Walk the Line (Man of the Month 12)

"No worries," he said with a small chuckle. "Truly. That kid has a talent for making messes. And I assure you I'm prepared for massive crankiness tomorrow."

He saw her horrified look and wished he'd stayed silent. He didn't like seeing Elena Anderson upset. And every time he'd seen her that way, he'd had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss the worry right off her face.

And that definitely wasn't the direction his mind needed to be going. Not with her. Not with his boss and friend's daughter. And definitely not with his babysitter.

No matter how tempted he might be.

"Seriously," he said to reassure her, "it's no big deal. Kids stay up late. They sneak out of bed. It happens. And I really appreciate you helping me out like this. I know childcare wasn't what you had in mind when you started graduate school."

"Well, in case you forgot, you're paying me."

He laughed. "Good point. Even so. There are times when there's not enough pay in the world." He glanced around the kitchen. "I'm thinking today is one of those days."

"It's definitely up there," she admitted. "But really, I'm happy to help. She's a great kid, and the job works with my schedule. You know how grad school is."

"I don't actually. Cop. Security specialist. Now bar owner and partner to your father," he added, because he really needed to say that out loud. A reminder to them both. Because even though he'd been telling himself for months that it was his imagination, he knew damn well that Elena was attracted to him, too.

He kept trying to push it from his mind, but the truth was that lightning had positively crackled between them the first time they'd met. And more than once he'd caught her looking at him, the desire so palpable that he'd had to turn away and imagine cold showers and other non-sensual things.

He was a wreck, and it was no good telling himself that because it had been so long since he'd had a woman in his bed, he was starved for any woman.

She flashed a sweet, almost shy smile, and his stomach flip-flopped.

No. This was all about Elena. Only Elena.

"This is nice," she said. "Chatting, I mean. Usually I'm either comatose when you get back or else I rush out the door so I can get home and crash."

"Well, I can't let you risk ruining the cupcakes."

"That's something else I'm sorry for. I should have called to clear it with you. So I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. I just..."

"Yes?"

How could he say that the room seemed too small, but he knew damn well that it wasn't because of

the heat from the oven?

"Nothing," he said instead. "Forgot what I was going to say."

She cocked her head, a question in her eyes, and for a second he thought she might be about to call him out on his lie. He almost hoped she would.

Bing!

"Done," she said, her voice a little too bright, as if that would combat the tension in the room.

She bent to take them out, and Brent forced himself not to study the perfect curve of her ass in her Lucky jeans.

Lucky. Wasn't that ironic?

She put the cupcake pans on trivets, then took off the oven mitts. "Well. There. I guess I should get going."

"Don't they need to cool?"

She nodded. "I figure you've done this before, right? Faith can frost them in the morning. I didn't make fresh, but I saw you have a couple of cans of frosting in the pantry."

"It's one of the major food groups," he said.