Tempted By The Single Dad. Cara Colter

like this one.

      The intruder backed up from her, slowly, keeping his eyes on her, until his hand was on the doorknob.

      Leaving, she deduced with relief.

      But then he took his eyes off her for a moment, and glanced outside. It occurred to her he had a partner in crime, an accomplice.

      Then she noticed keys dangling from the lock. How could she have been so stupid? She had locked the door, yes, but left the keys in it. The pressure to produce the jingle was making her absent-minded, obviously.

      Allie weighed her options and saw two. He was distracted right now. She could get up and race back down that hallway, and out onto the beach before he knew what had happened.

      She was rather shocked to discover her unwillingness to retreat. This was her home, her safe place. This was the one thing she had left that she was willing to make a stand for.

      “Get out while you can,” she ordered him. She staggered to her feet. She hoped her voice wasn’t as wobbly as her legs were. Thankfully, she had lots of experience overcoming nerves, especially with her voice. She slipped her hand into her shorts pocket. “I have a weapon.”

      The part about a new weapon was a complete fib. Still, you would think he would have the decency to be startled at this latest threat to his diabolical plan, whatever it was.

      But no, the man turned back to her, ever so slowly, and regarded her through narrowed eyes. With the last light spilling in the front door, she could see her home invader was one long, tall drink of handsome!

      “I think we’ve already dispensed with the weapon,” he said, something dry in his tone, almost as if he found her laughable.

      “I have another one,” she insisted, pressing her finger up against the shorts pocket in what she thought was probably a fair approximation of a pistol barrel.

      He had chiseled, perfect features and eyes as dark brown as new-brewed coffee. His cheeks and chin were ever so faintly whisker-shadowed, but in a way that made him look roguish and sexy, not at all like the home invader that he was.

      Allie was hoping, given her warning, he would bolt back out the way he came, but he didn’t. He frowned at her, any amusement he felt at her efforts to defend herself completely gone.

      He moved across the space that separated them in less time than it took her to take a single breath. He caught both her arms, tugged them out of her pockets, and pinned them to her sides. Her squirming to release herself only served to tighten his grip, so she stopped.

      To her relief, it was apparent his hold on her arms was not intended to hurt, but to control. His touch was warm and made her pulse with a strange, electrical awareness of him.

      It seemed to be an entirely inappropriate time to notice he smelled good, like a deep forest afternoon on a hot summer day.

      Why hadn’t she run when she had a chance?

      “Who are you?” he asked, his voice an unsettling growl of something between menace and seduction. “And what have you done with Mavis?”

      Shock shivered along Allie’s spine. He knew her grandmother? He could have read her name on the mailbox.

      No, he couldn’t have. It had faded a long time ago. So, yes, he knew her grandmother. So what? Did that give him the right to barge into her house?

      “What have I done with Mavis?” Allie stammered. She tried, again, to wiggle away from his grip, but he held her fast.

      “Where is she?” He managed to say that as if Allie was barging into his home, and not the other way around.

      “You think I’m the home invader?”

      “You’re the one with the pistol in your pocket.”

      She managed to wiggle her fingers just enough to reach into her pockets and turn them inside out. He looked unsurprised, and not impressed, at all. It was all too much. She had gone from panic to fury to this. Her life wasn’t in danger. This was all some kind of misunderstanding.

      Allie began to giggle. Okay, it might have had a tiny bit of a hysterical edge to it.

      “I fail to see the humor,” he said tightly. “It’s been on the news. There have been break-ins in this neighborhood. Mavis would be very vulnerable.”

      She giggled harder. “I’m not the intruder. You’re the intruder.”

      He let go of her shoulders completely, and looked down at her, his brow knit in consternation. “Who are you?”

      “Who am I?” she sputtered. “I live here. I think the question is, who are you? And how dare you just walk into my home?”

      “Your home?” The frown deepened around the exquisite corners of a wide mouth.

      “I’ve rented this cottage from Mavis, in this time period, every year for the past ten years. My mom and dad rented it before that. That’s why I have my own key.”

      What? Allie thought, completely taken off guard. She noted his voice was a masculine and sexy rasp. She could still feel her upper arms tingling from where he had held her fast.

      Now that there was, obviously, no threat, her thoughts wandered. She despised herself for the wish that flitted through her mind: that her hair was not rumpled, towel-dried from her last swim, the tips still a shockingly different color than the rest of her blond hair. She wished she was not standing there, barefoot, in a too-large T-shirt that ended just past the shorts she had pulled on over a still-damp bathing suit.

      Allie actually wished she had makeup on, which was totally against the cottage rules.

      She snapped her mouth shut, since it had fallen open as she struggled to make the leap from home invader to well, home invader. Suddenly, it didn’t seem very funny at all, and the giggle, hysterical or otherwise, died within her. He didn’t know, and she hated being the one to break it to him.

      “Mavis is my grandmother.” Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say was as if that would erase something too completely from her world. “She’s gone.”

      “Your grandmother,” he said, cocking his head at her, as if trying to discern truth.

      “Yes, my grandmother.”

      Did he see some resemblance? People had always said she had her grandmother’s eyes. They certainly shared a diminutive size. His shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Mavis goes every year. To visit her sister. But when I saw you here, it just shocked me. I wondered if she had come to harm.”

      “Do I look like the type of person who would harm an old lady?”

      He looked at her carefully, as if he was weighing this. “You claimed you had a weapon in your pocket.”

      “When I thought I needed one for self-defense.”

      “You came at me with a lamp…or something.”

      “It’s a statue, and I didn’t exactly come at you.”

      “But you would have, if I hadn’t knocked you over with the door.”

      Well, she couldn’t deny that.

      “That was an accident, by the way,” he said, his voice both rough and soothing, “I thought the door was stuck so I threw my shoulder behind it. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

      He must have decided she did not look like a mugger of old ladies, if he was interested, albeit reluctantly, in her well-being.

      “I’ll live.”

      He gazed at her steadily, as if trying to make up his mind, then rolled his shoulders, ran a hand through his hair.

      “I apologize for acting as though you were an intruder. It’s just that I was shocked to find you here. You’re Allie, then. Allie of the artwork on the hallway walls. I guess