Rebecca lurched back. Trent’s fingers released her and she spun toward the child and parent. “Can I help you?” she asked, trying to sound normal.
She must have looked normal, because the mother handed over the two tickets required instead of running in the other direction to protect her son from the X-rated thoughts rattling around in Rebecca’s brain. The little boy bobbed up and down on his heels while Trent started on the candy. His first effort came out perfectly, wouldn’t you know? But she didn’t have a chance to commend him on it because by the time he handed it over, they had a five-deep line.
It stayed five-deep for the next couple of hours, so she didn’t have time to think, let alone worry over her uncontrollable response to Trent. At his insistence, she took one quick break from the booth to eat a hot dog and drink a bottle of water—she brought the same back to him—and then, as quickly as the line had formed, it evaporated. The fair was nearly over and, from the looks of things, had been an unqualified success.
However, the dearth of customers meant Rebecca had to face Trent without anything but the cotton-candy machine between them. She had to face up to those brief, but charged moments of sexual awareness. In their booth’s new silence, the whirring noise of the mechanism sounded loud, but not as loud as her beating heart. He switched off the machine, but, unwilling to meet his eyes, she kept her head down and pretended an interest in the coffee can of tickets she’d collected.
What’s he going to think about me now, Eisenhower? What kind of responsible mom goes wild with desire over a man she barely knows? Maybe he wouldn’t bring it up. And even if he did, maybe she could pretend he’d mistaken what had happened.
Yeah, right. And then he’d happen to brush against her once more and she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.
What kind of impression would that make?
“Rebecca.”
Trent’s voice, close by, startled her. Worried that he might touch her again, she stumbled back, knocking into the cotton-candy machine. To save herself, she reached behind, her steadying hands plunging into the remnants of gooey candy floss.
Still unbalanced, she staggered backward some more, her foot knocking over an open carton of cotton-candy mix that was still half full. As she whirled to grab the container, the powder spilled all over her tennies.
“Oh, no!” She groaned and, looking down at the mess, ran her hands over her hair—where they stuck like gum.
With another groan, she yanked them free. Aware of her appearance, and that as impressions went, she’d left an indelible one of incredible awkwardness, she raised her gaze to meet Trent’s. “I can’t believe this.”
His lips twitched. “Maybe it’s my fault. But when I said I liked sticky and sweet, I didn’t mean—”
“Ooooh!”
“Don’t stamp your foot when you’re standing in all that powder, because then you’ll have more than a mustard stain on your shirt.”
Her gaze dropped. Sure enough, there was a big ol’ swathe of bright yellow across the front of her T-shirt. A nice contrast to the pink cast to her sticky hands. “I’m usually a very neat person,” she muttered, annoyed at his teasing and embarrassed all over again. “Seriously. Ask anyone.”
He laughed. “And I’ll give you the chance to prove it. Let me see if I can find a bucket of water and a broom.”
“Would you?” At least that would give her a few moments alone to mourn her dignity. “Go to the ticket booth and ask for Eddie. He’ll help.”
“Eddie.” Trent nodded, then grinned at her. “Now, don’t go anywhere.”
As if she could, she thought, looking at the remains of the cotton-candy booth that needed to be cleaned up. Not to mention herself. Could the day get any worse? Could she appear any worse in Trent’s eyes?
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice said. “If it isn’t my ex. And looking her usual best.”
Humiliation skittered like a cockroach down Rebecca’s spine. Determined not to let her former husband see her reaction, though, she lifted her chin and coolly met his gaze.
He was looking like a million and one bucks, in expensive khakis and a starched dress shirt, his initials embroidered on the pocket. His white doctor’s coat was thrown over one arm and his fingers were twined with those of the woman he’d left her for—Constance Blake. In a pastel suit, Constance looked like two million and one bucks, plus all the alimony payments that Rebecca deserved but that her ex-husband had managed to weasel out of.
“Hello, Ray.” He hated when she called him that. His given name was Rayburn and it was his preference. He’d always said Ray was a guy who sprawled on the couch and drank beer.
Well, better a stay-at-home beer-drinker than a cheating swiller of chardonnay who spent all his spare time sharing someone else’s bed.
“Is everything okay, Rebecca?” At the new voice, they all looked over. There was Trent, lugging a bucket of water and an old straw broom.
Oh, no. Rebecca gave an inward moan. The last thing she wanted was for Eisenhower’s daddy to meet Ray. That would only clinch the bad impression she’d made on Trent today. What kind of woman would ever have married such a jerk?
As if he had to confirm that fact, Ray opened his mouth. “Is this your new boyfriend, Becca?” His gaze focused on the bucket and the broom, and he smiled, except on Ray it looked like a sneer. “You dating the janitor now?”
Trent had been taking himself to task all the way to Eddie and back. Thinking with the brain below his belt instead of the one between his ears had led him to teasing and flirting with Rebecca. But she didn’t need that. She’d said she didn’t need or want anything from him.
He certainly didn’t need to wind their accidental entanglement any tighter.
But those thoughts evaporated when he took in the man and woman talking with Rebecca. Trent didn’t like that stiff expression on her face, an expression that turned even stiffer when the other man said something Trent didn’t catch. Something about “the janitor.”
He strode closer, then stepped over the short front wall of their booth. “Excuse me?” he said, meeting the other man’s gaze. “Were you talking to me?”
The guy’s eyes slid toward Rebecca. “I was asking about Becca’s love life.” A faint smile looked nasty on his too-pretty face.
“My love life’s none of your business, Ray,” Rebecca replied. She glanced over at Trent, then released a tiny sigh. “This is my ex-husband, Rayburn Holley, and his friend, Constance Blake. Ray, Constance, this is Trent Crosby.”
“Doctor Rayburn Holley,” the man said. His gaze traveled to the bucket and broom Trent carried. “I’d shake hands but I’m on duty in a few minutes. So you’re making time with my little Becca, huh?”
Aaah. Now if he put love life and janitor together, it was clear that Dr. Ray had been trying to put his ex-wife down. Trent smiled. “We’re making something, all right, Ray.” He turned to the man’s companion. “Hey there, Constance. Did your brother tell you I kicked his ass on the tennis court last week?”
If smiles could kill, Constance’s would have flash-frozen him on the spot. His mother and his ex-wife had been expert at that kind of smile and he was expert at deflecting it.
He grinned back. “What’s the matter, Con? Toothache?”
“There’s not a thing wrong with me, Trent.”
“Nothing that a little warm blood wouldn’t help,” he murmured for Rebecca’s ears only and was gratified to hear her little snort of choked-off laughter. Then he raised his voice. “My mistake. I thought maybe that’s why you had an appointment with Dr. Ray here.”
“I’m