A quick glance at the happiness on his son’s face told him an attachment was already forming...and it was easy to see why.
The woman headed toward him held little resemblance to the freaky one he’d had breakfast with this morning. The wet yellow dress was gone, replaced by a pair of cream-colored shorts that showed off a set of long and toned legs. A peach T-shirt was the perfect complement to her fair complexion. No makeup disguised the adorable smattering of freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose. Had those even been there this morning? And what about the pierced eyebrow? Oh, yeah, there it was.... Her red curls—and a few of the blue ones—curved softly around her face and neck.
The entire effect was light and feminine, and Garrett fought down a wild urge to search among the curls for the tattoo nestled under her ear...with his mouth.
“Tara’s a good catch, Dad.”
The words stunned Garrett speechless for a couple of seconds, by which point she was already upon him.
Caution dimmed her bright eyes as she gave him a tentative smile. “We were just playing around some. I hope that’s okay.”
Garrett gathered his composure and shoved his sexual awareness to a deeper, safer place in his psyche. He took the glove she held out, searching for the appropriate words that wouldn’t sound overly harsh in front of the boy. “Dylan shouldn’t be interrupting your private time.”
Her wariness gave way to a relieved smile. “He didn’t interrupt anything. I had a good time.” She held up what remained of her right hand, stretching the fingers apart. “It was good therapy—mentally and physically.”
Garrett’s spine stiffened at her words. If she needed mental therapy, she needed to get it from someone other than Dylan.
Her thumb caught her middle finger, leaving her index finger pointed to the sky. “Oh, be right back.” She turned and jogged across the terrace to her flat.
Garrett had no idea what she was up to, but he used the time to get Dylan out of hearing distance. “You need to go get washed up for dinner.”
“Can we invite Tara to eat with us?”
Oh, hell. The entreaty in Dylan’s eyes solidified that Garrett’s fears were justified. He squatted down to eye level with his son—time for some damage control. “No, bud. Tara didn’t come to Paris to visit with us. She’s only going to be here for a month, which isn’t really too long, so we need to leave her alone, and let her do what she wants with her time.”
Dylan’s bottom lip protruded in advance of his protest. “But—”
“No buts. You’re not to bother Tara. Understand?”
Dylan sighed. “Yeah.” He dropped his glove and ball inside the door and slunk off toward the bathroom, looking like a whipped puppy.
Garrett watched him until the bathroom door closed. When he turned back, Tara was headed toward him from across the terrace. He stepped out to meet her, sliding the door closed behind him.
The clothes he’d loaned her this morning were arranged in a neatly folded bundle, which she held out to him. “I figured out the washer and dryer, so these are clean.”
Garrett took them from her. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
She slid her hands into her back pockets, which stretched her shirt tighter across her breasts. “Well, y’all didn’t have to help me out this morning, but I sure did appreciate it. I...um...” She cleared her throat and tossed her head in the direction of her place, flashing the tattoo under her ear in Garrett’s direction. “I picked up some sausage and cheese and wine and a few nice pastries. I plan to have a light supper on the terrace, and I was wondering if you and Dylan would like to join me? Give me a chance to pay you back for breakfast?”
Her accent coupled with the expressive, vivid green eyes battered at Garrett’s resolve, but the cautious voice inside him whispered its repeated warning about getting too friendly. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t think we’d better. I work long hours, so dinnertime is special for Dylan and me. Alone time, you know?”
“Oh, sure.” A deep blush crept up her neck into her face. “I should’ve thought of that.”
The disappointment in her voice was palpable, but the first snip was made, and Garrett was determined to stop any more buds of friendship before they blossomed. “Well, there isn’t a lot of privacy around here, so we’ll try to respect yours as much as possible while you’re here.” A movement from the corner of his eye told him Dylan was headed back toward them. Garrett laid his hand on the door handle. “I’m sure you’ll do the same for us,” he added before sliding the door open and stepping back through it.
His escape wasn’t quick enough to keep him from catching the hurt look in Tara’s eyes—the same look that was reflected in his son’s eyes when he met them.
“Now, how about some dinner?” Garrett clapped his hands together in a fake show of enthusiasm.
Dylan shrugged, looking like lead weights were attached to his shoulder. “I’m not very hungry.”
Garrett’s gut twisted at the words.
But they also told him without a doubt he’d done the right thing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FAITH PUSHED THE BEIGE DRESS to one side, and studied the next one carefully—a sleeveless shift in a pretty shade of mint green that Sawyer had always liked on her. But, like everything else in her closet, it was modestly cut and gave no hint that the creature clothed in it had a clue that such a thing as sex existed.
Just once, she’d love to wear a dress that was a little provocative...that showed a little cleavage or more of her back than was strictly proper. Nothing vulgar. Just something feminine and sexy. Something that would remind her...and Sawyer...who she was at her center. The way God made her before the congregation of Taylor’s Grove Church had molded her into who it wanted her to be.
The green dress was her best option for tonight, though.
Changing out of her white slacks and navy blue knit top into the new pink lace and satin bra and panties gave her a rush as if she was doing something scandalous...and fun. She paused to look in the mirror and evaluate the effect. A subtle attack was what she was going for. Just a touch of sexiness that would spur Sawyer on if she got him to the stage where he wanted to undress her.
The idea came to her after prayer group this morning. She’d never had to seduce her husband before, so shopping for sexy underwear this afternoon with that motive had been venturing into foreign territory.
Until four weeks ago, Sawyer had pursued her with a vigor that sometimes made her question all the jokes about middle age. She’d counted herself blessed to have someone who’d always made her feel attractive and desired despite the frumpy clothes and the weight gain that had crept up on her in her forties. They both understood that the preacher’s wife had to be appropriately dressed at all times. They’d accepted that fact and had made ultimate use of their private time. And when all the kids finally moved out, she and Sawyer had had plenty of...how did the younger generation put it? Bow-chicka-wow-wow?
Well, this chicka was going to try her darnedest to coax the wow-wow out of the bow tonight.
She swiped on just a touch of foundation, and a light application of mascara defined her lashes. The salesperson had assured her that the pink lip gloss would make her lips irresistible. It looked like any other pink lip gloss, but maybe the extra price indicated it had some esoteric qualities perceived only by men. If the manufacturer truly wanted to make it irresistible, it would’ve been bacon-flavored.
A quick brush-through to fluff her hair, a squirt of cologne and a pair of beaded flip-flops finished the