each other.”
He’d worked really hard on making sure they kept missing each other. “Anytime.”
“Listen—about the other night and the stuff I said—”
“Forget it.” He glanced up with relief as Jess walked into the room. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re late. Was the bus delayed?”
“Yes.” Without looking at him, Jess made straight for the fridge, and Tyler was about to make a flippant comment about uncommunicative teenagers when he noticed her shoes.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing happened to me.”
For a moment he forgot about Brenna. “You’re soaked through. You fall in a ditch or something?”
“It’s slippery out there. I’m hoping tomorrow is another snow day.” She poured milk into a glass, her hand shaking so much she sloshed milk onto the floor. “I ripped my jacket. I’ll pay for a new one. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to pay. Since when do you buy your own clothes?”
“If I ruined something, Mom made me pay for it.” She drained the glass and topped it up. “She said if I paid for it, I’d learn to take care of my stuff better.”
Tyler stared at her. “Yeah, well, accidents happen, and I don’t expect you to pay for it. But I’d like to know how it got torn.” Something about the way she held herself, the way she wasn’t looking at him, told him there was more going on than she was telling him. “Did you—”
“Dad! Stop asking questions. I’m clumsy, that’s all.” Moody, scowling, she slammed the fridge door shut and then wrinkled her nose. “What’s that terrible smell?”
“That terrible smell is what happens when you leave me to cook.” Deciding that handling a teenage girl needed the skills of a bomb-disposal expert, he backed off. “It’s ready whenever you’re hungry.”
“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” Jess walked across the kitchen and peered cautiously into the pan. “Have you tasted it?”
“Why would I want to do that? I made it. The rest is up to you.” He threw the spoon down, strolled to the table and sprawled in a chair. He was about to put his feet on the table when he caught Jess’s eye.
“You sit down, too, Brenna.” She urged Brenna to the table. “Not this side because I’m going to be cooking and rushing around. Go around and sit next to Dad. I’ll finish off dinner.”
He didn’t want Brenna sitting next to him.
He didn’t want her anywhere near him, but apparently Brenna failed to notice that piece of blatant teenage manipulation because she did as Jess suggested.
“So how was school, Jess?”
Tyler wondered if she’d have more success than he had, but it seemed Jess wasn’t eager to share details of her day with anyone.
“There was no skiing. Enough said.” Jess stuck a spoon in the pot, tasted it cautiously and coughed until her eyes watered. “Dad! How much chili did you put in this?”
“I lost count. Blame your uncle Jackson. He was talking to me.”
“It’s not a good idea to lose count with chili.” Jess guzzled water as if she’d been lost in the desert for a month while Luna nudged her leg hopefully. “You don’t want this, trust me. It would blow your doggie brain.” She rummaged in the cupboards, pulled out more tomatoes and puree and proceeded to add and adjust, tasting all the time.
“She ate your food, Ty, and she’s still alive.” Brenna reached across the table for the juice she’d poured. “It’s a miracle.”
The miracle was that he was managing to keep his hands to himself.
From this position he had a view straight down her top, and his gaze welded itself to the shallow dip between her smooth breasts. He saw creamy skin, a hint of lace and then lost focus.
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, and when she sat down he sucked in air, feeling as if he’d been smacked in the gut by a heavy object.
Thanks to Jess, she was sitting so close he could see the flecks of green in her eyes and the freckles dusting her nose. He could smell that elusive scent that made him think of the long, slow days of summer.
And he could think of nothing but sex.
Why?
What the hell was wrong with him? Was it the memory of the things she’d said under the influence of tequila, or was it simply that he was jealous of Josh?
He pushed his chair back, an involuntary movement designed to put distance between them. Keeping his eyes away from her shoulders and the smooth skin of her arms, he groped for his beer.
Across from them, Jess served the chili into bowls. “I’ve done my best, but it’s probably still going to make you sweat.”
He couldn’t sweat any more than he was already.
It was having Brenna living here. Under his nose. Walking around in bare feet wearing nothing but a strappy top and clingy yoga pants.
And talking about sex.
He dug his fork into the chili, surprised by how good it tasted. “You’re a genius, Jess.”
The moody, sullen expression vanished and was replaced by a smile. “You made it. All I did was adjust it a little bit.” She glanced at him and grinned. “Okay, I adjusted it a lot.”
Somehow they made it through dinner, although he had no idea what they talked about.
Brenna had the sense not to mention school again and instead turned the conversation to skiing.
Still, Tyler could think of nothing but sex.
He ate quickly, decided against a second helping and swept his empty plate off the table. “Excuse me, ladies, I need to go take a cold shower.” He stood up, banging against the table in his attempt not to look at Brenna.
“Now?” Judging from the look Jess gave him, he might as well have announced that he was taking up ballet.
“Yes, now. Cooking is sweaty work.”
“Brenna and I are going to watch skiing. Will you join us?”
“Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight.” Even the rush of guilt wasn’t enough to make him give a different answer. “I have to help Uncle Jackson with that snowmobile.”
Jess cleared the bowls. “After your shower?”
He opened his mouth but was unable to think of a single, logical explanation, mostly because there wasn’t one. Logic had left the room along with self-restraint. “Last time I checked, a man was allowed to decide when to take a shower in his own house. Thanks for rescuing dinner. I’ll see you later.”
In
