Getting Hotter (8 page)

“What’s on your arm?” the boy asked curiously, those dark eyes glued to the Polynesian design covering Seth’s upper arm.

“It’s a tattoo, dummy,” the girl told her brother in a know-it-all voice.

“I
know
that,” Jason retorted. “I wanna know what it means.”

“It doesn’t mean anything, kid,” Seth said, then took another gulp of beer. “It’s just a random design.”

“He thinks it makes him look cool,” Dylan explained with a grin as he headed to the table. He sat down next to Jason, leaving one empty chair at the table—the one beside Sophie.

Seth stared at the chair.

So did Miranda’s daughter, before turning to look at him again. He could have sworn he saw a gleam of challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring him to come closer.

Rather than sit down, he leaned against the counter. Call him a coward, but he wasn’t going near that table.

A short silence fell, broken by a boom of thunder that made both children shriek.

“It’s just thunder, guys,” Miranda said from the doorway.

Seth’s mouth turned to sawdust as he watched her enter the kitchen. She was wearing the clothes he’d loaned her—the pants were baggy, as he’d predicted, but he hadn’t expected the shirt to be so big too. With the top two buttons undone, the flannel neckline kept sliding off one of her shoulders, revealing her supple, tanned skin. But it was the no-bra-strap part that transformed his mouth into a sand dune. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath that shirt. Or the pants. Jesus. She was totally naked under there.

Their eyes met briefly, and Seth knew she’d read his dirty thoughts because she blushed before casting her gaze downward.

“I can’t believe how hard it’s raining.” She sank into the unoccupied chair next to her daughter’s. “Let’s just hope the flooding over at our place doesn’t get worse.”

“Did your landlord say how he planned to handle the damage?” Dylan asked, reaching for a chocolate-chip cookie and taking a bite.

“He’s trying to get a professional crew to come in this evening, if possible. If not, then it’ll happen tomorrow morning. They’ll have to pump out the water and shop-vac the place.” Her expression turned grim. “I think the biggest concern is sewage contamination and mold forming.”

She moved her gaze to the sliding door that led to the small backyard. Rivulets of rain streamed down the glass, and in the distance, the sky was a dark, ominous gray. Miranda’s face took on a faraway expression as she started mumbling under her breath.

“Who knows what might be damaged. Insulation, drywall, ceilings, floors…definitely the floors. God, and the furniture and appliances, the carpets and bedding, and our clothes and…”

She was beginning to look green, and Dylan quickly interjected. “No point in worrying about things beyond your control,” he said gently. “Tomorrow you’ll assess the damage and figure out what needs to be done. Tonight, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, albeit grudgingly.

“Mom, Sef has a ta-ttoo,” Jason blurted out.

“Se
th,
” Miranda corrected with a smile. “Remember we were going to try and practice our
t-h
sounds?”

“Se
th,
” Jason said slowly. Then he nodded, looking pleased with himself.

“And yes, he does have a tattoo.” She shot Seth a quick look. “Is there a story behind it?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Sure there is,” Dylan said with a grin. “It’s just not kid-appropriate.”

“What’s kid-
appoeperit
?” Sophie asked.

“Appropriate. And it means that Seth’s story is for grown-ups,” Miranda said firmly.

Sophie twisted around in her chair and stared at Seth with a hint of contempt, as if she blamed him for not being able to hear the story. Jason, on the other hand, merely shrugged it off and reached for another cookie. Okay then. Clearly the girl was the dominant of the two, and the one he needed to watch out for. Good to know, Seth thought. A SEAL always needed to be aware of his enemies, after all.

“So…” Miranda studied the clock on the microwave display. “Huh, it’s only three o’clock. Feels much later. What should we do now?”

Dylan spoke up sheepishly. “Well, I kinda promised the squirts we would watch a movie on Netflix. As long as the power’s still on and the Internet works, we might as well take advantage of it. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“It’s fine by me.” She turned to her kids. “Any movie ideas?”

As the twins began shouting out film titles Seth had never heard of—how was
Puss in Boots
age-appropriate? It sounded like porn, for chrissake—he fought the urge to sneak out of the kitchen and hide out in his room again. Sitting around eating cookies and discussing the options for kiddie movie night was
not
his scene. At all.

But he forced his feet to stay rooted to the tiled floor. If he was going to succeed in finally getting Miranda naked, he needed to prove that he could be around her kids.

Jeez, is she even worth it, bro?

The thought gave him pause. He couldn’t deny that this was getting pretty fucking complicated. He was going to great lengths to get this woman in bed, even willingly spending time with an age demographic he usually avoided like the plague.

So…was she worth it?

He discreetly watched as she got up, laughing at something Sophie had said. As she helped her daughter up to her feet, Miranda’s sable-brown hair, now dry and wavy, fell forward, revealing that bare shoulder he’d been admiring earlier.

A rush of heat coursed through his blood and his cock stirred beneath his sweatpants.

Fuck.

Of course she was worth it.

She was absolutely worth it.

Chapter Five

“Kids asleep?”

Seth’s low voice startled the hell out of her as she shut the guest room door and stepped into the corridor. Miranda’s pulse sped up when she spotted him at the end of the hall. Those magnetic gray eyes were focused on her with such intensity she felt rattled.

“Yeah.” She reluctantly walked toward him, wishing she’d decided to turn in herself. But it was barely eight forty-five and she wasn’t tired. If anything, she was wide awake and would probably stay that way for hours. The more it continued to rain, the higher her stress levels soared.

What would she find when she went home tomorrow? How much of their belongings could she actually salvage? How long would the renovations take? The floors would definitely have to be replaced, but what else?

“Okay, clearly you need this more than I do.”

She snapped out of her thoughts to see Seth holding out a beer bottle.

“Here,” he said gruffly. “This might make you feel better. I can see your brain working overtime. Thinking about the apartment, huh?”

She nodded. After a second, she accepted the bottle and brought it to her lips. As the cold liquid slid down her throat, she suddenly realized that Seth’s mouth had been on the lip of this bottle just seconds ago. Her heart beat a little bit faster. And faster still when the memory of their kiss flew into her head.

Oh God.

The kiss.

She’d tried blocking it from her mind all evening. She’d curled up with the twins on the comfy leather couch in Seth and Dylan’s living room. Laughed at the crazy antics of Shrek and the gang. Munched on the popcorn Dylan had brought out.

She’d hoped that if she pretended the kiss hadn’t happened, she might be able to erase it from her memory, but no such luck. She’d been excruciatingly aware of Seth’s presence all night, even though he’d barely said a word. He’d isolated himself on the sole recliner in the living room and spoke only when spoken to, but she’d felt his gaze burning into the side of her face for the entirety of both movies they’d ended up watching.

Now, that silvery gaze was glued to her again, knowing, mocking, a tad contemplative.

“You hungry?” he asked after the silence between them had dragged on.

She shook her head. “I’m still full from all that spaghetti we had for dinner. Did I even thank Dylan for cooking? I can’t remember if—”

“You thanked him,” Seth cut in. “Twice.”

“Right. Okay. Well.”

She fidgeted with the label of the beer bottle. The condensation had softened the paper, and she found herself slicing her fingernail underneath it and peeling away the corners. For some reason, she was feeling incredibly unsettled in Seth’s presence.

“Where’s Dylan?” she blurted out.

“In the shower.”

“Oh.”

“Should we sit in the living room?” Seth suggested.

“Um. Sure.”

Shit, she had to pull herself together. So what if she could still taste him on her lips? So what if his woodsy, masculine scent drugged her senses every time she inhaled?

So what if his powerful arms looked incredible in that wifebeater?

She trailed after him, clutching the beer bottle so tightly it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? She’d been around Seth a hundred times over the past few months and she’d never had a problem before. She’d been perfectly capable of talking to him, interacting with him, sparring with him, shooting down his seductive propositions and resisting the attraction between them.

What had changed? Why did she suddenly feel tongue-tied around him?

The kiss, you idiot. It was the kiss.

“Have a seat. I’ll just grab another beer,” Seth said when they reached the living room.

Miranda settled on the far end of couch and brought both legs up, resting the beer bottle on one knee. She looked around the room, slightly bothered by its lack of…warmth. Judging by this room and the others she’d already seen, Seth and Dylan weren’t concerned with personalizing their surroundings. The furniture in the house was sparse, the white walls devoid of artwork or decoration. Everything served a purpose—couch, flat screen, kitchen table, chairs. It kind of bummed her out, especially when she thought of the painstaking effort she’d gone to in order to make her apartment a cozy place she and the kids could call home. And now it was probably all gone—the furniture and knickknacks and personal touches she’d tried to infuse the place with.

Sighing, she leaned her head against the arm of the sofa. When her shirt slid off her shoulder, she blushed, hoping Seth wouldn’t comment on the fact that she still wore his flannel shirt and track pants even though her clothing had come out of the dryer hours ago. Call her pathetic, but the clothes smelled like him and she liked being surrounded by his heady scent.

But when he walked back into the room a few minutes later, that scent she loved so much held the unmistakable hint of smoke.

“Sorry for taking so long,” he apologized, crossing the hardwood floor with an unopened beer in his hand. “I needed a nicotine fix.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You went outside in the storm?”

“Naah, just opened the sliding door and stood in the kitchen. The rain’s letting up, by the way. And it’s not as windy as it was earlier.”

Rather than sit at the other end of the couch, he plopped that big body on the center cushion, his muscular thigh mere inches from Miranda’s socked feet. Her heart skipped a beat. Crap. Why the heck did he have to sit so close?

She decided to focus on the one thing guaranteed
not
to turn her on—his smoking habit.

“So, how long have you been trying to give yourself cancer?” she asked politely.

Seth laughed, the husky sound sending a shiver up her spine. “Oh no, gee, please don’t hold back.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “You’re right. It’s a terrible habit. And to answer your question—since I was fourteen.”

“Ah, you rebelled young.” Miranda slanted her head. “I’m surprised Missy let you get away with it.”

“The one thing my mom hates to be called is a hypocrite. Seeing as she’s a chain-smoker herself, she’s not one to lecture her son for doing the same. After she caught me with a cigarette that first time, she yelled at me for all of two minutes, then bummed a smoke off me and lit up.”

He grinned, and her heart did a juvenile little flip. He was so much more attractive when he smiled, so much…safer. Those angular features of his softened, the dangerous glint in his eyes dimmed, and he lost that predatory air.

But she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that beneath Seth’s menacing exterior was a man with an endless supply of smiles and good cheer. Make no mistake—Seth Masterson was not a teddy bear. He was the big bad wolf, and damned if she was going to let him make her his next meal.

“What about you?” Seth asked. “Did you do any rebelling of your own?”

“I got pregnant at eighteen—what do
you
think?”

He chuckled. “So how did it go down? Strict parents, curfew, a million rules that you eventually decided to break?”

“Not exactly. I lived with my father and grandmother. Neither was strict. Neither acknowledged my existence.” Even so many years later, she couldn’t control the bitterness that rushed to the surface.

He furrowed his brows. “What about your mother?”