Katherine Garbera - The Bachelor Next Door

“What are you planning to do?” she asked, sounding slightly less uptight.

“I’m going to remove the doorknob. If that doesn’t work I’ll have to take the door off its hinges.” He wondered what she looked like.

“I’d rather you didn’t remove the door.”

That cold tone was beginning to grate on his already strained nerves. “Hell, I’d rather not remove the door, either. But unless you want to spend the day in there, I might have to.”

“I’ll thank you not to curse. Andy’s at an age where he’s easily influenced.”

He grunted instead of replying, not knowing what type of response that comment warranted. All he wanted to do now was get her out of the bathroom and leave. He grinned. She probably felt anxious about his knowing her opinion of his buns. “Sit tight, lady.”

Remarkably, she was silent for a few minutes. He could hear her pacing in the small bathroom. Once she saw him face-to-face she would put more distance between them than the ocean between continents. He wasn’t the type of man women wanted their young sons around. Which was okay by him. He didn’t particularly want to be around kids, anyway.

“Who are you?” she asked. Her voice calmer now, almost resigned.

“Don’t you know?”

Silence stretched. “We’ve never met.”

“Rafe Santini. I’m your new neighbor across the street.” He pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and scratched at the empty keyhole. He wanted a clear view of the inner locking mechanism. “How long have you been locked in?”

“About an hour. I was taking a bath. I like to soak for a while.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Mr. Santini, um...I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

“Here you go,” Andy said, returning with the screwdriver.

Rafe removed the doorknob. It should have taken only five minutes, but Andy wanted to know everything that was happening and asked questions incessantly.

Rafe remembered doing the same thing to his father as a child. Those memories gave him the patience to answer all of the boy’s questions. Andy was smart and never asked the same thing twice, which amazed Rafe.

Once the knob was removed, it was easy to open the door. Rafe had expected the woman to be matronly, round and soft like his mom had been. The woman had a son and a formal tone of voice that reminded him of his spinster aunt Florence. But instead, Andy’s mother was—ah, hell, his mind fought against the word attractive. Dammit, she was sexy.

Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head. Tendrils curled around her heart-shaped face, the sable locks contrasting with the light, creamy color of her skin. Her eyes were a gingery color that made him think of fall leaves, Thanksgiving and home. The thin, pink silk robe she wore did little to disguise her feminine curves. She was one hell of a temptation, and he cursed himself for noticing.

She stepped on one of Andy’s frontline soldiers and hopped on one foot before losing her balance. Rafe snapped out of his trance and caught her in his arms.

She was a light, tempting bundle, and for a moment he forgot everything else—the child, the anger, her ridiculous opinion of his buns. Everything but the fact that she was a woman. And it had been too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. A woman who had more than a fleeting thought drifting through her head. A woman who smelled sweet, not like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. A woman who was trying her damnedest to get out of his arms.

“Please, put me down.” The formal tone again.

“Sure.”

He set her on her feet well away from the Rebel Army, and she gathered her dignity around her like a heavy winter cloak. Ridiculous, considering that she wore nothing but a thin piece of silk, which was clinging to her body like a second skin.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to Rafe. “I’m Cassandra Gambrel. You’ve met Andy.”

Her voice sounded soft and sweet again, which surprised him. He’d expected her to stick with the formal tone. The hand she held out was fine boned, making him feel large and masculine. The nails were painted in a delicate shell pink color that perfectly matched the natural color of her lips. He was in big trouble.

“Rafe Santini,” he said, finishing the introductions she’d begun.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, clutching the lapels of her robe together.

This woman’s skin was the creamiest he’d ever seen. Would it taste as good? He wanted to put his mouth to the pulse beating strongly in her neck and taste it. “I’ll put the knob back for you.”

“The lock sticks,” Cassandra said. “Usually if I wait long enough it loosens.”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, needing the distraction.

“You should get dressed, Mommy.”

Cassandra nodded, then walked down the hall, stopping at the end. “Don’t get in the way, Andy.”

“Aw, Mom.”

Rafe chuckled to himself, remembering how it had been to be growing up and fighting against the ties to your parents.

Andy nodded sagely. “I’m the man of the house now, but Mommy doesn’t let me do that much stuff.”

“Moms are like that.”

Andy sighed, sounding years older than he was. “Yeah, they are.”

Rafe’s attention drifted from the open door and Andy to the woman walking down the hall. Her stride was soft and smooth and her hips swayed temptingly...ah, hell.

Once in her own bedroom, Cass dressed hurriedly, throwing on the first thing she encountered. She rushed through her routine in front of the mirror, not wanting to slow down for fear she’d start thinking about him.

Rafe Santini’s backside was a sight to behold, but he was even more heart stopping from the front. His eyes were a brilliant gray that made her think of glaciers—but with fire burning inside them. His hair was thick, curly, and her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it. His bare chest caused her blood to beat ninety to nothing. She swiftly braided her hair and stuffed her feet into a pair of scuffed Top-Siders.

The one you said had nice buns. The words echoed in her mind like an executioner’s voice asking for last requests. She wanted to die of embarrassment, but that was the least of her problems.

She didn’t like the way Andy had been staring up at Mr. Santini. Like he was some sort of hero, or worse yet, a candidate for a father. Andy had a way of sizing up men that made them scurry to leave, or look at her in a different light. And if Mr. Santini thought of her as a woman, she had a sinking feeling that the prospects for her survival wouldn’t be good.

Since her husband’s death two years ago, Andy had been looking for a replacement daddy. It was nothing overt, but more the quiet contemplation of each and every single man they met. She knew Andy well enough to know that he would probe into Mr. Santini’s background while they worked. Andy would dig into the man’s past with all the enthusiasm of a paleontologist about to uncover a rare dinosaur bone.

Cass hated that she had to apologize to Rafe Santini but knew she owed it to him. She’d been rude. He’d sounded annoyed when she’d questioned him, but she was used to being in charge, used to being the one responsible for solving all of their family problems. It was weird being rescued by a man.

She planned on ignoring the comment Andy had repeated, and if the man had any couth he’d do the same. Besides, what man wanted to talk about his backside?

She stepped into the hall and watched, amazed to see Mr. Santini’s patience with her son. It was obvious to her that he’d had no contact with children on a daily basis. His language was deplorable, as if he didn’t realize that young ears waited to test and try every new word they heard. Yet, he made the effort to be friendly with her son, and some of her discomfort melted away.