you returned from overseas," Monroe pressed. "She told Skye you've stayed away from them for months."
"And Skye just had to go running to you with the news," he said darkly. But he couldn't deny the accusation. He looked down at his feet and then muttered the first thing that came into his head. "Russ smells like Afghanistan."
"Eh?"
"The small one is Russ. The one still in diapers. He smells like Afghanistan, okay?" As stupid as it sounded, it was true. "It's the baby wipes - you know those wet cloths people use to wipe a kid's ass? That's what we had between our too-seldom encounters with running water." Upon his return to California, the first time he'd gotten close enough to get a whiff of his youngest nephew, he'd left Tess's house and never been back. Being at her home, breathing in that smell, made it nauseatingly easy for him to imagine Russ - and his siblings - too soon grown. Too soon experiencing that intoxicating cocktail of danger and adrenaline that he'd sucked down with an eagerness that had both ashamed and enticed him. Those were thoughts he didn't want in his head.
There was a moment's silence, and he was sure he'd shut the old guy up, but then his neighbor waved a hand. "In World War Two, I once went seventy-two days without washing up. You ever get lice in your beard? Now, that's deprivation."
Annoyed by his dismissive tone, Griffin crossed his arms over his chest. "Let me call the waa-ambulance, old man. You know what was in the best care packages from home? Flea collars. Flea collars for dogs. We fought over 'em to wear around our necks and wind around our ankles."
Monroe's eyes narrowed under his beetled brows. "In my war, our meals came with fleas and we were glad for the extra protein."
"Yeah?" Griffin said, scornful. "Well, I can beat that because - "
From the direction of No. 9's back door came the sound of a throat clearing. "Pardon me for interrupting this illuminating pissing contest," Jane said.
The crank ignored her intrusion. "I have two words for you, Griffin: trench foot."
"I..." He wouldn't have let the other man have the last word, except he glanced over and was distracted by the sight of her. She was wearing rhinestone-studded sandals, jeans cut off at the knees and a loose sleeveless top, the hem of which fluttered in the breeze. The wind caught her wavy hair too, setting the sandy tendrils dancing around her face. "You're sunburned," he said. Pink color splashed her nose, cheeks, the tops of her shoulders. Her mouth looked redder too.
That mouth. Every time he looked at the damn thing he got a jolt.
It pursed at him now, signaling she was in a mood. "That's what happens when I spend the day entertaining kids on the beach. Make that two days."
He knew he should feel both guilt and gratitude. But instead he was riveted by the duffel bag in her hand and the soft-sided laptop case that was slung across her chest. She was leaving. From the moment she'd first arrived on the scene that had been his goal - getting rid of her. So this outcome shouldn't surprise him. And Tess or no Tess, it shouldn't bother him in the least either.
He remembered the delicate frame of those shoulders under his hands. Their telltale tremor. Her rosebud mouth parting under his lips in surprise. Her taste heating him up. All that was leaving the cove.
Good. He didn't need the complication...didn't want the connection.
Pinning him with her gaze, she dropped the duffel and placed her hand on her hip. "I should have made something clear two days ago."
"Made what clear?" Her skin had been silky under his hands. That he couldn't forget.
"I'm not a babysitter. Nor am I an 'assistant,' in the way you spoke of me to your sister," she said.
Now guilt did manage to give him a poke. "You said you'd do anything I needed," he reminded her, hating his defensive tone.
She just stared at him, her clear eyes managing to send out a burn.
Oh, yeah, in a mood. He shuffled his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets, tried not to think how cute she looked with that pink nose and silvery glare. She'd kill him if he said that now.
Now that she was leaving.
He took a breath. "Hey, I am sorry about that, Jane. I was an ass." She threw him a Gee, that wasn't so bad sort of look.