What a Man's Gotta Do
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Soft. That had been the only word to come to mind the first time he saw her, dashing between classes, surrounded by a half-dozen giggling girlfriends. Everything about her—her full figure, her velvet-smooth voice, even her perfume, which hadn’t been overpowering like most of the other girls’—had made him think of being someplace warm and comfortable and…soft. She’d glanced at him, just for a heartbeat, as she whizzed past on her high-heeled sandals, and all the air just whooshed from his lungs at the sight of those vaguely curious green-gold cat’s eyes. A smile, genuine and just this side of devilish, erupted between round, dimpled cheeks, but he wasn’t completely sure it’d been for him. He remembered standing stock-still in her wake, watching the ends of her dark, gleaming hair twitching across the top of a generous bottom unabashedly displayed in snug designer jeans. An achy sense of longing that he never, ever allowed himself—not then, not now—had damn near knocked him over.
Eddie chuckled to himself as he turned down the heat under the pan. Oh, he’d ached, all right. Hell, his physical reaction at the time had embarrassed the life out of him. While it had been hardly the first time the sight of some girl had gotten him hot, it had definitely been the first time he’d feared for the buttons on his 501’s. And while he was way beyond getting embarrassed about things like that these days, he wasn’t beyond being startled. Because damned if those buttons weren’t being put to the test again.
Her hair might be shorter, and that pretty face attested to the fact that she was a woman in her late thirties. But the eyes still held that note of devilment, and the dimples were still there, and her voice had ripened into a huskiness that both soothed and excited. And she was still soft as a hundred down pillows all piled on top of each other.
And still out of his reach.
Behind him, he heard a minor commotion as Mala apparently ushered the boy through the kitchen to the bathroom in order to change his pants. Mama-mode suited her well, he decided, although he also decided not to think too hard about the man responsible for those kids. The man who got to snuggle up to all that softness every night.
Dimly, he heard the boy start crying again.
He dragged over a bowl of already cooked rigatoni, dumped out the sausage-pepper mixture. Damn, those kids were something else, weren’t they? The girl, especially—whoo-ee. She’d put the fear of God in King Kong. And the boy—what was up with the crybaby routine? Kid had to be, what? Five, six? And still bawling from a tumble in the snow? Shew, Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Being the new kid on the playground every year or two kinda knocks that right out of you—
“What’s that?”
He looked down into a pair of challenging blue eyes underneath an explosion of red curls that didn’t look real. Long legs in white, lacy tights or whatever you called them peeked out from underneath a purple jumper with flowers all over it, incongruously ending in clunky pink-and-silver sneakers. Kid was skinny, but not fragile. Probably one of those girls who liked to beat up boys. And did, regularly. “Italian sausage and peppers. Wanna taste?”
That got a wrinkled nose. “No, thank you. Peppers don’t agree with me.”
Cocking one brow, Eddie opened one oven door to remove the baked ziti. Instantly, the temperature in the kitchen rose another ten degrees. It wasn’t that he didn’t like kids, even though the idea of having any of his own never even made the playoffs. He just never quite knew what to make of them, was all. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me,” came the indignant reply. “I get all burpy when I eat them. What’s your name?”
Eddie straightened, set the ziti on the prep table behind them, then grabbed a towel from the bar on the stove, wiped his hands. Where the hell was the kid’s mother? “Eddie King. And yours?”
“Caroline Sedgewick, but most people call me Carrie. My mama’s Galen’s accountant. That’s why we’re here, so she can get some papers or something so she can take them home and work on our computer. After she finishes our costumes for the play tonight. Galen’s gonna have a baby pretty soon. That’s why her belly’s so big. Are you the new cook?”
Figuring the question signaled a break in the onslaught, Eddie said, “That’s what I’m hopin’. You know, you sure got a lot to say for such a little thing.”
“I know.” Unaffected, the child hiked herself up onto a nearby stool, making something sparkle on the sneakers. “I’m in first grade, but I can read better’n anybody in my class. Better’n some second graders, too. Lucas can’t even write his name right yet, and he’s only a year younger’n me. But he’s a boy. And everybody knows boys are slower’n girls.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. Well, ’cept for my uncle Steve, who lives out on a farm. He just got married last summer and we all got to go to the wedding, which was all the way over in Europe because Aunt Sophie’s a princess. But I heard Grandma Bev tell Pop-Pop one day when they didn’t know I could hear ’em talking that my daddy was dumber than…well, it’s a word that rhymes with ‘spit’ but I’m not supposed to say it.” Then she pointed. “What’s that around your neck?”
Feeling slightly dizzy—what was that about somebody marrying a princess?—Eddie felt for the chain that was always there, then slipped it out from underneath his sweater. Had to admit, the kid was kinda entertaining. If you were into bossy little girls with egos the size of Canada. And one thing he’d say for someone who talked that much: it made his part in the conversation much eaiser. “It’s a cross. Used to belong to my mama.”
Carrie leaned over to inspect it. He half expected her to whip out a jeweler’s loop. “It’s pretty. How come you have it?”
“My mama gave it to me right before she died, when I was real little. About your age, in fact.”
She looked up, her expression melting into what Eddie could only surmise was genuine sympathy, tugging something in his chest he didn’t want tugged. “Are you sad? That your mama died?”
“It was a long time ago. Like I said.”
“Oh. Where’s your daddy?”
With a shrug, he slipped the cross back inside his sweater, his emotions back inside their little box. “I have no idea.”
Eddie realized the child was scrutinizing him like she was trying to decide whether or not to admit him to the club. “My daddy left us when I was four,” she said at last, showing a sudden interest in the way the flowers were arranged on her jumper. “We don’t know where he is, either—”
“Carrie—for heaven’s sake! Stop pestering the poor man!”
Eddie turned around to see Mala, Lucas in tow, jerkily shrugging back into her long tweedy sweater. The two spots of color sitting high on her cheeks kinda clued him in that she’d overheard.
“It’s okay,” he said, surprised to discover he meant it. At least, for the moment. Not that he wanted to make it a habit, mind, of having heart-to-hearts with little girls.
“Yeah, well…” Downright humming with nervous energy, Mala tugged a strand of electrified hair out of one gold loop earring as she dangled a red-and-black car coat in front of her son. Although she looked good—damn good—she’d put on a few pounds since high school, which she’d done her best to cover up with a baggy ivory sweater over a straight, beige skirt that came nearly to the insteps of her flat-heeled boots. Too bad, ’cause he’d bet she’d look real fine in a pair of those tight jeans like she used to wear. “She can talk your ear off, if you let her. C’mon, Luc…get this on—”
The strain in her voice tore another memory loose, of him and his mother walking down some street, somewhere, his hand tightly clamped in hers as she hurried along, as if trying to outrun her tears. He’d been four, maybe five, afraid to ask his mother why she was crying in case he was somehow at fault.
“I’m real sorry to hear about your husband,” he said.
Mala glanced at him, clearly as startled as he was, then away. “S’okay. It’s ancient history now. But thanks. I guess. Lucas, now. We’ve got to go—”
“Not until you help me with a taste test!” Galen said as she waddled over to the prep table. She planted her hands on her swollen belly, either ignoring or oblivious to the tension sputtering around her. “Wow, it smells absolutely fantastic!” She picked up a fork from the tray on the end of the table and went after the sausage and peppers. “C’mon, Mal—dig in. You know you want to.”
“Galen, really, I’d love to—” Mala wrestled the coat onto the boy, who kept craning his neck to stare at Eddie like he couldn’t figure out what he was “—but I’m so far behind now—”
“Oh, my God!” Galen pressed her hand to her chest, her expression downright rapturous, then dug into the ziti. Two seconds of chewing later, she said, “You can start looking for that apartment, because mister, you are hired! Mmm, Mal—” she swallowed “—what about yours?”
“What about my what?”
“Your upstairs apartment. Didn’t you say you were looking for a tenant?”
The words bad and idea came roaring out onto the field from opposite sides of Eddie’s brain and collided right at the fifty-yard line. It was one thing dealing with tight jeans for fifteen minutes, another thing entirely dealing with the prospect of being permanently—and hopelessly—erect for the next four or five months.
Because that’s what living anywhere near this woman would mean. He didn’t understand any more now than he did twenty years ago what it was about Mala Koleski that turned him on so much, but the fact was, she did. However, what he did understand was that—even allowing for the mutual consideration of such an eventuality—women with kids were bad news, not unless the idea of long haul was at least sitting on the sidelines. Hell, in Eddie’s case, they weren’t even in the stadium.
And judging from Mala’s expression, she apparently thought the idea held about the same appeal as lying naked on hot coals. He wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered. Or what to do with the image of her lying naked on anything, which was now stuck to his brain like a piece of Scotch tape you can’t shake off. “Oh, uh…eventually, sure,” Mala said, then waved her hands. “Wait a minute…what about the apartment over the restaurant?”
“Not available. I promised it to Hannah Braden a few days ago.” Galen turned to Eddie, her nose wrinkled. “College kid, wants a little independence, you know how it is.”
“Well, my place isn’t available, either. I mean, not yet.” Cheeks blazing, Mala knelt down to zip the kid’s coat. “It’s not fixed up. The other tenants left it in a real mess and—”
“Oh, get over yourself. What did they do…leave crumbs on the counter? Besides, you just said yourself you needed to get someone in there soon.”
Shew. That glare Mala was giving Galen could broil steaks.
“Hey, look, it’s okay,” Eddie interjected before somebody spontaneously combusted. “Besides, I need to find someplace furnished—”
“Oh, it is,” Galen said, a tiny frown nestling between her brows, like she was wondering why everybody was making this so complicated. “And it’s just a few blocks away, too.” Then she leaned over and stage-whispered, “And she’s a real pushover. Bet she’d let you have it for next to nothing.”
“Galen! Honestly! Would you mind letting me negotiate my own deals?”
A triumphant smile spread across the redhead’s face. “Be my guest.”
Mala opened her mouth, only to immediately shut it again.
A short person tugged on Eddie’s sleeve. He looked down into Lucas’s blue eyes, fought the urge to straighten the kid’s glasses. “If you come live with us, I’ll let you borrow Mr. Boffin.”
“Lucas, for heaven’s sake—he wouldn’t be living with us! Just…oh, rats.” Mala forked one hand through her hair, which only added to her frazzled look. Then she said to Galen, “Mind if we use your office?” turned on her flat heel at Galen’s “Sure” and stomped to the back.
Chapter 2
Eddie followed, shutting the door behind him. Damn, but it was a small office.
“Open the door,” Mala said.
He did. It didn’t help.
As badly as he’d wanted to see if she was as soft as she’d looked twenty years ago, that was nothing compared with how much he wanted to find out now. And if it’d only been a certain part of his anatomy talking, he probably could’ve ignored it a lot better than he was doing. But there was something else going on here, something he didn’t understand and certainly didn’t like. Something that involved wanting to ease those worry lines in her brow and convince her that not all men were idiots even though Eddie wasn’t all that sure they weren’t.
Especially the ones in this room.
“We don’t have to let her bully us, you know,” she said, startling a grin out of him.
He slipped his hands in his pockets, wondering if it was just his imagination that Mala seemed to be having a real hard time focusing on his face. “No, I suppose we don’t.” And here’s where he could have said, without any trouble at all, “And I could just go find someplace else, so why don’t we just forget about it?” So nobody was more surprised than him to hear come out of his mouth, “But sounds to me like you got an apartment that needs a tenant. And it just so happens I need a place to live. So this could be a mutually advantageous proposition, when you get right down to it.”
Mala looked at him, wide-eyed, while he weighed the danger of getting down to…things and wondered when his mouth and libido had joined forces against his brain. She crossed her arms. “Do you smoke?”
“Not anymore.”
For a second, she almost looked disappointed. Except then she half smiled, just enough for him to see the dimples, and he thought maybe she was about to say something else. Only she didn’t, not right then at least, like her thoughts had tripped her up. He thought again about this business of him unintentionally rattling women the way he did, and it occurred to him that this one didn’t seem to be quite as rattled as most. At least, not in the same way. Even as a teenager, she’d had no compunction about looking him dead in the eye. And even now, while he could plainly see something like fear etched in those faint lines around her mouth, the fear wasn’t about him, he didn’t think, as much as it was about herself.
Although, the way he was thinking at the moment, maybe it should be about him.
And where did he get off guessing what was going on inside other people’s heads? Let alone worrying about it?
Then they both seemed to realize they’d been staring at each other for some time, which apparently provoked Mala into saying, in a rush, “Okay, here’s the deal. It’s a small one-bedroom apartment, separate entrance, on the top floor of my house. There’s a kitchenette and a full bath. Yes, it’s furnished, but we’re not talking the Hilton, here. Despite Galen’s avowals to the contrary, the tenants did leave it in a mess, and I haven’t had a chance to clean it yet, so don’t come crying to me if the toilet doesn’t sparkle. I normally charge four-fifty a month, plus utilities, but since you’ll be moving into it ‘as is,’ I’ll knock off two hundred bucks for the first month. It’s actually a pretty good deal, considering. And it’s close.”
“And you don’t want me there.”
“Smart man.”
“So why’re you giving me a sales pitch?”
“Because I need the money and prospective tenants aren’t exactly lined up around the block.”
Traces of what was left of her perfume wriggled through the cooking smells from the other side of the door. Something pretty, unfussy. Potent. He thought for a moment. Real hard. And not with the part of his anatomy that was.
“In other words, you can’t be picky.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll need a place for my car.”
“There’s a detached garage in the back. You can use it.”
“Well, then, it sounds good to me. As long as—”
“But you have to promise to stay away from the kids.”
Not that he’d planned on adopting the little buzzards, but still. His eyes narrowed. “Since I’m not much of a kid person, that shouldn’t be a problem. But what prompted this…condition?”
She let her breath out in a harsh sigh, then pinned him with her gaze again. “I can tell how much the kids already like you.”
That was not what he’d expected her to say. “I don’t—”
“Galen told me all about your not ever staying in one place very long. This is nothing personal, believe me…” She stopped, studied her hands for a moment. “They’ve been abandoned once already,” she said softly. “And to be perfectly honest…well, Carrie sees Galen with her husband, and my brother with his new wife, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. That they have a complete family and we don’t. Or at least, what she thinks of as ‘complete.’” In the split second between sentences, Eddie saw her eyes darken. “What kind of mother would I be, letting them become attached to somebody who’s only going to be around for a few months? So if you take the apartment, you have to promise me you won’t let them glom on to you.”
He thought that over for a minute then said, God knows why, “That philosophy must make dating kind of hard,” and she mumbled something about it not being a problem, and instead of letting it drop, like a smart man might’ve done, he heard himself say, “You tellin’ me you haven’t even gone out with anybody since your husband left?”
Her chin shot up, right along with her dander. Not to mention the color in her cheeks.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
He let out a sigh. “You’re right, and I apologize. Guess that’s why I’ve never been much good at conversation. Can’t seem to talk to anyone for more’n five minutes without pissin’ ’em off. Which is why I suppose I prefer to keep to myself. Less hurt feelings that way.”
After a moment, she said, “I don’t wound easily, Mr. King. Not anymore, at least. But if you prefer your own company, that’s fine with me. I’m only looking for a tenant, not a buddy.”
“Which I suppose means you’re not gonna answer my question.”
Her eyes narrowed. He chuckled. Why, he didn’t know, but something about this woman brought out the worst in him. Or the best, depending on how you looked at it. “No, I didn’t think so. Okay—you want cash or a money order for the first month’s rent?”
“Maybe…you should have a look at the place first?”
“Fair enough. Give me the address. I’ll be over tonight.”
“151 Mason. Three blocks east, one north. Two story house, white with blue shutters. Can’t miss it—the yard looks like a Little Tykes graveyard. Oh, but I won’t be there until after eight-thirty. The kids have a thing at school.”
“Got it.” He straightened up, started toward the door, then turned back. And this time, he saw a protective set to the lady’s jaw that he doubted had anything to do with her children.
Eddie considered several things he might say, only to decide anything he might come up with would only land him in a heap of trouble.
You wouldn’t think it would take so long to gather up a duffel bag, check out of a motel, then hit the grocery store for a few essentials, but it was nearly nine by the time Eddie got to Mala’s house. Being as her Escort was hogging the driveway, he pulled the Camaro up in front, smirking at the white picket fence bordering the toy-strewn yard. A pair of rangy, almost bare trees fragmented the lukewarm porch light, further littering the snow-dusted lawn with grostesque, undulating shadows. It had cleared up; he got out of the car, hauling in a lungful of sharp, metallic air as he swung open the screaking gate at the foot of the walk.
His boots seemed to make an awful lot of noise as he made his way up to her front door.
Still in the same skirt and sweater she’d been wearing earlier, Mala opened the door before he hit the steps, one finger to her lips. “The kids are asleep,” she whispered when he reached the top. Coffee-scented warmth beckoned from inside. “Come on in while I get the keys to the apartment.”
He wiped his boots on the doormat, then did as she asked, quietly shutting the door behind him. The old-fashioned entryway was dimly lit, but enough for him to take in the wide staircase hugging one photo-lined wall, the faded Oriental rugs scattered crookedly on the scuffed wooden floor. And Mala. Her feet encased in thick, slouchy socks, she stood with one arm hugging her ribs, the other hand fiddling with a small gold loop in her ear. Caution hovered like a mistreated pup in her light eyes, at odds with the directness, the generosity of spirit that he now realized was what had intrigued him so much all those years ago. A tiny, fierce burst of protectiveness exploded in his chest, scaring the very devil out of him.
“Want some coffee?” she asked. “I just made it.”
Eddie caught the automatic “no, thanks” before it hit his mouth. Fact was, a cup of coffee sounded great, and he couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t take her up on her offer. Except one.
“I bet it’s decaf.”
“I bet you’re wrong.”
“Then I guess I don’t mind if I do. Black, please.”
“Gotcha. Be right back.”
She straightened up the crooked rug with the heel of one foot before she went, though.
Other than the muted sound of some TV drama coming from what he assumed was the living room, the house was astonishingly quiet. And on top of the coffee aroma lay a mixture of other scents, of clean laundry and recent baths and woodsmoke. Like what most people meant when they said, “Home.”
He grunted, looked around. He’d been in enough hacked-up houses to guess the layout of this one, although this seemed nicer than most. An office, looked like, in what had been the original front parlor to the right; through the wide doorway off to the left, he caught a glimpse of sand-colored wall-to-wall carpet, beige-and-blue plaid upholstered furniture, a warm-toned spinet piano, a brick fireplace, more pictures, more kid stuff. The kitchen would be out in back, most likely an eat-in, and there were probably some add-ons, too, maybe a couple of extra bedrooms or something.
“Here you go.” Mala came down the hall, handed him a flowery but sturdy mug of coffee, then plucked a heavy sweater off the coatrack and slipped it on, all the while watching him, her expression still guarded. Waiting for a reaction, he realized, even if she didn’t know that’s what she was doing. He took a sip, nodded in approval. Relief flooded her features; a stab of irritation shunted through him, that she should care that much what some stranger thought about her coffee.
“It’s real good,” he said.
“My mother taught me, when I was still little.”
Eddie lifted the mug in salute. “But you made it.”
A smile flashed across her mouth, followed by a low chuckle. “You can really lay it on thick, can’t you?”
He angled his head at her. “I’m no better at flattering than I am at conversation, Mala. The coffee’s good. So just deal with it.”
She blushed, nodded, then slid her feet into a pair of wooden clogs by the door. “The entrance is in the back,” she said, yanking open the front door. When he glanced at the stairs right there in the hallway, she simply said, “Blocked off,” and left it at that.
And here Mala had thought she was immune to things like slow, sexy smiles and the pungent, spicy scent of fresh-out-of-the-cold males.
Not to mention the sight of soft, worn jeans molding to hard, lean thighs.
Ai-yi-yi.
The thin crust of snow crunched underfoot as she led Eddie wordlessly around to the side, then up the wooden stairs leading to the apartment.
The key stuck.
“It does that when it’s humid,” she said under her breath, wondering, just as the damn lock finally gave way and the door wratched open, why every other sentence out of her mouth these days seemed to be an apology. She flicked on the living room’s overhead light, stepping well out of the range of Eddie’s pheromones as he followed her inside. She cringed at the faint tang of old pizza and stale beer still hovering in the air, even though she’d cleaned up the worst of the mess more than a week ago.