Liz Talley - His Brown-Eyed Girl

He walked into her living room, gaze darting left then right before once again landing on her.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, ducking his chin slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare her. Or you.”

The irony was Addy wasn’t scared.

Nervous to be practically naked in the room with a man she felt an uncanny attraction toward? Yes. Scared? No.

And that thought surprised the hell out of her.

She should be terrified of a man storming into the place she felt safest, yelling, disrupting, darting glances at the places that made her very much different from him.

Moments before she had been terrified.

The letter from Angola had been sent to terrorize her, and her heart still thudded from the adrenaline of pounding down the stairs and being startled by Charlotte. But Lucas arriving, filling up the foyer with his strength and somewhat sweet failing at being a caregiver stilled her. So odd, yet so welcome in the face of what she’d experienced earlier.

Lucas quieted her trembling.

“I know you didn’t,” Addy murmured, stroking Charlotte’s back again. “But you are a large man and somewhat frightening to a small girl.”

“I apologized. I don’t know what else to say.”

Addy shook her head and cuddled the little girl who sank into her, snuffling but no longer sobbing. Something sweet and tender toward the child awoke within Addy. Having her mother leave her with someone Charlotte didn’t know had to be traumatic. “I know you don’t know what to say, but you have to try on her shoes. She’s young and missing her mother. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, only that you scare her with your scowls and anger.”

Something in his eyes softened, something different glowing within. “But I don’t scare a big girl like you?”

Chapter Three

LUCAS WATCHED ADDY as she held Charlotte, her elegant fingers stroking the child’s back. Rich hair fell in dark hanks around her serious face, and he had to practice extreme self-discipline not to slide his gaze to her bare thighs. Something about the turn of a calf, the delicacy of a knee and the sleekness of a woman’s thigh got him every time. Total leg man.

And the glimpse of soft curve of breast covered by the child’s golden ringlets wasn’t helping any.

“Should I be afraid of you?” Addy asked, her gaze earnest and steady. Flirty hadn’t worked on her.

“No.”

“But Charlotte is afraid, Chris is out of control and, from what little I’ve seen of the oldest, he’s declared you the enemy,” Addy said.

He chewed on that nugget. Of course she was right, but could he out and out admit he was a failure? “Charlotte has said time and again I’m big...but I’m not much larger than her father.”

“But Ben’s her father. You’re a stranger to her.”

He shoved a hand through hair in need of a trim—he hadn’t had time to pop by the barber before he’d left Rotan. Moment of truth. “Okay. You’ve got me. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Addy’s lips twitched but her gaze didn’t hold victory. Wasn’t like she hadn’t clued in to his incompetence within seconds of meeting him. “Takes a big man to admit it. No pun intended, of course.”

He allowed his lips to curve upward by a centimeter. “It’s obvious.”

“Pretty much.” The child had stilled in Addy’s lap and lay heavy against her body, seemingly content to have her warmth and calming influence. Again, he was struck by the way Addy soothed those around her even as she herself often looked spooked.

Why did she continue to look toward the door? Maybe he made her nervous and she was subconsciously ushering him toward the exit? Yet her words didn’t rush him out, and she’d invited him into the living area.

“I thought I could handle a few kids—maybe not the evil cat that jumps on my legs in the middle of the night. It’s not like the kids are in diapers. I should be able to—”

“You think they’re easier when they can move around independently and back-talk you?”

“Point made.”

“So I’ll see what I can do to help you out a little.”

His gaze jerked to hers. “You’ll help?”

“Sure. As much as I can.”

“How?” Sweet relief blanketed him. Addy seemed capable and sincere—two qualities he appreciated in his fellow man, or rather woman. If there was any lemonade to be had after the lemons Chris had given by crashing into a greenhouse, this was it.

“Well, all the children should help us rebuild the greenhouse for two reasons—first, they can get to know you better with a like purpose in mind and, second, they’ll be easy to keep an eye on. At some point, you and I can sit down and go over their schedules and see where I, or even my Aunt Flora, can help out. For example, Aunt Flora’s an excellent cook and would likely be happy to save you from pizza every night.”

“Who’s Aunt Flora?”

“I’m Aunt Flora.”

Lucas swiveled his head to where an older woman stood wearing a sombrero, a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt that read “I may be old but you’re a moron.” She looked a little like an older Lucille Ball, replete with red lipstick...and a little like she might have escaped from an asylum.

“Lucas, this is my aunt, Flora Demarco,” Addy said, nodding toward the woman.

Aunt Flora raked him with a speculative gaze, lingering on particular parts. Like a connoisseur of men, she weighed and measured him...then gave him a smile that might have worried a lesser man. But Lucas was accustomed to such smiles.

He stuck out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Demarco. I’m Lucas Finlay, Ben’s brother.”

“Miss Demarco, please. Or rather Flora.” She wiggled a finger at Charlotte who peeked out from her resting spot on Addy’s small breasts. Lucky child.

“I just told Lucas that we would be glad to help him. Courtney and Ben are undergoing some hardship, and Lucas has his hands more than full with the kids and the running of a household.”

“Of course,” Flora said, reaching toward Charlotte. “I’ll start with taking this moppet into the kitchen for some milk and, perhaps, a cookie? I remember chocolate chip is your fav, right?”

Charlotte raised her head and nodded, lifting chubby arms to Flora. Addy shifted the child, trying in vain to cover her thighs, and set the girl on the floor. The little girl took the older woman’s hand and allowed herself to be led from the room. She didn’t look back. Addy cleared her throat and looked at the brass fireplace tools on the hearth.

Taking the child away gave an unsettling intimacy to the situation.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, trying to pull his mind away from the way her damp hair winged away from her delicate neck and the fact she probably wore not a stitch of clothing beneath the terry cloth.

A fierce hunger bloomed within him when he thought of her taut stomach and uptilted breasts. He could just make out the outline of her nipples and imagined their pliant puffiness growing hard beneath his fingers. Beneath his mouth.

“You’re welcome,” she said, jarring him from the kinky dream world he’d leaped into when thinking about her naked body.

He should be ashamed since the woman volunteered to help him with the kids, but Lucas Finlay rarely felt shame for wanting a woman.

And this one he wanted.

But he’d have to resist.

Something in Addy’s demeanor told him she wasn’t a woman to trifle with a man. Not that she looked beyond hot, fast sex on, say, the very couch on which she sat, but something he quite couldn’t put his finger on warned a tumble with the florist wouldn’t be wise.

“So you’ll help me with the kids?” he asked, refocusing on the reason he was even in the same room with Addy.