Page 33 of A Very Un-Shakespeare Romance
He smoothed his hand down her pink swimsuit, brushing off sand. “Sure, you aren’t.”
“Can we bring anything tonight?” Summer asked, her green eyes suddenly soft and slumberous.
Then he realized she was looking at him like that because of how he was holding Cassidy. He cringed inside. Women had some weird thing for men who treated kids good. Must be some kind of evolutionary impulse. He wanted to tell her not to get too gushy. Cassidy wasn’t his kid. But he couldn’t, and the thought of perpetuating the lie—especially to a woman he was attracted to—made him tight on the inside. Lying about who he was was worse than bragging, and look how that had turned out.
“You can bring your famous margaritas,” Billie said, looping an arm around Clarice. “If the offer still stands. I’ll need something to wash out all this sand in my mouth from your killer plays. Right, Robbie?”
He didn’t deign to reply. He glanced over to see where Reagan was. Tim was standing by her as she kicked the sand. For a minute he didn’t know what she was doing. Then it hit him. She was brushing away the scoreboard, clearly upset. Crap. “Hey, Reagan!”
A soft hand touched his arm, arresting his breath. “Let me talk to her,” he heard Summer say.
He met her gaze and nodded. Her mouth tipped up at the sides before she strode off. When she knelt in the sand before Reagan, the little girl ducked her head to her chin. She was upset for them, and the knowledge made his heart shift in his chest in a weird way. Funny how she was as protective of them as they were of her in some ways. Well, she was an O’Connor, he supposed. They took care of their own.
Tim wandered away a few steps as Summer spoke to Reagan. Robbie couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he watched as Reagan nodded a few times before tipping her head up and giving Summer her full attention. A few moments later, Summer ran a light hand down Reagan’s arm. They shared a smile before the little girl shot past her, running his way. When she reached him, she banded her arms around him, making Cassidy giggle.
“I think you’re a winner,” Reagan told him. “You’re absolutely the best!”
She might as well have knocked him in the head with that one. Is that what Summer had told her to say? And why did it affect him so? He needed someone to smack him upside the head.
But Reagan didn’t let go, so he put a hand to the back of her neck, not knowing what to do in the face of this fierce affection. Suddenly he was rocked by another memory of his mother—of coming home and finding her upset about something. He’d run to her and told her how wonderful she was too—and she’d kissed the top of his head and told him what a sweet boy he was.
Even knowing he had an audience, he leaned down with Cassidy in his arms and laid a kiss on Reagan’s wind-tangled hair. Her arms squeezed tighter around him, and another pang went through his chest. When he straightened, Summer had that gushy look on her face again. His heart must be feeling all the gushy girly stuff around him because it went sideways again in his chest.
Then another barrage of bullet-like sounds came from Cassidy’s diaper. Reagan jumped back and started laughing. The stench of rotten eggs rose up, and he held Cassidy out with a grimace. She laughed, dangling her feet in the air. “’Cane,” she announced, clapping her hands again.
The absurdity of his life crashed over him like a giant wave. His shoulders started to shake from laughter, and he looked over to see Summer holding a hand to her face, doing the same.
In a different situation, a different life, he’d have gone over to her and asked her out. Just. Like. That.
But he had kids to keep safe and a diaper to change.
CHAPTERTEN
They had their in.
Sheila hadn’t stopped humming a spicy salsa beat since they’d beaten the O’Connor brothers hands down. Besting cocky FBI guys in sports usually had Lily singing herself, but this win had affected her differently. It was the grim expressions on Robbie’s and Reagan’s faces, she decided. They’d taken the loss to heart in different ways. She hadn’t expected that.
“Quit your brooding,” Sheila said, adding ice to the blender. “We have a lot to celebrate. Your strategy worked. God, sometimes guys are so predictable.”
The appliance being switched on stopped Lily’s reply. She searched the cabinet for something to bring the little girls’ drink in, her hands still smelling strongly of the fresh limes she’d helped squeeze for the margaritas.
The blazing sound died. “We kicked butt and have progressed to a closer inspection of our subjects. Maybe we’ll even find a phone. Sunshine, do I need to give you a pep talk before we go over?”
“I know the wholeavoid making out with your person of interestrule.” Despite how much she might want to caress and explore that firm, sexy mouth of Robbie O’Connor’s.
“His kiddie protector side is getting under your skin.” Sheila spooned a taste of the margaritas and smacked her lips. “De-li-cious. I wish I could drink more of these babies tonight but duty first.”
Indeed. She needed to tattoo it on her hand right now to keep focused. Because the way Robbie looked at her was stealing her breath and making her mind go blank. “At least you don’t think Robbie’s dirty anymore.”
“Imostlythink that, but I’ve seen plenty of low-life criminals who are good with kids.” Her partner cut her a knowing look. “So have you.”
She’d done plenty of work on the trauma of her childhood, so the reference didn’t ping her the way it used to. Sighting a container for the girls’ drink, she snatched it out of the cabinet. “Aha! This is going to have to work.”
“A cocktail shaker?” Sheila dumped the frozen margaritas into a large glass pitcher. “What are you giving those girls to drink again?”
“Coconut water shaken with ice will make them feel special.” She knew from all her work with kids how important that sentiment was. “Besides, it’s good for them. Cassidy’s tummy has to be really upset, judging by the way she…expresses so much magic.”
Sheila chortled, practically falling back against the counter. “I wanted to yellDuck, we’re under attack, but I didn’t want to blow our cover. I’ve got to admit, it’s a brilliant way to talk about farting. My brother could fart on command as a kid. His big moment to this day was when he farted to ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ at a baseball game with his friends. They were seven. I’ve never seen boys laugh that hard.”
