too old for you.”
“Mr. Delarosa in his Speedo is too old. Eben Spencer? Not even close.”
To her relief, Sage was spared having to continue the conversation by the arrival of the first campers.
She was showing the children how to identify the different tracks of birds in the sand—and doing her level best not to pay more than her usual attention to the front door—when it opened suddenly and a little dark-haired sprite rushed through and headed straight for her.
“Hi Sage! My dad says he went running with Conan this morning while I was still sleeping.”
Her skin suddenly itchy and tight, she drew in a breath and lifted her gaze to find Eben standing a short distance away watching her out those glittering green eyes.
She couldn’t read anything at all in his expression— regret, renewed heat, even mild interest.
Fine. She could pretend nothing happened, too. “True enough,” she answered Chloe.
“Why didn’t anybody wake me up?” she pouted. “I would have gone jogging, too!”
“Conan has pretty long legs, honey. It’s hard for me to keep up with him sometimes.”
“I’m a slow runner,” Chloe said glumly, then her face lit up. “I could ride a bike, though. I do that sometimes back home. I ride my bike and my dad has to run to catch up with me.”
Sage couldn’t help giving Eben a quick look, endeared despite herself at the image of Eben jogging while his daughter rode her bike alongside.
It seemed incongruous with everything else she had discerned about the man—but she supposed one brief kiss didn’t automatically make her an expert.
“If I can find a bike, can I go with you next time?”
“I don’t know if there will be a next time,” she pointed out. “You’re leaving in a few days.”
That apparently was the wrong thing to say. Chloe’s bottom lip jutted out and her green eyes looked as wounded as if Sage had just kicked her in the shins.
“I don’t want to go. I like it here. I like you and I like your dog and I like finding sand dollars.”
Sage gave her a little hug. “It’s fun going on vacation and meeting new people, isn’t it? When you came in, did you notice that Lindsey has some sea glass in a jar? Whoever guesses how many pieces are inside gets a prize.”
Distracted for the moment, Chloe’s truculence faded. “Really? What kind of prize?”
“A toy stuffed sea otter. It’s really cool.”
“I bet I can win it! I’m really good at guessing stuff.” Chloe rushed away, leaving Eben and Sage alone.
She was intensely aware of him, the smell of expensive cologne that clung to his skin, his tailored blue shirt, the crisp folds in his silk power tie.
His business attire ought to be a major turn-off for her. It should have reminded her just how very far apart they were.
She had always thought she preferred someone like Will, who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. But she couldn’t seem to control the wild impulse to loosen that tie a little, to spread her hands over the strong muscles beneath the expensive tailoring.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his still-veiled gaze. “Chloe should have a great day today. We have lots of fun things planned for the children.”
“Great. I know she’s excited—more excited than she’s been about anything in a long time.”
“That’s what we like to hear.”
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you later.”
He turned away and headed out the door. Sage watched him for only a moment—but even that was too long and too revealing, apparently. When she turned back to her campers she found her assistant director watching her with a knowing look.
“You know, it’s really too bad you’re not the kind of woman who would consider a summer fling,” Lindsey murmured as Eben closed the door behind him.
Wasn’t it? Sage thought, but she quickly turned her attention to the children.
* * *
He was dead meat.
Roast him, fry him, stick him on a spit. Sage Benedetto was going to kill him.
With one eye on the digital clock on the dashboard, Eben accelerated to pass a slow-moving minivan towing a pop-up trailer. He was supposed to have been at the nature center to pick up Chloe twenty minutes ago and he was still an hour away from Cannon Beach.
Sage might have disliked him before—their disturbing, heated morning kiss notwithstanding—but her mild antipathy was going to move into the territory of loathing if he didn’t reach her soon to explain.
He was beyond tardy, approaching catastrophically, negligently late.
He steered the Jag off the highway and dialed the center’s number again, as he had done a half-dozen times since the moment he had emerged late from meeting with his team of Portland attorneys.
He’d gotten a busy signal for the last half-hour, but this time to his relief the phone rang four times before someone picked up. He recognized Sage’s low, sexy voice the moment she said hello.
“Hello. Eben Spencer here,” he said, feeling far more awkward and uncomfortable than he was accustomed to.
Somehow she seemed to bring out the worst in him and he didn’t like it at all.
“I’ve, uh, got a slight problem.”
“Oh?”
“I’m afraid I’m just leaving Portland. I had a meeting that ran long and, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I’m hurrying as fast as I can, but I won’t be there for another hour, even if the traffic cooperates. I’m very sorry.”
He heard a slight pause on the line and could almost hear her thinking what a terrible father he was. Right now, he couldn’t say he disagreed.
“No problem,” she finally said. “I’ll just take her to Brambleberry House with me. Conan will be over the moon to see her again.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. And anyway, I certainly can’t leave her here by herself. I could take her to your beach house but I wouldn’t feel right about leaving her alone there either. I don’t mind taking her home with me. Like I said, Conan will love the company.”
“In that case, thank you.” He had to struggle not to grovel with gratitude.
Until this week when he’d been forced by circumstance to bring Chloe along, he wasn’t sure he had fully comprehended how much he relied on nannies to take care of details like making sure Chloe was picked up on time. It was all a hell of a lot harder on his own.
He always considered himself a pretty good employer but he was definitely going to make sure he paid the next nanny more.
“You live in the big yellow Victorian down the beach, right?”
“Right. It’s got a wrought-iron fence and a sign above the porch that says Brambleberry House.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He paused. “Thank you again. I owe you.”
“No problem. You can pay me back by taking Conan for another run in the morning.”
Her words conjured up that kiss again, Sage all sleepy and warm and desirable in his arms, and his stomach muscles tightened.
“That’s not much of a punishment. I enjoyed it more than he did,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. He