Guarded Passion

by Bonnie Dee

  I could hear in her voice how much she needed support, someone telling her everything would be okay. I obliged. “Trust your instincts. You’re doing just fine.”

  A smile tilted the corners of her mouth. I had a crazy urge to touch the tip of my finger to her lips, so I wrapped my hands around my mug. It felt warm and good in my cold hands, and having Rianna and her boy in my kitchen felt warm and nice too.

  As we sat at the kitchen table, drinking hot coffee and listening to Travis babble some childish fantasy, it hit me that this might be what it would be like to actually have a family. Other bodies invading my space, other personalities to work around, other people leaving a mark on the blank sheet of paper that was my life. The thought was unsettling. Suddenly, I wanted them gone and everything back to normal, under my control.

  I pushed away my cup and checked my watch. “I have a lunch meeting I need to get to, so…”

  “Yeah, I have errands to run too.” Rianna popped up and started stuffing kid paraphernalia back in her bottomless bag.

  Travis whined that he wasn’t finished, and she told him he could drink the rest in the car. Faster than I would’ve expected, she whisked him along, stuffed him in his shoes and coat again, and got him through the door.

  I walked them to the car, where she got Travis installed in his car seat and handed him his cup.

  Before she got in the driver’s seat, I said, “Thanks for all your help. We’re even. You don’t owe me anything more.”

  “I don’t think so. That wasn’t five hundred dollars’ worth of work.” She looked up at me with serious eyes. “You think about what else you need done and give me a call. We’ll work out a time that’s convenient for both of us.”

  Fickle as the shifting wind, I suddenly didn’t want her to leave after all. What I really wanted was to lean down and press a hot kiss against cool, chapped lips.

  “All right,” I promised.

  I stuffed my hands in my jeans pockets and watched them drive away.

  When I went back into my house, it felt quieter than usual. I put on some music and turned up the heat to take the chill out of the air.

  Chapter Seven

  Rianna

  The first time I went to Jonah Wyatt’s house, I dragged Travis along because I couldn’t afford to pay Carol Ann to watch him. It turned out better than I expected. He didn’t get in the way too much. But I knew when I went back to clean inside the house that Travis would be trouble. So, a few days later, though I could hardly afford it, I left him with the sitter when I returned to Jonah’s house.

  As I pulled into the driveway, I realized Travis had been a sort of shield. Having him with me made my intentions clear. I was there only to work. Although I was pretty sure Wyatt got the message and wouldn’t suggest any other arrangement, nervous tension made my stomach fluttery as I got out of the car.

  The fact was as polite, neutral, and businesslike as we might act with each other, the way we’d first come together was never far from our minds. At least I knew that was the case for me. How could I forget the heat of his mouth covering mine or the strength of his arms wrapped around me? How could I look into his dark, soulful eyes and not remember the way they’d devoured me? And his jeans, riding low on his hips, only served to remind me of the thickness of his erection rubbing against me. My pussy grew soft and buttery at the memory.

  Jonah greeted me at the door, and all those memories came back in a rush. His tall body and wide shoulders filled the frame. I swallowed hard and pushed away my annoying attraction to the man. Weed grower, I reminded myself. Not dating material. I’d gone down the bad-boy road once before, and look how well that turned out.

  I followed Jonah indoors, and he offered to take my coat as if this were a social call. I unzipped it and handed it over.

  “So, what do you need me to do?” I cringed at how those innocent words sounded dirty somehow.

  “My woodwork could use cleaning and polishing.” He pointed out the gorgeous original wood molding and door frames with embellished cornices. The central dining room was divided from a formal parlor by a half wall with built-in glass-fronted cabinets topped by pillars to the ceiling. The shelves in both cabinets displayed baseball memorabilia, which drew me across the room.

  I examined the baseball cards, programs, autographed balls, a vintage shirt, and even a bat signed by… “Oh wow, this looks like the entire mid-70s Royals’ lineup. This is awesome! So you’re a Royals fan.”

  “Since birth.” He chuckled. “Who else could I root for?”

  “I know, right?” I continued to gush. “Look at this! A George Brett rookie card!”

  Jonah squatted beside me to study the memorabilia. I noticed a few Lexington Legends cards and programs mixed in. Our Kentucky boys were a farm club for the Royals, and it was always a point of pride to see a Legends player move up to the major leagues in Kansas City.

  We chatted about the past season and prospects for next year. Finding a fellow fan was like meeting someone from your old hometown—assuming you liked where you grew up, which I hadn’t. We lost track of time until I remembered why I was there and stood up.

  “I’d better get to work. I told my sitter I’d only be gone a couple of hours.”

  “You could’ve brought your boy.”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have gotten anything done.”

  “At least let me pay for the sitter.” Jonah rose to his full height, and I tipped my head back to meet his gaze.

  “I’m working to pay you back,” I reminded him. “I wouldn’t get very far if I started borrowing even more.”

  He folded his arms and sucked his lower lip between his teeth before letting it go. “About that. I’ve been thinking about hiring a housekeeper for some time now. The other day, you showed some real work ethic. What if you started working for me on a regular basis? Say three days a week?”

  I glanced around the pristine house. There wasn’t enough work here to keep me going for three hours let alone three days. What did he really want from me? Did he think housekeeping might lead to more personal services?

  “How about I do the trim and hardwood floors today and you can make sure you’re satisfied with my work?” I played for time, giving me a chance to consider.

  Jonah nodded and led me to a cleaning-supply cupboard in the mudroom. Our moment of mutual baseball fanaticism was over, and we were employer and employee again.

  He told me he had things to take care of and disappeared outside while I went to work. I started at the top and worked down, cleaning and polishing every door and window frame, the baseboards, and those lovely antique cupboards before dry-mopping the floor, then getting down on my knees to wash it.

  As I delved into every corner of the room, I sang “Do You Know the Muffin Man?” because Travis had it embedded in my mind. I was singing so loudly, I didn’t notice Jonah had come inside until I went to dip my rag and glimpsed him in the doorway. Was he staring at my ass while I scrubbed?

  I wrung out the cloth and looked up at him. A scowl twisted his thick, dark eyebrows.

  “Something the matter?” I asked.

  “I have a mop. You don’t have to do it that way.”

  I shrugged. “Habit. My grandma wouldn’t have a mop in her house. She insisted the only way a floor really gets clean is if you scrub it by hand.”

  “That’s nuts. Get up before you hurt your knees.”

  His irritated tone pissed me off too. “Am I doing this job or are you?”

  “I’m serious. There’s no need for that. I have a really good steam cleaner.” He crossed the room, avoiding the damp patch I’d just finished, and held out his hand to me.

  I stared at it for a moment, tempted to refuse it. But I knew I was being ridiculous, stubborn for no particular reason, so at last I took Jonah’s hand, and he drew me upright.

  When I got there, he didn’t let go immediately. Our hands remained clasped for a few seconds, and our gazes were locked even after he let go. That crazy energ
y crackled between us again. It would hardly take a nudge to get me to lean in and tilt my face for a kiss.

  I shook off the inappropriate impulse and dropped my rag back into the bucket with a plop. I followed Jonah to the supply closet. He demonstrated how to fill and use the steam mop as if I were a time traveler without a clue about modern technology. If he asked me if I knew how to plug it into an outlet, I swore I’d kick him in the shin.

  I finished mopping standing upright and had to admit it was a lot easier. But Grandma had indoctrinated me so completely, I still couldn’t help feeling I’d left the floor grimier than if I’d done it by hand. Since Jonah was moving around in the next room, I stopped humming to myself. Instead, I listened to him clear his throat, his heavy tread crossing the floor, mysterious small sounds, and then music. The faint hiss and crackle told me it was an actual record album on a turntable, an old one from the sound of it. Vintage rock: Bob Seger howling about Hollywood nights.

  Huh. Somehow Jonah didn’t strike me as a guy who bothered with things like music. I’d pegged him as all business. But today I’d learned he loved the Royals, and when I glanced into the other room, I saw a wall full of vinyl. Apparently, when he loved something, he immersed himself in it completely.

  Imagine how passionate he’d be in bed. From where I stood, I couldn’t see the entire man, only his large feet and his jeans sticking out from whatever chair he sat in. Imagine those long legs wrapped around you… No. Stop imagining those things and finish your work.

  I carried the steamer and the bucket out back to empty them. Then I started degreasing the kitchen cupboards and polishing the wood to shiny perfection.

  When I finished the last cupboard, I stepped back to look around. I coveted that kitchen, every gleaming granite surface and brand-new appliance. How wonderful it would be to cook in a place like this every day, to have a well-stocked refrigerator, to sit down at the cute center island for lunch or the formal dining room table for dinner. How amazing not to have the occasional bug or mouse scuttling through the room. I could live in this kitchen and be happy.

  Jonah Wyatt was offering me a chance to work in this house on a regular basis, cleaning and maybe cooking in the amazing kitchen. But what else would he want from me? Our unconventional first meeting made me gun-shy about accepting his offer.

  I turned to go from the kitchen into the den as Jonah came from the other direction. We crashed together in the doorway. Running into his body was like hitting a wall, no give to those solid muscles. I stumbled back, and he shot out a hand to steady me.

  “Sorry.” He quickly let go as if my bare arm had burned his hand. “The place looks great.”

  “Thanks. You’ve done a beautiful job updating this old house.”

  “I meant what I said. You could come a few times a week to take care of it. Would you be willing to do laundry and cook meals sometimes?” He paused. “I’d pay you a couple of bucks over minimum wage. I know it’s probably not near what you can make from tips at the club, but…”

  Jonah didn’t have to finish his thought. I knew what he was thinking. I wouldn’t have to take off my clothes for a living.

  I should’ve been shouting yes at the top of my voice. It was a great offer. But something—maybe fear of working for a man who might be arrested at any moment, maybe anxiety over my attraction to him, or maybe pride—made me refuse to simply agree.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Sure.” He saw me to the door, but before he said good-bye, he added, “Wait. I got something…” He disappeared back into the house and returned with a small bag in his hand. “For your boy.”

  “Oh! Thanks.” I accepted the unexpected gift and walked to my car, itching between the shoulder blades from his gaze on me. Or so I assumed until I got in the car and saw the front door was already closed.

  After I backed out of the driveway and out of view of the house, I pulled over to the curb, too curious about the little present not to check it out immediately.

  I expected candy or maybe some toy so small I wouldn’t dare give it to a three-year-old. What I pulled from the bag was an old tin whistle shaped like a bird. I blew into it, and a sweet warbling song fluted in the air. I knew immediately it was something from Jonah’s boyhood, and that it had been important enough to him to hold on to it. My throat tightened at the unexpected gesture. How absolutely adorable.

  Travis would adore the whistle, of course. I would probably grow to hate the sound of that bird, but for the moment, I was in love with it. I gave another little tootle before I put it away.

  I had just enough time to swing by home and see my boy before my evening shift began. The little gift would help soothe his upset over Mama having to leave again, and I’d get a chance to feed him dinner and maybe even read a story before I had to go.

  But I knew before I even entered the house that it wasn’t going to be the rosy scene I’d pictured. I heard Travis throwing a tantrum, shrieking as if someone had twisted his arm. I hurried inside to find him red-faced and furious and Carol Ann helplessly trying to calm him. She was flushed and on the verge of tears herself.

  She got up from the couch and handed his squirming body over. “I’m sorry. I just can’t. I told you I thought I was coming down with something, and now I’m all…” She sneezed, barely covering her mouth in time.

  I wanted to ask her what Travis was freaking about, but clearly this was no time for that discussion. I looked from Travis, whose sobs had quieted to shuddering gasps as he clung to me, to Carol Ann, who already had her jacket on. “But I have to work.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m too sick. I can’t help it.” She headed out the door without a suggestion for an alternative sitter or a more sincere apology.

  I was screwed. I couldn’t afford to call in to work at the last minute and cancel and didn’t have time to try to find another sitter. I kissed Travis’s sweaty head, his soft hair tickling my lips. “What am I going to do with you, little boy?”

  But I already knew the answer. I wouldn’t be the first woman to have to bring her kid backstage to hang out. Between the dancers and the waitresses there would be somebody able to watch him while I did my numbers. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for tonight.

  I hurried around the house, getting something for us to eat while Travis blew on the whistle Jonah had given him. Then I packed everything Travis might possibly need into his bag, put him in pjs, and fastened him into his car seat.

  As I headed down into the valley, I wondered about Carol Ann. Up to now, she’d been a dependable sitter, and I’d thought she was doing a good job. Travis always seemed content to stay with her. But now I was a little worried. Was my kid so out of control she couldn’t deal with him, or was it a one-time thing because she felt sick? Could I continue to count on her in the future? And was she really good with Travis? A parent’s worst nightmare is not knowing what’s actually happening with her child when she has to leave him.

  When I got to work, the girls were all over Travis, grabbing him and passing him around like a doll. Luckily, he wasn’t shy with strangers. His earlier bad temper evaporated, and he charmed them completely with his smiles and giggles and baby talk.

  A lot like his father, my inner voice whispered, raging temper tantrums followed by outrageous flirting. I prayed Travis was just being a normal three-year-old and not showing early signs of Clay’s personality traits. If he had that sort of temper, I swore I’d beat it out of him.

  I quickly changed into my costume while Abbie bounced Travis on her knees, then let him fall backward till his head nearly touched the floor. He squealed with glee.

  I glanced in the mirror at myself, my face made up like a Westerner’s idea of a geisha, kimono gaping to reveal pasties and a G-string. A sudden deep revulsion rushed through me. When Travis was safe at home tucked up in his bed, I could dance and happily accept those bills stuffed in my G-string because it kept him warm and fed. But having him right there in the room while I was dressed in this sleazy ou
tfit and preparing to bump and grind to entertain strangers horrified me.

  I didn’t want to be Stripper Mom any longer. I wanted a real job, but I didn’t have the education to do anything more challenging than waitressing or, if I was really lucky, a factory job. Or work as a housekeeper for the local drug lord. Was that a step up or sideways from stripping? Weed growing was a pretty gray area in my book. Medicinal marijuana was legal in some states and someday probably everywhere. It wasn’t as if Jonah was a meth cook or anything. His house hardly screamed “outlaw,” and I hadn’t hesitated to bring Travis along with me to do that yard work. I thought of Jonah more as a successful businessman. I was ambivalent about his source of income but didn’t have any real ethical issues with it.

  As I set down the tube of bright red lipstick on the makeup counter, I knew my decision was made. I would take the job with Jonah. Maybe I could cobble together a few other cleaning jobs to fill the rest of the week. Bit by bit I’d phase out dancing entirely. No matter how great the tips were, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

  As for that pesky attraction between me and Mr. Wyatt, I’d press that down so deep and hard, it would eventually disappear. This relationship between us was going to be all business, all the time. I’d make sure of that.

  Chapter Eight

  Jonah

  “Hey, bro, how’s it going?” J.D.’s voice on the phone caught me off guard with how much he sounded like our dad—or what I remembered Dad sounding like. Too deep to be my little brother, I thought.

  But he hadn’t been a kid for a long time. During his time in Afghanistan, he’d been through worse things than I’d ever faced. He was a fully grown man with a woman in his life whom he loved deeply. I’d gone up to Chicago to talk sense into him about the relationship, only to realize Leah was really good for him.

  “The usual,” I said. But that wasn’t close to true. Changes were taking place in my life, but apparently I was incapable of giving more than two-word answers to my brothers when they asked me about myself. “What about you?”