Free The Temptation of Sean MacNeill by Virginia Kantra Page B

deal with that was to ignore it. She retreated, skirting the edges of the tarp-covered floor to his workbench. His tools hung in orderly rows, arranged by size. His organized work space contrasted with his dangerous looks, his half-bare chest and raffish earring. Who was he? The conscientious workman or the careless pirate? Her heart tripped faster. Which did she want him to be?
    "I was thinking about what you said. About Chris needing a chance to get away from the house?"
    "From the henhouse, I said."
    It was payback, she decided, for her "nice line" crack. She waved it off. "Anyway, I never meant he couldn't even see you to return a comic book. if you don't mind him stopping by…"
    "I told you I don't mind."
    She turned to face him. "No power tools, though."
    He took another step nearer. "No. Rachel…"
    Her back was up against the workbench. She grasped the edge with both hands, determined to keep control of the subject and herself. Chris. They were talking about her son.
    "Both children saw a therapist after Doug—after. Chris seemed to be coping."
    He dipped his head. A strand of his hair slipped close to her cheek. His breath tickled her ear. "Coping is good."
    Her eyelids felt weighted. She fought to keep them open, like a child struggling against sleep. Like a swimmer in danger of drowning. "Yes. But he's been very… It seems silly to complain, but he's been almost too quiet. Too obedient. That's why I was so surprised when he did that awful thing to your chair."
    "He's dealing with a move and a whole new set of rules and people. He's probably just…" His warm lips brushed her cheekbone. "…acting up for attention."
    She inhaled sharply, smelling paint and lumber and man. "That doesn't mean you should put yourself out."
    "I won't."
    "We can manage on our own."
    "Sure." His mouth glided down to the curve of her jaw, found the pulse point just below her ear. "But if there's anything I can do to help…"
    It wasn't just the suggestion of sex in his voice that loosened her knees and made her go all soft and liquid inside. It was the undernote of humor, the promise of shared fun. As if. as long as he held her, she could shed the worried caretaker with tired eyes who'd taken control of her mirror and become someone else. Someone a gorgeous man in a sleeveless T-shirt could tease and make love with. Someone warm and urgent and alive she might have been once upon a time.
    Someone stupid.
    This time she did gulp. "I think you've probably done enough."
    "Lady, I am just getting started."
    She knew better than to let him. Really, she did. But when he rested one hand alongside hers on the workbench, her arm prickled at the nearness of his. Her body shivered at his closeness. Little zings and tingles chased under her skin, calling attention to places she'd neglected for months. Years. He pulled back and met her gaze, with laughter and something else in his eyes, and she noticed that his lashes were unfairly long and thick for a man's and that he needed a shave. Common sense screamed at her to be good, to be careful, to get back inside the house where she belonged.
    Rachel stayed right where she was.
    He leaned into her and kissed the arch of her brow and the space between her eyebrows where her headache lurked and the tip of her nose. His breath was warm and coffee-scented. His lips were soft and practiced. Every place his mouth touched set up a little chorus of agreement that drowned out the cautionary voices in her head. Yes. You betcha . Please.
    She waited for him to get on with it. She wasn't making this difficult. He probably didn't have much time to spend seducing a thirty-four-year-old widow and mother of two. But he continued to caress her face with slow, warm, open kisses, slowly leaching the tension from her muscles and building the anticipation under her skin. Her heart tripped faster. She was either going to jump him or lose her nerve.
    She turned her head abruptly, engaging that tempting mouth. With a jolt, he