repacked equipment, and then all five began an orderly stampede for the door. Not more than fifteen seconds later a pair of sirens began to shrill as the Port Sandy Fire and Rescue Team departed.
Alex tried to staunch a growing sense of disorientation. It’s just jet lag, he told himself impatiently. Except that he felt as if he’d entered an entire other dimension rather than merely a different time zone—a feeling that intensified tenfold as he got his first frontal view of the stranger.
Under a short, severely cut mop of inky hair, she had dark, intelligent eyes fringed by sooty lashes, a straight little nose and a surprisingly lush mouth that quirked up at the corners, hinting at a dimple in one cheek. Although she wasn’t exactly pretty, her face sparkled with such energy and good humor that it made her extremely compelling. She also had one of the most flawless complexions he’d ever seen.
Like a match being struck, awareness burned a path down his spine and set off a sharp burst of heat inside him.
Would her skin be smooth and creamy...everywhere? Would the generous curve of her mouth feel as good trailing over him as he imagined it would? And what about her eyes? Would they get bigger and darker if he stroked his thumbs across her—
“Hey, Daddy? Aren’t you gonna say something?”
Brady’s cheerful voice poured over Alex like a bucket of cold water.
What the hell was the matter with him? What did he think he was doing, having carnal thoughts about a woman he didn’t even know? In front of his children, for God’s sake?
All the fear and frustration of the day seemed to coalesce. He felt a sudden surge of anger, at himself, at the situation, at her for undermining his control.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said abruptly, blanking the emotion from his face and voice with an effort. “But I’m Alex Morrison. This is my house and those—” he nodded at the boys, who were clustered around her as if she belonged and he was the interloper “—are my sons. And you have exactly ten seconds to tell me who you are, how you came to be in my house and what the heck you were doing in my laundry chute.”
She shoved a strand of dark silky hair off her cheek, her gaze never leaving his face. Her mouth quirked up. “Or?”
He couldn’t believe her nerve. He glowered at her. “Or else I’ll call the police.”
Two
Lord love a duck. Beau’s big brother was a hunk.
A rude, bad-tempered hunk, but still... Shay stared up at him, feeling as if she’d been poleaxed.
Decked out in spotless white bucks, nubby vanilla-colored linen slacks, a smooth white shirt and a loosely woven, gold-tone tie that matched his eyes, Alex Morrison was not merely gorgeous.
He was perfect.
There wasn’t a single strand of his thick, straight, gold-on-bronze hair out of place. Nor was there so much as one, solitary unshaven whisker to mar the splendor of his square chin or lean cheeks. Even his shirtsleeves, rolled back to reveal tan, well-toned forearms, looked as if the folds had been precisely measured exactly to match each other.
He was the epitome of manly elegance. And for some strange reason, the longer she looked at him the more she wanted to wrestle him to the ground and muss him up a little.
For starters, anyway.
Her reaction stunned her. She’d worked with a variety of men over the years and had never before felt an urge to attack one. Frozen with dismay, all she could do was stare when Alex crossed his arms and said brusquely, “Well?” His striking golden eyes bored into her.
Well, what? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the question. “I—I—” Great. I’m babbling like an idiot.
Brady, bless his heart, came to her rescue. “Da-a-ad!” the boy wailed, making a strangled sound midway between acute exasperation and utter mortification. “You can’t call the police! C-can you?”
The child’s distress made Shay forget her own and brought her composure flooding back. “It’s all right, sweetie,” she murmured, finding her tongue. “I’ll handle this.” Carefully transferring Brutus to Mikey, she told herself she should actually be glad of this proof that Alex Morrison wasn’t as indifferent to his sons’ welfare as she’d previously believed.
Even if his behavior was a little heavy-handed.
She took a deep breath, climbed to her feet, squared her shoulders and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Shay Spenser.”
Alex’s shuttered gaze flicked from her face to her bandaged shins and back again before his fingers closed briefly over hers. He inclined his head a curt inch. “Ms. Spenser.” The warmth of his palm was in marked contrast to his icy tone.
He waited. With growing impatience. Until suddenly Shay realized that, despite Mikey’s earlier mention of her mission of mercy—and the fact that she’d just handed the child his gerbil—Alex expected her to explain herself.
The last of her preoccupation with his looks evaporated.
Well, for heaven’s sakes! What did he think? That she’d crawled down the laundry chute to steal his socks and taken Brutus along as an alibi?
She drew herself up to her full height. “Mikey’s gerbil got into the hamper. I leaned in to grab him, overbalanced when one of the boys bumped into me, and the latch on the bottom gave way when I fell against it.” A trace of asperity crept into her voice. “I believe you know the rest.”
“Yes.” He made no attempt to disguise his less-than-flattering opinion of it, either. It was apparent in the stiff way he stood, feet apart, hands resting loosely on his hips, his dark gold eyes narrowed at her. “That answers one question. Now, how about the other?”
Piqued by his attitude, she stared right back. “What other?”
“What are you doing in my house? Where’s Mrs. Kiltz?”
He was definitely too uptight. Give her a laid-back, just-stepped-out-of-a-wind-tunnel kind of guy any day. “That’s two questions.”
“Oh, for—”
Brady gallantly took a half step forward and entered the fray. “Mrs. Kiltz quit, Dad.”
“What?” Alex’s golden gaze jerked toward his oldest son.
“She quit,” Brady repeated.
“When?”
The boy shrugged, clearly unconcerned with such trifling details. “I dunno.... Day before yesterday, maybe?”
“Actually, it was the day before that,” Shay supplied.
“Day before—? Why the he—” catching himself mid-curse, Alex made an admirable attempt to change course “—ck didn’t somebody call me?”
Brady frowned sternly at his father. “I did. You were supposed to call me back.”
