs."

  "And how do you know that?"

  A tiny grin had pulled at one corner of her lips. "Research."

  He'd been quiet a moment. "I can see how this job could be dangerous."

  Deep concern had laced his comment—a deep concern Maggie refused to allow herself to appreciate.

  "I've been doing this a long time," she had told him. "I can take care of myself."

  But then he'd pushed the issue, and feeling her irritation flare, Maggie had suggested that they both quiet down and do the job they had come to do. That had been over ninety minutes ago, and the annoyance she'd experienced at Reece's overbearing concern had long since dissolved in the silence of the darkened car. Now Reece's grumbling protest regarding his current predicament had a grin tugging at her lips, another chuckle just waiting at the back of her throat.

  "Why on earth do you do this? What was it that steered you onto this career path?"

  His questions faded the smile from her face like caustic bleach faded the blue from denim jeans. However, she was surprised that his query didn't anger her.

  "I don't mind talking," she murmured. "But I think it would be better if we stuck to safer topics."

  Moonlight filtered into the car, throwing shadows across his handsome face. He studied her, then he slowly bobbed his head.

  "Anything's better than sitting in silence," he said.

  "Tell me more about Jeff."

  She sensed his soft smile the instant she mentioned his son's name.

  "I've already told you that he's the center of my world."

  "You have custody." She spoke the words as a statement, but she hoped it would urge him to elaborate about himself—about his past, and even more specifically, about his divorce. She couldn't deny the curiosity tweaking at her. And it wasn't something he'd told her about before.

  "Yeah," he said. "Jeffrey and I have been going it alone since he was just a toddler."

  "I think it's extremely admirable that you're raising him on—"

  "And why is that?"

  His abrupt interruption made her go silent, and she stared at him in the dim moonlight.

  "Why should it be admirable that I'm raising my son?" he pushed. "I'm his father. He's my responsibility."

  "Hey, I didn't mean to press a button. All I'm trying to say is that, normally, in most divorces..." she stammered, "it's the woman who... who takes custody of the children. Especially young children."

  Thoughts flew through her head as she scrambled to explain. She certainly hadn't meant to upset him in any way. Whatever his beef was with his ex, he sure was prickly where the custody issue was concerned.

  "Yeah, well," Reece fairly growled, "a woman has to want her child in order to request custody. Not that I would have given Jeff up without a battle, in any case."

  "Your wife—or rather, your ex—didn't want her own son?"

  What kind of woman would have a baby she didn't want? Maggie wondered. She simply couldn't imagine any woman having a child and then not fighting to the death for custody when her marriage went sour. What terrible thing had Reece done to hurt his wife to the point that she hadn't even put up a fight for her son?

  "Look," Reece said quietly, "talking about my ex-wife isn't something that comes easy for me. Can we switch gears here?"

  "Sure."

  So, her curiosity wasn't going to be satiated; her questions were going to remain unanswered. Still, she couldn't help wondering what he'd done to ruin his marriage....

  What if hadn't been his fault?

  It was always the man's fault, an emphatic voice piped up from somewhere in the back of her brain. She had witnessed it in case after case, devastated client after devastated client.

  But what if...?

  The question lingered in her mind. And suddenly, she had the oddest sensation, the strangest urge to reach out to him—in more than just the physical sense of the word. She wanted to understand him. She wanted to hear his and Jeff's story. But most of all she wanted to comfort him, touch him, caress away the bitterness that had been the thick underlining of his tone when he'd spoken of his son's mother.

  The heavy scent of honeysuckle had seeped through the partially open window to waft all around them, thick and sweet. Maggie assumed the aroma had been there all along, but she hadn't noticed it until just this moment. The summer air was warm, but she didn't think that had anything at all to do with the fact that she felt the sudden need to concentrate on pulling it, deeply and evenly, into her lungs. She stared at him in the silent darkness, her heart thudding against her rib cage. The attraction between them hummed a lingering chord that refused to be ignored.

  "So," he began, his whisper-soft voice like a caress, "what are we going to do about this?"

  Her eyes flew open wide. "About what?"

  His face was shrouded in shadow, but a swath of pale moonlight illuminated his eyes. The expression she saw reflected in his gaze, along with his acute silence and upraised brows, told her in no uncertain terms that he knew that she knew exactly to what he was referring.

  She let her eyes trail along the dashboard. Heat suffused her face, and she was grateful to be sitting in the dark.

  She had realized she was attracted to this man. She'd even pondered the magnitude of what she felt—hadn't she likened it to a living, breathing thing? But the fact that he'd so bluntly brought it out into the open like this was embarrassing.

  Thoughts and words scrambled around in her head. What should she say? How should she respond?

  Well, she finally told herself, if he could be so blunt and honest, so could she.

  "Reece," she said softly, unable to look directly at him, "I'm not interested in a... relationship. It's not that—"

  "Hell, that's a good thing," he cut her off. "'Cause a relationship is the furthest thing from my mind."

  Her gaze darted to his face, a frown biting deeply into her brow. Confusion inundated her mind as she wondered how she should feel about his statement, how she should respond.

  Then the close confines of the car's interior rang with his light-hearted chuckle.

  The warm, silky rumble soothed away her frown and even churned up an urge to place her flattened palm against his chest to feel the vibration, but she was still totally bewilde
red about exactly where this conversation was leading.

  "It's pretty obvious," he went on, "that there's something going on here."

  This time, the reverberation that emanated from deep in his chest was even lower, even sexier, and Maggie felt her heart kick into high gear.

  She heard the sensuous grin in his voice as he said, "I mean, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm hot for you, Maggie."

  She stifled a gasp. Without thinking, she reached up and tugged nervously at a short, curling lock of hair right behind her ear. "Look, Reece," she began slowly, her voice hoarse, "since neither one of us is looking to get involved, then maybe we should just try to... to look the other way."

  His head tilted a fraction. "Look the other way?" he asked.

  She licked her lips. She swallowed. How could she explain what she meant without seeming incredibly naive?

  "Maybe we should try to pretend..." She let the sentence fade. "Maybe we should..." Again, she faltered. Then she gave it one last attempt. "Maybe we should try to, ah, to... ignore this… this… you know, this thing."

  The air in the tiny space seemed to compact, intensify.

  "Why on earth would we want to do that?"

  His wholly carnal tone sent a sensuous shiver coursing across her skin. Her body released some sort of chemical in her brain that made her go all hot and damp between her legs. Her nipples tightened painfully against the fabric of her shirt, and again, she was extremely thankful for the camouflage of darkness.

  Dear Lord, how she wanted this man! Never in her life had she felt such a strong, reckless, purely physical need. How could she feel this irresistible attraction to a man she barely knew? And how could it be that, at this moment, the attraction pulsing between them seemed to define her very existence?

  Knowing that Reece was sharing the same feelings only served to heighten this need that plagued her so deliciously.

  He rested his arm along the back of the seat and trailed his fingers along her shoulders. With both hands, she gripped the binoculars that lay on her lap. Her eyelids lowered, and she reveled in the feel of his warm skin against her neck. He fingered the same short lock of her hair that she had a habit of tugging, curling it gently around his thumb.