By the time he’d shaken off the blonde, deplaned and made his way through the Boise Airport to baggage claim, he figured he should have argued harder with Mitch for a dangerous mission instead of this trip. Sara would have understood.
“Shane!”
A few inches taller than most of the crowd, he easily saw his sister on the far end of the row of chairs. His height was always an advantage, but probably not necessary this time since Sara was jumping up and down.
Damn. A weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying lifted. There was a lightness in his chest, a sort of joy he barely recognized.
Then, because he apparently wasn’t moving fast enough, Sara plowed through the crowd to throw her arms around him.
“You look so good. Oh man, I missed you,” she gushed once she’d released the stranglehold enough to lean back and grin.
Shane grinned back.
Damn, his little sister had grown up pretty.
Although Sara was as blonde as all of the O’Brian sisters and Shane’s hair was dark brown, nobody would mistake them as anything but siblings. From their bottle-green eyes to the squared chin, the O’Brian genes ran strong.
“Did you bring a suitcase?” she asked.
It took him a second before he remembered that yeah, he did have a suitcase. It was rare that Shane actually booked a flight. One of the perks of traveling as an active duty SEAL was flying free if he was willing to go standby.
“We’ll grab it, then head back. I’m so excited you’re here. It seems like forever, doesn’t it?” Sara babbled, tucking her arm through his as they moved toward the baggage carousel. “Was it a safe flight? Easy? No turbulence?”
He wanted to say that he’d flown through lightning storms and dived out of a Seahawk into the raging ocean, so it was stupid to think he couldn’t handle a few bumps on a commercial airline.
But he knew hearing that would freak her out, so he shrugged instead.
“It was a quick flight.”
“Oh, Shane. I’m so, so happy to see you. You’ll be here through next weekend, right?”
“I’m here for your birthday,” he said. There was no point reminding her that his welcome was thin at best. Pushing the length of his visit past its purpose was pointless.
“But my birthday party is in two days. And on a Tuesday. Celebrating in the middle of the week is so lame. I want another party. A big one with dancing, music, fun. That means the weekend.” She leaned her head against his arm and slanted him a look through her lashes. “You will be here to celebrate with me, won’t you?”
Shane wanted to close his eyes against the beseeching look in her eyes. He was a SEAL, he reminded himself. SEALs didn’t show weakness.
Nor did they have to keep reminding themselves of that. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. Damn, he wasn’t even technically home yet and he was already acting like a dumbass.
“What did mom have to say about my visiting?” he asked instead of committing himself.
He didn’t need to hear her response. Her face said it all. Downcast eyes, a pouty lip and flushed cheeks. Dammit.
“Sara—”
“Don’t be mad,” she said, her words spilling out in a breathless rush. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got it all planned. I’ve got a place for you to stay until my birthday, then you’ll pop in like the best present of my life. Mom will be so happy to see you that she won’t have time to get upset.”
He’d flown home. He’d met with his sister. He could pull a fifty out of his wallet, tell Sara it was her birthday gift and grab the next flight home. Technically, he’d followed orders. He could get away with it.
And—he looked at Sara—he couldn’t do it. His family ties were tenuous at best. He couldn’t break them with the only person in the family who didn’t pretend he was a traveling salesman.
* * *
“DO YOU HAVE anything that will inspire lust? You know, like magical Viagra that can be slipped into a drink or sprinkled on a plate of spaghetti.”
“Have you considered a little lace chemise? Maybe add in candlelight to go with the wine and meatballs.”
“Lark!” The tone danced somewhere between a whine and a laugh as the woman on the other side of the counter lifted a pink striped shopping bag to wave it back and forth. “C’mon, you know I’ve already covered the basics. I need oomph, though. A little guarantee.”
Lark wanted to point out that nothing in life came with a guarantee, but she knew the pretty brunette wouldn’t listen. The only thing Jenny wanted to hear was the magic phrase that would get her into Dave White’s tighty whities. But Lark didn’t have magic, nor did she feel right encouraging Jenny sneak into Dave’s underwear.
“Jenny—”
“C’mon, Lark. Nobody’s here, to hear us. Besides, everyone knows The Magic Beans sells special treats. Heather says all those exotic ingredients she uses have a special kick.” Her elbows on the cherrywood counter, Jenny leaned forward and added in a persuasive tone, “Your mom would have something for me.”
Lark clenched her teeth so tight, she thought she heard cracking. Then, because she knew from experience that the nagging wouldn’t stop, she angled her head toward the glossy frosting of the brownies under the dessert dome.
“Chocolate is reputed to be an aphrodisiac,” she said, trying to make her voice sound mysterious. “From the time of the ancient Aztecs, it’s been fueling passion-filled nights.”
So had cheap beer in recent times.
But Lark kept that to herself, preferring to hurry Jenny on her way with two huge brownies and a pound of freshly ground dark roast.
The horny housewife hadn’t been gone ten minutes before the source of Lark’s frustration came sweeping through the front door, her lavender hair curling over her wide hips and a trio of crystals dangling from her ears. In her plump arms was a large purple bakery box and on her face was a loving smile.
Lark wanted to scream, but that smile stopped her.
“Darling, I had a baking epiphany after my morning meditation and had to try a new recipe. Sesame mango cupcakes with almond frosting. What do you think? Will your afternoon crowd like them?”
“Heather, you have to stop—”
“Stop?” Heather interrupted, setting the box on the counter and lifting the lid. The scent of fruit and almonds filled the air. “Would you ask Mozart to stop composing? Van Gogh to stop painting? I’m an artist, darling. I must create.”
“Fine, then create edible art instead of rumors.”
“Rumors?” Heather’s brows, as black as Lark’s own, rose to meet her pastel hair.
“Aphrodisiacs.”
“Well, darling, many of my ingredients have been reputed to have desire-invoking results. Just look it up on the internet.”
Lark closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that she had her mother’s patience. But, nada. Fortunately, she did have her sense of humor.
“Did you know the internet claims that Elvis is alive, living on Neptune partying with Freud?”
“Well, that’d be a trick, wouldn’t it? Especially as I heard that Elvis was in Brooklyn imprinting his profile on toast.”
Lark burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. Heather was too sweet, too fun and too much like her sister for Lark to stay mad at her.
“Please stop,” she asked, pulling a glossy red ceramic tray off the