Stirring Up Trouble

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Because when he nodded in agreement and Sloane’s smile twisted all the way through him with its perfect mixture of sensuality and vulnerability, he knew he was falling in love with her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gavin gripped the Audi’s steering wheel with a dipping sense of unease. He’d been chock-full of emotions lately with Bree, and while he managed them just fine, they definitely weren’t his thing. Surely all those residual feelings were rattling his brain. Otherwise he’d never have jumped to that crazy falling-in-love conclusion about Sloane in the living room.

  She turned in the passenger seat next to him, delivering the warm, sexy smell of cinnamon spice right to his nose, and he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or just plain cry uncle.

  “So, Bree, what’d you do in school today?” Sloane angled her shoulder against the passenger seat to get a good view of Bree in the back, but her body faced him full-on. Okay, he was an adult. He could focus on the conversation. And he could absolutely forget that Sloane was wearing the sheerest pale pink bra he’d ever seen underneath that black sweater. He knew, because he’d taken it off of her just after lunch.

  She shifted her weight next to him, and it was all Gavin could do to suppress a groan at the petal-colored strap peeking out from beneath her V-neck in the world’s prettiest taunt.

  Bree leaned forward from the backseat, mercifully snagging his attention as she answered. “We’re getting ready to dissect frogs next week in biology, which is totally wrong, not to mention gross. Caitlin and Sadie and I were thinking of boycotting.”

  “Boycotting, huh? Well, that’s one way to make your voices heard, I suppose.” The inflection in Sloane’s voice told him she’d chosen her words with care, and it piqued the hell out of his curiosity. Still, no way was he going to let Bree stir up trouble in biology.

  He frowned, but held on to his protest for a minute despite the urge to flat-out tell her she had to participate. “Would that save the life of your amphibian subject?”

  Bree’s sigh was a gusty, drawn-out number. “No. They’re already dead when they ship them to the school. We asked Mr. Morrison all about it. He said they’re . . . what’s the word for killing them nicely?”

  “Euthanized?” Sloane supplied, and Gavin caught Bree’s nod in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah. Euthanized with a chemical that makes them basically fall asleep first. He promised they really don’t feel anything, and that even with a computer program, we wouldn’t learn the same stuff as doing the real dissection.”

  Sloane tipped her head, her dark, silky hair tumbling within his reach. Christ, what was wrong with him?

  “Hmm. Guess it wouldn’t be entirely bad to take it as a learning experience then,” she said.

  “Doing animal dissections is where veterinarians start out,” Gavin added. It might have been ages ago, but he firmly remembered an eight-year-old Bree claiming her life’s goal was to care for animals. By the time he moved to San Francisco, he’d had nearly every show on Animal Planet down cold just from watching with her during his precious few off-hours.

  Bree paused. “I guess you’re right. And it’s okay anyway. Lucas Ford said he’d be my lab partner, and he promised to do the actual dissecting if I’d write up the lab. That way I don’t have to butcher poor Kermit but I’ll still get credit for participating.”

  “That was awfully nice.” Relief flooded Gavin, and he was grateful that he didn’t have to directly intervene to save Bree’s science grade. The emotion was short-lived, however, when he caught the distinctive change in her sigh.

  “Yeah. Lucas is pretty nice.”

  Oh, hell no. Gavin didn’t care if she failed science ten times in a row. No way was this Lucas kid getting within a twelve-foot radius of his sister.

  His knuckles went white over the steering wheel. “On second thought, maybe—”

  “Oooh, look! The perfect parking spot,” Sloane interjected, flinging her arm toward the passenger side window and effectively bringing his train of thought to a screeching halt. He maneuvered the Audi between a sleek, red sports car and a minivan, realizing only after the fact that the lot was littered with empty spaces. He opened his mouth to revisit the argument in his head with fresh vigor, but Bree was already happily chatting with Sloane about some TV show they’d watched together the other night, and his window of opportunity had clearly passed. It might be just as well, though. If Bree was only willing to give this Lucas kid two seconds worth of airtime, he probably wasn’t worth having an argument and wrecking their afternoon.

  “Okay. What do you two want to shop for first?” Gavin asked, sliding out of the car.

  “Shoes,” Sloane said, with a look that suggested this was the only possible answer to the question.

  “A new cell phone,” Bree added excitedly, and he nearly pitched to a stop on the pavement.

  “You have a cell phone so you can reach me if there’s an emergency,” he reminded her. “And it works perfectly fine.”

  Their feet kept time on the black pavement in the parking lot, and Bree jumped over a crack between two spaces. “My cell phone is a total dinosaur. It doesn’t even get e-mail.”

  “Neither do you, really. Except from the people you could call on the phone.”

  But she set her face with a pleading expression, and damn, it took a potshot right at his ribs. “But if I had my own iPhone, then I wouldn’t have to borrow Sloane’s.”

  He swung a look of surprise at Sloane. “You let her have your iPhone?”

  She went wide-eyed as they all hopped the curb and headed toward the brightly lit mall entrance. “Well, Sadie and Caitlin got iPhones for their birthday last week, and we were just testing out FaceTime. You know, the person-to-person chat thing? I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it, but I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  Gavin shrugged. “There are worse things than video chatting with friends,” he said, holding the glass-paned door open to usher them both into the mall. “Plus, I trust you to make those kinds of judgment calls, anyway. I just don’t want Bree killing your battery or monopolizing your phone.”

  Sloane’s pace slowed for a second, and as she scrambled to make up the few strides she’d lost, Bree intervened.

  “I didn’t monopolize. I borrowed,” she said, and Sloane nodded in agreement.

  “It was fine, really.” She lifted an eyebrow in Bree’s direction and bumped Bree’s hip with a gentle nudge. “You’re just lucky I have a high tolerance for extended discussions about who got kicked off Survivor, kid.”

  “Whatever.” But Bree bumped her back with a laugh of her own, and the familiar ease lit something uncontrollably happy in Gavin’s chest. By the time they got a third of the way through the aisles in the Target next to the mall, their effortless banter had turned his mood damn near unbreakable.

  Sloane got a wicked glint in her eye as they rounded a huge display of sunglasses, and she snapped a pair of purple aviator shades from the wall. “A girl can never have too many pairs of sunglasses,” she crooned, popping them over her face and fluffing her hair in the display mirror.

  Gavin laughed. “Those are totally ridiculous.” And yet she still managed to look irresistible in them.

  “Not as ridiculous as these,” Bree chimed in, grabbing a pair of lime green Wayfarers.

  “Between the two of you, I think the sun would be tempted to cry rather than shine.” And yet his laughter kept welling up with no end in sight.

  Sloane took a step back, propping the purple glasses on her forehead in order to scan the rest of the display. “Okay. Let’s find a pair for you, then.”

  His amusement veered toward nervousness, but he had a funny feeling Sloane could smell fear like most people could smell cookies in the oven, so he made an effort to keep his expression neutral. “No thanks. I’m all set.”

  “Oh, come on! You have to play, too.” Bree wasted less than five seconds before gleefully pointing out some of the ugliest sunglasses on the planet to Sloane
, and shit, how was he going to get out of this now?

  He took a quick survey of the neighboring aisles, noting with chagrin that they were dotted with shoppers all well within sight of them. “Really. Those look so much better on you guys. I’ll just let you have all the glory.”

  “Nice try, you old smoothie.” Sloane plucked a pair of huge shades from the rack that looked like they should come with an optional disco ball, and Gavin took a step backward.

  “No way. Not a chance those are going on my face.” He gestured to the plastic monstrosity in her hand.

  Velvety laughter spilled from her lips. “Relax. These are for me. These”—she paused, reaching around Bree’s shoulder to slip a pair of strangely normal-looking men’s sunglasses from the backlit display—“are for you.”

  “Oh, you let him off easy,” Bree complained with a giggle, but Sloane just smiled and swapped her purple glasses for the bug-eyed disco pair.

  “What do you say, boss? Do you want to give these a shot?” She held out the pair she’d chosen for him, and even in those completely ludicrous sunglasses she’d pulled from the display, she looked so sweetly endearing, so completely Sloane, that he took the purple aviators from her other hand without a second thought.

  “Nope. If I’m going to look ridiculous, I might as well go all in.” He shoved the frames over his nose in one smooth gesture, savoring the shock on both of the faces in front of him as he turned to the rack of hats and scarves behind them.

  “As a matter of fact, while we’re at it, why don’t we try this?” He skimmed the shelves of hats, his violet-tinted gaze snagging on the perfect example of turnabout being fair play. He placed a floppy, daisy-studded rain hat on Bree’s head, eliciting a fresh round of giggles from her.

  “Pick one for Sloane,” she chanted, her girlish face lit up sweetly despite the garish hat-and-glasses combination she wore.

  Gavin tapped a finger to his chin, feigning deep thought. “One for Sloane. Hmmm.” He picked up a dramatic bright red fedora and twirled it menacingly in his hand.

  “Hey, don’t forget I was nice to you. You’re the one who stole my aviators,” Sloane reminded him with a laugh.

  “So I am.” He returned the fedora to the shelf, even though he had a sneaking suspicion it would’ve looked more attractive than comical on her. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, a snippet of color caught his attention. Oh, yeah. Freaking perfect.

  He picked up the delicately crocheted sky blue beret, and the soft cotton threads felt just right in his hands as he lifted it to Sloane’s head. “But I think this ought to do it. How about you?”

  Gavin slipped the stupid purple glasses off his face at the same time Sloane removed her own sunglasses, both of them staring into the mirror nestled between the shelves. The beret framed her face with just enough color to make her eyes shine, and she blinked first at her own reflection, then at his.

  “Wow,” she murmured, and when she leaned against him, his arm went around her as if it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I know you’re a bit partial to the hat you already have, but . . .”

  Her eyes glittered, never wavering from his in the mirror. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

  “Oh, that looks really pretty, Sloane. You should totally get it.” Bree looked at her, suddenly reverent, and she slipped the daisy hat from the crown of her honey-colored waves. The sensation of tight, incredible breathlessness he’d felt before in the living room invaded Gavin’s senses once again, only this time he didn’t fight it.

  After all, if he was going to be in love with her, he might as well go all in there, too.

  Sloane padded down the hallway, her bare feet shushing over the cottage floorboards like a secret as she headed toward Bree’s room. She knew that Bree was fine, of course—the kid was made of tougher stuff than most of the adults Sloane had met—but occasionally Bree fell asleep with her lights on or her radio going. It wouldn’t really hurt to double-check, just in case. Plus, she could use a break from the relentlessly blank pages of legal paper spread across the breakfast bar, just waiting for a Greece book outline to fill them up.

  Fat chance of that happening. God, her writer’s block on that book could give Stonehenge a run for its money right about now.

  “Bree? You awake?” Sloane tapped lightly on the glossy white frame outlining Bree’s door, tipping her ear toward the cracked-open panel for a response. The hushed tones of a local radio show were the sole reply, and Sloane broke into a knowing smile as she poked her head into the room with caution.

  Sure enough, Bree was sprawled, out cold, over her twin bed. Her quilt covered more of the floor than her body, and Sloane bent to lift the patchwork edge from the cherrywood boards. Bree’s face was soft with the telltale mark of deep sleep, and the pink flannel pajamas that Gavin had bought her on their shopping excursion a few days ago threatened to swallow her whole. Sloane’s smile made itself comfortable on her lips as she drew the quilt over Bree’s slumbering frame. Considering how fast preteen girls grew, she’d be shocked if the pajamas made it to the end of the year without becoming high-waters.

  She froze in place, mid-tuck. Since when did she have a clue what the growth curve of a thirteen-year-old looked like? Four weeks’ worth of not endangering one kid didn’t exactly earn her the Caregiver of the Year award. She might do just fine helping out with essay questions and rides to the library or the movies, but that was a far cry from actually thinking she was any good at this.

  Judging by the two missed calls from her mother that she had accidentally-on-purpose not yet returned this week, Sloane still wasn’t much of a candidate for good daughterhood, despite Gavin’s arguments to the contrary.

  And yet, something about the way he continually trusted her with Bree’s well-being kept rising up in her mind, daring her in quiet moments like this one to believe that she might be good enough anyway.

  “You’re losing it,” she muttered and silenced the radio with a flick of her wrist. After clicking off the light, she retraced her footsteps down the hall. Her stomach took a swan dive at the sight of the blank pages gracing the granite countertop, ones with headings that read Hero’s Internal Conflict and Setting: Research and Description.

  She picked up the latter with a frown. Not since she’d started writing had she had a book fight her so hard on its way out. Short of being smack in the middle of Athens, Sloane had done everything she could think of to bring the beautiful Greek city to the forefront of her imagination. But the harder she tried, the more difficult it became, to the point that she was starting to feel like one of those salmon that fought tooth and nail just to get inches upstream.

  Her only hope was to fight the good fight, the only way she knew how. Either that, or she was going to be eaten by a bear.

  Sloane caught sight of her propped-open laptop on the kitchen table, and it stirred equal parts frustration and longing in the space beneath her rib cage. If the Greece book counted as a dry spell, then the unnamed project spilling out of her was a total deluge. Even now, the ideas called to her, begging to be splashed over the screen. As much as she’d thought she could get one book out of the way to pave the path for the other, she was starting to think that maybe there was more to it than that. She was beginning to believe the book that was taking shape in front of her was good enough to pitch despite the fact that it was the complete opposite of what her editor had asked for.

  On pure impulse, Sloane’s fingers found her laptop keyboard, and she tapped the screen to life with a quick keystroke. If she could compose a smart enough proposal and put some extra polish on that first chapter, Belinda would have no choice but to see how good this project was. Okay, so it wasn’t Sloane’s usual fare, and yes, they’d have to work out a new spin on the marketing, but in the end, it would be worth it. Something about this book just sang, and while her others had certainly been strong, this one just felt right.

  As if the ideas coming from within her really were go
od enough.

  She angled the cursor over the icon for her e-mail, gaining momentum as she clicked. God, she couldn’t wait to tell Gavin about this. Of course, she’d probably have to endure some good-natured ribbing over not believing in herself in the first place, but that was fine. The look on his face when she told him she’d really pitched the book would be worth it.

  Sloane’s computer dinged with an unread e-mail message, and she nearly laughed out loud when she clicked on her inbox and saw Belinda’s name flashing in bold, blue letters.

  “Must be kismet,” she told the screen, clicking on the message with happy abandon. But what she found made her mouth go dry before she got past the second sentence.

  Dear Sloane,

  I hope this finds you well and hard at work. I need a copy of your Greece proposal ASAP—marketing is dying to get their hands on it. Also, our sales rep hinted to one of our biggest accounts that you had your nose to the grindstone on another Europe book, and they’ve expressed interest in some major placement within their stores, as well as hosting a series of high-profile signings. You are a fan favorite! Not that I’m surprised, of course. But I’d like to get moving on your contract, so the sooner I get that proposal, the sooner we can dive right in.

  Best,

  Belinda

  P.S. Just between you and me, I told Martin you’d decided to head to Greece to write another book for us, and he’s thrilled.

  She lifted her hands to her mouth, trying to swallow the bitter combination of unease and dread starting to form within her. Martin Abernathy, whom Sloane had met exactly once in her tenure with Morton House Publishers, was thrilled about her Greece book? According to his reputation, the serious-as-a-heart-attack editor in chief didn’t even crack a polite smile at the biggest of sales, and yet he was thrilled over the prospect of her project? And she’d barely been a blip on the big chains’ radar when her first book had been released. Now they wanted her for book signings in big cities?