“Yes. Ryn Middleton.” She strained her neck to the side. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“I’m in the middle of a lesson, but Jillian said you’d be coming by. Come in. Feel free to scope out the place. You won’t bother us.”
A nice smile, indeed shy but genuine, graced her mesmerizing face as she nodded. Although, it was her eyes that held his attention, a stark change from his past. He usually couldn’t remember a woman’s name, let alone her eye color. The exception, however, stood in front of him with the most brilliant blue eyes that faded to icy blue halos right next to her pupils. They drew him in like a hypnotic spiral—an idiot just staring at her.
“Oh…” he moved to the side and grinned “…yes, come in.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
His student continued to kill his piano by playing her own made-up chords that had him dreaming of physically harming her. Ryn didn’t need to whisper. Her voice offered an angelic reprieve from the musical massacre going on in the background.
The distracted piano teacher, with his head in the gutter, sat back down by his student while Ryn surveyed their place. No wedding band shackled her finger, but it was possible she didn’t wear one while cleaning. Five or so minutes later she paused near the front door, writing something on a pad of paper.
“Play that song again,” he told his student. His mind screamed, Get out! And never touch Black Beauty again.
Jackson’s new obsession smiled as he approached her. “Here’s the estimate.”
“Great. So I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Her brow furrowed a bit. “You…” she gestured to the piece of paper “…didn’t even look at it.”
Jackson looked at it for two quick seconds. “Great. So I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
Ryn chuckled. “Twelve-thirty.”
He nodded. “If you need to discuss that time with your husband and call us back that’s fine.”
Ryn peaked a single brow. “I’m pretty sure women asking their husbands’ permission to schedule work went out of style a couple generations ago. Twelve-thirty on Tuesday.”
A terrible answer. What was he supposed to deduce from that? A simple “I’m not married” or “I don’t need my husband’s permission” were the acceptable answers. At least they would have been clear answers; the only acceptable answer was the first one.
*
Shit. Shit. Shitty. Shit. Shit. That pretty much summed up Ryn’s thoughts on her new clients, specifically the tattooed sex-on-a-stick that taught piano lessons. Guys that looked like that did not teach piano lessons. Then there were those geeky glasses with the white tape on the bridge. Was it wrong that within thirty seconds of him answering the door her mind had him crawling up her body wearing nothing but those glasses? Probably.
Damn hormones.
His eyes and that smile—she knew flirting when she saw it. Or maybe it was teasing. Flirting said “I want you.” Teasing said “You want me, but you don’t have a chance in the world.” Ryn had to think on that one.
Celibacy.
Jackson didn’t look like a priest, but there really wasn’t any other good explanation. He probably played the organ at church. A tattooed organ-playing priest. And his age—younger. He had to be in his sexual prime. That explained Jillian’s warning. His carnal needs warred with his spiritual calling and his type had been reduced to a simple category: women. When a person suffers from starvation, they’re not choosy. They just crave food.
Any woman would be tempting after going so long—or maybe forever—without sex. Was it possible? Was Jackson a virgin?
Ryn tore through her last house on autopilot and dragged her tired, aging ass into the shower. Three weeks separated her from the big four-oh. It wasn’t a huge deal, except she would be forty and single with a twenty-one-year-old daughter and an ex-husband with a restraining order against him. She really knew how to pick ’em.
The most important male in her life was Gunner—her ten-year-old German shepherd. She adopted him as a pup and they went through years of training together. The perfect guard dog, obedient to her like a soldier.
“Should we call Maddie?”
Gunner tilted his head to the side. Ryn towel dried her hair while plopping down on the bed and grabbing the phone.
“Not now, Mom.”
“Nice to talk to you too, Maddie.”
“Well you call me every day. I have a date. Some of us have a life, you know.”
Ryn knew. How could she not? Her daughter reminded her of it all the time.
“I thought we could do a spa day for my birthday.”
“I have to work on your birthday. Need I remind you why that is?”
No. She didn’t need to hear it again. Maddie’s father pulled her college funding when Ryn filed the restraining order. Maddie complained that her mother overreacted. She didn’t, but Maddie had no way of knowing that because Ryn sheltered her from all the ugly. It was a mother’s sacrifice and Ryn never regretted it, even when her daughter treated her with disrespect and contempt.