Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,11
by him, warned Jamie to be good, and hurried into the shower. Once there, she did take more time than she had intended. She scrubbed her skin pink and worked her hair into a rich lather with scented shampoo. It wouldn’t dry, she realized as she fluffed it with a towel, but clean wet was better than sweaty wet! She splashed herself with a light daytime cologne that smelled of fresh fields and applied a touch of low-keyed makeup. Satisfied with the results, she slipped into a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a cool halter top. Although the nights were cool, the Pennsylvania summers could be murder in the day.
She emerged from the bathroom feeling much more confident. The role of femme fatale was played more easily in the right costume. Affecting a brilliant smile, she moved into the living room with a calculated walk.
The children were all awake, all ensconced on Wesley’s lap as he sat on the floor with them, embellishing a worn book of fairy tales. A painful little tug pulled at her heart as she watched the scene.
Wesley hadn’t lied; he was a natural with children. Even two-year-old Terry sat with wide eyes glued on the storyteller’s face.
Sloan forget all about her bewitching smile and swinging walk as she paused in the hallway, an erratic pulse beating through her veins. He liked the children. He hadn’t even let a day go by without coming to see her. The more she saw of him, the more she liked.
The tale of Cinderella, told in his deep, compelling voice, came to an end with the prince and princess living happily ever after. Laura jumped to her feet, demanding another story.
“Not now, my pet,” Sloan said softly, coming to scoop her daughter into her arms with a laugh. Laura’s eyes were huge and blue like her own, and they snapped with outrage, causing Sloan and Wesley both to chuckle.
“Mommy!” Laura began her protest. “Go back to the bathroom.”
“Hey, young lady!” Sloan chastised her. “Don’t you talk to me like that.”
“Remember our promise!” Wesley intercepted quickly, sneaking a wink which encompassed the three children.
“Pizza!” Jamie happily expounded to his mother. He never could keep a secret.
“If it’s all right with your mother,” Wesley said sternly. “And if you behave for the rest of the afternoon.” He glanced at Sloan apologetically. “I hope you’ll forgive a bit of bribery.”
Sloan bit back a chuckle and sank gracefully to the floor beside them. “The best of us stoop to it now and then. Kids,” she said, praying they chose to obey without argument, “go on into the playroom for a while now.” She glanced at Wesley with raised “you asked for it” brows. “Mr. Adams will read you another story later.”
Surprisingly, the children grudgingly wandered toward the playroom, baleful glances at their mother their only sign of pique. Sloan waited until they had cleared the room to look to Wesley, breathing deeply as she reminded herself she must move with all speed.
“Thank you,” she murmured, unnerved to find it difficult to meet his frank, unwavering green gaze. “That was kind of you.”
“I told you, I like kids.”
Sloan didn’t try to look at him again. Running a slender hand along the shag of the rug, she continued, “I want to apologize for last night. You were right. I was being rude and I’m...I’m sorry.”
He laughed, the slow easy laugh she was coming to like so much. “You’re totally forgiven. I did rather barge in after a long day. But I’ll extract a payment if I may. I supply the dinner, but I get to stay for it. How’s that?”
“All payments should be so amiable!” She crossed one foot over the other and rose. The light, masculinely pleasant scent of his after-shave was drifting to her nostrils; she was becoming too fascinated by the display of his long rugged fingers as they lay casually upon a muscled thigh. “Come on, I’ll get our tea.”
Wesley proved to be a perfect guest. He didn’t seem to mind in the least that the afternoon was spent checking on two-year-old Terry, nor was he adverse to wiping tomato sauce from little faces after the pizza arrived. When bedtime rolled around, he insisted on giving the boys their bath, after which he expertly taped a plastic overnight diaper on newly potty-trained Terry. True to his word, he read the children another story and tucked them into bed. They barely remembered to kiss their mother, and Sloan wondered with amusement whether to