Yours to Keep: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance Page 2

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Ethan said sternly.

  Theo escaped, his shoulders hunched.

  Ethan turned back to Elsie Andalucía. “Thank you so much for bringing this up with me.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll get him back on that class list—and you let me know how finding a tutor goes.”

  They shook hands, and she trotted off.

  In the scheme of things, Theo’s forging Ethan’s signature on a class-drop form wasn’t a major crime, but it scared Ethan. He was losing Theo. It was what he’d always feared, from the moment his wife died and left him with the care and feeding of an innocent seven-year-old. He’d hoped the fear would abate with time, as he became more accustomed to being Theo’s sole caretaker, but it had gotten worse, his anxiety rising as Theo grew into a full-fledged teenager. During Ethan’s own high-school years, it had taken all the efforts of both his parents to keep his teenage high jinks from having permanent consequences. There were no checks and balances in single parenting. If he screwed up, if he let Theo slip away—

  “Hey!” A petite high-school girl had stuck her hand into the jar of miniature helmet key chains and come away with a handful. “One per customer!”

  She tossed a scornful glance at him over her shoulder.

  He gave up, looked at his watch. Seventeen more minutes, officially, until his shift was over. But it wasn’t like he was contributing anything. He leaned over toward the wholesome blond mom at the condom booth. “May I ask you a favor?”

  She gave him a flirty smile. “Sure,” she cooed.

  “I have to run an errand and head back to work. Can you keep an eye on this booth, too? It’s not high-demand.”

  She looked disappointed, but she nodded. What had she expected, that he’d ask her if she wanted to help him make use of the jar of condoms? He knew perfectly well she was married. Most of the women in Beacon were. Which didn’t stop them from flirting; it only stopped him from flirting back.

  The non-flirting on his part wasn’t sexual deadness, not by any stretch. He could appreciate the glories of Beacon’s stay-at-home moms just fine from a visual perspective—expensively colored and straightened hair, subtly applied makeup, bodies finely tuned through obsessive, boredom-induced exercise. But he was careful. Careful, above all, not to flirt with married women, but also careful not to dally even with the few single women in town. Beacon was small, talk was loose—especially about financially well-off available men—and Theo had to go on living here no matter what his father did.

  But man, he was human and male, and he missed what he’d had with Trish, missed their lively, near-daily lovemaking, the connection of being with someone at a level that went beyond Tab A, Slot B. His hand was ready, willing, and able but a damn poor conversationalist.

  After Trish died, there had been no one for a very long time, only paralyzing grief and the unending demands of single fatherhood. When he emerged from the most intense period of that, he began dating again, but though he’d engaged in one or two sessions of frustration-busting, almost antiseptic sex, there’d been nothing that felt meaningful or lasted long enough to justify bringing a woman home to meet Theo. Because there was no way he was going to let Theo get to know, get to love, another woman who might leave. One lesson in grief was enough for a child.

  Especially a troubled teenager. The last thing Theo needed in his life right now was complications. Uncertainty. His father becoming even marginally less emotionally available.

  What Theo needed was—

  God, he wished he knew.

  He fled the cafeteria, a man on a mission. He’d go upstairs, find Ed Branch, and get his juvenile-delinquent, signature-forging son a Spanish tutor.

  Chapter 2

  Ana had had enough. “Get your hands off me,” she told Ed.

  “We can have an informal arrangement.” His fingertips slid to her ribs.

  “Stop it!” A shout this time.

  The door behind her flew open, and she took advantage of the distraction to remove herself from his pawing.

  “Is there a problem?” a deep voice inquired.

  A man stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He was tall—at least six feet—and ruggedly handsome, with rumpled red-brown hair and decisive lines to his face. His broad shoulders nearly filled the door frame. He looked pissed.

  “Don’t you knock?” Ed demanded.

  The man’s green eyes narrowed. “Not when I hear a woman yelling ‘Get your hands off me’ and ‘Stop it.’ ” His voice was so mild that he might have been discussing the weather.

  Ed shrugged. “Thick door. Easy to think you heard something you didn’t.”

  Ana filled her lungs for the first time in several minutes. Her heart beat hard against her ribs.

  “Excuse me.” She picked up her backpack and tried to slip out the door, but the man hadn’t moved, and she stopped short of bodychecking him. He smelled like hand soap and something cleanly musky that she could identify only as big, sexy guy.

  “Can I help?” he murmured.

  Grateful tears pricked her eyes, but she shook her head. Her face was level with the topmost closed button of his olive-green oxford dress shirt, and she had to drop her gaze to his shoes—two-tone Keds with brown suede fronts. “Just let me out.”

  For a moment, she was afraid he wouldn’t comply, that he’d try to make a big deal of what he’d heard, but then he stepped aside, and she took off at a brisk walk.

  She was halfway down the school’s broad central staircase when she heard footfalls behind her.

  “Hey,” her rescuer called. “Wait up.”

  She was tempted to pretend she didn’t hear him, but instead she slowed. She was shaking all over, the aftereffects of adrenaline.

  He caught up with her as she reached the wide, sunny lobby at the bottom of the staircase. It was quiet there, the students in class or at lunch.

  “Are you okay?” There was genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Yeah.” She absorbed details she’d been unable to process earlier: long lashes, killer cheekbones; clean-shaven, well groomed, neatly dressed. His hair was soft and wavy, but still precisely edged.

  She’d sworn off yanquis. So any attraction she was feeling now was only because he’d rescued her. Because she wasn’t quite in her right mind. She could still taste the coppery edge of fear.

  “If you want to report him, I’ll vouch for your side of the story.”

  “No.” She could manage Ed, but if other people got involved they might start asking their own questions about her status.

  “Are you sure? That was sexual harassment, what he was doing to you. It’s illegal. He might be doing it to other people.”

  She didn’t need this, didn’t want it. “I think it’s particular to me,” she said dryly. “I’ll just stay away from him.” Heem. Her fear-induced accent was still in force.

  “Can you do that?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah. I can avoid him.” That was more like it, a solidly Anglo him.

  She suspected Ed wasn’t in a hurry to rat her out, because that would shut down the possibility that he could coerce her into sex. He’d probably wait awhile, try to get her back into his office. So she’d avoid him as long as she could, and meanwhile she’d start looking for other tutoring jobs. Preferably ones unconnected to her current network of referrals.

  “Is he your boss?”

  She wanted him to stop asking questions and let her go. She thought of her brother, Ricky, coaching her, as a kid, to walk away from people who were too curious. But she couldn’t bring herself to be outright rude. This guy had rescued her. “I’m a tutor. He does the tutoring referrals. So he gives me work, but he’s not in charge of me.”

  “Well, that’s something. And if you have to go in there? Keep the door open.”

  She laughed without humor. “Yeah, got that. Hey. Thank you. Thanks for rescuing me. Not everyone would’ve done that. Opened the door like that.”

  He shifted uncomfor
tably. “Naw. Anyone halfway decent would have.”

  She knew plenty of decent people who wouldn’t have. In her world, sometimes it was almost impossible to do the right thing without setting yourself up as a sacrifice.

  “Well, thanks again. I’d better be on my way.” She started toward the door.

  He dashed ahead of her to push it open.

  When was the last time anyone held a door for her? She couldn’t remember.

  He followed her out, and they stood together on the wide concrete curb in front of the school. It was the middle of the day, so there were no buses or cars, and only the occasional student coming and going. The sun shone strongly from a bright blue, late-September sky with a few wisps of cumulus clouds. She could smell turning leaves and the faint cinnamon note that fall air held. After the claustrophobia of Ed’s office, it was a profound relief.

  “So—crazy question.” He had a nice voice, too, low and rumbly. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Spanish tutor, would you?”

  Oh, hell.

  “Because my son needs a Spanish tutor.”

  Was he serious? She checked him out for signs that he was propositioning her, but his face was earnest.

  She needed the work. Always needed the work, and needed it worse now, if Ed decided to blacklist her. But there were a million reasons she shouldn’t work for this guy. He might cling to the idea that she should report what had happened with Ed to some authority figure. Or he might get curious about what had gone on behind the closed door and start asking questions. She could easily imagine him putting two and two together, especially when she asked him to pay her in cash. Or he could decide that if Ed could take a shot at her, so could he. She didn’t want to believe this last thing about him, but she knew better than to assume that because a man was physically beautiful he was also a saint.

  “Mr. Branch can help you find a Spanish tutor,” she said finally.

  He made a face. “Don’t make me go back in there.”

  She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. The last of her shakiness dissolved.

  “He’s really disgusting.”

  “Totally vile,” she agreed.

  The bell buzzed inside the high school, and from a few open windows came the sounds of chairs scraping and students chattering. He shifted from one foot to the other, and a scowl twisted his features. “My son is giving me hell. He forged my signature on a form and dropped Spanish. And I didn’t know anything about it until the teacher started grilling me this morning about why I’d ignored her note suggesting that I get him a tutor.” He kicked an uneven spot in the sidewalk and didn’t quite meet her eyes.

  “Ouch.”

  His gaze came up, green eyes bright, and he smiled ruefully. “Yeah. So I need a competent tutor, and I’m guessing you need work, if you were in there talking to Mr. Hands.”

  She giggled. She couldn’t help it. Mr. Hands. Perfect.

  “I’m Ethan Hansen, by the way.” He extended his hand.

  Her life didn’t provide chances to shake hands with men, or for any casual touch outside her family. So it shouldn’t have surprised her that his hand felt startlingly good around hers, warm and strong, his palm slightly rough. Her breath went somewhere and was temporarily unavailable to her. “Ana Travares,” she said, when she could.

  “I’m assuming you’re competent? Let’s see. Are you on the Recommended Tutors list?” He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and scanned it. “You are.”

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “There were a bunch of them in a pocket outside that madman’s door.” He held it out. Her name was indeed on it. “If you’re on the list, you can’t be all bad, right?”

  She wanted to clutch the list like a talisman. She was on it for the time being, until Ed got around to making a new list. Which he could be doing at this very moment. And Ethan Hansen had just vividly illustrated how valuable it was to be on it. In tutoring, there were no certifications or licenses. Even college and teaching degrees weren’t essential. All that mattered was how well you convinced the world that you possessed, in abundance, the required skill.

  “Okay,” she said. Or someone said it; she wasn’t actually conscious of having made a decision to accept the job offer. If her id had its own greedy little voice, that would have been it speaking: yes to a job, yes to money, yes to extra security against Ed Branch’s whims.

  “Thanks.” The deep smile lines at the sides of his mouth got a thorough workout for the first time. “That’s great. How’s Monday?”

  “Sure. Five o’clock?”

  “That sounds good. He’s home alone after school. Do you mind if I’m not back when you get there? I’ll be home before six, in time to pay you.”

  “You and your wife both work?”

  “My wife died when Theo was seven.” Ethan said it matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  That could not have been relief she’d felt when he said his wife was dead. It must have been a stab of sympathy. She wasn’t interested in him. Couldn’t be interested in him. Not only because he was probably married, definitely white, and undoubtedly rich and highly educated but also because she didn’t date anyone.

  She’d given up. The men from her neighborhood, the ones who could handle the news that she was undocumented, found her strange—too brainy, too American, too self-sufficient for their tastes. And as for men she met on her own, outside the confines of her family’s approval … Well, there were only two ways they ever responded to finding out that she was living in the United States illegally—the way Ed had, by taking advantage of her, or by running for the hills. As Walt had. She felt a stab of pain at the memory of how things had played out with Walt.

  Ethan coughed. “Yeah, so, about Monday. Like I said, I work until late. Theo’s home alone. But if it’s not a problem for you, then Monday should work.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Do you have something I could write my address on?”

  She fished in her backpack for a pen and some paper. He wrote his address and handed them back to her.

  “Um, see you Monday, then?”

  They shook on it, and this time she steeled herself, so she felt only a shiver of pleasure at the rough touch of his palm.

  “See you Monday.” He released her hand.

  As she went up the hill toward the train station, she tried hard not to think about whether he was watching her walk away, or whether he was looking forward to Monday, or whether he’d been similarly affected by that very small, theoretically innocent, skin-to-skin contact.

  Chapter 3

  He watched her slim back retreat up the hill.

  It wasn’t only the thrill of solving his tutoring problem that had made his body hum. It was her. She had thick dark hair and big brown eyes that had flashed with suppressed anger in Ed Branch’s tiny office. Her skin was a pale caramel, and her baggy clothes did only a so-so job of disguising her phenomenal hip-to-waist ratio and the rest of her curves. As he followed her up the hill with his gaze, he could already imagine that the trusty hand would be well employed tonight—and maybe tomorrow morning in the shower, too.

  But none of that accounted for the effect she’d had on him, that fizzy, chemical awareness she’d unleashed. It was a cliché, but it was like electricity, the hum of her slim, soft hand in his, the nearly overwhelming urge he’d had to reach out and undo her ponytail to watch her hair tumble over her shoulders.

  He was used to beautiful, fit women. Most of them might be mannequins, for all the effect they had on him. Ana had broken through the defenses.

  It wasn’t the things that were right about Ana that intrigued him, he decided. It was the things that were wrong. She didn’t smile much—though he’d made her laugh a couple of times, which had given him an improbable amount of pleasure—and there was suspicion in her face that he guessed was always there. She wore battered sneakers, not new leather boots like the mommies, and carried an equally battere
d backpack—not an expensive handbag. And she hadn’t flirted, which filled him with relief and, perversely, a need to win her interest. To find out what made her nervous and hesitant and so thoroughly un-Beaconish.

  He cast a quick glance at his watch. It was almost one o’clock. He’d be late for his first appointment, and he hated starting behind the ball. He jogged to his car.

  He was only a minute or two from the office, but it was a slow drive. He navigated the parking-lot speed bumps then found himself in a long line of cars turning left into traffic. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel.

  He’d see Ana again on Monday. He could cook dinner, invite her to stay. He let himself imagine the two of them sitting on the couch together, sipping wine, chatting—

  The fantasy ground to an abrupt halt. He couldn’t cook her dinner. There’d be no sitting on the couch together. For one thing, if he made a move on her now he’d be the second creep in a week to cross professional lines.

  It made him uncomfortable that she didn’t want to report Branch, but he didn’t know the whole story. He had to trust Ana’s judgment. If she didn’t want to report him, she probably had her reasons.

  A driver stopped to wave him out of the parking lot and onto the main road, where he promptly got stuck at the light. He shifted impatiently in his seat, waiting for the green.

  The truth was, even beyond not wanting to pull an Ed Branch on her, getting involved with Ana was not an option. Because he kept his dating life completely, antiseptically Theofree. And vice versa.

  Temptation was one thing; yielding was another. It was not a sin to be human, but he wouldn’t let a passing itch get in the way of what mattered most.

  Passing itch. For sure, that described his reaction to the flirtatious mom in the gym. Or how he felt about the women who passed through his office. But it seemed a pale way to describe his attraction to Ana. Or the sense of protectiveness she’d unleashed. The curiosity he still felt. His eagerness to see her on Monday.

  He turned into the pediatric office’s lot, parked, and dashed inside.