by Lisa Plumley
. . . eased up on the martial arts lessons for her daughter?
In a heartbeat, Danielle sized up the situation. Jason stood frozen in the living room, gorgeously shirtless (as usual) and wearing pajama pants that made the most of his hip bones and musculature. Ten-year-old Karlie crouched in a ninja pose nearby him, arms outstretched and eyes squinting, still holding the backpack she’d clearly been using to make the thumping sound with—in coordination with Jason’s torso. Zach gawked at his sister. Aiden stood contentedly nearby, explaining the situation to a bag containing murky water, fish food, and one goldfish.
“It’s a home invasion!” her son told the fish, his eyes as big as his fishy friend’s. “Don’t worry. Karlie knows karate!”
“How do you know about ‘home invasions’?” Danielle demanded, momentarily diverted from the crisis at hand.
“Oh. Hi, Mom!” Aiden waved his chubby free hand. He raised the bag, making the goldfish sway. “Look! We got a new fish!”
“I asked, how do you know about—”
“Crystal watches the True Crime channel,” Zach volunteered sunnily, still keeping a cautious eye on Jason. “Crystal lets us watch it too sometimes. Crystal treats us like grown-ups.”
That was because, to barely post-collegiate Crystal, the children weren’t too far removed from her own friends, Danielle knew. But she wasn’t about to say so. Not to her own kids.
Not even if Zach was baiting her with his tone of voice. It wasn’t news to her that kids liked being given whatever they wanted. It was just that, as their mother, she had to be firm.
Ergo . . . “That’s it,” she decreed. “No more True Crime channel. For anyone. I mean it. No matter what Crystal says.”
“Speaking of true crime . . . does no one else care that I’ve cornered this guy?” Karlie’s voice quivered, alerting Danielle that her take-charge daughter was running out of adrenaline. Clearly, she’d used up plenty of bravado already. Karlie shifted. She nudged her chin pugnaciously toward Jason. “I caught him stealing our Christmas tree! I caught him red-handed!”
Biting her lip, Danielle glanced at Jason. His attention, though, was directed at her legs. Specifically, at her bare legs, Danielle realized. When she’d bolted from her bedroom, she’d forgotten that she was still wearing her PJs—a pair of soft plaid flannel shorts, a ribbed cotton camisole, and a shortie polka-dot robe. Plus a case of raging bed head.
Not that Jason was looking at her unruly long dark hair. He was too busy sliding his attention slowly past her knees, over her thighs, up toward her midsection, all the way to . . .
. . . her perky, extra-alert nipples. Damn it!
Hastily, Danielle covered up. But not before she caught an unmistakable flare of interest and appreciation in Jason’s face.
Dumbfounded by it, she gawked back at him.
Did Jason want her, too? Because if he did . . .
Well, that might change everything between them.
“I wasn’t stealing the Christmas tree.” Jason’s voice was level and friendly. His attention was focused on Karlie. He added a genial grin. “I was moving the tree, temporarily, so I could fix the wiring on the lights. I didn’t want your mom to burn down the house.” He cast a heartening glance at Danielle. “Don’t worry,” he assured her confidently. “Kids love me.”
In response, Karlie kicked him in the shin.
Zach kicked him in the other shin.
Aiden saw what his big brother and sister were up to. He stuck his tongue out at Jason, then struck a defiant pose.
“We’re not just any old kids,” he informed Jason.
“Yeah.” Zach crossed his arms, making himself look equally rebellious. “We don’t need some stranger to fix our tree, either. Because my mom hardly ever burns down anything!”
“‘Hardly ever’?” Danielle protested. She scurried over to where Karlie was readying herself for another strike. “Come on!”
“There was that time with the burnt toast,” her daughter reminded her, hands on her hips. “You had to beat the smoke alarm with a T-ball bat to make it quit screeching so loud.”
Jason appeared unfazed by their pint-size belligerence.
Danielle admired his equanimity . . . even as she felt a new sense of foreboding overtake her. A few seconds later, she realized what had incited it: the telltale sounds of giggling, kissing, and baby talk moving closer from her front porch.
She barely had time to prepare herself before the new Mr. and Mrs. Rausch-Sharpe appeared in her open front doorway.
Mark had affixed Crystal’s name to his when he’d remarried. He’d also borrowed his new wife’s youthful fashion sense. At thirty-two, Mark wasn’t too old to look current, of course, Danielle knew. But he was, in her opinion, too old to sport a hipster mustache, unisex black skinny jeans, and an “ironic” bow tie, all at the same time. Plus a still pink Crystal tattoo.
He and his tat’s namesake squeezed themselves inside in a bumptious combination of arms and legs and giggles, unwilling to be apart even for the time required to navigate the doorway separately. Amid a burst of wintry air, they shut the door behind themselves. Then they resumed canoodling. As usual.
In one swift glance, Jason took in the arrival of Mark and Crystal, the resigned way that Danielle reacted to their showy smooching, and the suddenly tense atmosphere in the room.
His reaction was not what she would have expected.
“Come on, babe,” he said. “Let’s go make some coffee.”
Babe? While she stood there baffled by that endearment, Jason merely gave her an inescapably inviting look . . . just as though they’d been roused from their bed by the kids’ arrival.
“I’m going to need the energy,” he added. “For later.”
His eyebrow waggle and seductive tone weren’t lost on any of the adults. Especially not Danielle. Jason was pretending they were a couple, too. He was trying to come to her rescue.
This would never work, Danielle knew. Mark was too smart.
As proof, Mark ripped his lips from Crystal’s, his attention snared by the unexpected sound of an unknown adult male in his ex-wife’s company. “Huh?”
“Hi.” Jason held out his hand. “I’m Jason.”
“Huh?” Mark repeated. Maybe he wasn’t so smart after all.
“You must be Mark, Danielle’s ex.” Jason pumped his hand.
Mark appeared baffled. But he duly accepted the handshake.
Seeing the two of them together went a long way toward making Danielle feel better. Frankly, Jason bested Mark in every way. He was taller, studlier, friendlier, and sexier. He was smarter, more muscular, and more considerate. Plus, seeing Crystal give Jason a bedazzled, obviously astounded once-over felt great.
Crystal would never believe Jason was with her, Danielle knew. However ditzy Crystal was, she couldn’t be that credulous.
“Wow!” Crystal giggled. She all but pushed past Mark to shake Jason’s hand herself. “Aren’t you a lucky girl, Danielle?”
Or maybe she wasn’t so smart after all, either.
She and Mark deserved one another.
“And you must be Candy,” Jason said. “Nice to meet you.”
She deflated. Her smile quavered. “Uh, it’s Crystal.”
“Of course,” Jason agreed warmly . . . but his attention had already returned to Danielle. Even as he gazed at her, giving her a double dose of sex appeal, Danielle knew darn well that he remembered Crystal’s name. She’d never once known him to forget anyone’s name, from Moosby’s frequent shoppers to their staff.
If Danielle had been a better woman, she would not have found it so sweet to see her ex and his insufferable new bride knocked off balance. But she wasn’t a better woman. So she did.
However, now that the fun was over . . . “Thanks for the drop-off, you two.” Probably, Mark had gotten mixed up about their visitation schedule again. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“What’s the hurry?” Mark swerved his suspicious, resentful-looking gaze
away from Jason’s visible six-pack abs. He sucked in his gut. “There’s no need to give us the bum’s rush, Dani.”
Crystal eyed him, clearly peeved at hearing him use his pet name for Danielle. So she flounced to Jason, then put her hand on his forearm. “I think we were invited for coffee, sweetie.”
The Rausch-Sharpes sulked at each other, clearly spoiling for a “who can flirt more recklessly” showdown. Danielle had never seen this childish side of their relationship before.
For the first time, she truly felt glad to be free. Maybe she really was a merry divorcée, just as she’d told Jason.
“You’re right,” Mark agreed, breaking the stalemate with a glance at Danielle. “Thanks, Dani. I guess we can stay awhile.”
“I guess we can stay awhile,” Crystal cooed to Jason.
What? Danielle didn’t want them to stay awhile. Doing that would be courting disaster. There were too many variables. Too many loose ends. Too much potential for failure. But Jason only nodded, perfectly at home with continuing their ruse. Thank God for his habit of folding and putting away the bedding he used on her sofa bed every night. And for his diligence in muscling away the pullout mattress, too. That meant there wasn’t any evidence to contradict the idea that the two of them were a couple.
All the same, Danielle stared at the expectant faces of everyone around her and found herself unable to cave in to peer pressure. It wouldn’t be fair to embroil Jason in her personal life. It wasn’t up to him to help her feel better. Also—and more pressingly—she’d rather shave her own head than host a neighborly coffee klatch for two people who’d betrayed her.
Maybe she should have been more forgiving. She wasn’t.
That didn’t mean she needed to indulge in an unnecessary, immature, jealousy-inducing pretense with Jason. Did it?
Even if—as she couldn’t helping thinking—it might be fun.
“Hey, can you guys move away from the TV, please?” Karlie piped up. She’d abandoned her vigilant watch over Jason now that all the grown-ups were present, and dragged out a video game console. “I’m trying to play this new game Crystal got for me!”
Danielle caught a glimpse of the Fashion Makeover EXTREME! video “adventure” her daughter brandished and changed her mind about her stringent antipretense principles. Maybe she shouldn’t rise above all this. Because ordinarily, Karlie preferred quest games or puzzle games—not pink, sparkly, makeover “adventures” wherein the biggest challenges were taming unruly eyebrows and dieting off five pounds in time for the big swimsuit “finale.” As it happened, Danielle had already refused to get Karlie that particular “adventure” video game for Christmas.
Evidently, Crystal had overruled her. She enjoyed doing that. At birthdays, at Disneyland, at Halloween . . . and especially during the holidays, when she could score extra kid points.
“I’m going to make a robot!” Zach announced. With relish, her son wrestled a box of expensive Legos and electronic parts out of his overstuffed overnight bag. “Crystal got it for me!”
Grr. Danielle had vetoed that particular Christmas gift for her son, too. Invariably, Zach lost interest in toys with lots of gears and small parts. They only wound up underfoot, with the only remaining piece—the beeping, shrieking motor—in his hands for days, bleeping out its owner’s every electronic whim.
Crystal wouldn’t have to live with that racket. Danielle would. But Zach loved it right now. Clearly, this was another volley in Crystal’s game of holiday one-upmanship with Danielle.
“My goldfish just made a poop that’s longer than he is!”
Visibly mesmerized, Aiden flaunted his bag full of murky water and overfed fish. His last three fish had met tragic toilet bowl ends after being generously overfed by their keeper. Aiden had begged for another fish for Christmas, but Danielle had done her best to discourage him. Every time another guppy or neon tetra met its untimely demise, her son was devastated.
But Crystal didn’t know that. All she knew was that giving Aiden a goldfish made him look at her as if she were a hero.
Danielle was familiar with the urge to be on the receiving end of that look. But that didn’t mean she was okay with Crystal constantly making end runs around her parental authority.
She inhaled. “Crystal? Can I talk with you in the kitchen?”
Her tone must have been more Terminator-like than she’d planned, because Jason gave her an alarmed look.
“First, let’s get that coffee going, babe.” He smiled and touched her hand . . . and it was all over with. Danielle forgot her ire altogether. Keeping up their deception, Jason gave a knowing chuckle. “You know how you are before the caffeine kicks in.”
Mark knew, too. That detail seemed to convince him that Jason and Danielle truly were coupled. He gave a puzzled frown.
Nearby him, Crystal only preened, knowing that even if the hot new man in Danielle’s life had gotten her name wrong, she had still won the latest skirmish in the ongoing Christmas war.
But a second later . . . “Candy, you look like the fun type.” Jason nodded toward Karlie and the video game console. “I’m pretty sure Fashion Makeover EXTREME! is a two-player adventure. I bet Karlie would love it if you would play it with her.”
The look Crystal gave him should have made him combust.
“Ooh! Would you? Would you?” Excitedly, Karlie bounced to the side, making room on the floor for her stepmother. She gulped in a breath. “You can be the Master Aesthetician. When she gives the players a bikini wax, they get extra va-va-voom!”
Hearing that vapid description made Danielle hate that game twice as hard. But she’d allow Karlie to play it—for now—if it meant seeing Crystal sit on the floor for a makeover marathon.
“I dunno, sweetie,” Crystal demurred. “These are new white pants. From Juicy Couture. They might get linty on the floor.”
“Please?” Karlie begged. “Please please please please—”
With a sigh, Crystal relented. One down. One to go.
“Mark, a smart guy like you would probably be just the man to build that robot with Zach,” Jason urged affably. “After all, it does say ages twelve and up on the box. Companies don’t label things that way just for laughs. Zach’s ten. He’ll need help. There’s plenty of room to set it up on the coffee table.”
Grumpily, Mark eyed the table. He didn’t like building things. He didn’t have a knack for following directions. With him at the helm, the robot would wind up with four legs, no head, and much of its innards still unassembled. He knew it.
He would look like a bumbling fool. In front of Jason.
At the prospect, Mark seemed to shrink a few inches.
“Will you, Dad? Will you?” Eagerly, Zach ripped open the set’s first bag. He poured its contents onto the table in a torrent of plastic bricks and gears. “It’s got 972 pieces!”
At her ex-husband’s stifled groan, Danielle grinned.
She’d probably go to hell for enjoying this so much.
“As far as you and your wonder fish go . . .” Jason hunkered down to admire Aiden’s incredible pooptastic goldfish. “After I help your mom make coffee, I’ll help you set up the fishbowl. I’m pretty sure I saw one in the garage the other day.”
Mark scowled. Deeply. “He’s been in my garage?”
“He’s been here for days?” Crystal added, dumbfounded.
But Danielle’s six-year-old son only beamed up at Jason.
“I’m glad somebody can see how awesome this fish is.”
With that, Danielle realized, Jason won over at least one of her children. He really was, she realized, good with kids.
An instant later, Jason turned his smoldering gaze on her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was really into this whole charade—kids, mayhem, imaginary sexual romp, and all.
“I’m not kidding,” he said, “about that coffee.”
But his deep, husky tone suggested he hadn’t been kidding about all those erotic intimations, either. Dizzily, Danielle didn
’t know what was real and what was pretend anymore.
Then Jason took her hand, and she knew.
The magnetism between them was real. Really real.
She didn’t care about fighting it anymore.
Grateful for the camaraderie they shared, however improbably and however briefly, she squeezed his hand—his big, slightly callused, infinitely amazing-feeling hand.
What the hell, Danielle thought. “I like coffee.”
Then they headed into the kitchen and prepared to take their unlikely synchronicity to a new and unanticipated level.
Even if it was, for the moment, just pretend.
Chapter Nine
To Jason’s disappointment, Danielle slipped her hand from his the minute they entered the kitchen. Once they were out of sight of everyone in the living room, she stepped away from him. She put up a barrier of caution and reserve, one he knew had to be about as substantial as her flimsy robe and sleepwear.
When he’d seen her burst into the living room dressed so skimpily, with her hair all pillow-tousled and her body scarcely covered by her sexy shorts and soft-looking tank top, it had been all he could do to tear his attention away from her—especially from her long, lithe legs and her budded nipples.
He still wished Danielle hadn’t covered up. It was a crime to conceal a body like hers beneath humble polka-dot fabric.
She hadn’t had much choice, though—not with the unexpected company they’d had. Jason couldn’t believe the thoughtless way Danielle’s dumb jock ex and his bimbo of a bride treated her.
He didn’t like anyone who upset Danielle. Period.
“Bravo. Well done.” Danielle broke into his thoughts by making a teasing curtsy. “You’ve effectively put everyone in their places. I could have done that myself, though.”
“You never would have. You’re way too nice.”
“My kids wouldn’t agree with that.” Not today, at least.
“Why not? Because you won’t buy them everything they want?” Jason shook his head. “Kids don’t need what they think they want. They need what they need. Parents have to decide which is which. I have two younger sisters and a younger brother. Believe me, none of us needed to be bribed into loving our parents.”
