rolled over onto her back, producing her tummy for rubs with no shame at her brazen request for attention. Lucy blinked down at the dog, fully aware she walked a knife’s edge of being just as obvious. She squared her shoulders. Time to move away from temptation and remember she was a journalist working on a story.
Hayden rubbed the dog, barely able to concentrate on anything but Lucy at his side. Within touching distance. If he wanted to, he could reach out a hand and trail it down her arm. Or wrap his fingers under her curtain of silky blond hair and discover if the skin on her neck was as soft as it appeared. His heart thudded like a bass drum. The jolt of attraction when he’d first seen her in the park had thrown him off balance and part of him was still scrambling to find his equilibrium.
Lucy stood, breaking the spell. “I was just about to give Rosebud a drink.” She took out a bottle of water and a rolled-up waterproof canvas bowl from her bag. “Would Josh like to help?”
Hayden looked down at his son and, for the briefest of moments, was at a loss, uncertain what Josh would or wouldn’t like. His gut twisted tight. He hated not instinctively knowing these things. Then he gave himself a mental shake. Of course Josh would like to help—it was a dog and water, both of which spelled fun.
“He’d love to,” he finally said.
Lucy gave Josh the bottle of water and explained how to fill the canvas bowl in terms a one-year-old could understand. Josh sloshed more water on the ground and on Lucy than in the bowl, but no one seemed to mind, and soon the dog was enthusiastically drinking and Josh was trying to catch her wagging, curly tail. Hayden’s heart expanded to see his son smiling and so obviously filled with joy.
Lucy screwed the top back on the water and slid it into the same large red bag she’d had yesterday at the interview. Seemed she had all contingencies covered inside that bag—yesterday a muffin, notebook and pen; today a water bottle and a dog bowl. He wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled out a picnic blanket and folding chairs next.
He sat back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that Graham had a dog that he takes to work each day,” he said conversationally.
“This is her.” She didn’t look up, but gave Rosebud an extra rub on the neck.
“So you spend a bit of time in Graham’s office to see Rosebud?”
She smiled, obviously aware of where his questions were leading. The dog finished her drink and Josh, looking for the next interesting adventure, held his arms out to Lucy. Without hesitation, she bundled him in.
“How’s it going, Josh?” she said, charming his son, then looked at Hayden over his son’s head and said, “I see Graham and Rosie a few times a week.”
Instead of following the line of questioning he’d planned in his head, Hayden couldn’t draw his eyes from the easy way Lucy interacted with his little boy. Josh had only just met her, but was already happy in her arms. And Lucy was relaxed, as if she knew just what to do with a toddler. Lord above, Hayden wished he knew what to do with one. Sure, he had the basics covered, like sleeping, bathing and feeding, but he was still getting used to being the primary caregiver to a child, and most of the time he felt he was swimming out of his depth.
Why did it seem so natural for her? From his research, he knew she had no siblings, no young cousins around, yet she seemed supremely confident where he often felt awkward and unsure. Maybe because he wanted to be a good father so damn much and Lucy had nothing riding on it at all.
He blew out a slow breath and stood—he was losing his focus with Lucy Royall again. This time he’d almost recovered from the force of her allure and managed to steer the conversation toward Graham Boyle, but now he’d become distracted again by her natural way with his son. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and refocused on his new plan—build rapport and see what else he could discover in the casual setting.
“We’re walking this way, how about you?” he said, sinking a hand into his pocket. “Josh and I have just come out for our lunch break.”
Lucy beamed over at him. “We’d love to join you for a walk, wouldn’t we, Rosie?”
Hayden hoisted Josh up onto his shoulder, but the boy leaned toward Lucy with his arms out. Hayden arched an eyebrow. Josh didn’t normally go to new people this easily—why did he have to overcome his trust issues with someone Hayden was investigating?
Lucy laughed and held up Rosebud’s lead. “How about we swap?”
Still, he didn’t move. Building rapport while taking a walk was one thing, but letting her carry his son, crossing personal lines, was dangerous, and something he’d never done before.
“Daddy,” Josh said, pointing to Lucy. “Up.”
And right there was his Achilles’ heel. Josh wanted Lucy, and Hayden wanted Josh to be happy. Complex ethical issues boiled down to pure simplicity.
“Sure,” he said. He took the dog’s lead and handed over his son, trying to minimize touching Lucy in both tasks since he was in enough trouble as it was. “I’ll take that bag while you have Josh.”
“It’s fine.” She tickled Josh’s side and was rewarded with giggles. “I’m used to having it over my shoulder.”
He nodded and they started along the paved path that wound alongside the sparkling river, Hayden busy trying not to physically smack himself over the head. He’d been brought in by a congressional committee to investigate ANS, and Graham Boyle in particular. And now here he was, in a D.C. park, talking a stroll with the man’s stepdaughter, allowing her to cuddle his son, offering to carry her bag and walking the wretched man’s dog.
Not to mention that his pulse was pounding too hard for a casual walk, which had less to do with the exercise than with the woman whose elbow was mere inches from his own. So close he could practically feel all her vibrant energy radiating out and filling the air around her.
He cleared his throat. “Ms. Royall—”
“Lucy.” With his son’s fist wrapped around her fingers, she glanced up at him. “We’re walking in a park on a lunch break. I think you can call me Lucy.”
“Lucy, then.” The name felt unusual as his mouth moved around the word. He’d only said it aloud together with her surname before, but alone it seemed special, prettier. More intimate.
“Yes?”
He looked down at her, frowning. “Yes, what?”
“You were about to say something when I told you to call me Lucy.”
Good point. But he had no idea what it had been. He thrust the fingers of his free hand into his hair. He’d called their interview to a halt because he was getting distracted. Seemed the extra twenty-four hours to regroup hadn’t helped any.
He searched his brain for a way to informally find a path to the information he wanted. “Did you always want to be a journalist?”
They waited while Rosebud sniffed the base of a tree, and Lucy shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe not always. But since I interned with Graham when I was sixteen.”
“What did you want to be before that?”
“My father’s family is in department stores,”
