Her Kind of Trouble (Harlequin Superromance) (15 page)

* * *

S
ETH
RETURNED
FROM
putting Daisy down to find Jodie had taken over his kitchen.

“Hey. Wasn’t there a younger, hotter version of you here a few minutes ago?” he said, feigning confusion.

“Good to see you, too, Seth darling,” Jodie said good-naturedly, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek and give him a quick hug. Even though he knew she was probably still pissed with him over the way he’d bad-mouthed Vivian—as she should be—she’d been a rock since Lola’s accident and he’d never been more grateful for his brother’s good taste in women.

He marveled that two women who shared so many genes could have such profoundly different effects on him. Jodie could kiss him, hug him, sit on his knee, punch his arm, and he felt nothing apart from warm affection and the odd desire to yank on her ponytail.

Vivian, on the other hand, had only to walk into the room and his imagination and body immediately went haywire. Every look was fraught with potential, every accidental touch a form of torture....

He opened and closed his hand, unable to shake the memory of the warm curve of her breast against his fingers. It was...disturbing that the sensation lingered despite the fact that it had been a full fifteen minutes since their accidental encounter. He was tired, he needed a shave, he hadn’t eaten since four or five in the morning. Sex should be the last thing on his mind, given all the balls he had in the air. Yet the fact that Vivian was in his house acted like a magnet, drawing his thoughts and his focus. Her presence distracted him even when he should be listening to Jodie’s convoluted explanation for why she’d been held up and why Jason would be arriving closer to one than to twelve.

“...I told him that if this keeps up, he needs to be having a talk with the partners,” Jodie said.

“It could be worse. He could own a bar,” Seth said.

“True.” She wiped her hands on the tea towel. “Have you heard anything more from the police?”

“Nope. Not expecting to, either. We haven’t had any run-ins with nasty drunks or disgruntled patrons lately, so it was obviously just some moron who was determined to wreck something for the hell of it and my window happened to be handy. The police won’t be knocking themselves out trying to hunt whoever it is down.”

“How’s your bartender? Is she recovering okay?”

“Yeah. Syrie is as tough as old boots. But I’m having security cameras installed, along with a panic button.” He’d always prided himself on Night Howls’ relaxed and friendly ambience, but he needed to protect his staff. Especially since he would be relying on them more than ever.

“Well, let me know if you need me to sit with Daisy. I’m more than happy to help, you know that. I’m sure Viv would pitch in if you needed her, too.”

Seth was already shaking his head. “I can’t ask Vivian for more help. She’s done more than enough.”

“She’s family. Why do you think she came home if it wasn’t to be a part of all this mess?” Jodie’s gesture took in the kitchen, but he knew she was referring to the craziness of family life in general.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t to help me with Daisy.”

“You know that saying about it taking a village to raise a child? It’s so true it’s scary, and Viv is part of your village. Don’t let pride get in the way of asking for what you need. It’s the quickest way to wind up in the corner with your thumb in your mouth while the dirty diapers pile up. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Seth knew she was trying to help, but he wasn’t about to explain that, apart from issues of pride—and he was honest enough to admit that he had his fair share of that—he simply didn’t trust himself where Vivian was concerned. He’d been more than ready to put what had almost happened in the pool down to an unfortunate confluence of circumstances—the warm night, the beer, the pressure of his situation, the ten years of history, curiosity and fantasy—but it was pointless to bullshit himself.

He was profoundly attracted to Vivian. Always had been, probably always would be. And not just in a wouldn’t-mind-getting-into-her-pants kind of way.

It was an uncomfortable truth to face, given his track record with women and the fact that Vivian was no longer living thousands of miles and a big, wide ocean away. She’d always been the last woman he should hook up with, and now that his life was infinitely more complicated and stressful, that judgment call only became more important.

He couldn’t afford to mess things up with her. He needed his family right now, and Daisy needed him to be solid. For once in his life, he needed to be smart about a woman.

“You’re probably right,” he said neutrally, aware that Jodie would keep hammering the issue if he didn’t appear to give in. Then he beat a retreat for the living room, only to pull up short when he realized Vivian was in there, tying a knot in a fat pink balloon. Several more dotted the couch, lengths of string trailing after them like tails.

“Hey. You started without me,” he said stupidly.

“It’s called taking the initiative. All the cool kids are doing it.” She glanced at him before returning her attention to the knot. “I wasn’t sure where you wanted to put them.”

“I was thinking along the top of the windows. And the mantelpiece.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, blowing up more balloons. When they had nearly a dozen, Vivian gathered them into bundles and attached them to the curtain rods, then the mantelpiece, pretending to consult him but doing it her way anyway and creating an end result that was a million times better than anything he could have done.

“Where do you want the banner?” she asked.

“Over the doorway to the kitchen.”

“Ah. Definitely a job for a six-foot-two man, then.”

She handed over the banner, and he taped it above the opening before stepping back to consider it. He caught Vivian stifling a smile and threw her a look.

“You’re thinking that this is a big waste on a week-old baby who won’t be able to read for another five years, aren’t you?” he said.

“I’m thinking that it’s very revealing seeing this side of you, Mr. Mum.”

He glanced toward the front door, checking to make sure that none of the other guests had arrived early before he tried to explain himself. “It’s for Dennis and Melissa more than anything. The specialist they’ve found is testing Lola on Monday. I want them to at least have one good memory to take home with them.”

Vivian didn’t say anything for a moment, her blue-green eyes steady on his face. “There you go, surprising me again, Anderson. Just when I thought I had you pegged.”

She slipped into the kitchen before he could respond.

He tidied up the scraps of ribbon and collected the scissors and tape, all the while wondering what particular heading Vivian had had him filed under all these years. And then he remembered—he was her lucky escape, her “disaster waiting to happen.”

He frowned, his thumb smoothing over the ragged stickiness of the leading edge of tape. Then he shrugged. Her writing him off as an option was a good thing. It certainly made it a hell of a lot easier to keep his focus where it should be. Daisy was what was important.

Only Daisy.

* * *

V
IVIAN
KNOCKED
HERSELF
out staying busy for the rest of the afternoon. She helped her sister heat and plate food in the kitchen, then she circulated amongst Seth’s guests with platters, chatting to family, meeting his neighbors and friends. When Jodie had told her that Seth wanted to hold a welcome-home party for Daisy, her first response had been to wonder if all the stress had gone to his head—he had enough to juggle without inviting people over the second he brought his daughter home. Her mother
still
complained thirty-six years after the event because their father’s mother had turned up unannounced with a phalanx of friends in tow the day Vivian’s mother had brought Jodie home from the hospital.

But seeing Dennis’s and Melissa’s faces as they sat in the living room and took turns holding Daisy, Vivian knew that Seth had made a good call. The Browns had had a brutal time since they landed, and offering them this brief respite had been a generous and sensitive act. He was good at playing the ne’er-do-well Casanova, but there was more to him than a cheeky glint in his eye and a tendency toward self-indulgence and excess.

Seth was kind. And he was gentle. And he was thoughtful.

She wasn’t sure if she was thrilled or terrified by the discovery, given how hard she fought to resist the undertow of their enduring mutual attraction.

Maybe both.

* * *

I
T
WAS
MIDAFTERNOON
before the call of nature saw Vivian handing an almost-empty platter to her sister. “Five minutes for a pit stop and I’ll be your slave once more.”

“Good luck with that. I saw Jason’s dad disappearing with the sports section five minutes ago,” Jodie said meaningfully.

Vivian wrinkled her nose. “Really? Blurg. I don’t understand how men can read on the toilet. It’s a one-function space for me.”

“Jason’s father’s record is an hour. I’d head for Seth’s en suite if I were you.”

Vivian frowned, not liking the idea of invading Seth’s personal space. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to ignore the message her body was sending for long. Feeling ridiculously tentative, she made her way past Daisy’s room, past the occupied main bathroom, to the door at the end that she assumed led to Seth’s bedroom.

“Hello?” she called softly, knocking on the almost-closed door.

No one responded, which she figured meant the coast was clear. Still, she glanced over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that she was crossing the line. Seth didn’t magically appear, demanding to know what she was doing, so she entered the room.

The bed had been made in a rumpled, haphazard manner, one of the pillows still showing the indentation from Seth’s head, the dark grey-and-white pinstriped duvet lumpy-looking and skewed to one side. Books were piled six high on the table, with another stack on the floor. In the corner, scuffed boots sat near a chair, the latter bearing a pair of folded jeans. Despite the fact that he clearly hadn’t gone to any trouble to personalize the room, the space resonated with a sense of Seth.

The scent of his aftershave hung in the air, and a watch lay curled on top of one of the books. She took a step toward it, feeling the unaccountable urge to touch something that had rested against his skin.

Um, hello? There’s only one reason you’re in here. This is not a fact-finding mission.

She corrected her path, walking into the white-tiled en suite bathroom. She shut the door, took care of business, then washed her hands.

An electric razor sat on one side of the vanity, along with a disposable one. She couldn’t help smiling. Seth hadn’t been near either of those in the past few days, from what she could tell. He’d been too busy looking after Daisy to worry about being smooth.

She saw her smile in the mirror and realized she was doing it again, hovering and taking stock of Seth’s private domain.

Anyone would think she was a lovelorn teenager, the way she was carrying on. She exited the bathroom, determined to head straight for the door. Then she caught sight of the book on top of the pile beside Seth’s bed and stopped in her tracks.
Simplicity Parenting: Using the Extraordinary Power of Less to Raise Calmer, Happier and More Secure Kids.
She glanced at the stack on the table.
Parenting with Love and Logic, The Happiest Baby on the Block, The Baby Owner’s Manual: Operating Instructions, Troubleshooting Tips and Advice on First-Year Maintenance...

There were no less than eleven books here, and all of them were parenting manuals. Many of them had sticky notes poking out, some with notes Seth had scribbled to himself.

No wonder he looked like crap. Not only was he up tending to Daisy at all hours, but he was also taking a crash course in parenting in his downtime. Not to mention running a business and supporting the Browns the best he could. It was a miracle his eyes weren’t hanging out of his head.

She remembered the expression he’d had on his face when he’d inspected the banner this morning. He’d been so earnest, so intent. So determined to get this right for his little girl.

It occurred to her then that while Lola had been incredibly, horribly unlucky, she’d had one stroke of sublime good fortune—of all the men she could have made a baby with, she’d done so with Seth. While he drew breath, Daisy would never want for a protector and a champion.

Vivian told herself that it was ridiculous to get so choked up over a few books and the idea that Seth wanted to be a good father. Didn’t all men want that? Wasn’t he simply doing the right, decent thing?

Maybe. Probably. But there was something about the thought of Seth handling this on his own that added extra poignancy to it. Especially when he’d all but admitted that he was terrified of messing up.

She forced herself to move on, making her way to the kitchen. Her sister had a plate of sweet things ready to be circulated, and Vivian headed into the living room to tempt Seth’s guests. The first thing she noticed was that the Browns were gone, and she wondered if they’d called it a day already.

No one would blame them. Although Seth hadn’t said as much, she gathered that Lola’s fate was to be decided on Monday when the specialist handed down his verdict. Reading between the lines and judging by Seth’s low-key delivery, she suspected that he wasn’t anticipating a miracle. Which meant that the decision to turn off Lola’s ventilator wasn’t far off.

“Vivian. Come settle an argument for me,” her mother called from across the room.

She was talking to Seth’s mum, Angela, and Vivian circled the couch to join them.

“How many times did you move home before you finally got it right? I can remember at least two.” Her rings flashed in the sunlight as she rested a hand on Vivian’s shoulder.

“Seth came home three times,” Angela confided. She was wearing her salt-and-pepper hair in an asymmetrical cut these days, a look that really suited her long face. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me if he slept in his car a few times over the years to avoid having to face his father again.”