by Karen Rigley
“I didn’t know women still blushed in this day and age,” he said, his smile crinkling tiny lines at the corners of those striking midnight eyes.
Sometimes, she swore she got lost in his gaze. Jami cleared her throat, forcing her eyes from his as she confessed, “I hate blushing.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s charming.”
Jami blinked up at him, wondering when anyone had ever termed something she did as charming.
“I certainly didn’t expect my Cupid date to be a woman like you,” Grant said, watching her brush a wayward curl off her cheek.
“I never intended to be a Cupid date.”
“So why are you here?” His curiosity was a living thing eating at him.
“I owe Sierra. She was the only one who stood by me during my divorce.” Jami’s voice strengthened. “We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
“The divorce was painful?” he asked softly, disturbed by the way she avoided his gaze. How could any man let such a woman go? Grant shook his head.
“Very. I’ll never trust a man again.”
“All men aren’t the same,” he replied, offended that she painted him with the same brush as her ex-husband. “And you can’t claim women are any better.”
“Dogs are more faithful than men.” Tension radiated in the stiff line of her spine and the way her chin jutted up in defiance.
“But not near as much fun,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Is that why you accepted this Cupid invitation?”
“You’re kidding. I accepted this trip to bail my brother out.” Grant let his gaze rake over Jami, noting the nervous way she chewed her lower lip. Her action was very sexy, and he felt a surge of desire tighten his loins. “So I guess neither one of us wants to be here.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“Since we are here, let’s make the best of it.” Grant let a seductive nuance color his words as he trailed his fingers along her wrist, feeling the erratic beat of her pulse and the warm silk of her flesh.
“It’s obvious you aren’t one of Cupid’s clients,” she retorted.
“How so?” he asked, intrigued.
“Sierra told me they set up the Cupid computer to pick life-time mates—obviously not your intent.” Jami stared directly into his eyes, and he tried not to flinch as she struck a cord of truth.
“I admit I’m comfortable in my bachelor life. I’m not a family man type guy. My business comes first and that leaves no time to waste on nonessentials.”
“A wife and family are nonessentials?”
“Hey, Mom,” Toby hollered, scrambling over a decaying log. “See this neat thing I found.”
She automatically recoiled when her son thrust a wiggling green creature at her. “Toby, put that down—it could be poisonous.”
“It’s just a harmless lizard,” Grant stated, taking it out of Toby’s hands and sitting it on a rock in the sun. “It won’t hurt you.”
The creature turned its head in a stop-and-jerk motion like a dinosaur in a fifties B movie. Black reptile eyes rotated independently, and Jami suppressed a shudder. “I really don’t want my son to make a practice of touching wild things.”
Grant grinned. “Wild things can be exciting.”
Jami read the challenge in his eyes as the sexy nuance of his voice vibrated through her.
Their gazes locked for an electric moment, then Toby broke the spell by scooping the lizard back up. “Mom, can’t I keep it for a pet? Please?”
“Definitely not.”
“Aw, please.” Toby’s freckled face scrunched and he held the wiggling lizard out for her inspection. “It’s lonely. I can tell.”
Lonely. There was that word again. It seemed that Toby used it far too often for a six-year-old. Was he lonely? She bit her lip at the thought. “Sorry, tiger, but you can’t keep the lizard. Put it down and come have lunch.”
Her son deposited the lizard back onto the rock, whispering something to the creature so softly Jami couldn’t hear his words.
Grant unfolded the tablecloth and placed it on the ground beneath a blue spruce tree. Toby dropped to his knees and reached for food.
“Hey—clean hands.” She squeezed several drops of hand-sanitizer into his palm.
“On a picnic?” the reluctant child grumbled, obediently rubbing the gel over his hands–-seconds before he snared a chicken leg.
“Yes,” Jami replied firmly, doling the food onto paper plates and avoiding Grant’s amused stare.
Grant chuckled, tousling Toby’s hair. “Your mom’s a real drill sergeant, today. Guess we’d better be on our best behavior.”
“Lemonade?” Jami asked none too hospitably as she tried not to notice the sunlight dancing burnished gold through his wavy head of hair and glistening off the fine hairs of his powerful arms.
“I’ll pour.” Grant took the insulated jug from her hands, their fingers brushing in the process. Jami swallowed the gasp of surprise as the electricity discharged from his fingertips to hers.
“Ah, thank you,” she stammered as he filled three cups. She took hers, carefully avoiding touching his hand in the process.
Toby accepted a plate and cup from his mother and gave her a crooked grin. “Is it okay if I sit on the log by my lizard?”
For some reason Jami’s gaze drifted to Grant’s.
“Sounds fine to me,” Grant said, and Jami certainly hoped he didn’t think she sought his permission.
“Okay, tiger,” she murmured, focusing her attention on her son, instead of the unsettling man beside her. “Just don’t touch the lizard while you’re eating.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Toby bounded over to the log, and to her surprise, the reptile stayed perched inches from her child.
“Relax. Toby’s not going to get in trouble three yards away from us.” Grant was fascinated by her finely tuned mother instincts. He hadn’t been around many young single mothers and found the mother/child bond touching. If his sister-in-law was correct, Jami Rhodes was also a businesswoman. That image did not seem to fit her at all. “Sierra tells me you own a scuba and diving shop. It must be difficult to run your own business and be a single parent.”
“I manage.” Jami choked down a bite of potato salad, acting nervous about the sudden change of conversation, which intrigued him even more.
“Are you concerned about the business while you’re on vacation?”
“Should I be?” She cocked her head to stare back at him.
A rush of curiosity surged through him. What was she so tense about? Was her business in trouble? Or was it a personal tension radiating between them as male and female? He kept fishing. “Some businesses screech to a stop when the boss is away.”
“I’m sure yours keeps on running,” Jami replied as she stared down at her plate, her hair falling into a spun copper curtain to obscure her expression.
“Doesn’t yours?” Grant countered, unable to resist brushing a silky lock of her glorious hair off her face. “You have lovely hair,” he added, to his own surprise.
“Thanks.” Inhaling sharply, Jami glanced up at him. For a moment, she stared at his strong, bronzed hands as he lifted a chicken leg from his plate. Her gaze moved from his hand to his mouth, lingering on his sensually molded lips.
“I’m sorry. It appears I’ve taken the last chicken leg. Would you like it?” he asked, putting the leg back on his plate before eating any.
Jami tore her gaze from his mouth, feeling her cheeks burn.
“What? Oh, no, go ahead.”
“So, do you have a good shop manager? Is that why you’re not worried about your business while you’re away?”
“What?” Jami muttered again, feeling she was in some Twilight Zone, where attraction overruled logic.
“Your shop.” Grant buttered a roll, not taking his eyes off her, and she nearly squirmed. “You must have someone you trust running it for you. A manager, assistant, clerk?”
“I can’t afford a manager. When I need help, I get college stu
dents to work at Dive-A-Wave part-time.” She really felt uncomfortable discussing her business with him. Hadn’t Sierra mentioned that Grant was a business consultant? Heavens, she didn’t exactly run her place by the book.
His forkful of food paused midair. “Who’s running the shop while you’re here with me?”
“Nobody.”
“What did you do? Just shut it down during peak season?”
“Yes.” Jami’s chin rose. How dare this man challenge her business decisions? “It’s my business—in every way.”
Grant scratched his head, troubled thoughts swirling his brain. He’d spent his career trying to mend businesses nearly ruined by haphazard management and careless attitudes. Now a woman he felt such an intense attraction toward, displayed the type of attitude he tried to eradicate in his clients. Only she wasn’t his client—she was his computer match. Still, she obviously needed his technical advice. “It isn’t good business to close when your customers need your services the most.”
“My shop is no concern of yours,” Jami replied, her color high.
“Someone needs to be concerned.” Grant admitted to himself that Jami was beautiful when her hackles rose, but his business sense itched at her careless dismissal of his well-intentioned advice.
“It’s my shop.”
“It won’t be for long,” he responded, telling himself not too sound so harsh. “If you continue to make such poor business decisions.”
“Dive-A-Wave is doing just fine,” Jami protested, keeping her voice low, aware she was stretching the truth.
“I hope you’re right, Red.” Grant rocked back on the blanket, deciding to drop the subject. He didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good picnic.
“Don’t call me Red,” Jami grumbled, thankful that her son was occupied trying to feed a carrot to the lizard and oblivious of the adults’ argument.
“What’s going on, Mom?” Toby called, a protective note quivering in his young voice as he interrupted them.
“Nothing. Finish your lunch.” Jami forced herself to pretend things were just fine between herself and Mr. Know-it-all Carrington.
“Okay. I think my lizard likes lettuce.”
“Good,” Jami said, feeling Grant’s gaze on her face. She stole a glance at him, and he was watching her with a broad smile on his face.
“Are we still friends?” Grant’s voice sounded low and sexy, sending shivers along Jami’s spine.
“Of course. My grandma used to have the perfect saying for arguments like ours,” Jami said, smiling back.
“What saying?”
“You think your way and I’ll think mine.”
“She sounds like a sensible lady.” Grant’s gaze locked with Jami’s.
“She was.” Bittersweet memories flowed over Jami. “My grandparents died when I was quite young, but I remember Gran as a quiet, prudent woman.”
“My grandmother’s just the opposite. No one would dare describe Grandmother Margaret or her daughter, my mom, Shirley Carrington, as sensible or prudent.” Grant’s voice grew warm and affectionate as spoke. “They’re both free spirits. You’d like them. Especially Mom. She’s a Texas tornado, whirling every direction at once and rarely touching ground.”
“Sierra’s mentioned your mother a few times. It sounds like they get along well,” Jami said, watching the tiny smile lines crinkle around Grant’s eyes.
“No one can resist liking Mother.”
“Is your family close?” Jami asked wistfully.
“Sometimes far too close.” He smiled as he spoke.
Jami was struck again by how handsome he looked with a breeze waving his burnished gold hair and plastering the fabric of his shirt against his muscular chest while he returned to lunch and chomped a chicken leg.
“Families are so important.” Jami’s gaze strayed to Toby, who was tearing bits of lettuce and placing them by the lizard.
“I’m beginning to appreciate how important.”
Wary of his increasing attraction to her, Grant watched a breeze ripple Jami’s hair into flowing copper that danced away from her face and streamed over her slim shoulders. Her cameo profile turned as she continued to watch her son. She was so lovely, yet so stubborn. To think anyone could close a business dependent upon tourists at the height of tourist season. Grant shook his head, unable to let go of it.
Feeling his gaze, she peeked at him through her lashes. He was devastatingly masculine in a way that spoke to the female in her, no matter how she fought against the attraction. She could tell that he disapproved of her, but no one told her how to run her life. Or her business. Not Grant. Not even the devil himself. She chewed her bottom lip, recognizing Grant’s effect on her was nothing short of devilish.
“A deer!” Toby cried, launching off the log to sprint between the trees.
“Toby, no!” Jami called, scrambling up from the blanket as her little boy disappeared into the woods. She ran after Toby, but screeched to halt at the point where she had lost sight of him. She searched for him for several minutes, panic welling higher within her as she felt more helpless by the second.
Grant practically barreled into her, grabbing her shoulders before impact. “Don’t stop so fast. I nearly bull-dozed you.”
“Which way did he go?” she asked frantically, her amber eyes sparkling with unshed tears as she scanned the woods.
Grant stared down at her, mesmerized by her sudden vulnerability. “It’s okay. Toby can’t have gone far.”
“Okay?” Jami stared up at Grant. “My six-year-old is somewhere in these woods alone.”
Tension vibrated her barely controlled stance, sending a wave of protectiveness through Grant. He released his grip on her shoulders. “My voice carries well. I’ll call him.”
“Thank you. I don’t want him lost. Besides, I’m afraid of what trouble Toby will get into on his own in the woods. He has to explore everything around him and takes nothing at face value.”
“Like his mother?” Grant teased.
“My son’s getting farther away and closer to trouble every second.”
“But it’s so quiet with Toby gone.” Grant grinned at Jami.
She put her hands on her shapely hips. “Grant Carrington!”
“You win.” Grant cupped his hands around his mouth, his deep tones projecting easily as he hollered, “Hey, Toby! Toby, stop right where you are and yell back to us.”
“Mom? Grant?” came a small distinct voice, bringing a sigh of relief from Jami and a knowing grin from Grant.
“Toby, keep talking and stay put. We’re coming to get you.” Grant aimed Jami forward and guided her left, winding through the trees toward Toby’s chatter. Twigs whipped across her while weeds and vines tangled her feet as she stumbled through the brush with Grant grabbing her arm occasionally to steady her.
The moment they spotted Toby’s yellow shirt, Jami broke into a run. She threw her arms around her precious child, unmindful of the burrs, stickers, and twigs clinging to her jeans, and the scratches stinging her arms.
“Aw, Mom,” Toby protested, pushing his warm, sweaty body away from her. “Don’t get mushy.”
Grant stood by, observing the reunion with arms folded and mouth stern. “Toby, you broke the rules.”
“What rules?” the boy asked, squinting up at the towering man.
“Mountain rules.” Grant crouched down and pulled Toby to him. “These rules are very important. Okay?”
Toby nodded, gazing at Grant with a mixture of wonder and fear.
“First rule—don’t go off the trail. It’s easy to get lost and lose all sense of direction. Got it?”
“Yeah. Stay on the trail,” Toby muttered, none too happily.
“Don’t chase the wildlife. Don’t hike or swim alone—ever.” Grant waited for Toby to nod his head in agreement, then tousled the boy’s hair. “That’s enough for now. I’ll tell you the rest later. Let’s go clean up our picnic and head back to the lodge before Homer sends out a search party.”
“All right.” Toby’s brown eyes traveled from Grant to his mom. “You walk with me, Mom. We can follow Grant.” He slipped his warm hand in Jami’s. “Okay?”
“Sure, honey.” She suppressed a smile, knowing it was her son’s way of claiming her and keeping her with him instead of Grant.
With everyone pitching in to help, they were on their way in minutes, tracking down the trail with Grant in the lead. Jami tried not to notice how snugly the jeans clung to Grant’s neat behind, or how they accented his muscular thighs and long legs. Her eyes traced the broad, powerful line of his shoulders tapering to a vee at his waist, forcing her to remember his taut washboard stomach. Her own stomach muscles clenched in response. She shook away the tantalizing image of Grant, skin wet and glistening, clad only in a towel, and tried to concentrate on tree and rock landmarks as they hiked down the packed-dirt path toward the lodge.
“I’ll take you two to the lake later,” Grant said as they entered the lodge, greeted by the aroma of baking bread.
“Great,” Toby chimed.
“That’s not necessary,” Jami said at the same time.
Grant grinned at both of them. “I better return this basket. See you in awhile.”
He aimed for the kitchen as she steered Toby toward the stairs. “Let’s get cleaned up, tiger. A nap might not be a bad idea, either.”
“Aw, Mom,” Toby protested, his dirt-smudged face scrunching as he snuck a side-glance to make sure Grant was out of earshot. “I don’t want a nap.”
Jami ruffled her son’s hair. “Maybe I do.”
He shot his mother a questioning glance, but obediently trudged up the stairs with her. “Did you know you can get Rocky Mountain Fever from wood ticks?”
“Yuk, that sounds real bad.”
“It is. I read up about it before we came, so we need to clean you up extra.”
“Aw, Mom,” he grumbled again as she marched him straight into the bathroom to make sure he got a thorough scrubbing in the tub.
“Clean and shiny and no bugs.” She laughed, then tossed him a Blazing Galaxy comic book when he was dried and dressed. “Quiet time for you, while I grab a shower. Don’t,” she added with motherly emphasis, “don’t leave this room. Okay?”
