Chapter 19
“Leaks,” said Henry briefly, as the water began to rush around both ends and pour over the top of the log.
—Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Boxcar Children
She and Watch ended their excursion when he began tugging at the leash, not to jump into the water this time but to get to
the house. She released him and followed him to the patio.
Kristin sat with a computer at a table in the shade, but she wasn’t his target. Instead, Watch dashed toward the hunky male
torso protruding from under the outdoor kitchen sink. Watch propped his paws on top of Clint’s chest and stuck his muzzle
under the sink.
Dancy reached them just as Clint slid awkwardly out, fingers gripping Watch’s collar. “I hate plumbing,” he grumbled in an
aggravated whisper.
“Hire a plumber,” she whispered back, not sure why they were whispering until she heard Kristin address the computer screen.
“I don’t want to go over budget again,” she said. “And we’ve already expanded our line of chocolate butters.”
“Let’s run it by Rory,” a deep male voice responded. “But I think she’ll agree it’s a risk worth taking.”
Dancy kept forgetting that the woman who’d once served her dry meatloaf and lumpy mashed potatoes now had an executive career.
“I don’t want to hire a plumber,” Clint said, as he defended himself from Watch’s kisses.
“This is God’s punishment for owning an outdoor kitchen that’s nicer than most people’s indoor kitchens,” Dancy said. “Hashtag
rich people privilege.”
“I’ve made peace with it. And I can fix this if I can find the source of the leak.” He handed her a flashlight. “Slide under
there, will you, while I turn the water on? See if you can spot it.”
“Me?”
“You’ll fit better than I do.”
“This home handyman thing has gone too far,” she complained. But she knelt on the pavers and managed to scooch under the sink
on her back. It was an uncomfortable position.
He began running the water over her head. “See anything?”
“Not yet.” She moved the flashlight beam around as best she could and thought about her life choices.
“How about now?” he said.
“It might be coming from under the drain thingy.”
“Show me.”
If she thought it had been tight before, that was nothing compared to what happened when he wedged his head and one shoulder in next to her. The sides of their bodies were mashed together, her cheek rubbing against his beard stubble, his shoulder pressing against her breasts.
He followed the flashlight beam for only a moment before he turned his head. Their eyes met. Her heart beat faster. Their
mouths were only inches apart. His eyelids lowered to half-mast as drops of water splashed on her forehead, but she didn’t
care. She was burning up. With a soft moan, he brushed his lips against hers. She closed her eyes . . .
And gasped for breath as a sudden weight hit her in the chest. “Oof!” She hit her head on a drainpipe. “Damn it, Watch!”
Clint groaned.
Dancy wriggled out from under the sink and pushed Watch away, cursing her dog, cursing herself. She wanted a lifelong friendship
with Clint, not all this . . . lust!
Clint emerged, hair rumpled, a patch of sweat visible on his T-shirt, and—
Oh, no . . .
Dancy grabbed her dog. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she hugged him close, using him—along with her own body—as
a privacy screen to block Kristin’s view of the bulge in her son’s shorts.
Clint turned slightly away, but their efforts were unnecessary because Kristin’s eyes were glued to the computer screen as
her fingers raced across the keyboard.
Dancy reminded herself to never ever get into a tight space with Clint Garrett again.
He cleared his throat and stuck his head back under the sink. “Grab the bucket in the laundry room, would you? I need to take
off this coupling.”
She thought about it.
“Dancy . . . ?” Only his voice emerged.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He pulled his head out. “Why not?”
“I’m not allowed in the house.”
“Of course you’re allowed in the house. I gave you a key.”
“It was a pity key.”
He came to a sitting position, all evidence of arousal gone. “It wasn’t a pity key!”
“It was a pity key,” she insisted. “And I can’t do it.”
He rose to his feet. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m good at that,” she said glumly.
If this were a cartoon, a small tornado would have popped over his head as he threw up his hands and stalked toward the house.
He opened the back door and glared at her. “You’re welcome to come in the house.”
“I can’t leave Watch.”
“Watch is allowed in the house!” he exclaimed.
Kristin had abandoned her computer and was observing them quizzically.
“Another time maybe,” Dancy said. “I’m meeting Roth for a work session.” She turned to Kristin. “It’s a top-secret project,
so pretend you didn’t hear that.” And then back to Clint. “Thanks again for lending me your car.”
Clint watched Dancy and her dog walk away. She was driving him crazy! Pity key? What the hell was that?
She headed for the side of the house, her shoulders back, blond ponytail bobbing, stride confident.
No woman should be that irresistible. Dancy Flynn, with her smart mouth, quick wit, over-the-top beauty, and stellar brain.
Everything about her was so different from the sad, drunken mess she’d been a week and a half ago: her posture, the flush of color in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes.
This new, mature Dancy was a woman he hardly knew, and yet he knew her so well.
He retrieved the bucket he needed and forced his attention back to the job. He hated the way he kept losing his focus. There
he’d be, watching game film, and the next thing he knew he was remembering something she’d said that had made him laugh, or
thinking about how pretty her hair looked swinging against her cheeks, or picturing that wide, beautiful mouth. Yesterday
he’d lost his balance right in the middle of his last set of barbell squats and fallen over. Fucking fell on his ass because
he was thinking about Dancy’s ass!
He used to be able to compartmentalize, maintain focus in any situation. But now, with training camp less than two weeks away,
he’d find himself picturing the way Dancy cocked her head when she laughed or how she listened—really listened—when he talked
about his career or offered up his opinion about something in the news. He was doing exactly what he’d promised himself wouldn’t
happen—letting her distract him. Like right now. Instead of watching film later this afternoon, he was thinking about asking
her if she wanted to go water skiing. This had to stop.
His mother spoke from behind him. “Roth? As in Roth Hardy? Her ex-husband is here? The Roth Hardy?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I can see that.”
It had started to drizzle by the time Dancy reached the old Victorian where Roth and Bisa were staying. She rang the bell and, when no one answered, rang again. Eventually, she returned to the car and texted him:
I’m here. Where are u?
Ten minutes later, he replied:
Heading back to LA talk later.
She’d been looking forward to another work session, and she was disappointed, although, realistically, they’d reached the
point where they couldn’t do more until they’d met with the director. Roth was still being coy about naming him or her. Dancy
hoped it would be a woman.
As she turned into Clint’s driveway, a silver Lexus with Kristin behind the wheel was pulling out. They both stopped. Kristin
lowered her window. Dancy followed.
“I’m leaving,” Kristin said.
Dancy peered at her over the top of her sunglasses. “But who’s going to hold little Clinty’s hand when he crosses the street?”
Kristin smiled. “You’ve grown into an interesting woman, Dancy. Don’t screw it up. And don’t hurt my son.” The window slid
up, and she drove off.
Dancy spent the rest of the day on the phone trying to catch up with some of what she’d neglected.
She touched base with her accountant and financial manager, reinstated the housecleaning service she’d dismissed, and had a long conversation with the executive director of her foundation after apologizing for being out of touch for nearly a week and a half.
She had no regrets about using her divorce settlement to set up a foundation that added new family centers to dozens of hospitals, as well as simple things like parking vouchers for families with babies in the NICU and free pediatric clinics in some underserved communities.
Maybe it was crazy giving up all that money, but knowing sick children and their families were being helped brought her more satisfaction than a fleet of private planes or a cavalcade of vacation homes. It had been the right thing to do.
Later that day, Clint texted her:
Not swimming tomorrow no guard duty needed.
She wished he’d delivered the message in person.
The temperature dropped during the night, and she awakened the next morning to gray skies and wind.
Wearing the dark green zip-up jacket Erin had found for her, she left Watch in the caboose and set off for the gym and her morning shower.
Clint was already there, but with his back to the door, he didn’t see her come in.
She watched him execute a series of torturous split squats with his front foot on a platform and heavy weights in each hand.
He wore navy gym shorts without a T-shirt, so she could see every muscle work—the delineation of deltoid and trapezius, the flex and contraction of the tendons in his calves, that tight butt—all a sight no horny woman should ever have to witness in the man she wanted to be her forever friend.
The nerves in her body buzzed with erotic awareness.
Tearing her eyes away, she dashed into the bathroom.
By the time she emerged, she’d cooled herself down, but he was still working out. She ordered herself not to look. To head
right for the door. Eyes straight ahead. Do not stop.
But she stopped.
He was performing barbaric pull-ups on the rack. As she watched, he lifted his multi-million-dollar body to the highest position,
drew in his knees, and hung for what seemed like forever. Finally, he lowered himself incrementally, knees still lifted, and
once again held the position. His muscles bulged, and the ropey veins in his arms formed a road map of the inhuman work that
went into making his body a weapon. She stood there dry-mouthed and flushed, watching his extraordinary display of strength.
He eased into a lower position, knees still elevated, feet still not touching—ten, twenty, a thousand seconds. She’d worked
with a trainer for years, and she’d witnessed plenty of Roth’s workouts, but they’d never affected her like this. Heat spiraled
through her, every cell in her body. By the time he finally dropped his feet to the floor, she was dizzy.
He became aware of her standing there staring at him like an idiot. He picked up a towel and wiped the sweat out of his eyes.
“Something wrong?”
She drew a deep breath. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” He gave her a cocky, sexy grin. “Right back atcha.”
She pulled herself together. “I mean that in a totally objective way.”
His gaze raked over her in a manner that would have been offensive if it had come from anyone else. “Same.”
She swallowed. “Stop messing with me.”
“You stop messing with me,” he said huskily.
“I’m not going to screw up a forever friendship for a quick shag.”
He draped the towel around his neck and tugged on the ends. “Who said anything about quick?”
“I’m serious. What’s more important, Clint? Another woman in your bed or a forever friend who only wants the best for you
and who’ll always have your back?” He dipped his head to study the toes of his sneakers in a way that told her she’d struck
a nerve. She plowed on. “A forever friend you can call at three in the morning and know she’ll pick up. Someone who’ll vet
the women in your life to make sure you don’t screw up again. How about someone you don’t have to always play the hero with?”
He tossed the towel in a canvas bin. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Back to work, champ,” she said softly. Biting her bottom lip, she left him alone in the gym.
“Tell me again why you can’t use his washer and dryer?” Erin stood in the doorway of her laundry room, Watch at her feet,
as Dancy loaded her wet clothes into the dryer while the sky grew darker outside the window.
“He comes to the lake to get away, not to have me running in and out of his house with my dirty clothes.”
“You two are weird.” Erin nodded toward the leaf green–and-white sundress Dancy was wearing. “I do have good taste in your clothes.”
“True.” The sundress had a fitted bodice that didn’t need a bra, spaghetti straps, and a flared bottom. “There’s not a puppy
dog or a rainbow on anything you picked out for me.”
Erin sniffed and touched the colorful rainbow on her T-shirt. “I don’t wear puppies.”
Dancy smiled. “Promise you’ll visit me in LA. I have a beautiful guest room.”
“It’s a deal.”
By the time she left with a bag of clean clothes, the wind had picked up. Watch shifted uneasily on the passenger seat. She
reached over with her free hand to stroke him as her cell rang.
This was the call she’d been waiting for. “Hold on, Sebastian.” She pulled to the side of the road so she could give him her
full attention. “Okay, I’m here. What’s the update on the contract?”
“Hey.” There was a long pause. “So . . . not the best news.”
“I told you not to negotiate! Roth knows how much I want this, and he’s still pissed about the divorce settlement. I don’t
care if they’re lowballing me. I don’t care about the money.”
“It’s not that.” She heard the creak of his desk chair. “Don’t kill the messenger, okay?”
Something cold coiled in the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Dancy, they’ve cast Gillian Mays to play Lucinda.”
“What?” She couldn’t take it in.
“Gillian Mays. The pop star. She wants to act.”
Dancy tried to breathe. “You’ve got it wrong. Gillian is in her early twenties. Lucinda is mid to late thirties. It’s only
a rumor.”
“Dancy—”
“You heard it wrong!” She cut him off. “They’ve cast her as Lucinda’s younger sister. You haven’t read the script. It’s about
a couple coping with their marriage after the glow has worn off. Casting Mays wouldn’t make any sense.”
“There’s no mistake, Dancy. They’ve already sent out a press release.”
Ice spread through her veins, and her voice grew so small she could barely hear herself. “That can’t be. There’s a mistake.”
“No mistake. I talked to Valerie.”
She gripped the phone with numb fingers. Roth’s production partner and Dancy’s so-called friend knew about this?
“Valerie was very clear,” he said. “They signed Gillian last month.”
“Last month?”
Sebastian kept talking, but the phone slipped from her hands, and she didn’t hear a word. She knew only that Roth had used
her. Again.