Simply Irresistible

“Thank you.”

“Come on, Georgie, I’ll help you.”

“I need more help than you can provide.”

“Five minutes. In five minutes you’ll be skating like a pro.”

“No, thanks.”

“You can’t just sit here, Georgie.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll get bored.” Then he shrugged and said, “And because Lexie will worry about you.”

“Lexie won’t worry about me.”

“Sure she will. She told me she didn’t want you to sit here all by yourself.”

He was lying. Like any six-year-old, Lexie was basically self-centered and took her mother for granted. “After five minutes you’ll leave and let me hold down the bench?” she asked, compromising so he’d leave her alone.

“I promise, and I promise that I won’t let you fall either.”

Georgeanne sighed with resignation, placing one hand in his palm and the other on the stone wall. “I’m not very athletic,” she warned him as she carefully stood.

“Well, your other talents make up for it.”

She was about to ask him what he meant, but he moved behind her and placed his strong hands on her hips.

“Outside of a good pair of skates,” he said close to her left ear, “the most important thing is balance.”

Georgeanne felt his breath on the side of her neck and became so flustered her skin tingled. “Where do I put my hands?” she asked.

He took so long to answer she didn’t think he was going to. Then just when she opened her mouth to repeat her question, he said, “Wherever you want.”

She balled her fingers into fists and held them down at her sides.

“You need to relax,” he said as they slowly rolled down the Prom. “You’re like a totem pole on wheels.”

“I can’t help it.” Her back collided with his chest, and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Sure you can. First off, you need to bend your knees a little bit and balance your weight over your feet. Then push out with your right foot.”

“Isn’t the five minutes up yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll fall.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

Georgeanne took one quick glance down the Promenade, spotted Lexie a short distance away, then looked down at her skates. “Are you sure?” she asked one last time.

“Of course. I do this for a living. Remember?”

“Okay.” Carefully she bent her knees slightly.

“Good. Now give a little push,” he instructed, but when she did, her feet began to slide out from under her. John wrapped one forearm around her middle and his other hand grabbed her and kept her from falling. She found herself pressed tightly against his chest, her breath frozen in her lungs. She wondered if he knew what he’d grabbed.

There wasn’t a doubt that John knew. If he’d been blind, he would have known he’d grabbed one of Georgeanne’s big, soft breasts. In a split second his battered control shattered completely. Up until now, he’d done reasonably well at governing his body’s reaction to her. Now, for the first time since he’d seen her standing on his deck yesterday morning, his control completely deserted him.

“Are you all right?” he managed, and carefully slid his hand from her breast.

“Yes.”

He’d told himself that being around Georgeanne would not pose a problem. That he could handle having her stay with him for five days. He’d been wrong. He should have left her sitting on the bench. “I didn’t mean to grab you by your… your, ahh…” Her behind was pressed into his groin, and for one unguarded moment, lust rolled through him like a ball of fire. He lowered his face to the side of her head. Holy shit, he thought, wondering if the side of her neck would taste as good as it looked. John closed his eyes and indulged a fantasy. He inhaled the scent of her hair.

“I think the five minutes are up now.”

Sanity returned and he moved his hands to her waist and put several inches between them. He tried to ignore the desire twisting his gut. He told himself that getting sexually involved with Georgeanne was not a good idea. Too bad his body wasn’t listening.

Since he’d seen her on the beach yesterday in that little halter top and shorts, he’d had to remind himself several times to ignore her long legs and deep cleavage. Even though he’d never thought he would have to, he’d had to remind himself of who she was and what she’d done. But after last night, it didn’t seem to matter any longer.

Last night he’d seen behind the beautiful face and the centerfold body. He’d seen the pain she’d tried to hide with her laughter and smiles. She’d told him of table settings and silver patterns and dyslexia and of growing up thinking she was retarded and feeling lost. She’d said it all as if it didn’t matter. But it did. To her and to him.

Last night he’d looked past the gorgeous eyes and the big breasts, and he’d seen a woman who deserved his respect. She was the mother of his child. She was also the star of his wild fantasies and erotic dreams.

“I’ll help you back to the bench,” he said, and moved them toward the stone wall. He told himself to think of her as his best friend’s little sister, but thinking of her as his best friend’s little sister didn’t work. He decided to think of her as his sister, but a few hours later, after hitting gift shops and arcades, he gave up thinking of her as anyone’s sister. It just didn’t work.

Instead, he concentrated on his daughter. Lexie and her constant chatter provided the distraction he needed. She was like a little bucket of cold water, and all of her questions gave him the respite he needed from his thoughts of Georgeanne draped across his bed.

When he looked into Lexie’s eyes, he saw her excitement and innocence, and he was amazed that he’d helped create such a perfect little person. When he picked her up and put her on his shoulders, or held her hand, his heart thumped hard in his chest. And when she laughed, he knew that everything was worth it. Having her with him was well worth the hell of wanting her mother.

During the ride back to his house, he kept himself distracted with the sound of Lexie’s little voice raised in fervent song. He patiently listened to the same silly jokes she’d told him two weeks ago, and when they got back home, she repaid him by jumping in the bathtub. He’d listened to her singing, laughed at the jokes, and his little distraction deserted him for a tub full of water and a Skipper doll.

John grabbed a copy of The Hockey News and sat down at the dining room table. His eyes scanned Mike Brophy’s column, but he didn’t give it his full attention. Georgeanne stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables. Her hair was down and her feet were bare. He turned to a three-page article featuring Mario Lemieux. He liked Mario. He respected him, but at the moment he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the chop-chop-chop of Georgeanne’s knife.

Finally he gave up and raised his gaze from the picture of Lemieux getting drilled into the nickel seats. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, laid down the knife, then turned. “I thought I’d make us a nice salad to go with our lobster tails.”

He closed the magazine and stood. “I don’t want a nice salad.”

“Oh, then what do you want?”

He looked from her green eyes to her mouth. Something real dirty, he thought. She’d put some pink glossy stuff on her lips and outlined them in a darker shade. He dropped his gaze to her throat, her breasts, and then down to her feet. John had never considered feet sexy. He’d never really thought of them much, but the thin gold ring she wore around her third toe did things to his insides. She reminded him of a harem girl.

“John?”

He walked toward her and looked back up into her face. A harem girl with tilty green eyes and a voluptuous mouth asking him what he wanted. After the day in his houseboat, he knew better than to kiss her.

“What do you want?”