The Best Bride (40 page)

“I'm not surprised you're feeling overwhelmed,” he said. “This is a lot of responsibility for one person.”

“Because I'm a woman, right?”

He turned until he was facing Sandy. His back pressed against the railing. He bent one leg at the knee and put that foot on the porch. His other foot rested on the bottom step. “You have a real problem with this woman thing, don't you? Have I ever said anything about your being a woman? Have I ever hinted that you couldn't do something because you're a woman?” He raised his eyebrows and waited.

She cleared her throat. “Well, not in so many words.”

“Ah-ha! So you're
assuming
that's what I'm thinking. Why?”

“I know men like you, Kyle.”

“Men like me?” He had a feeling he knew what she was getting at, but he wanted to hear the words. And he wanted
to see her squirm, just a little, for being so quick to judge him.

“Men who have an easy time with, you know, women.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Stop looking at me like that… You want me to say it, don't you?”

He grinned. “Oh, yes. More than anything.”

“Good-looking men. Okay? Are you happy? Most good-looking men assume all women are stupid. I guess because women have been doing stupid things to get their attention. Maybe I should stop jumping to conclusions about you, but it's difficult.”

He wanted to strut around the yard like a rooster. Sandy thought he was good-looking. It didn't make a damn bit of difference, but he was pleased as hell. It meant she'd been thinking about him, and not just as her neighbor. At least he hoped it did.

“I'll accept that you think I'm handsome and incredibly charming—”

“I didn't say anything about being charming,” she interrupted.

He ignored her. “
And
incredibly charming, if you'll accept the fact that I don't assume you're incapable of doing things simply because you're female. I have great respect for women.”

She snorted. “I'll just bet you do. You must respect them all the way through that revolving door in your bedroom.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. His smile faded along with his good humor. “Is that why you were upset when I took the kids? Do you think I was meeting with some woman and dragging them along?” His flash of anger surprised him. “I would never do anything like that. Despite my reputation, I don't have a revolving door in my bedroom, I don't bring women to
my house and I sure as hell wouldn't act inappropriately in front of your children.”

He started to stand up. Sandy leaned toward him and placed her hand on his forearm. Her gaze met his. “I'm sorry,” she said. “Really. I didn't really think that about you, and I shouldn't have implied it. You were teasing me, and I couldn't think of anything funny to say, so I just lashed back. It was wrong of me. I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” he said. He settled back down.

She squeezed his arm briefly, then withdrew her hand to her lap. “Getting back to your original statement, yes, this has been a lot of responsibility for just one person. Even for a woman.” She gave him a slight smile. He returned it. The tension between them eased.

But his anger continued to lurk below the surface. Later, when he was alone, he decided, he would think about what she'd said and what it meant. He was annoyed that she'd heard enough about him to think he was irresponsible where women were concerned. Of course, she might just be assuming the worst based on what she remembered about his brothers.

“I worry about the kids,” she said. “What if they hate it here?”

“We both liked it when we were their ages.”

“That was a long time ago. Kids have changed.”

“Not that much,” he said. “Times have changed. It's tough now. There are more ways for a child to screw up his life than there used to be, but your children know right from wrong. I don't think you have to worry.”

“Lindsay still hasn't forgiven me for moving her here.” Sandy leaned her head against the railing. “She's so confused.”

“She's not the only one,” he muttered.

Sandy chuckled. “Did she give you any trouble tonight?”

“Not exactly. It wasn't what she said, it was more her expectations.” He shuddered. “I didn't dare let her sit next to me at the movie.”

Her chuckle turned into a laugh. “Poor Kyle, afraid of a twelve-year-old girl.”

“It's easy for you to think this is funny. I'm the one trying to tap-dance around her feelings. I don't want to encourage her, and I don't want to hurt her. It's not easy.”

Sandy sobered. “I appreciate your effort. I'll have a talk with her.”

“With my luck, she won't listen.”

“Children rarely do.”

“Great.” He leaned back and studied her profile. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the sky grew darker. Light from the house spilled out onto the porch. He could see the straight line of her small nose, the outline of her full mouth, the slight point of her stubborn chin. He'd always thought she was beautiful. That hadn't changed.

“The problem is,” he said conversationally, never taking his gaze from her. “You work too hard and you've forgotten how to have fun.”

Instantly she stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You expect too much of the kids. It's summer. They should be outside playing, not washing walls and painting.”

She glared at him. “So I should do all the work?”

“That's not what I said. But you must admit you don't get out much.”

“I want to know where you get off telling me what I should and shouldn't do with my children. You've known them for less than three weeks, Mr. Haynes, so I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Blake thinks his father didn't like him.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She stared at him mutely, then rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Damn.”

“I shouldn't have said it like that.”

“No, it's okay. I'd rather know. I've been afraid of that. Thomas wasn't very subtle when he was annoyed. I know he loved his children, but he wasn't always the greatest father.” She raised her head and pushed her hair out of her face. “Thanks for telling me. I'll talk to him. Did he say anything else?”

Kyle shook his head. “That was about it. I had a good time with them tonight, except for Lindsay's problem, but I'm hoping she'll outgrow it. I wouldn't mind taking them out again.”

“Why?”

“I like kids. I always have.”

“So have a couple dozen of your own.”

He shook his head. “It's not going to happen. I'm not the type.” He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk giving his heart to someone who was going to leave.

Sandy straightened. “I don't want them confused. You're not their father or stepfather.”

“Can't I just be some guy they like?”

“I suppose.” She didn't sound very enthusiastic about the idea.

“Is it because you don't trust me?”

“No, it's… I can't explain it.”

“They haven't had a man in their lives since Thomas died. For that matter, neither have you.”

“That's none of your business.”

“I never said it was, I was just pointing out a fact.”

She turned toward him. Her mouth pulled straight. “Are you so sure of your facts?” she asked, obviously irritated.

He stared at her for a long time, first studying her face, then glancing at her body. She tilted up her chin slightly, but otherwise didn't move. “I'm pretty sure, but I wouldn't mind being the one to change things.”

“You have a lot of nerve, mister.”

He grinned. “You're not the first one to accuse me of that. Come on, Sandy, would it be so bad to take your first steps with me? I won't let you fall.”

She glared at him as if he'd asked her to dance naked in church. “I'm not interested in a relationship.”

At least she hadn't said she wasn't interested in one with him. He thought about backing off and simply saying good-night, but he'd always had more curiosity than sense. Right now, he was noticing how fast Sandy was breathing and the way her nipples had hardened and were pressing against her shirt. According to the signals her body was sending, she wasn't as immune to him as she would like him to think. It was kind of like standing in front of a growling, tail-wagging dog. Which end did you believe?

Which Sandy was telling the truth?

“If you're not interested in a relationship, how do you feel about passion?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“What?”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up next to him. “You heard me.”

Wide eyes stared at him. Her mouth trembled. That mouth. Damn it all to hell, he remembered being fourteen and thinking he would die if he didn't know what her lips would feel like touching his. Those old longings overwhelmed him. Or maybe they were new longings. Or maybe he was just an old man playing a kid's game. He told himself to step away. He would have, too, if Sandy hadn't placed her hand on his chest. If she hadn't leaned forward slightly, inviting him.

It was stupid. It was inevitable. He bent down and kissed her.

S
andy wasn't prepared to be swept away. She wasn't prepared for the need that crashed through her. Like a wave from the sea, it broke over her body and tugged at her feet until she was sure she would fall and go under. She already couldn't breathe; what difference would it make if she found herself drowning in sensation?

Kyle's mouth pressed against hers. She told herself to pull back, but after the first moment of contact, she was lost. Lost in the passion, the heat and the need. Lost to feelings she'd long thought dormant. Lost to the excitement of being joyfully alive.

At the first brush of his lips, her body surged toward him. She wanted to be next to him, around him, feeling everything, touching everywhere. His mouth was firm, yet yielding, his breath sweet and warm. He didn't invade her or conquer her, he simply touched her. He didn't try to hold her still, or in any way keep her from turning away.
He didn't have to. Perhaps he already knew how her heart thundered in her chest and her palms grew damp. Perhaps he was used to consummation by fire, but for her, it was the first time.

He stood one step down from her, so they were closer in height. If she had the strength to open her eyes, she would be able to stare into his. But she had no will, no power, nothing but need and passion. From the faintest of kisses, from the barest whisper of his mouth on hers, the tide lapped at her feet, tugging, pulling, until her self-control slipped away and was lost.

Lips on lips, chest to chest, thighs brushing thighs. Her hands clutched at his upper arms, as much to hold him in place as to keep her balance. His hands rested on her waist, comfortably, easily, as if he'd held them there a thousand times before. As if he knew she would not—could not—withdraw from him.

Her eyelids fluttered as she became lost in a world of sensual intensity. She told herself it was just a kiss. Nothing more. But she hadn't been kissed in so long, she could have wept from the wonder filling her. She could have perished from the hunger. His mouth pressed against hers, promising more, leaving her quivering. She clung to him as her world disappeared, leaving only the darkness and the feel of him next to her.

He moved back and forth, reminding her of the familiar movements of love, of the dance between a man and a woman. He was broader than Thomas had been, taller and more muscled. But his touch was softer, slower and more controlled. The contrasts and similarities filled her senses. She wanted him to kiss her forever. She wanted to forget all but this moment.

His mouth parted slightly and his tongue swept across her lower lip. She gasped as fire or electricity or lightning
leapt between them, burning her skin. Her breasts tightened and her knees began to shake.

When he tilted his head, she prepared herself for the sensual assault. He didn't disappoint her. He brushed once more against her lips, then moved lower, trailing damp, openmouthed kisses along her jaw, then her neck. She arched her head back, groaning softly as he found the pulse point by her collarbone. He circled the throbbing vein with his tongue, then blew on the damp skin.

She slipped her hands up his arms, to his shoulders, then around to his back. The muscles there were thick cords, flexing and releasing under her touch. Sweeping her fingers up to his short hair, she let the silky strands tease her sensitized palms. Then, as she pressed her body more fully against his, she reveled in his strength and male hardness.

He slid his hands down her hips to her rear, where he cupped the full curves and drew her tightly against him. Instantly, her woman's place began to ache. She could feel herself swelling, dampening, readying for him. She wanted him to lift her up against him, moving her back and forth until they'd both found their release. Instead, he taunted her with a mimicry of the pleasure they could find.

His mouth returned to hers. She parted her lips without being asked, needing to know him, to take all of him inside. He tasted hot and sweet, as if his flavor had been fashioned for her alone. His tongue thrust against hers, strong and sure. She danced around his assault, teasing him, tempting him, wanting him. His hands moved up her back, then around to touch her breasts.

He cupped her curves, taking the weight in his palms. Through her shirt and bra she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers. Her breasts swelled. She arched toward him, silently asking for more. He squeezed gently and whispered her name. She clung to him as her legs buckled.

He brushed his thumbs against her hard nipples. Fire shot through her, down to her feet, then up to center in her woman's place. As he teased her nipples, he brought his mouth back to hers. This time, she was the aggressor, thrusting her tongue past his lips. She explored him and tasted him. Every cell of her body was aflame, humming with desire.