the kind of jeans you wear. The things you inherit...um, you get from your parents. That kind of genes.”
“Oh, like my eyes. Dad says I got my mommy’s eyes.”
His words caught in Tara’s chest, making her next breath heavier than the last. “Well, she must’ve had beautiful eyes. They’re very handsome on you.” She coughed to clear away the sudden congestion in her throat. Which of her own physical characteristics came from Jacques Martin? Eyes? Height? Build? She would have an answer soon perhaps.
Dylan’s next pitch went a little wild, and she had to chase it down. When she got back into place, she moved the conversation to a less emotional common ground. “So, tell me about your school. Where do you go?”
“I attend L’école primaire publique ave Maria.” He was obviously enthused about the subject because for the next hour of pitch-and-catch, with frequent breaks, Dylan educated Tara on the French education system.
She learned that students only attended school four days a week, with Wednesdays as well as weekends off. But school days were long, lasting from eight-thirty to four-thirty.
This was the last week of school, and then Dylan would be on summer break for the months of July and August. Monique would be staying with him most days. And some days, he would go to Pierre’s house. Pierre was his best friend and a baseball enthusiast, also.
During their game of catch, Monique came out to check on him occasionally. “She doesn’t like to play catch,” Dylan explained. “I usually just throw the ball against the wall until Dad comes home.”
“What time is that?” It was already past seven-thirty, so Garrett was putting in a really long day.
“He’s working late this week, but he’ll be home by eight.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before a deep voice brought their game to a halt.
“Dylan!” As if their conversation had transported him to the spot, Garrett stood in the doorway of their flat. The sport coat and tie he’d worn at breakfast were gone, and his white dress shirt and khaki pants accentuated the broad shoulders and narrow waist of his athletic form.
An image of his naked torso flashed across Tara’s brain, and she felt her face heat in reaction.
“Hey, Dad.” Dylan ran to meet him with a hug, which Garrett greeted with a smile.
But, as she headed his way, Tara watched the facial expression transform into a scowl when Garrett’s eyes shifted up to meet hers.
* * *
DAMN IT! Garrett cursed his own shortsightedness. He should’ve told Monique not to allow Dylan to bother Tara. But he’d been so absorbed with work when she called to tell him they were home, he hadn’t given it a thought.
A quick glance at the happiness on his son’s face told him an attachment was already forming...and it was easy to see why.
The woman headed toward him held little resemblance to the freaky one he’d had breakfast with this morning. The wet yellow dress was gone, replaced by a pair of cream-colored shorts that showed off a set of long and toned legs. A peach T-shirt was the perfect complement to her fair complexion. No makeup disguised the adorable smattering of freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose. Had those even been there this morning? And what about the pierced eyebrow? Oh, yeah, there it was.... Her red curls—and a few of the blue ones—curved softly around her face and neck.
The entire effect was light and feminine, and Garrett fought down a wild urge to search among the curls for the tattoo nestled under her ear...with his mouth.
“Tara’s a good catch, Dad.”
The words stunned Garrett speechless for a couple of seconds, by which point she was already upon him.
Caution dimmed her bright eyes as she gave him a tentative smile. “We were just playing around some. I hope that’s okay.”
Garrett gathered his composure and shoved his sexual awareness to a deeper, safer place in his psyche. He took the glove she held out, searching for the appropriate words that wouldn’t sound overly harsh in front of the boy. “Dylan shouldn’t be interrupting your private time.”
Her wariness gave way to a relieved smile. “He didn’t interrupt anything. I had a good time.” She held up what remained of her right hand, stretching the fingers apart. “It was good therapy—mentally and physically.”
Garrett’s spine stiffened at her words. If she needed mental therapy, she needed to get it from someone other than Dylan.
Her thumb caught her middle finger, leaving her index finger pointed to the sky. “Oh, be right back.” She turned and jogged across the terrace to her flat.
Garrett had no idea what she was up to, but he used the time to get Dylan out of hearing distance. “You need to go get washed up for dinner.”
“Can we invite Tara to eat with us?”
Oh, hell. The entreaty in Dylan’s eyes solidified that Garrett’s fears were justified. He squatted down to eye level with his son—time for some damage control. “No, bud. Tara didn’t come to Paris to visit with us. She’s only going to be here for a month, which isn’t really too long, so we need to leave her alone, and let her do what she wants with her time.”
Dylan’s bottom lip protruded in advance of his protest. “But—”
“No buts. You’re not to bother Tara. Understand?”
Dylan sighed. “Yeah.” He dropped his glove and ball inside the door and slunk off toward the bathroom, looking like a whipped puppy.
Garrett watched him until the bathroom door closed. When he turned back, Tara was headed toward him from across the terrace. He stepped out to meet her, sliding the door closed behind him.
The clothes he’d loaned her this morning were arranged in a neatly folded bundle, which she held out to him. “I figured out the washer and dryer, so these are clean.”
Garrett took them from her. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
She slid her hands into her back pockets, which stretched her shirt tighter across her breasts. “Well, y’all didn’t have to help me out this morning, but I sure did appreciate it. I...um...” She cleared her throat and tossed her head in the direction of her place, flashing the tattoo under her ear in Garrett’s direction. “I picked up some sausage and cheese and wine and a few nice pastries. I plan to have a light supper on the terrace, and I was wondering if you and Dylan would like to join me? Give me a chance to pay you back for breakfast?”
Her accent coupled with the expressive, vivid green eyes battered at Garrett’s resolve, but the cautious voice inside him whispered its repeated warning about getting too friendly. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t think we’d better. I work long hours, so dinnertime is special for Dylan and me. Alone time, you know?”
“Oh, sure.” A deep blush crept up her neck into her face. “I should’ve thought of that.”
The disappointment in her voice was palpable, but the first snip was made, and Garrett was determined to stop any more buds of friendship before they blossomed. “Well, there isn’t a lot of privacy
