Дракон в ее теле. Ника Ёрш

a kitchen that was a disaster all its own.

      He held the back door open for her, and she stepped into the small yard ahead of him, coming face-to-face with what looked to have been a garage once upon a time.

      “This whole place belonged to my uncle Paulie. He converted the garage into an apartment for Marla and me, and added another garage to the side of the house later on.”

      “So this is where you lived after you eloped?” Kira asked as they crossed the few feet of lawn and Cutty opened that door for her, too.

      “Until my uncle died and left it all to us. Then we moved into the house. It’s been fixed up and refurnished. Ordinarily I rent it to students from the college. But since it’s summer vacation it’s empty.”

      Cutty reached in and flipped a switch. Three lamps went on at once, illuminating an open space arranged as a studio apartment.

      There were no walls, so only the furnishings determined what each area was used for. A double bed and an armoire delineated the bedroom. A small sofa and matching armchair, a coffee table and a television designated the living room. And some kitchen cupboards, a sink, a two-burner stove with a tiny oven, a refrigerator and a small table with two chairs made up the kitchen.

      “That door alongside the armoire will put you into the bathroom,” Cutty explained without going farther than the doorway. “There’s a tub with a shower in it but the water heater is pretty small so if you do a lot of dishes you’ll want to wait half an hour before you take a bath.”

      “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

      What she wasn’t sure of was why he had that dubious look on his face again, as if he was having second thoughts about this whole arrangement.

      But if he was, he didn’t say it.

      Instead he said, “The girls are usually awake by seven.”

      “Seven. I’ll be over before that,” Kira said enthusiastically.

      Cutty nodded his head. “There are towels in the bathroom. Sheets in the armoire. If you need anything before the morning—”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      He nodded again, which bothered Kira. If he didn’t want to go ahead with this, why didn’t he say something?

      But all he said was, “Good night, then.”

      “See you first thing in the morning,” Kira assured, moving to the door to see him out.

      He turned to go without another word, leaving her with a view of his backside.

      And although, as a rule, men’s rear ends were not something she took notice of, it only required one glance to recognize that his was a great one.

      A great rear end to go with the rest of his great body and his great face and his great hair.

      Not that any of that mattered, because it didn’t, she was quick to tell herself. She was only staying there for the babies, and anything about Cutty Grant was purely incidental.

      Except that, incidental or not, she went on taking notice until Cutty Grant disappeared inside his house.

      Chapter Two

      Cutty had a hell of a time falling asleep Wednesday night and when he woke up before dawn Thursday morning it was aggravating to find his mind instantly on the mental treadmill that had kept him from sleeping in the first place. The treadmill Kira Wentworth’s appearance on his doorstep had caused.

      She’d really shaken things up for him, and as he rolled onto his back and tried to fall asleep again, he didn’t feel any more sure of his decision to let her stick around.

      He’d never expected to see any Wentworth again. Not after so many years and not when he was persona non grata in the extreme with Tom Wentworth.

      Tom Wentworth who was the only Wentworth he ever really thought about when he thought about the family Marla had been estranged from. But then her adopted mother and adopted sister were just specks in the shadow Tom Wentworth cast, so it wasn’t surprising that they wouldn’t be uppermost on his mind for the last thirteen years.

      Cutty opened his eyes and looked at the clock on his nightstand.

      It was just after 5 a.m.

      He doubted he would be able to sleep anymore but he didn’t want to get up, either, so he cupped his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling.

      He still couldn’t believe that Kira Wentworth had shown up.

      Marla’s sister.

      He’d only seen her once before. Actually, he’d only met her mother and father one time, too. But while Tom Wentworth’s face was one Cutty would never forget, he had barely glanced at Kira before her adoptive father had ordered her to her room that night thirteen years ago. So there was no way Cutty had recognized her. If he had he might not have been so willing to let her come into his home. Her or anyone connected to Tom Wentworth.

      Tom Wentworth.

      Yeah, meeting him just once had been enough. More than enough, Cutty thought.

      Marla’s father hadn’t wanted Marla to date in high school so she’d only seen Cutty on the sly. They’d made arrangements through friends; they’d met at the movies or the shopping mall; they’d seen each other at school functions. And always they’d had to keep an eye out for anyone who might report back to the controlling father, who ran his household with an iron fist.

      But six months into dating, Marla had realized she was pregnant.

      Cutty didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as afraid of anything as she’d been to tell her father.

      Two seventeen-year-olds facing a nearly three-hundred-pound mountain of mean—the memory was still fresh in Cutty’s mind.

      To say it had been an ugly scene was an understatement. Tom Wentworth hadn’t even wanted Cutty in the house. He’d hit the ceiling at just the sight of a boy there with his daughter. But Marla had insisted that they all needed to talk. Then she’d told her father what they’d come to tell him.

      And all hell had broken loose.

      Cutty still couldn’t believe the way Tom Wentworth had exploded. It was as if a bomb had gone off in that living room. He’d screamed that Marla was a whore. A tramp. A good-for-nothing slut. And worse.

      There hadn’t been much Cutty could do during the tirade. Nothing much anyone could do but sit under the rain of hurtful, hateful words. But when Tom Wentworth had begun to demand that Marla have an abortion, Cutty had stood up to him. He’d told Tom Wentworth that Marla didn’t want to have an abortion.

      And Tom Wentworth had nearly beaten him to a pulp.

      A few good punches of his own had saved Cutty, but after that he’d been afraid to leave Marla there alone with her enraged bull of a father. So Cutty had taken Marla with him and left, not having any idea what he was going to do with her.

      And a baby.

      The sun began to make its rosy entrance through Cutty’s bedroom curtains, and for a while he watched it, trying not to relive those early emotions that could still creep up on him every now and then. He’d been just a kid himself. A scared kid. With no one close by to turn to. He’d felt responsible. Overwhelmed. Terrified. He hadn’t known what the hell he was going to do….

      Lying there wasn’t getting him anywhere, he decided suddenly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat up on the edge, gripping the mattress and let his head drop forward.

      Tom Wentworth had washed his hands of Marla—that’s what he’d told her when she’d tried to call him the next day in hopes that he might have cooled off. She was on her own. He didn’t care what happened to her.

      Her adoptive mother had packed some of her clothes and sneaked them out to her because her father had said she wasn’t