Evander parked the truck in his mother’s driveway and turned to look at Daphne and Tigger. How was this all going to work out? In the police station it had seemed like the no-brainer answer to a multitiered equation. But now he looked at the quiet old house and thought of all the complications that could arise. Daphne still had a job to go to, his mom still had radiation treatments, his brother was visiting and Tigger was one big ball of energy. There were going to be times where he’d be needed in more than one place. Never mind that sometimes he liked a little space and solitude to think. It was going to be similar to living in a submarine, but he’d been there, done that. He could do this.
“Right.” He opened his truck door, watching them exit the other side, thinking his mother would have his head for not going around and opening the door for them if she happened to peek out the window. He pulled the bags they’d packed back at their house out of the truck’s box and herded the Summers into the house.
He paused in the doorway, watching them take off their shoes.
He’d never had to protect a woman before, let alone a single mother, and his instincts to destroy anything in her way that could cause anything from a frown to an outright cry was alarmingly strong.
Still holding their bags, he wondered if he should teach them how to disarm the security system. Maybe show them where he kept his weapons. How many ground rules should he set? Should he tell them to stay out of his mom’s sitting room, so she’d have more space and quiet in the house? When he’d called Florence, she’d been elated at the prospect of them coming to stay, even teasing him about bringing home strays, something he used to do frequently as a kid.
“Evander?” Daphne lightly touched his arm, giving him a shock. “Are you sure it’s okay we stay here?”
“Of course. Plenty of room. Doors and windows are alarmed at all times. Kitchen is at the back. Your rooms are upstairs.” He glanced at Tigger, then crouched beside her. “Are you okay staying here and helping my mom? She isn’t feeling well and could really use your company.”
“I’m a good helper.”
Daphne stroked the child’s curls and nodded. “Very good helper.”
What on earth were they going to do, cooped up together for days on end? The kid was going to go bonkers from boredom and his mother was going to be worn-out in about five seconds flat.
“She’s sick, though, so she might need quiet times.”
“Okay,” Tigger whispered.
“I told your boss you were staying home for a few days,” he said to Daphne, leading them up the staircase while carrying their bags.
“Okay.”
He turned, having expected a fight.
“What?” she asked.
He said nothing, but pointed to the end bedrooms at the top of the stairs. “These are your rooms. I’m in this one.” He pointed to the room next to Daphne’s. “That one on the other end is my mother’s.”
His brother was going to have to stay on the basement pull-out bed. Was he even here yet? The house felt awfully quiet.
“Is your mom here, Evander?” Tigger asked, rolling up onto the balls of her feet.
“She should be downstairs.” He leaned over the small railing and hollered, “Mom? Are you home?”
“That’s not quiet time!” Tigger exclaimed.
“Down here,” Florence called. “Brick phoned. He’ll be here shortly.”
“Who’s Brick?” Daphne and Tigger asked at the same time.
“My brother, Kyle.”
“Is he like you?” Tigger asked.
“Not in the least.”
“Well, I should like him tremendously then,” said Daphne.
He glanced at her in surprise and she rewarded him with a mischievous grin.
“I want to see Granny Flo’s fairy yarn!” Tigger said, disappearing down the staircase in a flash, her bare feet slapping the wooden stairs.
“Is that okay?” Daphne asked. “Does your mother need quiet?”
“She’ll tell us if she does.” Probably. But he was going to have to come up with diversions so the girl didn’t overwhelm his mom. He paused, unsure whether he should take Daphne’s bags all the way into her room. A good host would, but in his mind the bedroom was already her space.
He entered the room, placing the bags on the floor by the far wall where they would be accessible, but out of the way. “Do you need anything else?” he asked, feeling awkward as he waited by the bed, unable to leave without pushing past her in the small room.
She was chewing on her bottom lip.
“Do you still have alarms on my house?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She nodded, thinking.
“A tracker on my van?”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer. “So then? What took you so long to get to me today?”
“My GPS doesn’t show all the roads. I had to take what turned out to be the long route.”
“Oh.”
She was so close her soft skin was brushing his, and he took her chin between his thumb and index finger, tipping it up so he could see her face. “Are you okay?”
She let out a shattered sigh and a tear broke free.
He pulled her to him and she collapsed against his chest, sucking in strength from him.
This? It felt real. The most real thing since before his army days. Even his mother’s cancer didn’t feel like this. Scary, but not truly real. Holding Daphne felt genuine and he wasn’t sure why.
He gently stroked her hair as she hiccupped into his chest, trying to hold whatever it was inside.
This woman, with the world wrapped around her finger, needed someone to keep her safe. She was a seedling standing her ground in a raging storm. She needed a hand cupped around her, protecting her so she could grow and change the world, make it pure and full of light again. This was a job only he could do. He was made for it, and he’d do the best job he could.
“I’ll keep you safe, Daphne,” he whispered.
Her body shuddered in reply and he held her close, feeling her arms tighten around him. They could barely reach around his chest, and she lowered them until they were wrapped around his waist. He kept stroking her curls, wondering what she was thinking, what she was feeling, what she needed. Her arms pushed between them, moving up his chest as he let her go, his hands reluctant to leave her welcoming warmth. Her palms drifted up to his face, the dark circles under her eyes enhanced in the dim light of the room. She cupped his jaw, her fingers tracing the scars that extended down the side of his neck.
Her lips parted to ask, and he pulled her hands away. “I was blown up. It doesn’t hurt.”
“Was it the war?”
“Afterward. Protecting someone. A prince.”
Her eyes darkened and she pulled away, horror flashing across her features.
“Daphne, I’ve been in many dangerous situations, and I’ve always known what I was getting myself into before taking a job. This situation is nothing like any of those, but I still know what I’m getting into.”
“You would allow yourself to get hurt protecting someone else? Someone who isn’t any more special than you are?”
He almost laughed at the idea of being more special than a prince, but stayed serious, drawing his spine straight as though about to salute an officer. “Yes.”
Her slim hand rested tentatively on his chest. “For me?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.
She sprang on him, her feet leaving the ground as her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms hooked tight around his neck. Her lips landed hungrily on his and he caught her waist, holding her against him as she kissed him with tremendous need. He squeezed her to him as he instinctively turned to lower them onto the bed.
Her kisses lit a fire within him and he wondered why he’d never thought of the protecting-scared-women angle before. It was hot.
Invigorating.
As close to real as he could wrangle.
But Daphne. She was in a bad space and would regret this. This was a Molotov cocktail of emotions, adrenaline and fear. It was nothing more than those reactions spurring her forward, seeking a sexual outlet to ease the unfamiliar and overpowering emotions. He knew sex was a temporary stopgap and she’d feel uncomfortable around him if he let this go any further.
So why wasn’t he stopping?
He stole one more starved kiss, then, ignoring his own need and his ready cock, gently pushed her off him, his lips unwilling to break the connection. She tasted sweet and delicious. Pure. He pushed her away again and she sighed.
There was a fire between them that was still burning as they stared at each other from across the bed. Then she lunged at him again and he caught her, rolling under her slim form. He caressed her back, trying to find the strength to push her away once more as they kissed, his hands finding their way under the hem of her dress, her legs straddling him as her tongue dipped into his mouth.
He flipped her over so she was pinned under him, her thigh caught between his legs, pushing against his erection. He stroked her curls off her face, knowing that with every kiss, he was getting in deeper.
The sound of small feet on the stairs gave him what he needed to break away.
He sent Daphne one last hungry look before rolling off the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath before going to douse his desire in a freezing shower.
* * *
Evander pushed Tigger on the rope-and-board swing he’d made for her in his mother’s rambling backyard. She and Daphne had been living with them for less than twenty-four hours and he was already wrapped around Tigger’s finger. Although, he reminded himself, the swing had been his idea as a preemptive measure to keep the girl from wearing out Florence who, so far, seemed perkier from having her light up their home.
He eyed the ropes as the child swung back and forth. If he added a rubber strap he could give the swing a little bounce, which would appeal to Tigger’s nature.
He added rubber straps to his ongoing mental shopping list, then visually swept the yard’s perimeter for safety breaches. He needed a better detection system than he currently had. As well as more lights and possibly a pack of vicious dogs that snarled and frothed at the mouth.
Daphne joined them on the lawn, smiling, seeming not at all shy despite the way she’d attacked him with her lips last night. She moved with grace and simplicity, a compelling figure of femininity, and he wanted to hold her, inhale the scent of her hair while falling into her warmth.
Thinking that way was a direct route to mission failure. Women were almost always the biggest distraction for soldiers. He needed to stay focused. Stay impartial, objective, removed.
He turned his back to Daphne, giving Tigger another push.
“Look what Evander made me,” the girl said to her mother.
“A whole swing just for you?” There was something wistful in Daphne’s voice and he caught her hugging herself in his peripheral vision.
“Take over,” Evander said, directing her to step in and push Tigger. He needed to go check the feed from Daphne’s yard gnomes. Maybe he could ask Brick to help out. His brother had arrived, distracted by grief to the point of being more of a hindrance than a help last night. This morning he seemed better, but he needed purpose to help keep him from dissolving into worst-case scenarios. Plus, once the press caught wind of what had happened on the road yesterday, and where Daphne was hiding out, Evander would surely need a bit of help with crowd control.
At the edge of the yard, he turned, checking on the mother-daughter duo. It wasn’t smart spending this much time in the open backyard. There was a fence along the alley, plenty of large trees, lots of coverage, but it was still open if you knew where to peek in—and there were plenty of places to do so and not be noticed. The swing had been a bad idea. Tigger would want to spend too much time out here.
Evander knew he needed to focus, but he was so damn tired of it. He wanted nothing more than to sit back and laugh while watching the kid bounce around the yard. He wanted a life where he had nothing better to do than worry about her happiness.
But he had to be the man he was trained to be, because Aaron Bloomwood wasn’t in custody even though the Hummer driver had pointed his finger at him, and Daphne’s little chats with her ex weren’t leading to progress.
It was up to Evander to be vigilant and keep them safe at all times.
His mother called from the back door, “Rudolph got out.”
The cat pranced past him in the grass, legs extending as he upped his pace to stay out of range.
Tigger, out of nowhere, pounced on the feline, rolling him over to rub his belly.
“Oh, not a good idea,” Evander warned. “He claws.” He swooped the cat off the ground, and like sharpened steel on silk, those claws sliced through his skin.
“He liked that,” Tigger protested.
“Cat’s don’t like having their bellies rubbed,” Daphne said, backing him up as she directed Tigger to the swing again. She was being careful not to allow her daughter to bother Florence too much, and Evander appreciated the effort.
He passed the cat to his mother.
“Lunch?” she asked.
“That time already?”
“I can make quiche,” Kyle said, appearing behind her, his face covered in some sort of green goop that made Evander think of women in spa commercials.
“That would be lovely, dear,” Florence said.
“Consider it done,” Kyle said with a graceful bow.
Florence cuddled the cat to her chin, still standing in the doorway. “You looked like a family out there.”
“Mom,” Evander warned.
“I like having kids around.” She gave the cat an extra squeeze. “And you seem different with them here.”
“Yeah, super worried they’re going to be hurt,” he grumbled, familiar anxiety rising within him. He turned to face the yard. “Time to come in!”
“Aw,” protested Tigger. Daphne began ushering her off the swing. At least the woman was listening to him now. Although he wasn’t sure if she wasn’t just going with the flow and taking the path of least resistance. Either way, today he’d take it.
“I meant you seem relaxed,” his mom said. “More alert and worried, but relaxed somehow.”
“That makes no sense,” he said over his shoulder, hurrying to where Tigger had stopped to peer into the lush lawn, Daphne crouched over her, her back to Evander.
“Come on,” he said, glancing at the ladybug that had delayed them.
Daphne jumped, hand going to her throat. “You scared me.”
He placed a palm on her shoulder, guiding her to the house. “Didn’t mean to sneak up. The old lady wants lunch, Tigger. Let’s see what we can make her. My brother wants to make something that I’m sure will take five hours, and you probably won’t like it, anyway. If we beat him to the kitchen we set the menu.”
Tigger skipped to the house, then, seeming to catch herself, slowed her pace to a walk. “Florence isn’t old,” she said. “Old people have candy.”
“Oh, she has candy. And I know where she keeps it.”
“No sugar before lunch,” Daphne said, frowning.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what all the moms say.” Evander shot Daphne a wink and she shook her head in warning.
“Mom says it makes me bouncy!” Tigger added an extra bounce to her step, landing on the back step.
“Even more than usual, huh? I’d pay to see that.”
“Oh, you’ll pay all right,” Daphne muttered as he held the door for them.
He paused to reset the alarm and throw the dead bolt behind them, trying to be subtle about it.
“Tigger,” Florence called from the front room. “I made something for you.”
“Goody!” The girl bounced off, disappearing around the corner, her party dress swinging.
“Your mom’s going to spoil her,” Daphne said with a sad smile.
“I can talk to her.” He moved to the kitchen, Daphne following.
“No, it’s fine. Tigger loves her. She’s going to miss her, that’s all.”
“She’s not dying.” He cleared his throat, hoping it wasn’t a lie. He braced himself against the open fridge door, pushing back the insistent hollow ache that threatened to turn the bright day gray. He slapped a brick of cheddar on the counter, then added a pound of butter and a carton of milk beside it.
“I’m sorry,” Daphne said carefully. “I didn’t mean to imply that she was.”
“It’s not terminal,” he said, swallowing hard. “And I’m sure she’d love it if you and Tigger stayed in touch. After. She used to be a kindergarten teacher and she misses kids.” He pulled a package of whole wheat elbow noodles from the cupboard, then handed Daphne a large pot. “Can you fill this with water?”
Without a word she filled it, then set it on the stove, lighting the burner beneath it. “How long before you think it’ll be safe for us to return home?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re in your way, Evander.”
“No, not really.”
“Cramping your style at least?”
He let out a sigh and gave her a dry look. “I have no style to cramp.”
She glanced at his ironed shirt and raised an eyebrow.
“Army habits.” Yeah, so a T-shirt might not need heat to flatten, but the action was soothing. A hot blade running across wrinkles, making everything smooth and perfect in one stroke. It was easy to get lost in the meditative rhythm of ironing.
“If we’re making it difficult for you to parent your daughter,” he said, “tell us.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
He gave her a stern look and she laughed, tossing up her hands in what may have been delight.
“This is the best thing to happen to her all summer.” Daphne’s smile fell and she wouldn’t meet his gaze as she busied herself grating cheese with too much vigor.
They worked in steady silence, but finally he had to ask, “How come?”
“Family is good for her.”
Family? Was that what she thought this was? He tried to argue, but found his mind stuck on the word, his throat seized as though in the solid grip of an enemy commander.
“Hey,” Kyle said, entering the kitchen, his face washed from the earlier green mask, “I said I’d make lunch.”
Evander pushed the jug of milk into his hands. “Take over. Mac ’n’ cheese.”
“But I was going to make quiche.”
“Plans change.”