Light Her Fire (Private Pleasures 2)

The biggest one—and big was a relative term because she didn’t clear his belt buckle—flipped the end of her pink feather boa around her shoulder, tipped her head to the side, and gave him a look that reminded him so much of Melody, he wondered if he’d stepped into a time machine when he’d climbed her front steps. “Are you Aunt Melody’s boyfriend?”

Aunt Melody. Stupid as it was, a quick current of relief flowed through him. “I’m her…” His brain fumbled for an appropriate term. “I’m a friend.”

Just then Melody swept into the hallway, wearing a robe and an apologetic smile, and swung the littlest girl up into her arms. “Girls, this is Josh. Move out of the way so he can come in.”

As soon as he stepped inside, the big one and the medium one flanked him, storm trooper style. “Come this way,” Melody said, and led him and his escorts into a living room where some kind of Barbie convention had exploded. She placed her chubby armful down on a rug strewn with doll-sized pink gowns. “This is Gracie. Say hello, Gracie.”

The human dumpling promptly fell onto her well-padded backside and gurgled something that sounded like, “Ro.”

“She’s a baby,” the big one offered, somewhat dismissively. “She still wears diapers.”

Melody aimed a stern look at her. “She’s one, Hope Stevens. When you were her age, you wore diapers, too. Since you’re such a big girl now, introduce yourself to Josh.”

The mini-Melody turned to him. “I’m Hope. I’m five and I don’t wear diapers. I go to school. My teacher is Mrs. Murphy, and I know my alphabet and I can count to one hundred, and—”

“And this”—Melody touched the remaining blond head—“is Faith. She’s three, and since it’s apparently a point of pride, she doesn’t wear diapers, either. Say hello, Fay-fay.”

The little girl hid her face in Melody’s robe. Melody smiled at him and mouthed, “She’s shy.” In a normal voice, she added, “These are my sister Belinda’s girls. She had to run an errand this afternoon so I’m watching them until their daddy comes to pick them up. He should be here any minute. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink, or—?”

“I’m good.” Since she was clearly in the process of dressing, he waved her off. “Go ahead and finish getting ready. We’ll…uh”—he stared at three sets of curious blue eyes—“entertain ourselves.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve given a lot of school fire safety presentations. I’m good with kids.” Not usually this young, but how different could they be?

“Okay.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll be back in a flash. Holler if you need me.”

“Will do,” he said to her retreating back, and then eyed the girls. The big one plopped down on the sofa, bouncing a few times as she settled in. The quiet one stayed where she was, eyeing him speculatively and absently winding her white feather boa around her arm. The littlest one toddled over on chunky legs and raised her arms. “Uppies!”

He glanced at the big one.

“She wants you to pick her up.”

“Oh. Okay.” He leaned down, hooked his hands under her armpits, and lifted her. She laughed and bicycled those dimpled legs, so he pulled her in until he had a handful of diaper and held her against his side. She squealed with happiness, and then, in a completely unexpected and suicidal move, bowed her back and used her arms to push away so fast he nearly lost his grip.

“Holy shit! I mean…shoot.” He tightened his grip and pulled her upright. She smiled with glee and promptly attempted another back dive.

“You said a baaaad word,” Hope shouted, and popped up from the couch. “I’m telling.”

“Hold on, there, turbo-tattle. Can’t you pretend you didn’t hear that?”

“What do I get?”

Behind those narrowed blue eyes beat the heart of a mercenary. “What do you want?”

“Fifty spins.”

He had no clear idea what a spin was, but fifty sounded like a lot. “Ten,” he countered, and bobbled the baby upright again. “Stop doing that. Why does she keep doing that?”

“She likes to go upside down. Mommy telled me it’s a phase. Twenty spins, or I tell Aunt Melody you said the s-word.”

“Fine. Sold. What the fuuh…what’s a spin?” The sound of a hair dryer came from upstairs.

“It’s easy. You hold my hands and spin me around in a circle, and I fly.”

“Sounds like a broken arm waiting to happen,” he muttered, though he kind of recalled his dad doing something similar with him and his sis

ters.