Читать книгу: «The Bachelor Next Door»

One

“Mommy’s trapped in the bathroom and I’ve got to get to school.”

Rafe Santini ran a hand over his bleary eyes, willing the tiny apparition standing in his doorway to disappear. A quick glance at his battered watch confirmed that it was 7:00 a.m. He scratched the stubble on his chin and stretched his arms above his head before looking down again.

The boy was still there. Rafe knew nothing about children and liked it that way. This child had invaded his private retreat, and though Rafe knew he should regret the intrusion, part of him was intrigued by the situation.

“Come on, mister. Will you help me?” The boy’s eyes were teary, and Rafe feared the child would start crying.

Rafe leaned against the front door frame and sighed. Ah, hell, he couldn’t leave the child in the lurch. “Okay, okay. Give me a minute.”

Rafe slid his feet into the buffalo sandals he’d left on the porch for late-night walks with his dog. He scratched his bare chest, debating whether he had time to grab a shirt before leaving, then decided the kid looked too desperate for even a minute’s delay. The boy lived directly across the street from Rafe. He’d seen the kid on the front porch studying, when he went for his daily jog.

The yard was neat and tidy, no toys, bikes or plastic pools littered the grounds. In fact, there was no evidence that a kid lived there, much less a young boy.

A battered Volvo wagon stood in the driveway. The boy grabbed Rafe’s hand, hurrying him along. The door opened smoothly and a fresh floral scent beckoned him closer.

The house was laid out similarly to his, except all of the remodeling had been completed. The hardwood floor shone brightly under handwoven rugs. The banister on the stairs had been cleaned until the details of the intricate carvings were clearly visible. His banister was still covered with years of dirt and grime, but he hoped it would be in the same condition as this one when he removed the layers of filth.

“Andy! Where are you?” called a worried voice from upstairs. “You better get back up here pronto.”

Pronto? Who used that word anymore? Rafe smiled at the frazzled sound of the woman’s voice. It reminded him of his mother’s when he’d been into mischief. The grin on the boy’s face mirrored Rafe’s own.

“Andy.” Anger was clear in the voice now. Amusement slid from the boy’s face like a rain cloud covering the sun.

“We’d better hurry.” The kid scrambled up the stairs, Rafe followed. They stopped outside the hall in front of the bathroom door.

“Don’t worry, Mommy. I brought help.”

“Who? The only person you’re allowed to speak to is on vacation.”

“It’s okay. I got the man from across the street. The one you said had nice buns.”

“Andy,” the voice protested, taking on a squeaky quality.

Rafe ignored that comment, figuring he’d better help the lady out of the bathroom before she exploded out of there in a killer rage. He grinned, thinking there were worse ways to be woken up. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad day.

Rafe returned his attention to the door. The problem appeared to be a small, plastic army’s front row of soldiers wedged under it. “Reenacting a battle?”

A row of perfect white teeth were revealed when the boy smiled. “Yeah, Gettysberg. We’re studying the Civil War in school.”

“Andy the word is yes, not yeah. Please save the war stories for another time.” Again the voice from behind the door. “The problem isn’t on the battlefield, the lock is stuck.”

“Sorry, Mommy.”

“That’s okay, Andy. I think a bobby pin ought to work.”

“I’m fresh out of bobby pins,” Rafe said.

She’d calmed down now, and her voice had lost the frazzled, worried quality. The woman’s voice was straight out of his dreams. Distant dreams that he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in years. A sweet voice that reminded him of church on Sunday mornings and lazy days spent in bed. Images of home and family danced through his mind before he firmly shut them out.

“But I’ll improvise. Do you have a screwdriver?” he asked.

“Downstairs in the kitchen. What are you planning to do?”

The worried edge had returned to her voice, and he also detected a hint of resentment. Rafe wondered how long she’d been trapped in the bathroom. She was probably apprehensive about having a stranger in her house and the boy being alone with him. But he wasn’t a rapist or ax murderer and he was trying to rescue her. She’d just have to take what she got from him.

“Go get it for me, Andy.” The boy moved quickly to do Rafe’s bidding.

He bent to examine the doorknob and the lock. Rafe had always had a knack for fixing things and had spent his adult life working in construction. The old-fashioned handle would make taking it apart easier than a newer model would have been. But he wasn’t as sure of the inner workings.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you still out there?” Her voice was prim and proper now, almost cold with formality. Where had the soft, sweet tone disappeared to?

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled out the words in a way he’d been told was annoying. Two could play at this game. In fact, he wagered he would win the manners match.

“What are you planning to do?” she asked, sounding slightly less uptight.

“I’m going to remove the doorknob. If that doesn’t work I’ll have to take the door off its hinges.” He wondered what she looked like.

“I’d rather you didn’t remove the door.”

That cold tone was beginning to grate on his already strained nerves. “Hell, I’d rather not remove the door, either. But unless you want to spend the day in there, I might have to.”

“I’ll thank you not to curse. Andy’s at an age where he’s easily influenced.”

He grunted instead of replying, not knowing what type of response that comment warranted. All he wanted to do now was get her out of the bathroom and leave. He grinned. She probably felt anxious about his knowing her opinion of his buns. “Sit tight, lady.”

Remarkably, she was silent for a few minutes. He could hear her pacing in the small bathroom. Once she saw him face-to-face she would put more distance between them than the ocean between continents. He wasn’t the type of man women wanted their young sons around. Which was okay by him. He didn’t particularly want to be around kids, anyway.

“Who are you?” she asked. Her voice calmer now, almost resigned.

“Don’t you know?”

Silence stretched. “We’ve never met.”

“Rafe Santini. I’m your new neighbor across the street.” He pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and scratched at the empty keyhole. He wanted a clear view of the inner locking mechanism. “How long have you been locked in?”

“About an hour. I was taking a bath. I like to soak for a while.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Mr. Santini, um...I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

“Here you go,” Andy said, returning with the screwdriver.

Rafe removed the doorknob. It should have taken only five minutes, but Andy wanted to know everything that was happening and asked questions incessantly.

Rafe remembered doing the same thing to his father as a child. Those memories gave him the patience to answer all of the boy’s questions. Andy was smart and never asked the same thing twice, which amazed Rafe.

Once the knob was removed, it was easy to open the door. Rafe had expected the woman to be matronly, round and soft like his mom had been. The woman had a son and a formal tone of voice that reminded him of his spinster aunt Florence. But instead, Andy’s mother was—ah, hell, his mind fought against the word attractive. Dammit, she was sexy.

Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head. Tendrils curled around her heart-shaped face, the sable locks contrasting with the light, creamy color of her skin. Her eyes were a gingery color that made him think of fall leaves, Thanksgiving and home. The thin, pink silk robe she wore did little to disguise her feminine curves. She was one hell of a temptation, and he cursed himself for noticing.

She stepped on one of Andy’s frontline soldiers and hopped on one foot before losing her balance. Rafe snapped out of his trance and caught her in his arms.

She was a light, tempting bundle, and for a moment he forgot everything else—the child, the anger, her ridiculous opinion of his buns. Everything but the fact that she was a woman. And it had been too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. A woman who had more than a fleeting thought drifting through her head. A woman who smelled sweet, not like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. A woman who was trying her damnedest to get out of his arms.

“Please, put me down.” The formal tone again.

“Sure.”

He set her on her feet well away from the Rebel Army, and she gathered her dignity around her like a heavy winter cloak. Ridiculous, considering that she wore nothing but a thin piece of silk, which was clinging to her body like a second skin.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to Rafe. “I’m Cassandra Gambrel. You’ve met Andy.”

Her voice sounded soft and sweet again, which surprised him. He’d expected her to stick with the formal tone. The hand she held out was fine boned, making him feel large and masculine. The nails were painted in a delicate shell pink color that perfectly matched the natural color of her lips. He was in big trouble.

“Rafe Santini,” he said, finishing the introductions she’d begun.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, clutching the lapels of her robe together.

This woman’s skin was the creamiest he’d ever seen. Would it taste as good? He wanted to put his mouth to the pulse beating strongly in her neck and taste it. “I’ll put the knob back for you.”

“The lock sticks,” Cassandra said. “Usually if I wait long enough it loosens.”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, needing the distraction.

“You should get dressed, Mommy.”

Cassandra nodded, then walked down the hall, stopping at the end. “Don’t get in the way, Andy.”

“Aw, Mom.”

Rafe chuckled to himself, remembering how it had been to be growing up and fighting against the ties to your parents.

Andy nodded sagely. “I’m the man of the house now, but Mommy doesn’t let me do that much stuff.”

“Moms are like that.”

Andy sighed, sounding years older than he was. “Yeah, they are.”

Rafe’s attention drifted from the open door and Andy to the woman walking down the hall. Her stride was soft and smooth and her hips swayed temptingly...ah, hell.

Once in her own bedroom, Cass dressed hurriedly, throwing on the first thing she encountered. She rushed through her routine in front of the mirror, not wanting to slow down for fear she’d start thinking about him.

Rafe Santini’s backside was a sight to behold, but he was even more heart stopping from the front. His eyes were a brilliant gray that made her think of glaciers—but with fire burning inside them. His hair was thick, curly, and her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it. His bare chest caused her blood to beat ninety to nothing. She swiftly braided her hair and stuffed her feet into a pair of scuffed Top-Siders.

The one you said had nice buns. The words echoed in her mind like an executioner’s voice asking for last requests. She wanted to die of embarrassment, but that was the least of her problems.

She didn’t like the way Andy had been staring up at Mr. Santini. Like he was some sort of hero, or worse yet, a candidate for a father. Andy had a way of sizing up men that made them scurry to leave, or look at her in a different light. And if Mr. Santini thought of her as a woman, she had a sinking feeling that the prospects for her survival wouldn’t be good.

Since her husband’s death two years ago, Andy had been looking for a replacement daddy. It was nothing overt, but more the quiet contemplation of each and every single man they met. She knew Andy well enough to know that he would probe into Mr. Santini’s background while they worked. Andy would dig into the man’s past with all the enthusiasm of a paleontologist about to uncover a rare dinosaur bone.

Cass hated that she had to apologize to Rafe Santini but knew she owed it to him. She’d been rude. He’d sounded annoyed when she’d questioned him, but she was used to being in charge, used to being the one responsible for solving all of their family problems. It was weird being rescued by a man.

She planned on ignoring the comment Andy had repeated, and if the man had any couth he’d do the same. Besides, what man wanted to talk about his backside?

She stepped into the hall and watched, amazed to see Mr. Santini’s patience with her son. It was obvious to her that he’d had no contact with children on a daily basis. His language was deplorable, as if he didn’t realize that young ears waited to test and try every new word they heard. Yet, he made the effort to be friendly with her son, and some of her discomfort melted away.

Andy’s curiosity was insatiable. He drove his grandmother nearly insane with his questions. Sometimes he even managed to get on her nerves with his demands to know how everything worked. But this stranger, this man, was dealing patiently with Andy. Cass felt a softening near her heart.

She cleared her throat, and they both turned to look at her. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Mr. Santini?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Cassandra hated to be called ma’am but figured she should hold her tongue after her earlier ungracious behavior. “Andy, go get ready for school.”

“But, Mommy—”

“Now, please.”

She watched her child walk toward his bedroom looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Then she turned to Santini. “Are you done here?”

“Just about. You need to get a new knob. I removed the lock, though, so you won’t get trapped in there again.”

His silver-gray eyes seemed brilliant in the dim light of the hallway. She’d never stood this close to a man as virile as Rafe Santini. His muscles were well defined, but not overdeveloped. She was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she’d exercised. He made her feel shabby and out of shape.

“I’m ready for that coffee now.”

“Sure, follow me.”

His footsteps sounded heavy on the stairs as he followed her down and into her kitchen. She’d used a sunflower border to brighten the room and had purchased all of her accessories with the same motif in mind. She thought her kitchen was sunny and welcoming, but seeing Rafe there made her question that thought. He looked out of place and uncomfortable.

Instead of sitting at the café-style table in the corner, he leaned one hip against the kitchen counter. He was dressed in faded jeans that clung to his muscled legs like a glove, accentuating their length and leanness. His bare chest was even more tempting than those gorgeous buns of his. She imagined Rafe as a big cat lying in wait for prey, and tried to convince herself she bore no resemblance to a mouse.

Lust at first sight, her mind said. God, the man was gorgeous. It wasn’t fair that he should look like an ad for decadence and hard living after talking to her son with kindness and consideration.

Rafe made her nervous. It had been too many years since a man had lounged in her kitchen, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. She wondered if he’d comment on the lightness of the brew the way Carl always had.

“Thanks for coming to the rescue,” she said, needing to fill the silence. Small talk wasn’t her forte, but she knew she needed to say something.

“No problem.”

But there was a problem. She’d been rude to him and she didn’t know how to bring it up without admitting that she’d known what she was doing at the time. “Mr. Santini...”

“Yeah?”

He stretched out the word like a piece of chewing gum. She hated to hear anyone using slang, but resisted the urge to correct him. “I want to apologize for my rude behavior when you were helping me out of the bathroom.”

He stared at her until Cass was sure her hair must be standing on end or she had something on her face. She rubbed her nose before reaching into the stainless steel refrigerator to get the milk.

“I’m not used to a strange man being in my house.”

“Then you shouldn’t have sent your child out to find someone.”

Cass stiffened. “I didn’t send him to find someone. In fact I forbade him to leave, but Andy has a thing—” She broke off. Why would he care that Andy loved school and learning? Andy would go to any lengths to get to there.

“Well he didn’t stay home. He came to my house. How the hell do you know I’m not an ax murderer, rapist or child molester?”

Cass sputtered, trying to figure out a way of defending what she knew was an indefensible position. Andy had gone before she could stop him. The boy was getting a bit impulsive, but that didn’t excuse her for letting him go.

“You’re right. I don’t know anything about you, except—”

“Except that I have nice buns.”

Oh, Lord, why had she ever mentioned that to her sister? Usually Andy was involved with playing and didn’t pay the least attention to her. But on that day, he’d obviously listened. She sought to change the conversation. “And a dog.”

“Tundra?”

“We’ve seen you outside with her. Andy loves animals.”

The coffeemaker spurted and spluttered, filling the silent kitchen with noise. Cass nervously glanced around the room, looking everywhere but at her rescuer.

“Mommy, I’m ready to go.”

Andy stepped into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a G.L Joe T-shirt. His new tennis shoes were spotless, but the laces were loosely tied.

“Come over here.” She knelt next to him to fasten his shoes, grateful for the distraction. It reassured her that she and Andy had to leave soon, that she wouldn’t have to stay and make small talk with Mr. Santini.

“There you go,” she said, rising to her feet. “Grab your lunch bag, honey.”

She poured coffee into two large foam cups, handing one to Mr. Santini and keeping the other for herself.

“Milk or sugar?” she asked.

He declined both. Andy grabbed a handful of oatmeal raisin cookies, offering a few to Mr. Santini, who took them.

“We’re going to be late,” Cass said, “Andy, did you close the upstairs windows?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll run—”

“I’ll close the house up for you. Go on, get this little guy to school.”

Cass hesitated for a moment, then remembered that Mr. Santini owned a reputable construction and land development company. As president of the home owners’ association, she’d approved his application for purchase. She knew more about Santini than she should. He was a respected member of the business community and a supporter of the Police Athletic League. There was really nothing in her house that he couldn’t afford to buy for himself.

“Thanks,” she said, herding Andy out the door. “That’s two I owe you.”

“Bye, Mr. Santini,” Andy said, waving.

Cass backed the Volvo out of the drive, wondering how she was going to deal with her new neighbor and the debt that now stood between them. All the way to school Andy talked about Rafe Santini, and that worried her more than she wanted to admit.

She dropped Andy off in front of the school just as the bell rang. She watched him run toward his classroom on legs that were no longer chubby. Andy was beginning to lose that little boy look and becoming more like a young man. He was only seven years old, but looked a lot like his father, small and lean. Andy had come home from school with a black eye two weeks ago. Since then, he’d followed her dictate on “no fighting” but had ended up feeling insecure. Cass wasn’t sure what to do with her son now.

She wished he would stay her baby forever but knew that wouldn’t happen. Andy was getting too hard to handle, she thought with a sigh. She’d always believed that a child’s upbringing would influence his actions, but Andy had a willful streak a mile wide. She hated to admit it, but she needed help with him.

Now she had a macho man with a swagger a mile wide living across the street. She thought about her new neighbor and how Andy had taken an instant liking to the man. Trouble was brewing.

She could cope now, but in a few years, if she didn’t assert herself, Andy would be racing all over the place and getting into real trouble. Mr. Santini was no help at all. Running around in those skimpy jogging shorts of his every morning. He looked like every young boy’s image of what a man should be. An athlete and a macho warrior rolled into one. It was enough to give a grown woman a heart attack.

Rafe drove a classic Jaguar sports car and probably dated women with big boobs and bleached blond hair. He was definitely not her type, and definitely not a good influence for a young boy.

But his earlier concern came back to her. He’d lit into her about letting Andy out of the house without supervision. She wondered if there was more to him than that badboy facade indicated. Did Rafe Santini care?

She pulled into her driveway and let the car idle for a minute before shutting it off. She hesitated to get out, reluctant to face her neighbor again. But at the same time, an edgy sort of nervousness made her limbs tingle and her pulse race.

She went into the house and filled her portable carafe with coffee before going across the street. Rafe sat on his front porch, his Siberian husky sprawled at his feet. Both were completely relaxed. Rafe’s eyes were closed, and Cass stood there, staring at him.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “He’s asleep.”

One gray eye blinked open and glanced up at her. Cass cleared her throat and lifted her carafe. She leaned against the porch railing next to his lounge chair. “Want a refill?”

“Now that’s right neighborly of you,” he responded lazily, picking up his empty cup from the porch.

Silence settled around them, and Cass stifled the urge to run back to her own safe home. Her experience with men was limited to her late husband, Carl. She’d never had a chance to experiment with boys, having married right out of high school.

“Mr. Santini—”

“Rafe.”

She nodded, but didn’t use his name. “I have an offer for you.”

He grinned. “Does it involve my buns?”

Cass blushed. She felt the heat of it radiating from her face. She was going to have to have a talk with Andy when he came home.

“No. It involves something else.”

He raised one eyebrow at her, studying her with the intensity of a carpenter about to cut into mahogany.

“Well?”

“I wanted to um...” This was harder than she thought it would be. “I wanted to thank you for helping me out this morning and see if there was something I could do to repay you.”

“Well, now that you mention it there is one thing I’d like.”

His eyes narrowed and his gaze swept slowly down her body, sending signals to parts that had lain dormant for a long time. She fidgeted and stepped away from the railing and away from Mr. Santini.

“What do you want?”

“You,” he said.