"No, you go ahead."
"Really, I'd rather hear what you have to say."
She deserved his honesty. Bo flattened a hand to the roughened bark. "I was going to say that we shouldn't spend time alone together, well, other than in the plane, of course."
"So the haystack offer has been rescinded?"
She had to be kidding. Please, sweet Lord, let her be joking. "Were you seriously thinking about it?"
Paige scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe through the mud. "Tough to think about anything else with you around."
"You were actually considering an affair with me while I'm here? Under this roof? With your brother lurking behind every corner? Forget the whole damn danger factor of him taking a shotgun to me, I owe him the common courtesy of not—" He thumped himself on the forehead. A guy wanted to do the right thing and then the fates had to twist it all around to bite him on the butt. "Are you trying to make me crazy?"
"Sheesh, this isn't going the way I planned." Releasing the droopy branch with a snap that rained leaves on her head, she perched a hand on her cute round jeans-clad hip—heaven help him. "No, Bo. I'm not offering a thing other than more of your theoretical discussion to clear the air. I figured if we talked about this attraction analytically, it would be easier to laugh and move on."
"Then you really are nuts." Cold-shower alert.
Without thinking, no surprise around Paige, he swiped a leaf sticking in her hair. She instinctively backed away, caught herself and stopped. Still the telling flinch shouted a reminder.
Yeah, she wanted him, but it scared the hell out of her. He was starting to understand the feeling. All the more reason to keep his pants zipped around her. If only he could seal off temptation as securely.
A week later Paige secured the blanket under her daughter's chin, strains of guitar music drifting up through the bedroom window from the front porch. Only seven days since Bo moved in and already his presence filled her life as surely as his music filled the air—
country tunes tonight, soft and low enough to soothe a child to sleep.
Or romance a woman.
Her legs folding under her, she sat on the edge of Kirstie's bed, resting back against the antique white iron headboard. Paige nudged tiny glasses to the center of the end table, right beneath the Strawberry Shortcake nightlight, and swung her feet up onto the giving comforter. She patted her daughter's back and allowed herself to listen anonymously.
Kirstie snuffled under the red-and-pink sheets with a shuddering breath that testified to another uneasy journey into sleep. Night terrors had revived over the past week, not that the child seemed to remember anything when she woke. But the mumbled word Daddy relayed plenty.
At least it seemed Kurt couldn't be even indirectly blamed for the break-in. An inventory showed missing bottles of Ketamine, indicating a drug-related vandalism. Lightning rarely struck twice. Right? And on the off chance it did, they'd installed a better security system and sturdier locks.
Brushing her fingers over whispery blond curls, Paige studied long lashes resting on a cherub cheek. She could stare at her child for hours like this, amazed at the miracle, awed and humbled by the responsibility of caring for this little life. How could Kurt have taken so lightly what he owed his daughter? Would Kirstie fear trusting men because of how very far her hero father had fallen?
Heaven knew, her own trust had been shaken, enough so she was scared to jump on a sure thing. Sheesh, she had a hot guy under her roof, a guy who actually didn't seem to go for the anorexic, Hollywood type. And anytime he so much as passed the butter—or reached to touch her hair—she scampered back like a scared rabbit.
A scared and very sexually frustrated rabbit.
She'd forgotten there were things far more intimate than a kiss when it came to living in the same house with a non-relative male. Although Bo slept in a guest room next to her in the rambling old farmhouse, there was something about the way his undeniably masculine footsteps vibrated through the hardwood floors and up through the soles of her bare feet in the morning. Even her delft-blue bedroom reminded her of his eyes, her space no longer a sanctuary.
And the way he pulled a chair out for her at the dinner table stroked at her femininity left pretty much untended these days. The way he also pulled out the chair for Kirstie touched Paige's heart, also left untended of late.
Her daughter had settled into wary acceptance of Bo's presence over the past week. A flight, followed by sing-a-longs with his guitar went far in softening up her stubborn daughter until dire predictions of measles, meningitis and ring worm—yuck—slowed.
Life was settling into a near-normal routine. She even found herself looking forward to this time of day when Bo went outside and played the guitar for himself. At first she'd thought he did it to loosen up his hands, then she'd once spied his eyes slide closed as the music took hold of him. Were his eyes closed like that when he kissed her?
A chilly breeze ruffled the curtains and raised goose bumps on her arms. Country ballads gave way to something faster she didn't recognize but found to be no less appealing. Yes, they were settling into a routine with plenty of intimacy—but absolutely no kissing.
Wise. Safe. She was fine, damn it. She wasn't yearning for unwise and dangerous.
Was she?
Staying upstairs when she desperately wanted to walk down only proved he still had an effect on her. If anyone else played, she would join him on the porch and ask to listen. No more hiding. She wouldn't cower under her quilt like a kid. She would go outside like a grown-up, even risk a little chitchat.
But it would be a cold day in hell before she mentioned kissing again, much less ideas of where those kisses could lead.
Damn, but he was freezing his ass off out here on Paige's wooden porch swing, avoiding the torture of trying to sleep while she snoozed one wall away.