As Stella walked away, she heard Roz's questioning "Mr. Hunky?" And the dual peals of female laughter.
Chapter Fourteen
Guilt tugged at Stella as she buzzed home to clean up before her date with Logan. No, not date, she corrected as she jumped into the shower. It wasn't a date unless there were plans. This was a drop-by.
So now they'd had an outing, a date, and a drop-by. It was the strangest relationship she'd ever had.
But whatever she called it, she felt guilty. She wasn't the one giving her kids their evening meal and listening to their day's adventures while they ate.
It wasn't that she had to be with them every free moment, she thought as she jumped back out of the shower again. That sort of thing wasn't good for them - or for her. It wasn't as if they'd starve if she wasn't the one to put food in front of them.
But still, it seemed awfully selfish of her to give them over to someone else's care just so she could be with a man.
Be intimate with a man, if things went as she expected.
Sorry, kids, Mom can't have dinner with you tonight. She's going to go have some hot, sweaty sex.
God.
She slathered on cream as she struggled between anticipation and guilt.
Maybe she should put it off. Unquestionably she was rushing this step, and that wasn't like her. When she did things that weren't like her, it was usually a mistake.
She was thirty-three years old, and entitled to a physical relationship with a man she liked, a man who stirred her up, a man, who it turned out, she had considerable in common with.
Thirty-three. Thirty-four in August, she reminded herself and winced. Thirty-four wasn't early thirties anymore. It was mid-thirties. Shit.
Okay, she wasn't going to think about that. Forget the numbers. She'd just say she was a grown woman. That was better.
Grown woman, she thought, and tugged on her robe so she could work on her face. Grown, single woman. Grown, single man. Mutual interests between them, reasonable sense of companionship. Intense sexual tension.
How could a woman think straight when she kept imagining what it would be like to have a man's hands -
"Mom!"
She stared at her partially made-up face in the mirror. "Yes?"
The knocking was like machine-gun fire on the bathroom door.
"Mom! Can I come in? Can I? Mom!"
She pulled open the door herself to see Luke, rosy with rage, his fists bunched at his side. "What's the matter?"
"He's looking at me. "
"Oh, Luke. "
"With the face, Mom. With . . . the . . . face. "
She knew the face well. It was the squinty-eyed, smirky sneer that Gavin had designed to torment his brother. She knew damn well he practiced it in,the mirror.
"Just don't look back at him. "
"Then he makes the noise. "
The noise was a hissing puff, which Gavin could keep up for hours if called for. Stella was certain that even the most hardened CIA agent would crack under its brutal power.
"All right. " How the hell was she supposed to gear herself up for sex when she had to referee? She swung out of the bath, through the boys' room and into the sitting room across the hall, where she'd hoped her sons could spend the twenty minutes it took her to get dressed companion-ably watching cartoons.