Reame an imploring look. “Please, just find her. For Ellie. She needs her mom.”
Reame looked from Tate to Linc and back to Tate again. He nodded once and held out his hand for Tate to shake. Her small hand disappeared into his, and Reame covered the back of his hand with his other, his face serious. “I’ll find her, Tate. I promise.”
He would, Linc thought, feeling relieved. His buddy never made promises he couldn’t keep. Linc’s eyes met his, and Reame gave him a sharp nod, as if to reinforce his promise to Tate. Then Reame’s expression changed, and amusement jumped back into his green eyes and lifted the corners of his mouth.
Tate turned her back to them, busy with the coffee machine, and Linc raised his eyebrows at Reame. “What?” he mouthed.
Reame gave him a thumbs-up before lifting his index finger and pulling it across his throat. Linc quickly interpreted his gestures. Tate was okay, and he was in so much trouble.
Which was nothing he hadn’t already realized.
* * *
When Linc returned to the kitchen after seeing Reame out, Tate sent him a weary smile. She was exhausted; partly because she felt drained from talking about Kari and the little she knew of her life but mostly because she’d spent the previous night thinking about Linc and their volcano-hot kiss.
“I need to collect Shaw soon,” Linc told her. “His pre-K isn’t far from here. Do you want to walk with me? It’s supposed to snow soon, so we’d better hustle.”
Tate looked out of the window to the gray, freezing day. “Have you heard of a cab? A car?”
Linc smiled. “I need fresh air or else I get twitchy. Come on, don’t be a girl.”
“I am a girl,” Tate told him, and his gaze darkened. Yeah, when he looked at her with male appreciation in his eyes, she felt intensely feminine and super sexy.
Dropping her eyes, Tate looked from Linc to Ellie, sitting on the carpet at her feet, and back again. “How far is far? Will Ellie be okay in the cold?”
“I’ll find Shaw’s old snowsuit and I’ll carry her. She’ll be fine.”
Tate nodded and stood up, feeling Linc’s hot gaze on her legs. She raised her eyes and caught his smile, the molten desire in his expression. “As much as I appreciate what you’re wearing, I strongly suggest that you put on a few more layers or else you will freeze,” he told her, his voice bone-dry.
Tate felt her cheeks warm. “I usually follow the sun. I don’t have that many winter clothes.”
“You look good,” Linc murmured, his voice husky.
Tate shoved an agitated hand into her hair, wishing that he’d stop looking at her mouth. Even better, she wished he’d do something with her mouth, like kiss it stupid. Their eyes clashed and held, and Tate swallowed, wishing his big, strong arms were around her, that she could taste his breath, count each bristle on his chin. She wanted him to rip her clothes off her, to undo the buttons of his shirt and push the fabric aside so she could touch his chest, explore the hard ridges of his stomach.
“When you look at me like that, it takes every inch of willpower to stop myself from doing exactly what you are asking for.”
Tate touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue. “What am I asking? Bearing in mind that I didn’t say a word.”
“You don’t need to speak. Your eyes say it all. You want to see me naked. And more.”
Tate didn’t bother to play games by denying his very accurate observation. She just met his direct gaze and nodded. “You want to see me naked, too.”
“And do more,” Linc rasped, jamming his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocking on his heels. “A lot more.”
Tate groaned and had to stop herself from flinging herself against his chest and doing what biology was urging them to do. “This is insane!” she muttered. “Do we not have enough to deal with without this crazy thing zinging between us?”
“Seems not.”
“We shouldn’t be attracted to each other!” Tate cried.
“Yet, we are.”
Tate nodded. “But we don’t have to act on it.”
“We did the other night,” Linc pointed out.
“Only because we both thought that I’d be moving on in the morning! I would never have let that go so far if I thought I was staying.”
“Honey, you didn’t even hear Ellie crying. I did.”
Tate glared at him. “I would have. At some point.” She pulled in a long breath and raked her hair back from her face. “Linc, it was a momentary madness. It won’t happen again.”
Linc sent her a hot, frustrated look. “Want to test that theory? I think that once we start, we won’t be able to stop, not again.”
Dammit, how was she supposed to resist him? Tate didn’t know, but her gut told her that she should. Instinctively, she knew that, while sleeping with Linc would be a delightful way to pass the time, the consequences of their actions would be huge. What those consequences were, she couldn’t quite discern, but her instinct was telling her that they would be dire.
Feminine intuition aside, falling into a fling with a hot guy should be the last item on her agenda. She had to look after a little girl who was pining for her mom; she had to find her sister and reconnect mother and daughter. She had a career to return to, places to visit, people to meet.
Living with Linc, sleeping with Linc, would make this situation too intimate, too much like the fairy tales she’d never believed in. He was like this house, stable, solid and rooted. He was Manhattan royalty, successfully established and easily juggling his roles as a brilliant businessman and an excellent single father.
Whereas she was a transient, someone who could pack light but who carried far too much emotional baggage. She ran from relationships, from commitment, from anything and anyone demanding that she dip below the surface.
Her attraction to Linc scared her, but the fact that she liked his mind as much as she liked his body terrified her even more.
It’s imperative you keep your distance, Harper.
Tate bent down and picked Ellie up. “Let’s walk, Linc. Maybe if we get to know each other better, we’ll realize that we don’t, actually, like each other, and this crazy attraction between us will disappear.”
“Here’s hoping,” Linc said, pushing his hands in the pockets of his pants. “But I think we’re kidding ourselves if we think this is going away.”
Dressed in layers, Tate pulled the front door closed and headed outside, wincing as the bitterly cold air burned the back of her throat. She fought the urge to run back into the warm house behind her.
Too much sunshine has made you soft, Harper. Suck it up.
Tate drew level with Linc, concerned that Ellie wasn’t warm enough. She touched her fingers to the baby’s cheek, and Ellie sent her a gummy smile, obviously cozy in the snowsuit that Linc had found in the top of Shaw’s cupboard. Ellie seemed very happy in Linc’s arms, so Tate shoved her bare hands into the pockets of her parka and her chin into the scarf she’d wound around her neck.
Tate felt Linc’s hand on her arm, pulling her left, and she shot him a glance. “Puddle,” he explained and she smiled her thanks. Linc stopped and, with his free hand, pulled his knit hat off his head and thrust it at her. “Your lips are turning blue. Put this on.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re turning into a Popsicle,” Linc muttered as she positioned the hat over