Filthy Beautiful Lust(8)

All I can think about is the fact that there's a gorgeous man on my  porch and I'm unshowered, unshaven, dressed in a tank top that shows my  ratty old bra straps and, oh dear God … .a pair of maternity shorts I hung  onto because they were sooo comfortable. My child is thirteen months  old and I'm still in maternity clothes. What is wrong with me? I've lost  the baby weight  –  all except for the last ten pounds and the muffin top  that sits at my waistband. I vow here and now to begin a gym regimen  soon. Tomorrow. And to throw these damn maternity shorts away. In the  three seconds I've taken to ponder all of this, Max has emerged from  behind my legs and charges straight at Pace.

He slams into Pace, full force, hitting him straight between the legs.

"Omph," Pace releases a strangled grunt and doubles over, dropping the toys to cup his battered manhood.

"Oh God, are you alright?" I spring into action, removing Max from around Pace's leg.

"Just give me a minute," he bites out.

I feel terrible, but then I decide that's crazy. He's the one who showed  up unannounced and uninvited, and Max didn't intentionally hurt him.

Max, oblivious to the pain he's just caused, climbs into the pool that is now lying on the porch.

Composing himself after several moments, Pace stands, rising to his full height. "Strong little guy," he comments.

He really is. We wrestle every night, and he wins. "Pace?" I ask, still wondering what on earth he's doing at my house.

"It's a beautiful day." He smiles, looking straight up at the cloudless blue sky. "Care for a swim?"

Since Max is already in the pool, I know I can't refuse. "Sure. Do you  want to take that around back? I'll get Max changed and we'll meet you  out there."

He grins at me, knowing he's won this round. Sneaky. I just wish I knew what he was up to.                       
       
           



       

When I lift Max from the pool, he kicks and screams, until I explain  that he needs to put his bathing suit on, and then he relents, letting  me tow him back inside the house.

Through Max's bedroom window, I can see Pace setting up the pool, and dragging my garden hose over to fill it.

I quickly strip Max down and get him into a swim diaper and his red  swimming trunks. Then I grab the baby sunblock and my sunglasses, and we  join Pace in the backyard.

Max toddles toward him without hesitation. Be careful, baby, this man could hurt us.

Pace has dumped the bag of water toys into the filling pool  –  the  colorful balls, buckets and floating plastic animals capture Max's  attention and he lets out a loud squeal and begins clapping his hands.  He doesn't have a swimming pool, but given how much he loves bath time, I  know he's going to love this.

As he gets near the water, I reach out for Max.

"I've got him," Pace says, closing two big hands around Max's tummy and lifting him into the water so that he can dip his feet.

Max kicks his feet and giggles, clearly enjoying himself.

I feel wary and on edge. I know I said too much last night, and I don't know what Pace must think of me now.

Max sits down in the pool, and I turn off the hose  –  three inches of water is enough for him to splash around in.

I sit down in the grass beside Pace, both of us watching Max. At least  with him capturing our attention, the pressure is off to make small  talk. Yet as the minutes pass, I can't seem to relax in the presence of  this big, beautiful man who came baring gifts and is playing with my  son.

"Pace, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because it's very sweet of you  to bring Max a pool and toys, but I need to understand what this is."  I'm thankful for the cover of my dark sunglasses because his gaze  settles squarely on mine and his look is serious and intense.

"I get that this is a big deal, and it's scary. It's not just you.  You've got this little guy to look out for." He pats the top of Max's  head, ruffling his hair. "And you don't know my intentions."

I nod. That's it exactly. He knows about how Max's dad abandoned us. I eagerly await his answer, practically holding my breath.

Pace meets my eyes, his deep blue gaze cutting straight into mine. "So  I'll make this crystal clear: I like you, Kylie. I like Max. I came here  today because I enjoyed spending time with you and I wanted to see you  again."

"Pace, I'm sorry, it's just that after Max's dad, I'm really not looking  for anything." The idea of casually dating terrifies me.

"If you never try, how you will know?"

He's right. I know he is, but the logical part of my brain tells me to  be careful. The next man I date needs to be husband material. And I'm  nowhere near ready for that anyhow. Judging by Pace's good looks and  carefree lifestyle, I'm sure he enjoys no-strings sex, nightclubs, and  women without stretch marks. But then again, I'd thought Elan was  husband material. He'd been mature and settled, and look how well that  had turned out for me.

Pace is smooth, but not overtly so. There's a truth in his eyes when he  speaks the words. My brain is just hyper aware of men who promise me  nice things and push me to want more.

Max slips against the bottom of the pool, sliding under and comes up  sputtering from the mouthful of water he's swallowed. Before I can even  react, Pace has scooped him up and is holding Max to his chest, patting  his back to clear his airway and murmuring encouragingly.

My hands are shaking, but Max is fine. Thank God.

I grab Max's beach towel and wrap him up, clinging to him and kissing his head.

"He's alright, Kylie. I had him," Pace says, his tone defeated.

"I know." I look over at Pace and see that his t-shirt is soaked and is  clinging to his tanned skin. My belly tightens and a warm tingly  sensation spreads through me. Geez, it's been way too long. "Do you want  to come inside and get dried off?" My voice comes out strained and I  inhale deeply, trying to regain my composure. "I can make us lunch," I  offer.

Pace nods and fishes all the water toys from the pool, setting them aside so they can dry, then he follows me and Max inside.

I know we didn't finish our conversation from earlier, the one where he  challenged me to take a chance and live a little, which is good  –   because I have no response. "I'll be just a minute, make yourself  comfortable," I tell him.

I get Max changed into a dry diaper and a new outfit  –  his favorite blue  t-shirt with an alligator on the front and a pair of shorts. And since  I'm now wet too, I take the opportunity to change into something more  appropriate for having company over. A sleeveless midnight blue dress.  It's cotton and stretchy and soft, and I hope doesn't give off the  impression I'm trying too hard. I finger-comb my tangled hair and pull  it back into a low ponytail.                       
       
           



       

When Max and I emerge from the bedrooms, I find Pace standing in my  living room, looking at the photographs of Max that I have on pretty  much every surface with a wistful expression on his face.

He's stripped off his wet t-shirt and when he turns to face me, I feel  like someone has punched me in the stomach. All of the air has been  sucked from my lungs.

His chest and abs are rock solid muscle, like they've been carved from  stone. He's tan and has a light spattering of dark hair that disappears  under the waistband of his jeans … and speaking of waistbands, there are  no boxers or briefs that I can see. Does he go commando? And why do my  fingers itch to find out?

"Do you have a dryer?" he asks, holding up a damp t-shirt.

"Y-yes," I stammer and point to the hall that leads to the laundry room.  A shirtless Pace and I'm reduced to one word answers and pointing.  Excellent.

His gaze wanders over my curves, stopping at the knee-length hemline of my dress and he smiles appreciatively. "Be right back."

I hear the dryer start up and I head into the kitchen, securing Max in  his highchair and begin removing ingredients from the fridge.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you anything more sophisticated than grilled cheese sandwiches," I tell him.

"I haven't had a grilled cheese in years. Sounds great." Pace beams at me.

Why is he always so sure and steady when I feel anything but?

Pace plays with Max while I busy myself buttering slices of bread and  tucking cheese between them. It takes every ounce of willpower I have  not to turn around and watch them interact  –  the sweet sounds of baby  babbling, coupled with deep male laughter tug at my heartstrings. Don't  be fooled by this pretty man, Kylie.

When the sandwiches are ready, I cut Max's into little bites and dump  the whole thing on his tray. Then I toss in some raspberries and his cup  of milk. Pace watches me move around my kitchen and the sign language I  use to communicate with Max. If he wants to hang around, he's going to  have to get used to the pecking order here. Max's needs come first.