Getting Hotter
Page 15
“I think we can scrounge up something for us to eat,” Dylan replied, flashing another one of those endearing smiles.
Jeez, the man ought to open up his own charm school. Miranda had never met a more pleasant, likable person, and she’d only known the dude five minutes.
Seth, on the other hand, was the furthest thing from pleasant and likable. He was leaning against the wall, his sweatpants and tank top wet and plastered to his strong body, the expression in his gray eyes as turbulent as the wind shrieking beyond the door. And yet, rather than cower under that harsh gaze, she was inexplicably drawn to it.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Miranda’s surroundings faded. She forgot all about how cold she was, how wet and tired and hungry. This was not the time to feel even the slightest bit aroused, yet Seth’s presence coaxed the response from her. He was the sexiest man she’d ever met—tall, muscular, imposing. So blatantly masculine with his scruffy beard and unruly hair, his roped forearms and corded biceps radiating strength.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about having sex with the man. Because she had. Many, many times.
“Mo-om,” Sophie said in a plaintive voice.
Flustered, Miranda wrenched her gaze away and knelt down to help the twins out of their rain gear. She felt more than saw Seth leave the hallway, and a strange sense of disappointment rippled through her. Along with a jolt of disapproval.
He didn’t want her children here.
That was the only explanation for his distant behavior, and it seriously grated that he hadn’t even taken the time to introduce himself to her kids. For someone who was consistently and relentlessly trying to sleep with her, he was sure going about it the wrong way. Because completely ignoring a pair of wet, shivering six-year-olds? Definitely not the kind of behavior that would make her fall into bed with a man.
Leaving their wet shoes and coats in the hall to dry, Miranda took Sophie and Jason by the hand, and the three of them followed Dylan down the corridor toward the kitchen.
As a peal of children’s laughter drifted into the hallway, Seth cringed and ducked back into his bedroom. It was the third time he’d left his room intending to join everyone in the kitchen, only to change his mind and retreat.
Christ. You’d think he was about to face a pack of rabid dogs rather than two harmless six-year-olds.
Though come to think of it, he’d prefer hanging out with rabid dogs.
Grow a pair, buddy. If you wanna f**k the mom, you’ve gotta be nice to the kiddies.
Only in rare circumstances did he silence his inner man-slut the way he did now. Nice to the kids? Shit, the mere thought of it had him reconsidering his pursuit of Miranda, something he’d invested months’ worth of effort into.
But he didn’t like kids. As politically incorrect as it might be, it was common knowledge to all who knew him, which was why no one expected him to make an appearance at Lieutenant Commander Becker’s house for any Baby Sadie-related events or asked him to babysit John Garrett or Will Charleston’s kids.
Man, he’d never thought he’d say it, but thank God for Dylan. Mr. Awesome had come to the rescue like Mary f**king Poppins flying in with her umbrella, promptly turning a couple of frowns upside down and saving the day.
Seth had seen the gratitude shining on Miranda’s face, and for a second, he’d experienced a burst of envy. No way could he have made those kids laugh like that. If you wanted him to save the day, put an MP5 in his hands and point him in the direction of a terrorist. He wasn’t the kind of man who brought smiles to children’s faces.
A soft knock on the door jarred him from a train of thought that was growing more and more unsettling by the second.
“Yeah?” he called brusquely.
The door opened and Miranda poked her head in. Her expression reflected both concern and irritation. “Dylan said you might have some clothes you can loan me. He’s going to throw our stuff in the dryer.”
“Yeah, I do.” His voice sounded gravelly, so he cleared his throat, adding, “You need something for the rugrats too?”
She stepped into the room, shaking her head. “No, they changed into a couple of Dylan’s T-shirts.” Her lips quirked. “They’re practically drowning in them. Your roommate’s a big guy.”
Seth’s jaw tensed. The note of appreciation in Miranda’s voice raised his hackles and made him take back every nice thought he’d had about Dylan in the past few minutes.
“The big guy couldn’t spare something for you to wear?” Seth said with a bite to his tone.
“He made a cryptic comment about how it wouldn’t be appropriate.” She rolled her eyes. “I get the feeling he thinks it would be treading on your territory if he lets me wear his clothes.”
Damn it. Now he had no choice but to think good thoughts about Dylan again. He even mentally awarded his roommate a gold star for knowing that Seth would absolutely murder him if a single item of Dylan’s clothing so much as touched Miranda’s skin.
“Which is ridiculous,” she went on, locking her gaze with his. “Because you don’t own me, and therefore I can wear whatever I want, regardless of who it belongs to.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But tonight?” He strode over to his closet. “Tonight you’re wearing my shirt, babe.”
“I hate it when you call me babe.”
He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
“So now you’re an expert on what I like?”
Jeez, the man ought to open up his own charm school. Miranda had never met a more pleasant, likable person, and she’d only known the dude five minutes.
Seth, on the other hand, was the furthest thing from pleasant and likable. He was leaning against the wall, his sweatpants and tank top wet and plastered to his strong body, the expression in his gray eyes as turbulent as the wind shrieking beyond the door. And yet, rather than cower under that harsh gaze, she was inexplicably drawn to it.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Miranda’s surroundings faded. She forgot all about how cold she was, how wet and tired and hungry. This was not the time to feel even the slightest bit aroused, yet Seth’s presence coaxed the response from her. He was the sexiest man she’d ever met—tall, muscular, imposing. So blatantly masculine with his scruffy beard and unruly hair, his roped forearms and corded biceps radiating strength.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about having sex with the man. Because she had. Many, many times.
“Mo-om,” Sophie said in a plaintive voice.
Flustered, Miranda wrenched her gaze away and knelt down to help the twins out of their rain gear. She felt more than saw Seth leave the hallway, and a strange sense of disappointment rippled through her. Along with a jolt of disapproval.
He didn’t want her children here.
That was the only explanation for his distant behavior, and it seriously grated that he hadn’t even taken the time to introduce himself to her kids. For someone who was consistently and relentlessly trying to sleep with her, he was sure going about it the wrong way. Because completely ignoring a pair of wet, shivering six-year-olds? Definitely not the kind of behavior that would make her fall into bed with a man.
Leaving their wet shoes and coats in the hall to dry, Miranda took Sophie and Jason by the hand, and the three of them followed Dylan down the corridor toward the kitchen.
As a peal of children’s laughter drifted into the hallway, Seth cringed and ducked back into his bedroom. It was the third time he’d left his room intending to join everyone in the kitchen, only to change his mind and retreat.
Christ. You’d think he was about to face a pack of rabid dogs rather than two harmless six-year-olds.
Though come to think of it, he’d prefer hanging out with rabid dogs.
Grow a pair, buddy. If you wanna f**k the mom, you’ve gotta be nice to the kiddies.
Only in rare circumstances did he silence his inner man-slut the way he did now. Nice to the kids? Shit, the mere thought of it had him reconsidering his pursuit of Miranda, something he’d invested months’ worth of effort into.
But he didn’t like kids. As politically incorrect as it might be, it was common knowledge to all who knew him, which was why no one expected him to make an appearance at Lieutenant Commander Becker’s house for any Baby Sadie-related events or asked him to babysit John Garrett or Will Charleston’s kids.
Man, he’d never thought he’d say it, but thank God for Dylan. Mr. Awesome had come to the rescue like Mary f**king Poppins flying in with her umbrella, promptly turning a couple of frowns upside down and saving the day.
Seth had seen the gratitude shining on Miranda’s face, and for a second, he’d experienced a burst of envy. No way could he have made those kids laugh like that. If you wanted him to save the day, put an MP5 in his hands and point him in the direction of a terrorist. He wasn’t the kind of man who brought smiles to children’s faces.
A soft knock on the door jarred him from a train of thought that was growing more and more unsettling by the second.
“Yeah?” he called brusquely.
The door opened and Miranda poked her head in. Her expression reflected both concern and irritation. “Dylan said you might have some clothes you can loan me. He’s going to throw our stuff in the dryer.”
“Yeah, I do.” His voice sounded gravelly, so he cleared his throat, adding, “You need something for the rugrats too?”
She stepped into the room, shaking her head. “No, they changed into a couple of Dylan’s T-shirts.” Her lips quirked. “They’re practically drowning in them. Your roommate’s a big guy.”
Seth’s jaw tensed. The note of appreciation in Miranda’s voice raised his hackles and made him take back every nice thought he’d had about Dylan in the past few minutes.
“The big guy couldn’t spare something for you to wear?” Seth said with a bite to his tone.
“He made a cryptic comment about how it wouldn’t be appropriate.” She rolled her eyes. “I get the feeling he thinks it would be treading on your territory if he lets me wear his clothes.”
Damn it. Now he had no choice but to think good thoughts about Dylan again. He even mentally awarded his roommate a gold star for knowing that Seth would absolutely murder him if a single item of Dylan’s clothing so much as touched Miranda’s skin.
“Which is ridiculous,” she went on, locking her gaze with his. “Because you don’t own me, and therefore I can wear whatever I want, regardless of who it belongs to.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But tonight?” He strode over to his closet. “Tonight you’re wearing my shirt, babe.”
“I hate it when you call me babe.”
He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”
“So now you’re an expert on what I like?”
