Page 27 of Nothing to Deny

Speak. Speak, Freya. She should explain but was having difficulty blinking. Speaking was too much. In blue jeans and a grubby white tee-shirt, Baer was less buttoned up than she’d ever seen him. In the suits, he was hot and delicious, but with the glisten of sweat on his brow and the tool belt slung around his hips, she was surprised her tongue was still in her head.

Stomping across the room, obvious anger creased his brow. “Five fucking years you’ve refused to move on from Mom and the first woman you put the fucking moves on—”

“No,” Abel said. “Don’t fucking walk in here and speak to us like that!”

Moves? Oh, good God, Baer thought they were…

On her knees between father and son, she looked from one to the other, vocal cords still frozen.

“On your feet, Little Skit. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

He tried to give her his hand, but she pulled away. “Don’t. I have stuff all over me.”

“Oh God,” he said with disgust written all over his face. “Shit, Lil’.”

Thrusting to full height, not that it made much of a difference to him, she shed her shock in the face of outrage.

“Oil,” she said, showing him both palms. “I have massage oil on my hands.” Raising her chin in a defiant tilt, she marched to the kitchen sink. “Your dad is right, don’t come in here shouting and swearing. You don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“Lil—”

“Don’t ‘Lil’ me,” she said, soaping her hands. “Do you really think I would come over to your family’s home to seduce your father just hours after your mouth left mine?” Everything was relative and a certain number of hours ago, still, her point was valid. “I came here because Presley asked me to meet him after school. I stayed to cook because I like to cook and I don’t have anyone to cook for, so I cook for people I meet through my work.” Rinsing her hands, she grabbed the towel from the counter and spun around to face them. “Yes, okay, I admit it, I’m sad and pathetic. I go to people’s houses and cook for their families because I have no family to cook for. There. I’m glad you’re happy to hear my pitiful truth. Are you happy now?”

She went to rub the excess oil from Abel’s leg with the kitchen towel, appreciating it wasn’t the best thing to use, but she didn’t have anything else. When done, she tossed it aside and crouched to help him pick up his pants, something his son failed to do in his indignation.

Ignoring Baer at her back, she met Abel’s eye. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, sir. Please enjoy the food and apologize to the boys for me.”

“Freya, don’t leave,” Abel said.

It wasn’t fair to ignore his plea, but there was nothing to say. Instead of answering, she snatched her purse from the floor and strode away; it wasn’t like he could chase after her. Father? No. Son…

She got as far as the entryway before Baer caught her.

“Lil’ Skit,” he said, grabbing her wrist to tug her back, almost knocking her from her feet. “I’m sorry, baby.” Crowding her close to the wall, he scooped a hand under her jaw and tracked his thumb across her cheek. “Seeing you on your knees in front of any other man would drive me insane, but my father… I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I saw red… Since you were down there between me and that vending machine…” He groaned. “God, baby, all I’ve thought about is your mouth on me.”

Not expecting him to confess such a thing, she relaxed enough to meet his eye. “Baer—”

“That question about you tasting a man… I’ve never done that with a client, been brazen like that before I got a brief. But you… Skit… in that minute, I was me and I…”

Touching his lips, she silenced him. “Don’t talk about that here… someone might hear you. They asked how we met. I told them I ran into you and you took me for coffee.”

Filling him in just ensured their stories were straight.

His lips curled to a smile behind her fingers before he took her wrist to free them. “Not a lie.”

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry if you think I got too close. Maybe you’re right, maybe I did. Sometimes I do overstep… I’m sorry if you thought I was stalking you.”

He breathed out a laugh. “I should be so lucky,” he said. “You should stay for dinner.”

Exhaling, she relaxed. “I shouldn’t. I stayed too long already and your dad is tired.”

“All the more reason you should stay, help him get the boys to bed… I have to go out tonight.”

Their eyes met, though locked on, she desperately didn’t want to see the truth in his gaze.

“Client?” There was something solemn about the way he closed his mouth and nodded, just once. God, she had no right! No right at all to dislike his life choices or to judge him for them. Except it wasn’t judgment, it was ridiculous jealousy. Inhaling through her nose, she breathed out as her gaze sank. “Lucky lady.”

Curling a finger under her chin, he picked her attention back up. “It won’t be all night. Just four hours, ten thirty to two thirty.”

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