Nora Roberts - Considering Kate - the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

Then when he got it, Brody wanted the noise.

Parenting, he thought, had to be the damnedest business going.

But the problem now was restlessness. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced for quite some time. With parenting, establishing a business, making a home, soliciting jobs, he hadn’t had much excess time.

Still don’t, he thought, and began to pace the kitchen while he drank his coffee.

There was enough work to be done on the house to keep him busy for…probably the rest of his life. Should have bought something smaller, he thought, and less needy. Something more practical—and he’d heard variations on those thoughts from his father since he’d dug up the down payment.

Trouble was, he’d fallen head over heels for the old place, and so had Jack. And it was working, he reminded himself, glancing around the completed kitchen with its glass-fronted cabinets and granite counters.

Still, work was the bottom line, and he really had to carve out the time to deal with the rooms he’d put off.

Hard to find time when there were only days left until Christmas.

Then, there was the job due to be completed the next afternoon. And on the heels of that came the school holiday. He should have lined up a baby-sitter—he’d meant to. But Jack disliked them so much, and the guilt was a slow burn.

He knew Beth Skully would take Jack at least part of the time. But after a while, it felt like imposing. In an emergency, he could call on his mother. But that was a tricky business. Whenever he passed Jack off in that direction, he felt like a failure.

He’d make it work. Jack could come along with him some of the time, go to his pal Rod’s some of the time. And in a pinch, he’d visit his grandmother.

And that wasn’t the problem at all, Brody admitted. That wasn’t the distraction, lodged like a splinter in his mind.

The splinter was Kate Kimball.

He didn’t have the time nor the inclination for her.

All right, damn it, he didn’t have the time. Whatever he did have for her was a hell of a ways up from inclination. He dragged a hand through his mass of sun-streaked hair and tried to ignore the sheer sexual frustration eating at his gut.

Had he ever felt this much pure physical hunger for a woman before? He must have. He just didn’t remember clearly, that was all. Didn’t remember being churned up this way.

And it really ticked him off.

It was only because it had been a long time. Because she was so openly provocative. So unbelievably beautiful.

But he wasn’t a kid anymore who could grab pretty toys without considering the consequences. He was no longer free to do whatever he liked, when he liked. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Not that taking her up on her obvious invitation had to have consequences. In the long run. Even in the short. They were both adults, they both knew the ropes.

And that kind of thinking, he decided, would only get him in trouble.

Do your job, he told himself. Take her money. Keep your distance.

And stop thinking about that amazing, streamlined body of hers.

He poured a second cup of coffee—knowing he was damning himself to a sleepless night—then went back to work.

The next afternoon, Kate opened the door to find Brody on her doorstep. Her pleasure at that was sidetracked by the bright-eyed little boy at his side.

“Well, hello, handsome.”

“I’m Jack.”

“Handsome Jack. I’m Kate. Come in.”

“I’m just dropping off the drawings, and the bid.” Brody held them out, kept a hand firm on Jack’s shoulder. “My card’s in there. If you have any questions or want to discuss the drawings or the figures, just get in touch.”

“Let’s save time and look them over now. What’s your hurry?” She barely looked at him, but beamed smiles at Jack. “Brr. It’s cold out there. Cold enough for cookies and hot chocolate.”

“With marshmallows?”

“In this house, it’s illegal to serve hot chocolate without marshmallows.” She held out a hand. Jack’s was already in it as he bolted inside.

“Listen—”

“Oh, come on, O’Connell. Be a sport. So, what grade are you in, Handsome Jack?” She crouched down to unzip his coat. “Eighth, ninth?”

“No.” He giggled. “First.”

“You’re kidding. This is such a coincidence. We happen to be running a special today for blond-haired boys in first grade. Your choice of sugar, chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies.”

“Can I have one of each?”

“Jack—”

“Ah, a man after my own heart,” Kate said, ignoring Brody. She straightened, handed Brody Jack’s coat and cap and muffler, then took the boy’s hand.

“Are you the dancing lady?”

She laughed as she started back with him toward the kitchen. “Yes, I am.” With that sultry smile on her lips, she glanced back over her shoulder at Brody. Gotcha, she thought. “Kitchen’s this way.”

“I know where the damn kitchen is.”

“Dad said damn,” Jack announced.

“So I hear. Maybe he shouldn’t get any cookies.”

“It’s okay for grown-ups to say damn. But they’re not supposed to say sh—”

“Jack!”

“But sometimes he says that, too,” Jack finished in a conspirator’s whisper. “And once when he banged his hand, he said all the curse words.”

“Really?” Absolutely charmed, she pulled a chair out for the boy. “In a row, or all mixed up?”

“All mixed up. He said some of them lots of times.” He gave her a bright smile. “Can I have three marshmallows?”

“Absolutely. You can hang those coats on the pegs there, Brody.” She sent him a sunny smile, then got out the makings for the hot chocolate.

And not a little paper pack, Brody noted. But a big hunk of chocolate, milk. “We don’t want to take up your time,” he began.

“I have time. I put in a few hours at the store this morning. My mother’s swamped. But Brandon’s taking the afternoon shift. That’s my brother’s ball mitt,” she told Jack, who instantly snatched his hand away from it.

“I was only looking.”

“It’s okay. You can touch, he doesn’t mind. Do you like baseball?”

“I played T-ball last year, and I’m going to play Little League when I’m old enough.”

“Brand played T-ball, too, and Little League. And now he plays for a real major league team. He plays third base for the L.A. Kings.”

Jack’s eyes rounded—little green gems. “For real?”

“For real.” She crossed over, slipped the glove onto the delighted Jack’s hand. “Maybe when your hand’s big enough to fit, you’ll play, too.”

“Holy cow, Dad. It’s a real baseball guy’s mitt.”

“Yeah.” He gave up. He couldn’t block anyone who gave his son such a thrill. “Very cool.” He ruffled Jack’s hair, smiled over at Kate. “Can I have three marshmallows, too?”

“Absolutely.”

The boy was a jewel, Kate thought as she prepared the hot chocolate, set out cookies. She had a weakness for kids, and this one was, as her father had said, a pistol.

Even more interesting, she noted, was the obvious link between father and son. Strong as steel and sweet as candy. It made her want to cuddle both of them.

“Lady?”

“Kate,” she said and put his mug of chocolate in front of him. “Careful now, it’s hot.”

“Okay. Kate, how come you wear funny clothes when you dance? Dad has no idea.”

Brody made a small sound—it might have been a groan—then took an avid interest in the selection of cookies.

Kate arched her eyebrows, set the other mugs on the table, then sat. “We like to call them costumes. They help us tell whatever story we want through the dance.”

“How can you tell stories with dancing? I like stories with talking.”