Page 26 of Summer Affair
“If my dad was still alive, then yeah.”
Jillian marveled at the idea. Her grandparents had divorced a year after having her mom, and her mom had gotten divorced before Jillian was even born. Then there was Jillian and Dirk—they hadn’t even made it to the ten-year mark and that had felt like an eternity. Once upon a time, she’d imagined growing old with someone. For a while, it had been Dirk, but over time marriage began to feel like a life sentence.
“Word is you need amini-cake sitter.”
“How did you . . ?” She stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Darcy called.”
The traitor.
“Welcome to a fun game I like to call Easton Family Telephone. You’re lucky it didn’t come back with me asking to hold your, uh,” his gaze dropped to her chest, “minis.”
She lifted a challenging brow and he laughed. She was grateful she’d pulled on her best pushup—in a Wonderbra she could hold her own. So instead of crossing her arms, like she had the first night in the pool, she held her position.
Her eyes flashed with challenge, and she felt as if she’d summoned a beast. Clay’s eye contact never wavered, holding steady—and she held back.
“I can’t find my cleats,” came from the back bedroom.
And she held strong. “They’re in your closet behind your Batman pj’s.”
“What’s on your pj’s?” he asked lowly. “Please tell me lace.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“More and more by the second.” He took a step forward and instead of being in a game of chicken, she felt as if she were being held hostage by the flicker of hunger she saw in his gaze. He must have sensed her rising panic because his eyes softened, and he glanced around her kitchen at the massive to-bake pile.
“How can I help?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I have to get Sammy across town and I’m up to my elbows in cake batter.”
“What if I take Sammy.”
“I wish it were that easy,” she explained. “I have to be there, which means I’ll have to redo the cakes tonight after Sammy goes to bed.”
“And be up all night when you have an event tomorrow?” He pushed past her and into the kitchen. “No need. I’m here and available for you.”
Just how available was he? Because her gut told her that while he was a Good Samaritan who liked to joke around, when it came to the important stuff, he’d be off living his life. And he should. He wasn’t even thirty, was at the top of his game, and the world was his for the taking. But right then he was giving—offering to help her in a time of need. And that, more than his muscles or fantastically toned butt, spoke to her.
“Do you know how to bake?”
“Not at all,” he admitted. “But I can learn enough to hold down the fort until you get home.”
“Are you sure?” She took stock of her kitchen. “Please say you’re sure.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
She’d bet her last dollar he could learn her every secret if she gave him a chance. Which would not happen because—well, she couldn’t really remember the because, only that it would be bad. “I can write down the steps. The batter’s already made, it’s just a matter of pulling it out and putting it in. Can you do that?”
He grinned—a dangerous grin that had her stepping backward—right into the counter. “Pull out and put in? I think I can manage. To be clear, we’re talking about your cakes, right?”
“What else would we be talking about?”
“I don’t know, but the way you’re looking at me says you want to pick back up where we left off the other night.”
She absently touched her lips. “My face says all that?”
Flipping around his ball cap, he moved in, resting his palms against the island, one on either side of her. Not touching, but close enough to kiss. “It says a lot more than that, but I figured we’d start here.”
Despite all the red flags waving and the fact that her lady parts had long ago turned in their resignation, she heard herself whisper, “Where?”
