Lord, Zack thought, and wished he could escape.
“Our mother, on the other hand, is the original hippie. She’s into all things natural and doesn’t wear any jewelry at all except for a plain wedding band.”
“But,” Conan interjected, casting a sly look at Wynn, “she loves my father enough to let him keep her hair trimmed.”
“Daddy would have a heart attack if I asked him to do my hair now. You know that. Besides, he likes to have something to gripe at me about.”
“Does your mom’s hair look like yours?” Zack heard himself ask, curious despite himself.
“Heavens no! I got my hair from some long-deceased ancestor.”
Conan leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “And believe me, we’re all beyond grateful that he is long deceased.”
Wynn shoved at him. “My father’s hair is brown and sleek, and my mother’s hair is blond like Conan’s, but longer—all the way to her waist.”
Dreading the answer, Zack asked, “When are they supposed to join you?”
“Next week,” she mumbled, sounding despondent and resigned. “And I was so looking forward to living on my own.”
“You lived at home until now?” As Zack asked that, he finished brushing the tangles from Dani’s hair, smoothed it back and expertly wrapped the covered band around it, securing it in place. She bobbed her head a bit, making the ponytail bounce, then smiled and kissed him again. Zack gave her an affectionate squeeze—and noticed the silly smiles on his neighbors’ faces.
He now felt conspicuous, all because he’d fixed his daughter’s hair. It was no big deal, nothing elaborate, just a ponytail. And it wasn’t like there was someone else to do it. Anything his daughter needed, he supplied. Except female company, but he was working on that.
“No,” Wynn said, still looking too soft and female and approving, which for her was a gross contradiction. The contrast...intrigued him.
No, it did not!
“At twenty-eight,” she continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil on her femaleness, “I’ve been out of the house for a while. But I had two roommates, and they were both awful slobs. I’m sort of what you’d call...”
“Fanatical,” Conan supplied, toasting her with his coffee cup. “She likes to keep an immaculate, organized house. Drives me crazy.”
“Dad’s fatical, too,” Dani told them. “Mick and Josh tell him he’ll make a good husband for some lucky woman some day.”
“Is that right?” Amused, Conan eyed Zack.
Wynn drank more coffee, cleared her throat as if embarrassed, and finally put her cup aside. “Well, I can’t stand having things thrown just anywhere. Busy people need to be organized.”
Since Zack felt the same way, he could empathize with her. Other than Dani’s toys, which he left scattered around so Dani wouldn’t feel stifled, he liked to have a place for everything and everything in its place. He kept the house clean and once a month a service came to do a more thorough job, getting the baseboards and the ceiling and the air ducts—all the places he seldom had time to tend to.
The idea that they might have something in common was a little alarming, so he didn’t belabor the point.
Dani slid off his lap to sit beside Wynn. She situated herself in the exact same pose as the neighbor, shoulders back, spine straight, head tilted just so. Except that Dani’s legs hanging over the edge of the padded settee didn’t even come close to touching the ground, while Wynn’s not only touched, they folded so sharply her knees were practically in her face. Zack shook his head. He’d never seen legs so long. Or so nicely shaped.
Dani gave Wynn a toothy grin, then picked up her bowl of cereal and dug in.
“Conan falls into the slob category.” Wynn handed Dani a napkin almost without thought. Zack wondered if she was around children often, then decided it didn’t matter to him one iota. “Which is probably why my folks decided to spend their two weeks with me. It’s far too easy to get lost in his cluttered apartment. He keeps newspapers around for weeks, and there’s always something rotting in his refrigerator.”
Zack couldn’t stop his shudder of revulsion. Watching him, Wynn nodded in perfect accord. “It’s disgusting,” she confirmed.
To change the subject, Conan asked, “What do you do for a living, Zack?”
Both he and his sister stared at Zack with expectant expressions.
Dani answered for him, saying around a mouthful of cereal and milk, “He saves peoples. He’s a hero.”
Settling back in her seat, Wynn slowly nodded. “Mmmm. I can see that.” She eyed Zack up and down...and up again, letting her gaze linger here and there. He felt that interested gaze like a lick of fire and wanted to groan.
“Your dad,” she said, “has all the right makings of a hero. Big, muscular, handsome and kind.” And then with an impish, very intimate and inviting smile, “I’m glad he’s my neighbor.”
* * *
It was the most curious sensation, Wynn thought, as if her heart had started to boil the second she’d seen him. Then, when he’d held his daughter on his knee and patiently brushed her hair, her heart outright melted. She’d never felt anything like it. She’d never seen anyone like him.
And she was all but bowled over with a mixed jumble of emotions.
Dani herself caused part of the effect; Wynn couldn’t imagine a more adorable little girl than the one sitting primly beside her, milk on her upper lip and her riotous hair neatly contained in a bouncy ponytail. The child had an impish demeanor that proved she was both smart and precocious.
Most of the effect, though, came from Zack Grange. Wowza. She hadn’t believed one man could carry such a sizzling emotional and physical wallop, but Zack did. He stood the smallest bit taller than she, maybe an inch at most. Which meant he must stand a flat six feet. Her height, however, apparently didn’t distress him.
No, before he’d recalled himself, Zack had looked at her with male appreciation, and she liked it. A lot.
She wished she hadn’t worn the bulky sweatshirt with the stretched out neckline and the hem that hung midway down her shorts. Her upper body was as toned as the rest of her, and she wondered how he’d look at her there.
When she’d first dressed, the early morning air had carried a nip, but she was nowhere near cool now. In fact, she felt a little overheated. Maybe downright hot.
She guessed Zack to be around thirty, given the age of his daughter and his overall physique. It was his physique that had her doing more than her fair share of ogling. The man was put together just fine.
He wasn’t a muscle-bound behemoth like her brother, but lean and toned, with an obvious strength that was partly innate male, partly specialized training. His chest was wide, his shoulders wider. He had narrow hips, long straight legs and large, lean hands and feet. There was no fat on his middle, no slouch in his stance.
