by Leanne Banks
“That’s the problem,” Eli said darkly and walked toward the den. “Fletcher,” he called, “Fletch, what are you—” He broke off. “You found another clock,” he said, exasperation leaking through his tone.
Andie rounded the corner and saw Fletch on the floor of the den with his hands in the guts of an anniversary clock and his small face filled with guilt. “I got bored and didn’t wanna bother you.”
Crouching beside him, Eli sighed. “You’re not bothering me, but we’ve got to keep a couple of working clocks in the house.” He wondered if Fletcher had inherited more than the Masterses’ green eyes and brown hair. Eli’s mother had possessed a genius IQ. So did Eli and one of his brothers. Eli knew, however, that genius intelligence could be a mixed bag, particularly at Fletch’s young age. “If you’re bored, we can look into a preschool where you can be with other kids and—”
“No!” Fletch threw down a tiny spring and stood. “I don’t wanna go to preschool. Or day care either. I wanna stay at home.” Green eyes full of accusation, he looked as if he were ready to cry. “You promised me you wouldn’t make me go.” He picked up his boom box and turned to leave.
The tremble in his son’s voice wrenched at Eli. He snagged Fletch’s arm, bringing him to a stop. “I said I wouldn’t make you go during the first month or so that we’re here in Cary,” he gently corrected. “Later, we’ll have to see.”
Fletch’s shoulders slumped in relief. “But not now.”
“Not now,” Eli reassured him and pulled Fletch’s small body into his arms. “Now promise not to take apart any more clocks today.”
“I promise.” Rubbing his eyes, he snuggled closer to Eli. “I’m going up to my room for a while.”
“Okay. Tell Miss Reynolds goodbye.”
Fletch looked up at Andie. “G’bye. Sorry I played the Chipmunks so loud.”
Andie smiled and ruffled his bangs. “That’s okay. It was nice meeting you.” She watched him go upstairs and wished she hadn’t witnessed that heart-tugging scene. It revealed too much about both of them. All her nurturing instincts screamed into overdrive.
“His schedule’s still messed up from the move. He’ll probably take a nap,” Eli explained and shook his head. “Although he would die before he admitted he was sleepy.”
Andie smiled. “My brother was like that. Five years old and so afraid he would miss something.”
“Fletch will turn five in two weeks.” He frowned as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ll need to do something about a birthday party.”
Andie bit her tongue. She would not offer to help. Eli was a grown man, fully capable of arranging a birthday party for his son, fully capable of hiring a housekeeper and arranging his life. She refused to think about how awkwardly tender he’d acted toward Fletch. She refused to let that quality attract her. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a blast. Thanks so much for the apple juice.”
Feeling his gaze on her, she backed down the dark hall, narrowly missing a stack of boxes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the man was staring at her chest. “You trim those hedges and I’m sure you’ll be meeting the rest of the neighbors in no time.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
His warm hand engulfed hers. “Thank you. After we get settled, maybe you can come over for something more than apple juice.”
Her breath hitched. What a ridiculous reaction. She blamed it on his voice. He meant wine, Andie told herself. “Sure,” she managed, and slid her tingling fingers from his. “‘Bye now.” Andie stepped out the front door and walked swiftly down the cracked walkway.
Eli leaned against the doorjamb and watched his new neighbor as she left. No need to wave. After all, the woman was practically running. He supposed he could be insulted.
Instead, he chuckled.
It was a dry, rusty sound, like the hinge on a door that hadn’t been opened in a while. It made him realize he hadn’t laughed in a while. He hadn’t felt like laughing. Between his divorce, his research and his ex-wife’s death, life had been god-awful serious.
The wrought-iron gate clanged shut behind Andie, and the last he saw of her was her skirt whipping around her calves as she rounded the corner. He pictured her face with those wide eyes and that mobile mouth that had slipped so easily from a playful scowl to a generous smile.
She’d made it look so easy.
A flicker of curiosity started inside him. He could almost feel the scratching of steel against flint, the score of heat from the flame of a lighter. It wasn’t an objective, scientific kind of curiosity, he realized. He’d been acutely absorbed by the shape of her breasts beneath her dress. He narrowed his eyes slightly. The front of her dress had looked a little strange, though he couldn’t exactly say why.
He thought of her mouth again and an erotic image sprang to his mind. The tangle of tongues and the brush of feminine thighs, a wispy sigh, nipples thrusting against his chest and womanly heat enveloping him.
His pulse pounding, Eli|sucked in a breath of morning air. He was fully, achingly aroused.
He’d obviously been in the lab too long.
Disconcerted, he shook his head and decided the cold pizza he’d eaten for breakfast must have affected his brain enzymes. He didn’t even attempt to understand his body’s response. Dismissing it, he stepped back into the quiet house, pulled the door shut behind him and glanced up the stairs.
Fletch.
He made his way up the wooden stairs to the first room on the right, where Fletch lay sprawled on his bed, one hand wrapped around the boom box, the other curled over his flushed cheek. Eli eased the boom box away, so Fletch wouldn’t roll over and hurt himself with it.
Then he just looked, and his heart swelled at the sight of his son. The familiar heaviness descended on him. There was no room for caramel eyes and sexy smiles since his son’s heart had broken. Mending broken hearts was serious business.
* * *
By the time she made it inside her home, Andie was exhaling in relief.
She’d done it. She’d escaped unscathed. She hadn’t volunteered.
Resting against her closed door, she told herself not to feel guilty or any of the other assorted feelings she was experiencing. It didn’t matter that Eli Masters had the most intelligent and intently masculine green eyes she’d ever seen. It didn’t matter that he had a to-die-for sexy voice and that Andie was a sucker for a man with a sexy voice.
It didn’t matter that he’d looked at her with a flicker of masculine interest. She’d probably imagined that, just as she’d imagined him staring at her chest.
Andie glanced down at her small breasts and hooted with laughter. No wonder he’d been staring at her bodice. She was wearing her dress inside out.
Chapter Two
“His name is Stud.” Andie answered Fletcher’s ninth question as she pressed the dirt around another tomato plant. She frowned at the stinging sensation on her thigh.
“Stud?” a deep, male voice repeated.
Andie paused, staring at her Big Boy tomato plant. Either Fletch had quantum-leaped past puberty or Eli...
Turning, she squinted into the late-afternoon sun and found Eli watching her. Fletch had wandered off to play with her dog. Dressed in slacks, pin-striped shirt and club tie, Eli must have just arrived home from work. He looked just as good in dress clothes as he had in jeans. His hair was slightly mussed as if he’d put his hand through it several times today. Andie thought he looked like someone needed to loosen that tie for him, maybe undo a few buttons and do something about turning that frown into a smile.
Someone. But not her.
As he continued to study her, she felt her cheeks heat. She didn’t want to think about how she looked. Her clothes were smudged with dirt, but at least they were on correctly this time. Using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she waved her spade in the direction of her black lab and addressed Eli’s question. “My brother Sean named him Stud,” she said, feeling inordinately self-conscious
from the curiosity in Eli’s eyes. “Sean was eighteen when he got him and he was going through a stage when he was trying to prove himself. His hormones were raging. He was in a permanent state of...”
“Horniness,” Eli supplied without missing a beat.
Andie hesitated, confused. Was he flirting or—? She dismissed the notion. “I think it was more a delusion of grandeur.” Andie stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “When Sean took a trip to California, he asked me to dog-sit. That was four years ago. Sean’s still in California, and I’ve got a dog named Stud.”
Eli heard the mild disgust in her tone. “And is Stud all his name implies?”
Andie’s laugh rippled out of her throat. “No. Ever since the operation, he thinks he’s a lapdog.”
Eli nodded, her laughter winding its way through him. “I wonder if he knows what he’s missing,” he murmured.
Andie did a double take, her gaze surprised and curious. Then, like lightning, her expression changed. Her eyes flickered with sensual amusement and she shook her head in playful reproof. “Stud’s not the kind to brag. He hasn’t told me all his secrets.”
He felt a kick in his gut, a life-giving heat to his blood. It was odd how discussing the absence of a dog’s sex life made Eli acutely aware of his own lack in the same area. But then, for some reason, just looking at Andie Reynolds made Eli think about what he was missing. He pushed aside the thought, deciding it was the effect of long-term abstinence, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “We found a housekeeper two days after you came over to the house. The woman I hired said she heard about us at the hospital. Thank you for putting the word out.”
Andie shrugged. “No problem. I hope she works out well.”
“Fletch seems to like her,” Eli said, glancing at his son as he petted the dog’s head. “He seems to like Stud, too. Maybe after we get settled in, I’ll get a puppy for him.”
She put her garden tool in a small basket. “Hey, if you need a dog, I’ll be happy to donate Stud.”
“You’d miss him.”
Andie put her hand over her heart and feigned sadness. “I could always visit.”
“Speaking of visit,” he began.
Andie glanced at her leg and made a muffled sound of impatience.
Eli moved closer. “What is it?”
“I think it’s an insect bite. A couple of them.” She ran her finger over the pink bumps on her thigh. “Guess I’d better put some ointment on it later.”
“Better do it now,” he said, the advice from the first-aid book he’d scanned last night still fresh in his mind. Since he’d gotten full custody of Fletch, his reading extended beyond scientific journals. “I can help you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “That’s okay,” she said quickly and shook her head. “I know what to do.” She hesitated, then started toward the house. “I am a nurse, you know.”
Eli nodded and followed her. “Which means you probably think the regular treatment applies to everyone but you.” He called to Fletch to stay in the yard.
“But a bug bite?” Disconcerted by his assessment, she pushed through the screened back door into the kitchen.
He glanced around the room. “Where’s that ointment?”
“I keep some in the cabinet over the refrigerator, but—” Incredulous, she broke off, staring at him as he opened the cabinet. The man had a one-track mind. “I can get it myself. I—”
Eli frowned as he scanned the instructions. “You don’t think it was a poisonous spider? Fletch was probably distracting you.”
“Not really. He—”
“We need to cleanse the area first.”
We? “Eli,” she said firmly, wondering why she suddenly felt nervous, “I can do this myself.”
His gaze met hers, and Andie had the odd sensation of looking at a bulldozer.
“It’s my understanding that health care professionals sometimes have a tendency to downplay their own injuries because they’re accustomed to focusing their energy on taking care of others.”
She blinked. He’d nailed her personality in one decisive stroke. Bemused and disturbed, she took a washcloth from a drawer and dampened it. “Well, I guess that’s true,” she admitted as she wiped the stinging spots on her thigh. She extended her hand for the ointment. “As a nurse, I’m usually busy....”
Instead of giving it to her, Eli spread a dab over the bumps. Andie went still, watching him perform the task with a gentle, competent hand. She breathed in his scent, a mixture of musky after-shave and masculinity that underscored the fact that he was a man. He was close enough that she could have touched his hair or rubbed her finger over his eyelashes. She lifted her hand and stopped, alarm shooting through her. What was she thinking?
Confusion swirled inside her. Andie wondered if her feelings stemmed from the fact that she was unaccustomed to having anyone care for her, even in this small way. Before she could get her bearings, Eli glanced up, his face mere inches from hers. She saw traces of a five o’clock shadow on his firm jaw. She suspected he’d gotten the expression lines between his eyebrows and at the corners of his eyes from a fierce, all-absorbing concentration. At the moment his fierce concentration was totally centered on her. His gaze traveled a blazing path from her bangs and eyebrows to her nose, cheeks and mouth, where it seemed to linger, until he locked onto her eyes.
Her breath just stopped. She remembered having the same sensation once when she’d tried to break up a fight between her brothers and one of them had socked her.
“You smell like apricots.” His voice was rough.
She swallowed. “It’s my shampoo.”
He glanced at her hair, then her lips again. “I like it.”
The wailing of a siren went off in her head. It was so loud she wondered if Eli could hear it, too. She took a quick shallow breath and backed into her butcher-block kitchen counter. “I like it, too,” she managed to say. “Listen, thanks for helping with the—”
“My pleasure,” Eli interrupted, and meant it. His blood was pounding through his veins faster than when he took his daily run. “Come over tonight for a glass of wine. I’ll make up for the apple juice and Chipmunks.”
Rattled, Andie immediately shook her head. “Thanks, but you don’t need to. Really.” Sliding alongside the counter, she took a few steps farther away from him. “Besides, I need a bath.” She gestured toward her worn, smudged shorts. “I look like a mess.”
“You look—” Eli paused and corrected her “—earthy.”
“I’ll assume that’s a pun that correlates with all the dirt.”
It wasn’t, and Eli was just about to correct her again when she mentioned Fletcher. He swore. Guilt shot through him and he immediately looked out the window. Fletcher was playing with Stud. He exhaled in relief. “I should have been watching him,” he castigated himself as he moved toward the door. “I’m still not used to having him around all the time.”
Andie followed him to the back porch. “You don’t need to beat yourself up about it. He’s okay.”
But for Eli, it wasn’t okay. He wanted to be a good father. He wanted to make everything better for Fletcher, even though he knew that wasn’t possible. “I wonder how long it will take me to climb to the level of mediocrity at being a father,” he muttered darkly. Watching Fletcher, he felt overwhelmed, as he had so many other times, at the prospect of raising his son by himself.
He felt the barest touch of Andie’s hand on his arm. Her hand was there one second, gone the next, but a warm concern remained in her eyes. “How’s it going?”
He paused. No one else had asked him that question. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing,” he replied with brutal honesty. “All my life, I’ve been told that intelligence is a gift and that I should stretch mine as far as it will go. I’ve got degrees, but they’re useless with Fletcher. I’m finally in a position where I’m researching something that I think is worthwhile.” He shook his head at the irony. “Hell, I’m researching the genetic origin for sei
zure disorders in children. Children.“ He swore again. “And I can’t help my own son with his grief and confusion.”
A moment of silence followed, long enough for Eli to wonder what had possessed him to drop his worries on Andie. “Forget I said that. I don’t know where—”
She held up a hand for him to stop. “Please don’t. Taking care of children isn’t something you learn overnight, but they somehow manage to reach adulthood despite their parents’ mistakes. You and Fletch will be okay.” She must have sensed his doubt. “You will,” she insisted. “This is a rough stage and it’s just going to take some time.” She clasped her hands together briskly. “So what have you got planned for his birthday party?”
A fragile sense of hope pulsed inside him. Later, he would have to figure out how she’d managed to give him that hope with so few words. Later, he would think about the three seconds that he’d touched her leg and how he’d ridiculously wished she had a few more bug bites. Hell, he’d wished the damn bug bites covered her whole body. Eli shook his head at himself. Andie was looking at him expectantly—waiting for a response. Birthday party, Masters. “I was thinking about having it in the backyard.”
“Uh-huh. And if it rains, do you want a bunch of five-year-olds running around your house?”
The idea held little appeal. “Any suggestions?”
“Chuck E. Cheese’s. You pay one price and bring the cake. They provide hats, pizza and entertainment.” She wore an expression of great wisdom. “And they clean up.”
“That sounds livable,” Eli said. “How long do these things usually last?”
“Not more than two hours if you’re smart. Write the time the party will begin and end on the invitation. But...”
“But?”
She gave him a look of pure pity. “You might want to hang on to that wine.”
* * *
“I’m convinced that Dr. Kent was one of Genghis Khan’s thugs in another life. He was such an idiot that a priestess killed him with a knife,” Samantha French said as she slid into the hospital cafeteria chair opposite Andie. With curly brown hair and big blue eyes, Samantha looked like a sweet, mild-natured woman. Andie knew that beneath that sweet demure appearance was a card-carrying liberated woman who believed she was the reincarnation of Cleopatra.
