She swiveled back around to find Wyatt staring at her.
“The house is amazing, Wyatt. Can I see all of it?”
“Why?”
“Because if it’s anything like the family room, it takes my breath away.”
Wyatt didn’t want Calliope to like the house. He didn’t want to show her the house. But dammit, something inside him made him push off the counter and start walking.
She followed silently, murmuring her appreciation as they went.
Somewhere along the way she’d shed her coat. She wore a sweater that clung to her body, outlining her spectacular breasts, and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was going to try really hard not to notice that, though he supposed it was already too late.
Concentrate on the house. She only wanted to see the house. Quick tour and she’d be out of there.
Only it wasn’t a quick tour, because she’d pause occasionally to run her fingers along the wainscoting, an exposed beam or a doorknob—small touches he’d put some thought or effort into that Cassandra had never noticed.
Never appreciated.
Calliope noticed. Appreciated.
Something inside him clenched as she paused at the stairs and inspected the way the wood wrapped around itself. It had taken him weeks to do that staircase. He’d wanted something elegant, yet sturdy, something beautiful that Cassandra would appreciate, yet stairs that would stand the test of time—and maybe a houseful of kids.
Cassandra had blown right by the stairs and never said a word.
“It’s like music,” Calliope whispered, her fingers a light caress over the wood. Her gaze met his, and her lips lifted. “It’s amazing, Wyatt. You must have spent months on this.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he turned away and headed up, listening to the sound of her feet behind him.
The master bedroom was the only place he’d spent any money on, furniture-wise, since by the time he’d finished the house he and Cassandra were already divorced. He’d bought a big bed since he was a big guy, a double thick mattress and he’d made the headboard and footboard himself, grinding out his anger and frustration by creating the scrolled patterns in the wood.
Calliope leaned over and traced the pattern with her fingertips.
“This is beautiful. And the bed is so big.” She turned to him and arched a brow. “For your harem of women?”
“Funny.”
She wandered into the bathroom and gasped. “Oh my God. I’m moving in tonight and living in your bathroom.”
He couldn’t resist the smile as he entered the doorway and leaned against it.
“A tub made for four people. With whirlpool jets. And that decadent shower—Wyatt, that’s just dirty and sexy. I want to get na**d and get in there right now.”
She was making his dick hard with that kind of talk and the corresponding visuals. He could already imagine her na**d, the jets from all four showerheads spraying her, steam enveloping them both as he put his hands and his mouth all over her body…
Yeah. That train of thought had to stop. He turned around and left the room and started some complex algebra so his hard-on would go away.
He breathed in and out as he reached the top of the stairway.
“I always wanted to live in a big house,” she said, grasping the railing in the sitting area at the top of the stairs. “I used to pretend I was a commoner—which I was, of course. That I was forced into servitude, but someday I’d meet a prince and he’d fall madly in love with me and carry me away to his huge castle where we’d marry and have children and live happily ever after.”
When he didn’t say anything, she turned to him and laughed, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was a big fan of Cinderella.”
“Obviously.”
“And of course you’ve seen the house I grew up in. It wasn’t exactly a castle.”
Yeah, he had seen the house. It was a two-bedroom, about a thousand square feet. Small, built in the fifties. Calliope’s parents still lived in the same house they bought when they were first married—the house her grandparents used to own.
“My mom and dad never had a lot of money, but we had love and a sense of family. It was always enough.”
“For you, maybe.” Not for Cassandra. She’d always bitched about wanting to get away from that cracker-box house, how much she’d hated it and how confined she’d felt living there. He’d often wondered if she spent so much time at his house—and with him—more as an escape than because she really cared about him.
He wondered about a lot of things. Like why he’d built this huge house with everything Cassandra could have wanted—and she’d hated it anyway.
Calliope must have sensed his thoughts, because she laid her hand on his arm. “You can’t change the past, Wyatt. You have to let it go.”
“Yeah, well, it won’t let go of me.”
She pushed off the railing and moved in front of him. “Maybe you don’t distract yourself enough. Put something in your head besides my big sister.”
“Like what? Her little sister? That’s a little too close to home for me.”
She tilted her head back, and instead of anger he saw the same bright-eyed smile she always wore.
“You need to separate me from Cassandra. I’m not her.”
No, she wasn’t. Cassandra always pouted. She was never happy, was always moody and the slightest thing would set her off.
Wyatt had been nothing but rude to Calliope. So far, she’d been nothing but sweet to him.
He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You can’t be real.”
She inhaled, her br**sts rising. “I am real. And it’s about damn time you noticed me.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed you plenty.”
Her lips curved. “Have you? How?”
“I notice you’re driving me crazy.”
“Again. How?”
The invitation was obvious. One step and she’d be in his arms. He wanted to taste her so badly he licked his lips. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, then back to meet his eyes. The tightening in his jeans was almost unbearable.
It had been a really long damn time since he’d been with a woman. Hell, since he’d kissed a woman or touched one.
This woman in particular made him crazy.
And she was the wrong woman.
He took a step back instead of forward. “I need to get back to the car.”
He caught the flicker of disappointment before she replaced it with a smile. He’d hurt her and he hadn’t meant to. But he couldn’t be what she wanted. He wasn’t the man for her. She needed someone with an open heart, someone who’d appreciate her and be able to love her. Someone who wasn’t damaged and bitter.
That wasn’t him.
“Calliope.”
“It’s okay. I need to get home anyway.”
They headed downstairs. She grabbed her jacket from the counter and slid into it. If he were a gentleman he would have helped her with it.
He didn’t feel much like a gentleman right now, and if he got too close to her she wouldn’t be leaving his house tonight. He’d have her na**d and in that shower so fast her head would spin. And after he worked out some of the boiling tension tightening his insides, he’d never see her again.
Yeah, not the right guy for her.
He adjusted his jeans and followed her out into the garage. She turned around to face him, and he took that step back again.
She noticed, and her lips curved.
“I’ll see you later.”
It wasn’t until she got into her car and pulled out of his driveway that he realized he’d been holding his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted her to be gone, or because he was waiting for her to turn around and come back.
He exhaled on a curse, then dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to face the car. He picked up the sandpaper, determined to take out his sexual frustration on the fender.
Chapter Five
The weather turned abruptly, their strange late November warmth obliterated by dark clouds and sharp wind that seemed to cut right through thick layers of clothing and heavy coats. The threat of snow hung in the air, and Calliope wondered how much work would be done on the addition before the bad weather moved in.
Wyatt and his guys had the framing finished, and had spent the past few days putting the roof on. Once that was done, the sheetrock would be next. Calliope hoped they’d get it all completed before it started to snow.
She’d already had to relocate the kids’ playroom to another section so Wyatt could cut the hole in the existing wall to make the doorway, and for safety’s sake the existing playroom was off limits until the project was completed. That meant they were crammed in like sardines in the other playroom. Not too bad when the weather was warmer and her staff could take the kids outside to run off some of that pent-up energy. Once it snowed, though, they’d all be stuck indoors together.
She wasn’t looking forward to that.
Marcy was sick today, which meant Calliope was in charge of the three-year-olds. She had them out in the play yard right now, a perfect location to let her watch Wyatt and his guys as they put up drywall.
The wind was blustery. She pulled her hat down to cover her eyes. The kids bounced around and squealed with joy. She was freezing. Wind was blowing out of the north and seemed to cut right through her jeans.
Where had that nice touch of sixty-degree weather gone? She wanted that back. Didn’t seem to bother Wyatt, though, who worked on the roof in a short-sleeved shirt. Just the thought of it added goose bumps to her goose bumps.
She wished she had the time to lean over the fence and watch him, but not only did she have to keep her eyes on the kids, he and his guys almost had the roof finished and would be going inside soon, so she’d lose sight of him.
Too bad. She did enjoy looking at him.
“Miss Calliope, Jeffrey won’t share the teeter-totter with me.”
She glanced down at Lawrence’s freckled face and smiled. “He won’t, huh?”
Lawrence shook his head.
She slipped her hand in his. “Let’s go see about that, shall we?”
Wyatt took a long swallow from his jug of water, trying not to watch Calliope with the kids.
It was hard not to be utterly taken in by the way she corralled a group of fifteen toddlers who couldn’t be more than three or four years old. The kids were rambunctious, screaming and running wild on the playground. Yet when she bent down and called a couple of them over, she had their rapt attention. She didn’t raise her voice, always smiled—like she did with him.
And she played with them. She didn’t stand around and supervise. She ran around the yard with them, she climbed on the equipment, and she squealed as loud as they did. When they tackled her and she fell, she laughed, then got up and chased them until they were giggling.
He’d bet they’d all take great naps today.
Calliope obviously loved her work. Though it didn’t appear to be work to her. It was clear she loved the kids, that it was more than a job to her.
Night and day difference from her sister. Cassandra had treated children like they all had communicable diseases. She’d wanted nothing to do with them, though he hadn’t known that when they’d gotten married.
They’d wanted so many different things. How could he have not seen it?
Enough. He pushed Cassandra away, which was getting easier than it used to be.
He was going to have to go inside the center to start work from the existing playroom into the newly constructed doorway, which meant avoiding Calliope wasn’t going to be an option.
He rang the bell at the front door. Beth the Bouncer, as he’d gotten used to calling her, opened the door and glared at him.
“I need to get to the playroom.”
She opened the door. “Stay on the plastic runner so you don’t spread that dust all over the floors.”
He found himself smiling at her brusque tone. It reminded him of himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
Kids were stuffed into the entryway, and stopped to gape at him.
“Who are you?” one little boy asked. He had dark curly hair and green eyes, with glasses. If Calliope had a son he’d probably look just like that.
He squatted down. “I’m Wyatt. I’m building a new room on to this place.”
“You have hammers and stuff?”
“I do.”
A little girl came up beside him. “You’re dirty. Miss Beth will make you wash up before you come inside.”
Wyatt lifted his gaze to Beth, who fought a smirk.
“And you’d better clean off your shoes, too,” another little boy said.
“Miss Calliope doesn’t care if you’re dirty. She likes dirt.”
“She gets dirty, too. She even plays in the mud with us.”
A lot of giggles, then they ran off, his novelty wearing off. He straightened and walked down the hall. He caught sight of Calliope in another room with a handful of kids. She was on the floor playing with blocks. She looked up, pushed her glasses up, smiled and waved at him.
He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips or the involuntary wave back.
Or the warmth that filled him at seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.
So she was Cassandra’s sister. So what? She was obviously attracted to him, and God knew he wanted her in a way that defied all logic or reason.
Then again, was it illogical or unreasonable to want to be with a woman who was positive, bubbly, friendly and obviously loved kids? Wasn’t Calliope the kind of woman he’d wanted all along, before he’d been seduced by the dazzling beauty of her sister?
Was that what he was afraid of—that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? She didn’t seem at all like Cassandra—a one-eighty from her sister, in fact. Cassandra wouldn’t be caught dead with muddy handprints on her jeans, or chalk on her face. She wouldn’t spend five minutes of her day sitting on the floor coloring or reading a book to a bunch of three-year-olds. Getting dirty hadn’t been on Cassandra’s list of fun things to do at all.
“The house is amazing, Wyatt. Can I see all of it?”
“Why?”
“Because if it’s anything like the family room, it takes my breath away.”
Wyatt didn’t want Calliope to like the house. He didn’t want to show her the house. But dammit, something inside him made him push off the counter and start walking.
She followed silently, murmuring her appreciation as they went.
Somewhere along the way she’d shed her coat. She wore a sweater that clung to her body, outlining her spectacular breasts, and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was going to try really hard not to notice that, though he supposed it was already too late.
Concentrate on the house. She only wanted to see the house. Quick tour and she’d be out of there.
Only it wasn’t a quick tour, because she’d pause occasionally to run her fingers along the wainscoting, an exposed beam or a doorknob—small touches he’d put some thought or effort into that Cassandra had never noticed.
Never appreciated.
Calliope noticed. Appreciated.
Something inside him clenched as she paused at the stairs and inspected the way the wood wrapped around itself. It had taken him weeks to do that staircase. He’d wanted something elegant, yet sturdy, something beautiful that Cassandra would appreciate, yet stairs that would stand the test of time—and maybe a houseful of kids.
Cassandra had blown right by the stairs and never said a word.
“It’s like music,” Calliope whispered, her fingers a light caress over the wood. Her gaze met his, and her lips lifted. “It’s amazing, Wyatt. You must have spent months on this.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he turned away and headed up, listening to the sound of her feet behind him.
The master bedroom was the only place he’d spent any money on, furniture-wise, since by the time he’d finished the house he and Cassandra were already divorced. He’d bought a big bed since he was a big guy, a double thick mattress and he’d made the headboard and footboard himself, grinding out his anger and frustration by creating the scrolled patterns in the wood.
Calliope leaned over and traced the pattern with her fingertips.
“This is beautiful. And the bed is so big.” She turned to him and arched a brow. “For your harem of women?”
“Funny.”
She wandered into the bathroom and gasped. “Oh my God. I’m moving in tonight and living in your bathroom.”
He couldn’t resist the smile as he entered the doorway and leaned against it.
“A tub made for four people. With whirlpool jets. And that decadent shower—Wyatt, that’s just dirty and sexy. I want to get na**d and get in there right now.”
She was making his dick hard with that kind of talk and the corresponding visuals. He could already imagine her na**d, the jets from all four showerheads spraying her, steam enveloping them both as he put his hands and his mouth all over her body…
Yeah. That train of thought had to stop. He turned around and left the room and started some complex algebra so his hard-on would go away.
He breathed in and out as he reached the top of the stairway.
“I always wanted to live in a big house,” she said, grasping the railing in the sitting area at the top of the stairs. “I used to pretend I was a commoner—which I was, of course. That I was forced into servitude, but someday I’d meet a prince and he’d fall madly in love with me and carry me away to his huge castle where we’d marry and have children and live happily ever after.”
When he didn’t say anything, she turned to him and laughed, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I was a big fan of Cinderella.”
“Obviously.”
“And of course you’ve seen the house I grew up in. It wasn’t exactly a castle.”
Yeah, he had seen the house. It was a two-bedroom, about a thousand square feet. Small, built in the fifties. Calliope’s parents still lived in the same house they bought when they were first married—the house her grandparents used to own.
“My mom and dad never had a lot of money, but we had love and a sense of family. It was always enough.”
“For you, maybe.” Not for Cassandra. She’d always bitched about wanting to get away from that cracker-box house, how much she’d hated it and how confined she’d felt living there. He’d often wondered if she spent so much time at his house—and with him—more as an escape than because she really cared about him.
He wondered about a lot of things. Like why he’d built this huge house with everything Cassandra could have wanted—and she’d hated it anyway.
Calliope must have sensed his thoughts, because she laid her hand on his arm. “You can’t change the past, Wyatt. You have to let it go.”
“Yeah, well, it won’t let go of me.”
She pushed off the railing and moved in front of him. “Maybe you don’t distract yourself enough. Put something in your head besides my big sister.”
“Like what? Her little sister? That’s a little too close to home for me.”
She tilted her head back, and instead of anger he saw the same bright-eyed smile she always wore.
“You need to separate me from Cassandra. I’m not her.”
No, she wasn’t. Cassandra always pouted. She was never happy, was always moody and the slightest thing would set her off.
Wyatt had been nothing but rude to Calliope. So far, she’d been nothing but sweet to him.
He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You can’t be real.”
She inhaled, her br**sts rising. “I am real. And it’s about damn time you noticed me.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed you plenty.”
Her lips curved. “Have you? How?”
“I notice you’re driving me crazy.”
“Again. How?”
The invitation was obvious. One step and she’d be in his arms. He wanted to taste her so badly he licked his lips. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, then back to meet his eyes. The tightening in his jeans was almost unbearable.
It had been a really long damn time since he’d been with a woman. Hell, since he’d kissed a woman or touched one.
This woman in particular made him crazy.
And she was the wrong woman.
He took a step back instead of forward. “I need to get back to the car.”
He caught the flicker of disappointment before she replaced it with a smile. He’d hurt her and he hadn’t meant to. But he couldn’t be what she wanted. He wasn’t the man for her. She needed someone with an open heart, someone who’d appreciate her and be able to love her. Someone who wasn’t damaged and bitter.
That wasn’t him.
“Calliope.”
“It’s okay. I need to get home anyway.”
They headed downstairs. She grabbed her jacket from the counter and slid into it. If he were a gentleman he would have helped her with it.
He didn’t feel much like a gentleman right now, and if he got too close to her she wouldn’t be leaving his house tonight. He’d have her na**d and in that shower so fast her head would spin. And after he worked out some of the boiling tension tightening his insides, he’d never see her again.
Yeah, not the right guy for her.
He adjusted his jeans and followed her out into the garage. She turned around to face him, and he took that step back again.
She noticed, and her lips curved.
“I’ll see you later.”
It wasn’t until she got into her car and pulled out of his driveway that he realized he’d been holding his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted her to be gone, or because he was waiting for her to turn around and come back.
He exhaled on a curse, then dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to face the car. He picked up the sandpaper, determined to take out his sexual frustration on the fender.
Chapter Five
The weather turned abruptly, their strange late November warmth obliterated by dark clouds and sharp wind that seemed to cut right through thick layers of clothing and heavy coats. The threat of snow hung in the air, and Calliope wondered how much work would be done on the addition before the bad weather moved in.
Wyatt and his guys had the framing finished, and had spent the past few days putting the roof on. Once that was done, the sheetrock would be next. Calliope hoped they’d get it all completed before it started to snow.
She’d already had to relocate the kids’ playroom to another section so Wyatt could cut the hole in the existing wall to make the doorway, and for safety’s sake the existing playroom was off limits until the project was completed. That meant they were crammed in like sardines in the other playroom. Not too bad when the weather was warmer and her staff could take the kids outside to run off some of that pent-up energy. Once it snowed, though, they’d all be stuck indoors together.
She wasn’t looking forward to that.
Marcy was sick today, which meant Calliope was in charge of the three-year-olds. She had them out in the play yard right now, a perfect location to let her watch Wyatt and his guys as they put up drywall.
The wind was blustery. She pulled her hat down to cover her eyes. The kids bounced around and squealed with joy. She was freezing. Wind was blowing out of the north and seemed to cut right through her jeans.
Where had that nice touch of sixty-degree weather gone? She wanted that back. Didn’t seem to bother Wyatt, though, who worked on the roof in a short-sleeved shirt. Just the thought of it added goose bumps to her goose bumps.
She wished she had the time to lean over the fence and watch him, but not only did she have to keep her eyes on the kids, he and his guys almost had the roof finished and would be going inside soon, so she’d lose sight of him.
Too bad. She did enjoy looking at him.
“Miss Calliope, Jeffrey won’t share the teeter-totter with me.”
She glanced down at Lawrence’s freckled face and smiled. “He won’t, huh?”
Lawrence shook his head.
She slipped her hand in his. “Let’s go see about that, shall we?”
Wyatt took a long swallow from his jug of water, trying not to watch Calliope with the kids.
It was hard not to be utterly taken in by the way she corralled a group of fifteen toddlers who couldn’t be more than three or four years old. The kids were rambunctious, screaming and running wild on the playground. Yet when she bent down and called a couple of them over, she had their rapt attention. She didn’t raise her voice, always smiled—like she did with him.
And she played with them. She didn’t stand around and supervise. She ran around the yard with them, she climbed on the equipment, and she squealed as loud as they did. When they tackled her and she fell, she laughed, then got up and chased them until they were giggling.
He’d bet they’d all take great naps today.
Calliope obviously loved her work. Though it didn’t appear to be work to her. It was clear she loved the kids, that it was more than a job to her.
Night and day difference from her sister. Cassandra had treated children like they all had communicable diseases. She’d wanted nothing to do with them, though he hadn’t known that when they’d gotten married.
They’d wanted so many different things. How could he have not seen it?
Enough. He pushed Cassandra away, which was getting easier than it used to be.
He was going to have to go inside the center to start work from the existing playroom into the newly constructed doorway, which meant avoiding Calliope wasn’t going to be an option.
He rang the bell at the front door. Beth the Bouncer, as he’d gotten used to calling her, opened the door and glared at him.
“I need to get to the playroom.”
She opened the door. “Stay on the plastic runner so you don’t spread that dust all over the floors.”
He found himself smiling at her brusque tone. It reminded him of himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
Kids were stuffed into the entryway, and stopped to gape at him.
“Who are you?” one little boy asked. He had dark curly hair and green eyes, with glasses. If Calliope had a son he’d probably look just like that.
He squatted down. “I’m Wyatt. I’m building a new room on to this place.”
“You have hammers and stuff?”
“I do.”
A little girl came up beside him. “You’re dirty. Miss Beth will make you wash up before you come inside.”
Wyatt lifted his gaze to Beth, who fought a smirk.
“And you’d better clean off your shoes, too,” another little boy said.
“Miss Calliope doesn’t care if you’re dirty. She likes dirt.”
“She gets dirty, too. She even plays in the mud with us.”
A lot of giggles, then they ran off, his novelty wearing off. He straightened and walked down the hall. He caught sight of Calliope in another room with a handful of kids. She was on the floor playing with blocks. She looked up, pushed her glasses up, smiled and waved at him.
He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips or the involuntary wave back.
Or the warmth that filled him at seeing the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.
So she was Cassandra’s sister. So what? She was obviously attracted to him, and God knew he wanted her in a way that defied all logic or reason.
Then again, was it illogical or unreasonable to want to be with a woman who was positive, bubbly, friendly and obviously loved kids? Wasn’t Calliope the kind of woman he’d wanted all along, before he’d been seduced by the dazzling beauty of her sister?
Was that what he was afraid of—that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? She didn’t seem at all like Cassandra—a one-eighty from her sister, in fact. Cassandra wouldn’t be caught dead with muddy handprints on her jeans, or chalk on her face. She wouldn’t spend five minutes of her day sitting on the floor coloring or reading a book to a bunch of three-year-olds. Getting dirty hadn’t been on Cassandra’s list of fun things to do at all.
