John didn’t believe her. Women didn’t wear underwear like that unless they were planning on showing it to someone. “Do you want some coffee?” He stood before his imagination sucked him into a fantasy of soft thighs and blue lace.
“Sure.” Georgeanne followed him into the kitchen, filling the room with the sound of her heels tapping the hardwood floors.
“Charles doesn’t like me, you know,” John informed her as he poured coffee into two navy mugs.
“I know, but I wasn’t under the impression that you liked him either.”
“No. I don’t,” he said, but his dislike of the man wasn’t personal. The guy was a real dickweed, true enough, but that wasn’t his primary objection. John hated the thought of any man in Lexie’s life-period. “How serious is your relationship?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Maybe, but he was going to press the issue anyway. He handed her the mug. “Cream or sugar?”
“Do you have Equal?”
“Yep.” He dug in a cupboard for the little blue packet and gave her a spoon. “Your boyfriend is my business if he spends time with my daughter.”
Georgeanne’s long fingers emptied the sweetener into her coffee and she slowly stirred. Her nails were mauve, long, and perfect. Sunlight poured in through the window above the sink, catching in her hair and earrings. “Lexie has met Charles twice and she seems to like him. He has a daughter who is ten, and she and Lexie play well together.” She set the spoon in the sink and looked up at him. “I think that’s all you need to know.”
“If Lexie has only met him twice, then you haven’t known him very long.”
“No, not long.” She pursed her lips a little and blew into her coffee. John rested one hip against the white tile counter and watched her take a sip. He’d bet she hadn’t slept with him yet. It would explain why the man had been so hostile toward John. “What is he going to say when he finds out that you and Lexie are coming to Cannon Beach with me?”
“Easy. We’re not going.”
He’d spent the previous night figuring out a way to coerce her into agreeing with his vacation plans. He would appeal to her emotions; God knew she had those in spades. Everything she felt was right there in her green eyes. Even though she tried to hide her feelings behind bland smiles, John had spent his life reading the faces of tough, coolheaded men. Men who reined in emotion while uncorking haymakers with detached precision. Georgeanne didn’t stand a chance. He would appeal to her maternal side. If that didn’t work, he’d improvise. “Lexie needs to spend time with me, and I need to build a relationship with her. I don’t know a lot about little girls,” he confessed with a shrug, “but I bought a book written on the subject by a woman doctor. She writes that the relationship a girl has with her father could determine how she relates to the men in her life. Say, if a girl’s father isn’t around, or if he’s a jerk, she could really be fuc-ahh… messed up.”
Georgeanne looked at John for several long moments, then carefully set her mug on the counter. She knew from personal experience that he was right. She’d been messed up for a lot of years. But his being right didn’t persuade her to spend a vacation with him. “Lexie can get to know you here. The three of us alone would be a disaster.”
“It’s not the three of us you’re worried about. It’s the two of us.” He pointed at her and then himself. “You and me.”
“You and I don’t get along.”
He folded his arms across his wide chest, and the worn collar of his gray T-shirt dipped, exposing his clavicle and the base of his throat. “I think you’re afraid we’ll get along too well. You’re afraid you’ll end up in my bed.”
“Don’t be absurd.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even like you very much, and I’m not the least little bit attracted to you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“You’re afraid that once we’re alone, you won’t be able to resist jumping in bed with me.”
Georgeanne laughed. John was rich and handsome.
He was a well-known athlete and had the powerful body of a warrior. She wasn’t concerned she’d jump in bed with him. Not even if he were that last man on earth and held a gun to her head. “You need to get over yourself.”
“I think I’m right.”
“No.” She shook her head and walked out of the kitchen. “You’re delusional.”
“But you don’t need to worry,” he continued, and followed close behind. “I’m immune to you.”
Georgeanne reached for her briefcase and set it on the couch.
“You’re beautiful and Christ knows you’ve got a b
ody to make a priest weep, but I’m just not tempted.”