Brambleberry Shores: The Daddy Makeover / His Second-Chance Family

The house was a bit more than she described, a rambling Queen Anne Victorian with a wide front porch, elaborate gingerbread trim and a voluptuous tangle of gardens out front. Painted a cheery yellow with multi-colored pastel accents, it looked bright and homey, the kind of place that for some reason always made him picture bread baking and the sweet, embracing scents of home.

He blinked the random image away and hurried through the rain to ring the doorbell, grateful for the wide porch that kept him mostly dry.

Despite the sign above the porch, he thought for a moment he might have come to the wrong house when a stranger answered the door. She had dark hair, solemn eyes, and an air about her of efficient competence.

Her mouth lifted in an impersonal, slightly wary smile. “Yes?”

“Hello. I was certain I was in the right place but now I’m beginning to doubt myself. This is Brambleberry House, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She still kept the door only slightly ajar— probably a smart self-defense move so she could slam it quickly shut if he should try anything threatening.

“I’m Eben Spencer. I believe Sage Benedetto is expecting me.”

She seemed to relax a little and the door opened wider, letting out a bigger slice of light and warmth to fight back the rainy evening. “You must be Chloe’s father.”

He held out a hand and she took it. Again, he gathered the vague impression of competence, though he wasn’t sure what about her spoke so solidly of it.

“I’m Anna Galvez. I live on this floor and Sage is upstairs, all the way at the top.”

“Which means you probably get roped into answering the door for her more often than you’d like.”

Her smile warmed. “I don’t mind, usually, unless I’m in the middle of something. Sage has a separate doorbell to her apartment but it hasn’t been working for awhile. We’re working on it. Sage’s apartment is all the way to the top of the staircase.”

The wide, sweeping staircase was the center core of the magnificent house, he saw, rising straight up from the entry through two other floors. A shame the house had been split into apartments, he thought. It would have made a stunning bed and breakfast, though he supposed it could be converted back if someone had the money, time and energy.

“Thank you,” he said to Anna. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Not a problem.”

He followed the curve of stairs, his hand on the mahogany rail that had been worn smooth over generations.

Outside the door at the top, he heard laughter, then a dog’s loud barking. He picked up Chloe’s voice, then Sage’s. The sound of it, rich and full and sexy, strummed down his spine.

He knocked and the dog’s barking increased. He heard Sage order the dog to be stay and be quiet. It seemed to work—when she opened the door, Conan was sitting perfectly still beside the door, though he was practically vibrating with impatience.

Sage had changed yet again—the third outfit he’d seen her in that day. Instead of her jogging clothes or the conservative navy knit shirt and khaki slacks she wore to work, she wore a flowery tunic-style blouse in some kind of sheer material over a pale pink tank top, dangly earrings and a pair of faded jeans.

She looked heart-stoppingly gorgeous, lush and appealing, and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but their kiss that morning.

He knew he didn’t mistake the memory of it flaring in her dark eyes. Her mouth parted slightly and beneath the memory was a faint sheen of trepidation.

Did she think he was going to grab her right here in front of her dog and his daughter for a repeat performance?

“You made good time from Portland.” In seconds, she shunted away the brief flicker of remembered heat from her gaze and became as coolly polite as her downstairs neighbor.

“I was afraid you’d be ready to string me up if I didn’t hurry.”

“I told you not to worry about it. Chloe’s a joy.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not used to hearing such praise of his daughter. Before he could respond, Chloe rushed to him.

“Hi Daddy! I had a super day today. We learned about the different habitats in the ocean at camp and then when we came here, we went outside on the beach and played catch with Conan and then we made lasagna with zucchini and carrots! It’s almost ready. Sage says I can stay and have some. Can I, Daddy?”

He glanced at Sage and saw her mouth tighten slightly. He was quite certain the invitation would never have been extended if she had expected him to be here before the meal was ready.

But how could he disappoint Chloe by telling her they needed to go, that they had already imposed on Sage enough for the day?

Sage must have sensed his indecision. She smiled brightly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re certainly both welcome to stay. There’s plenty for everyone and Chloe did work hard to help me fix it. It’s only fair she get to enjoy the fruits of her labor.”

“Did we put fruit in there too?” Chloe asked, a baffled expression on her face. “I thought it was just vegetables.”

“Well, remember, technically tomatoes are a fruit. So I guess that counts. Seriously, you’re both welcome to stay.”

Though he knew it was a mistake to spend more time with Sage, he couldn’t figure out any way out without hurting Chloe.

“All right. Thank you.”

He was quite certain he was the one with trepidation in his eyes now as he stepped into her apartment. Only after he crossed the threshold did Conan hurry to him for attention and Eben could swear the dog looked pleased.

Chapter 6

Sage had always considered her apartment to be a perfect size, roomy without being huge. The rooms were all comfortably laid out and she loved having an extra bedroom in case any friends from college came to stay. It had always seemed just right for her.

How was it that Eben Spencer seemed to fill up every available inch?

His presence was overwhelming. He wore the same pale blue dress shirt he’d had on that morning, though his tie was off and his sleeves were rolled up. Afternoon stubble shadowed his jawline, giving him a slightly disreputable look she guessed he would probably find appalling if he were aware of it.

He looked so damn gorgeous, it was infuriating.

She shouldn’t even be noticing how he looked, not after she had spent all day sternly reminding herself they had nothing in common, no possible reason for this unwanted attraction that simmered between them.

He represented wealth and privilege and all the things she had turned her back on after a lifetime of struggling—and failing—to find her place there. He was no doubt just like her father, obsessed with making and keeping his money.

Good grief, the cost of his tailored shirt alone could probably feed a family of four for a month.

She didn’t like him, she told herself. While her brain might be certain of that, the rest of her was having a tougher time listening to reason when she just wanted to curl against his strength and heat like Conan finding a sunbeam shooting through the window.

She sighed and pulled her lasagna out, attributing her flushed and tight skin to the heat pouring from the oven.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

Yeah. Go away.

She forced herself to stuff the thought back into the recesses of her mind. She was a strong, independent woman. Surely she was tough enough to endure an hour or so with the man.

“Everything’s just about ready. Chloe and I were finishing things up in here when you arrived. Would the two of you mind setting the table?”

She regretted the question as soon as she asked it. Eben Spencer probably had a legion of servants to do that sort of grunt work at his house. To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate.