Read The Temptation of Sean MacNeill Online
Authors: Virginia Kantra
He grinned. "So?"
"So, since it's unlikely I'll ever be offended by your whispering some other woman's name in my ear, you can just use 'Rachel'." She smiled back at him, pleased by her own composure.
"If I promise to remember who I'm kissing, can I still call you beautiful?"
She flushed. "I don't think it's going to be an issue." She glanced over his head toward the driveway. "Have you seen Chris? My son?"
"Yeah, he's around." He pitched his voice toward the garage. "Hey, sport! Your mom's here. I put him to work unpacking boxes," he explained.
"You did?"
"You got a problem with that? Going to report me to Officer Friendly for violating child labor laws?"
"No. Oh, no. I'm just wondering how you got him to help."
He leaned against the railing, exuding heat and sex appeal. She could see the damp hair curling under the plastic band at the back of his cap and the sweat darkening his T-shirt. "He was underfoot anyway. I asked."
She stiffened at the implicit criticism. ‘"I apologize if he was in your way."
He shrugged. "'S okay. I worked around him."
"The children are going through a very difficult time right now."
"Sounds like you are, too."
His observation surprised her. She didn't expect a twenty-something bachelor to understand her children's claims or her own fears. "I manage." she said lightly.
He hesitated; opened his mouth as if he might say something, but then Chris came out of the garage.
"I got your books lined up like you told me," he announced.
"Great," Sean said.
The schoolteacher in Rachel wondered what kind of reading material would appeal to a man who wore a T-shirt proclaiming Beauty is in the Eye of the Beer Holder. Science fiction? How-to manuals?
"What sort of books?" she asked.
He shot her a look through thick, dark lashes. "Anything I can read without moving my lips." He raised his voice to reach Chris. "Did you want to borrow that Calvin and Hobbes?"
Comic books. Her little sting of embarrassment faded away. Of course.
Chris shuffled his feet. "I guess. Sure."
"Say thank you," Rachel prompted.
"Thanks. Mr. MacNeill."
"Any time, sport."
The boy darted into the garage.
Sean angled his cap back on his head. "It's none of my business, but it seems to me both your kids could probably use more to do."
Guilt bit her. "I know. School starts next week, and all their friends are back in
"I meant, they could give you more of a hand."
"I don't really think you're in a position to judge."
"Maybe not. I have brothers."
"But no children."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Nope." And then he turned his head, speculation gleaming in his eyes. "You want to ask me about my love life now?"
"I'm sure it's fascinating," she said, trying for cool.
"Not really."
"Then there's no one … special?" Not cool, she realized instantly. Not cool at all. She might as well come right out and ask if he was sleeping with anyone.
"I didn't say that. There are four very special ladies in my life."
She tried not to goggle. "Four?"
"
Mmm
. Only one of
them's
after me to get married, though."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.
She
thinks I'd make a great father."
She pursed her mouth. "Really."
"The way she sees it, I have an obligation to share my gene pool."
She looked at him sideways, unsure if he were joking.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard."
"I don't know about ridiculous. A little over-the-top, maybe, but, hey, a guy's mother is bound to be partial."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Your mother."
He grinned like an unrepentant dog. "Yeah."
Her breath blew out in a quick laugh. "I've been had, haven't I? Who are the other three women? Your sisters?"
"Two sisters-in-law. And my niece, Brianna. She's two."
So he was someone's "uncle" after all. "A real family man," Rachel said.
He looked away, across the drive. "Not really. I don't mind kids, if that's what you're asking. But I'm not looking to take on someone else's family."
She didn't know whether to be offended or amused. "You sound like you're answering a Personals ad."
"Do I?" His dark gaze returned to her face. "Are you advertising. Rachel?"
Quick heat washed her cheeks. "No."
"Hey, we're going to be living pretty close for a while. I'm attracted. It's only reasonable to put our cards on the table."
"Look, I don't know what my mother's told you, but—"
"Only that it's been over a year since you lost your husband."
"Did she also tell you he killed himself?" There was no faking his shock. No disguising it, either. She smiled without any joy and with a thin satisfaction that made her ashamed.
"It was a surprise to me, too," she said.
"I didn't know. Sorry for your loss."
Once again his consideration disarmed her. "Thank you." Painfully she added, "I'm sorry, too. I don't usually bludgeon strangers with that one."
"It's understandable. You're dealing with this move. Some jerk is hassling you on the phone. And you just had the police for breakfast. That's enough to rattle anybody."
"Yes."
She was more than rattled. She was scared.
I'm sorry about the house, Mrs. Fuller
, Bilotti had explained with seeming regret.
My nephew, Frank, he gets carried away sometimes. But you got to understand we can't let you run out on this deal. It wouldn't be good for business.
She swallowed. "I only wanted to make it clear this isn't a good time … I'm not in the market for a man or a relationship right now."
Sean was silent so long she wondered queasily if she'd just made a total fool of herself.
"Of course I know you were only teasing," she added.
He took off his cap and studied the inside, as if the answer to some exam question were secreted in the brim. "I didn't figure you for a woman without responsibilities. And, yeah, I generally limit myself to the other kind. But I'm not kidding myself, beautiful, and I won't kid you, either." The gold hoop gleamed as he turned his head. His lazy smile caught her right under the rib cage, stealing her breath. "When I said I was attracted, I wasn't teasing."
Chapter 4
"
I
'm not moving them." Crossing her arms against her chest, Lindsey glared at her mother, obviously ready to go to the wall and die before she'd touch a single stuffed animal. "I just got them all arranged."
Rachel's heart constricted. She sympathized with her daughter's desperate determination to organize the mess life had handed them. But she held firm.
"Three shelves each, Lindsey. That's what we agreed."
"But Chris doesn't need that shelf. He said I could have it."
To keep the peace, Chris would agree to almost anything. Rachel sighed. She knew the feeling. "That was very nice of him. But he will need it when school starts."
"So?"
"So, you have to share."
Lindsey's lower lip protruded. "I didn't have to share at home. I want my old room back."
"I know it's difficult, honey, but—"
"I miss our house. I miss my friends."
She missed her daddy, Rachel thought with another squeeze of heart. Lindsey had always been more like her father than her mother: impulsive, spontaneous, charming.
Irresponsible.
Rachel pushed the thought away. Kneeling on the floor in front of the bookcase, she reached to smooth her daughter's tumbled hair. "You'll make new friends."
"I wish we never moved here," Lindsey muttered.
"Well, we're here now, and we have to make the best of it. Why don't you and Chris try setting up the shelves together?"
"He's not here."
Rachel swallowed her alarm.
Don't overreact
. "Where is he?"
"Outside. I think he was looking for that MacNeill guy."
"Mr. MacNeill," Rachel corrected automatically.
Lindsey rolled her eyes: "Whatever."
Rachel sat back on her heels. It was just her luck that Chris would seek out Sean MacNeill when she was doing her darnedest to avoid the man. Every time she turned around, he was barreling in and out of the driveway in his shiny red truck. Sauntering in and out of the bathroom in clouds of steam and pheromones. Slipping in and out of her awareness with his loose-limbed stride and easy grin.
She hadn't felt this attuned to a man's presence since the summer she turned twelve and fourteen-year-old Hank Simmons rode his ten-speed past the bottom of her driveway.
"Your face is all red," Lindsey said.
Rachel felt her blush deepen. "It's hot in here." She climbed to her feet. "I'm going to get your brother. See if you can work something out, okay?"
Lindsey ducked her head. "Okay."
Somewhere inside the misery, a very nice child struggled to get out. Rachel dropped a kiss on her hair before she went downstairs.
She'd probably find Chris hanging around the garage. Around Sean. Anticipation licked along Rachel's veins:
Stupid, she chided herself. She knew better than to gamble on Tall, Dark and Unreliable.
And if she were ever tempted to forget the lessons of her marriage, she had the sick flutter in her chest every time the phone rang to remind her.
But before she even crossed the kitchen, the back door opened and Chris scuttled inside.
"Where are you going, honey?"
He stopped. Reluctantly, she thought. "Upstairs."
"You want to help your sister organize your shelves?"
"Okay."
Rachel narrowed her eyes at his quick compliance. "Just what were you do—"
The back door rattled under an impatient knock. They both jumped. Heart pounding. Rachel peered through the screen. A man loomed in the shadows of the porch. A large, dark man. Sean MacNeill.
Her heart didn't slow at all.
He looked hot and grim, his usual grin missing. Concern welled inside her. Chris bolted for the stairs.
And
Myra
came through the living room arch wearing blue house slippers and a wide smile. "Why, Sean! You're home early."
She opened the door. Rachel watched Sean readjust his expression to something pleasant, the forced transformation reminding her uncomfortably of Doug. What was wrong? What was he hiding?
He nodded. "Mrs.
Jordan
."
"Did you just get off work? You must be hot. Can I get you something to drink? Tea?"
"No. No, thanks. I wonder if I could talk to your daughter a minute."
"Of course." She beamed at them both.
Oh, Mama. "Alone, I think he means, Mama," Rachel said.
He leveled a look at her from under dark eyebrows. "I don't want to throw your mother out of her own kitchen. Why don't you come outside? I've got something you ought to see in the garage."
Worry skittered along her nerves like a mouse let loose in a classroom. She wouldn't let him intimidate her. At least, she wouldn't let him see that he intimidated her.
Slowly, she moved toward the door. "All right."
"Is this a variation on going out to the woodshed?" she quipped as they crossed the backyard.
"Could he. You going to let me spank you?" She stopped dead in the dusty grass, appalled. Excited, for heaven's sake. "Certainly not."
He shrugged. "Okay. I didn't think you did it, anyway."
"Did what? What are you talking about?"
Sean admired the snooty schoolteacher tone after the quick sparkle of excitement he'd seen in her eyes. The combination was unexpectedly appealing. She was something. Rachel Fuller.
He reached in front of her to open the small side door, the door he'd repaired two days ago and hadn't seen the need to lock. "In here."
She marched past him like a building inspector on a power trip and then stopped in the middle of the painted floor. Her eyes widened. He watched her take in the clean white walls, the swept gray floor, the sunshine that dropped through the newly installed skylights. Sawdust glimmered in the air around her, stirred by a lazy fan. She turned slowly, her gaze traveling over the massive workbench to the ordered rows of handsaws and hammers and chisels. Her look stroked over the unpainted cabinet and lingered on the skeleton of a desk.
"
Oo-hh
," she said, a long note of discovery and pleasure. Pride pulsed in Sean's chest; and then those wide dark eyes turned to him, and he watched her guard go back up.
"It looks very nice. Is that what you want me to say?" His hunger for her approval annoyed him. He pushed up the bill of his cap with one hand. "I don't give a damn if you like it or not. I brought you here to see the rocker."
"The…?" She turned where he pointed.
His latest project, a Windsor-inspired chair, balanced on tapered legs. He'd worked like a son of a bitch to get the grain flowing through and along every curve, shaping the seat so perfectly with the body grinder it looked like an impression in wet sand.
Except there, across one cheek, where the harsh disc edge had skidded, gouging the surface, destroying the line. The discarded grinder lay on the floor beside the chair.
Rachel frowned. "I don't understand."
"Somebody came in while I was at work today and took the tool to that chair. I doubt it was you, and it sure as hell wasn't your mother."
"You think one of my children…"
"I think Chris did it, yeah. He was in here yesterday while I was sweeping with the grinder."
Her shoulders braced. "How bad is it?"
Sean ran his hand over the contour, feeling the gouge in the wood as if it were a scar in his own skin. "It'll take time to fix. If it can be fixed at all."
"I am so sorry. I'll talk to Chris. He'll apologize."
"That's not going to fix the damage. This is good redwood."
She flushed. "I'll pay for it, of course."
"It's not the money. The kid shouldn't have been in here at all."
Her head snapped back as if he'd slapped her. "I know that. I do apologize. I can assure you there's no question of liability."
He looked at her in disbelief. "You're not going to sue, so I should feel better?"
"I know it wasn't your fault. I should have supervised Chris more closely."
She sounded as guilty as a five-year-old making her first confession. Never mind his ruined work, wasted time and invaded space; he felt kind of bad for her.
"Let me talk to him."
She blinked. "Chris? Why?"
He wasn't sure. It wasn't his kid. It wasn't his problem. But it was his chair, he rationalized. And his complaint. She shouldn't have to deal with it alone, the way she wrestled with everything else.
"Well, for starters, he could explain what he was doing in here."
"I'll talk with him."
"Fine. But I still want my explanation."
Rachel looked him straight in the eye. "After I talk to him."
His mother would have approved of her protective attitude. Bridget had been fierce in her own sons' defense. Even when they hadn't deserved it. He grinned a little, remembering. Maybe, in his case, especially when he hadn't deserved it.
He hitched his thumbs in his belt loops. "All right. I'll wait."
She studied him a moment, her generous mouth unsure. And then she nodded. "I'll be back in a minute."
A minute. He could stay mad that long. There were things he needed to say, things the kid needed to hear. But it was hard to remember them as Rachel walked away, the sun gleaming on her glossy dark hair, the muscles flexing in her captain-of-the-girls'-soccer-team thighs. The sensible hem of her shorts revealed a band of paler skin. He wanted to run his tongue over it.
He looked away.
Don't be a chump, MacNeill.
* * *
Rachel looked nearly as miserable as her son as they walked back across the parched grass, leaving silver footprints behind them. The kid looked up at Sean, hazel eyes wide in his white face, and then down.
Making Sean feel like Darth Flipping Vader about to order the destruction of the planet. Hell.
Rachel's hand tightened briefly on her son's shoulder, in warning or support. "Go ahead, Chris."
"I'm sorry, Mr. MacNeill," the kid mumbled to his shoes. "I shouldn't have come into the garage."
Rachel sighed. "And?"
The boy's dark head sank even lower between his bony shoulders. "And I shouldn't have touched anything, and I won't do it again."
"You want to tell me what you thought you were doing?" Sean asked.
"I saw you… Yesterday, you were… I wanted to help," he said.
Sean squashed a surge of sympathy. How many times, as a boy, had he used that excuse himself? "Didn't work out that way, though, did it?"
Rachel stirred. "He didn't mean to—"
"Oh, I know. Good intentions, right? They've gotten me in trouble, too. Or hurt. What if I'd been using the chain saw yesterday afternoon? Would you have 'helped' with that?"
The kid looked glum. That was all right. That was good. Rachel looked sick. Not so good.
Sean cleared his throat. "You got to ask permission, sport. Before you touch
anything
. Is that clear?"
The boy nodded.
"You don't need to worry," Rachel said. "Chris is not allowed in the garage again."
Sean had been about to suggest something like that himself. Tools and kids… Hadn't he and Patrick decided his workshop should be off-limits to Jack? But Rachel's staunch acceptance of responsibility, instead of letting him off the hook, made him feel guilty.
"It's okay," he heard himself say. "The kid doesn't bother me. As long as I'm around, he can—"
"No. I appreciate the offer, but watching over my son is not your job."
"If he's going to mess around with tools, he ought to learn to do it safely."
"Chris's safety is my responsibility. And I don't want him 'messing around with tools.'"
Her persistent refusal of help—his help—was beginning to tick him off.
"Listen, I can lock my doors, but you can't lock the kid up. If he wants to get out of the henhouse once in a while…"
"Excuse me?" Her voice took on the edge of a chip-carving knife.
Drop it, MacNeill
. After the disaster with Trina in his senior year of high school, he'd promised himself no more Mr. Family Man. He wasn't making points with the woman by volunteering to baby-sit, anyway.
But he opened his big fat mouth and said, "Kid's living with his morn, his grandma and his sister. Let him come out and do the guy thing every once in a while."
"Playing with power tools?" she asked dryly.
He gestured toward the chair. "It wouldn't he the first time. Better if he learns how from me."
"Thank you. I'm sure you mean well, but…"
The doubt in her voice woke too damn many echoes from his past.
"But what?"
"You obviously have no experience at being a parent."