Adding Up to Marriage

“The kids? Like there was any way we could talk with them around. Anyway, Ollie’s in school already. I left Tad at the shop with Noah. And my dad. And everybody else. One kid, a half-dozen sets of eyes … should work out just about right.” Silas folded his arms over his chest. Doing the Stern Look thing. On him, it worked. As did the gray, geometric-patterned sweater and jeans. Geek chic. “You do that often? Sleep through your alarm?”

Jewel’s stomach growled, reminding her of the vast void within. “No, actually,” she said, opening another cupboard door for oatmeal. “But I got called out unexpectedly last night with a mother having false labor. She didn’t settle down—” she yawned “—until nearly five.” The oatmeal dumped into a bowl with milk, she set it in the microwave and edged toward the fridge. “Want some eggs with your coffee?”

“Already ate. Thanks.”

“Whatever. I’m starving.” She cracked three eggs into a bowl, dumped two pieces of what her mother called “bird seed” bread into the toaster. “But don’t you worry,” she said, banging a skillet onto the old gas stove, “that was a one-off. My sleeping in, I mean. Normally I’m up at like six, raring to go. I have a lot of energy, which you may have noticed.”

But she doubted he’d heard her, since when she turned he was frowning at the disaster of a living room with its re-re-recycled furniture, littered with DVDs and textbooks and clothing that had wandered out of her closet and hadn’t yet found its way back, not to mention the dozen bulging, partially ripped garbage bags of kids’ and baby clothes and toys the church ladies had left for her to pass along to some of her and Patrice’s needier clients. The pelvis. Then his gaze drifted back to her, those green eyes positively teeming with questions.

And something else, something that sent little flickers of heat hoppity-skipping through her blood. Good thing, then—really good thing—she didn’t have to worry about pesky things like him maybe coming on to her. Because, alas, she was only human. And kinda, um, lonely, truth be told. As was Silas, she’d bet the farm.

Which could present a problem. Because while Jewel was not into sharing her body with all and sundry, she did have to admit to a certain fondness for sex, dimly remembered though that might be. Hence the hormones, which even now were whispering how little stoking it would take to go from flickers to raging conflagration.

Little creeps.

“Maybe you should get dressed,” Silas said softly, taking the bowl of beaten eggs from her, and she thought, Don’t look at the mouth, even as she noticed how turned down that mouth was at the corners. Disapproving and whatnot. “Before somebody sees us through the window—” he nodded toward the curtainless kitchen window facing the street “—and gets the wrong idea.”

Oh.

Her cheeks flaming, Jewel fled, feeling like a scolded little girl.

Which went a long way toward damping those flickers, boy. Yes, indeedy.

Silas beat those eggs as if his salvation depended on it.

Since his reaction to Jewel was making him feel close enough to perv status to ratchet the discomfort level up to, oh, about a million-point-two.

Even though there was no reason it should. Okay fine, so a brief glimpse of her bare bottom—hell, if he’d blinked he would’ve missed it—when she’d lifted her arms had fired a jet or two. Perfectly natural. And inevitable, frankly, considering how long it’d been since those particular jets had fired.

It was who the jets were firing for that had him all shook up.

Why hadn’t he blinked? Why?

Silas set the bowl of eggs on the counter—no point scrambling them until she returned, they’d only get cold—and wandered back into the living room, which could only be called a wreck. Gal hadn’t been kidding about her housekeeping skills. Or lack thereof. Scrupulously avoiding the model of the female innards on the coffee table, he instead found himself checking out the dozen or so videos scattered beside it.

Big mistake.

Orgasmic Birth?

“Snooping?” Jewel said from the other side of the room, making him spin around to see she’d buried all jet-firing attributes beneath a too-big, zipped-to-the-neck hoodie and a pair of holey jeans. Hair back. Face bare.

Eyes wary.

Aaaand there went the protective mode again.

Better than perv mode. Right? Maybe. Maybe not. “Of course not—”

“Oh, that’s the one in the player now,” she said, nodding at the case. Still in his hand. Busted. He lifted it, coherent speech beyond him. She grinned, effectively disabling the protective mode. “It’s excellent, you should give it a looksee sometime. Eggs ready yet?”

“No, sorry …” Silas dropped the case—setting off a clattering DVD avalanche which he had to stop and clean up—before following her back to the kitchen. “Didn’t want ‘em to get cold,” he said, turning the flame on underneath the cheapo skillet.

“I can do that—”

“No, it’s okay, you sit.” So I don’t have to look at you.

She got her oatmeal out of the microwave, stirred in a generous pat of butter and like half a cup of syrup of some kind. Good Lord. “You sure—?”

“Yes,” Silas said.

So she sat, and he scrambled—the eggs, his brain, whatever—a minute later sliding the plate with eggs and toast in front of her at the chewed-up dining table. Her gaze met his for a nanosecond then skittered away, yanking her usual exuberance along with it. Huh.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose, and it occurred to him she didn’t see herself as sexy. Which was not his problem. No, his problem was him seeing her as sexy.

“Can’t remember the last time anybody made me breakfast,” she said, not looking at him as she scraped the last bit of oatmeal from the bowl and dived into the toast and eggs.

Silas poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning up against her counter to drink it while she ate. And ate, and ate. Where on earth she put it all, he couldn’t begin to guess.

“Your mother okay?” he asked, more out of politeness than curiosity. Heaven knew he had enough issues with his own mother, he sure as heck didn’t want or need to hear about anyone else’s.

After staring at him a moment too long, Jewel shoved her cheerfulness back out front, like a pushy mama making little Johnny sing for the folks. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” she said with a wave of her hand and a let’s-not-go-there smile. “She’s real good at landing on her feet. In more ways than one. So …” Her eggs polished off, she crammed the last bite of toast into her mouth and brushed off her hands. “What all do I need to know about the boys?”

And would somebody explain to him, considering he was only being polite to begin with, why the brush-off stung? Not a lot, but enough to make him wonder.

He pulled a list of instructions and emergency phone numbers from his back pocket and unfolded it, setting it in front of her. Still chewing, she quickly read it, then glanced up at him, her eyes glittering with amusement behind her glasses. Like snow in shadow, he thought, then mentally slapped himself.

“Why don’t you just send ‘em to military school and be done with it?”

Silas bristled. “I love my kids, Jewel. And I take my fathering responsibilities very seriously.”

“Well, of course you do! I don’t mean …” After checking for a clean spot on her napkin, she yanked off her glasses to clean them. “Okay, I was only trying to make light of the moment, but …” The glasses shoved back on, she huffed out, “My mouth has this bad habit of spitting out random inappropriateness when I least expect it. I apologize.”

This said eye-to-eye. Earnestly. Sincerely.

“And anyway, this—” she lifted the list, thankfully oblivious to the sudden, random buzzing in Silas’s head “—isn’t near as bad as I expected. Considering the boys’, um, high energy level.”

The buzzing faded. For which Silas was even more thankful. “The phrase ‘holy terrors’ has been bandied about a time or six.”

Jewel’s eyes popped wide enough for him to see gold flecks in the dusky blue irises. “They are not terrors! By any stretch of the imagination! And whoever would say such a thing …” Her mouth pulled flat, she shook her head. “Honestly. Some people need their brains washed out. They’re just little boys, for crying out loud,” she said, her fervor pinking her cheeks and making her eyes bluer, and Damn, she’s beautiful smacked Silas right between the eyes. Hell.

“Sounds like you’ve had experience with little boys,” he said, and her indignation melted into a chuckle.

“You couldn’t tell?” Then she flicked her hand: Never mind. “Yeah, I do. When my mother married my stepfather—my second one, I mean—my stepbrother was a toddler. I was eleven, and ohmigosh, I thought Aaron was the cutest thing ever. I adored him, took him everywhere, played dress-up with him—you can wipe that look off your face, your boys are safe, I outgrew that phase years ago—even let him sleep in my bed with me. ‘Course,” she said with a crooked little grin, “the older he got the more I decided he was a pain in the posterior, but I still loved him. Still do,” she added softly. “God, I miss that kid.”