bottom of the California cliff, Last Jefferson might not have miscued his hang-glider landing, ending up in three feet of ocean instead of on the beach as he’d planned.
Last appreciated the female form, as did all of his brothers. Hers, he thought as she walked toward him, was worth the ocean water bath.
Until he saw the little boy and girl beside her.
Had he realized from his airborne position that the beautiful lady had two young children with her, he might have stayed dry. Unfortunately he’d been mainly focused on her sinuous shape and on the lovely cleavage gleaming above her bikini top.
The water was warmish, at least. He pulled off his helmet, grimacing.
“Are you all right?” the little boy asked. “You made a big splash when you hit the water.”
“A big splash,” his sister confirmed. “I bet the sea lions on their rocks heard it.”
Last dragged himself out of the water, checking his canopy to make certain it was still in good shape. “You two remind me of my niece and nephew back home. And they’re nothing but trouble,” he said wryly. “You two run on back to your mom. I’m fine.” And I don’t need any more wisenheimer children in my life.
Nor did he need a woman. He’d had enough trouble with the female gender. He should have saved himself the crash landing. He was on a mind-clearing sabbatical here in California, and he’d learned the hard way that one-night stands were not mind-clearing exercises.
His toddler daughter was proof of that.
The shapely brunette finally caught up with her children. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
His mouth watered as he got a closer look at her face. “Yes. Thank you.” Okay, God must have let one of his angels drop from the sky, because this woman was stunning.
Maybe she was a model. Wasn’t California full of models and actresses?
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Only by staying away,” he said bluntly, although he appreciated her sun-browned waist above a long black sarong. Beneath the crepe fabric he could see very shapely legs. Orange-painted toenails peeped from her leather thongs. “I’m a loner.”
“We’re loners, too,” the young boy said. “My mom’s a magician.”
Great. Just what he needed—someone who excelled in disappearing acts.
The Jefferson clan already possessed more disappearing acts than they needed, from their missing father Maverick to their eldest brother Mason, who had a habit of running off when he didn’t want to deal with his feelings for a certain lady. Right now Last was focused on his own disappearing act, while his brother Crockett tried to make a family with his new wife, Valentine—who just happened to be Last’s former one-night stand and the mother of Last’s daughter, Annette. Privacy had seemed like the proper thing for Last to give the new family, and he’d chosen not to hang around like a disgruntled shadow.
No matter how pretty this young mother was, he wouldn’t hang around here, either. “Goodbye,” he said, hauling his hang-glider down the beach.
“Hey,” the boy said, running after him. “My mom can pull a quarter from your ear.”
“Look,” Last said, not wanting to be mean, “I’ll pull a ten-dollar bill from yours if you scram.”
“Really?” The boy beamed while his sister looked on with doubt.
“Sure.” Last took a ten from the elastic-covered hidden pocket of his long swim trunks, folded it, then handed it to the boy.
“Hey! That wasn’t my ear!”
“But it is a ten. Now scram.”
“I beg your pardon!” The gorgeous-vixen mother with dark hair and snapping blue eyes snatched the money from her son and handed it back to Last.
It had been in poor taste. Last opened his mouth to apologize, except the woman whirled around, dragging her kids, one in each hand, away before he could speak.
Hellfire. He shouldn’t care, should he? He’d wanted them to bug off, and that’s what they were doing. But he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Jeez,” he said under his breath, situating his canopy carefully on the sand. He ran after the brunette, noting that her rear view was as eye-pleasing as her front view.
Which meant spoon-style lovemaking would be a very pleasant option.
Whoa, he said to his unruly thoughts. With determination, he took his eyes off the swaying black sarong. “Excuse me.”
She didn’t turn around.
He jogged in front of her, holding up his palms in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said.
“A sorry excuse for a gentleman,” she snapped, passing him.
Gentleman? No one had ever accused him of being that. Gamely, he hustled past her. “My name’s Last Jefferson. From Texas.”
She marched past him.
The boy turned huge eyes toward him as the family walked away. “That’s a weird name,” he told Last. “Sort of like my mother’s stage name.”
Last trotted after the child, figuring he was the more receptive target for an apology. “What’s your mother’s stage name?”
“Poppy Peabody.”
“Poppy Peabody?” That was a stage name.
“The hottest female magician performing today,” the little girl said proudly. “Get your popcorn, take your seats, fellas—”
Poppy grimaced, tugging the children up the beach faster.
The “hot” part they had right. Last kept jogging alongside the boy, recognizing that the stubborn set of Poppy’s shoulders meant he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. “So what’s your name?” he asked the boy.
“Curtis. My sister’s name is Amelia.”
“Nice names.”
“Thanks. Is Last your stage name?”
“No.” Last wished Poppy would slow down. Her legs were nearly as long as his and obviously far more used to sand power-walking. “It’s all mine. Does your mother have a real name?”
“She’s not really my mother,” Curtis said in a confidential tone. “She’s our aunt.”
Aunt. Hmm. Last ignored the pleasure the knowledge gave him. “Name?”
Finally Poppy stopped. “Esmerelda Hastings,” she said curtly. “I prefer Aunt Poppy to Aunt Esmerelda, and Poppy in general.”
He blinked. “I can see where you might, although Esme is kind of cool, you have to admit. Not as dramatic, I guess.”
“Poppy
