Sealed With a Kiss. Gwynne Forster

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СКАЧАТЬ One of the twins answered, “Daddy look.” He reached toward the ten-by-fourteen color sketch for the ice-cream logo. “Ice cream, Daddy. Can we have some ice cream?”

       Rufus shook his head. “Maybe later, Preston.” He turned to her and shrugged nonchalantly, but Naomi didn’t care if her exasperation at that ridiculous scene was apparent.

       “What was happening with you when I called, Naomi? You sounded as if…look, I came over here because I thought something was wrong and that maybe I could help, but whatever it was evidently didn’t last long.”

       Still not quite back to normal, and fighting her wild emotions, she figured it wasn’t a time for niceties and asked him, “Where is their mother?”

       This time, it was the other twin who answered. “Our mommy lives in Paris.”

       “She likes it there,” Preston added. “It’s pretty.”

       Rufus glanced from the boy to Naomi. “Since you’re alright, we’ll be leaving.” He wasn’t himself around her. Her impact on him was even greater than when he’d first seen her. Tonight, when he’d faced her standing in her door with that half-shocked, half-scared look on her face, her shirt and jeans splattered with paint, hair a mess and no makeup, he had been moved by her open vulnerability. It tugged at something deep-seated, elicited his protective instinct. He admitted to himself that fear for her safety hadn’t been his sole reason for rushing over there; he was eager to see her again and had seized the opportunity.

       Her softly restraining hand on his arm sent a charge of energy through him, momentarily startling him. “I’m sorry, Rufus. About your wife, I mean. I had no idea that…”

       “Don’t worry about it,” he told her, mentally pushing back the sexual tension in which her nearness threatened to entrap him. Expressions of sympathy for his status as a single father made him uncomfortable. He regretted the divorce for his sons’ sake, but Etta Mae had never been much of a wife and hadn’t planned to be a mother. She wanted to work in the top fashion houses of Paris and Milan and, when offered the chance, she said a hurried goodbye and took it. Neither her marriage nor her three-week-old twin sons had the drawing power of a couturier’s runway. She hadn’t contested the divorce or his award of full custody; she had wanted only her freedom.

       He watched the strange, silent interplay between Naomi and Preston, who appeared fascinated with the logo. His preoccupation with it seemed to intrigue her, and she smiled at the boy and glanced shyly at Rufus.

       “Do you mind if I give them some i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?” She spelled it out. “I have those three flavors in the freezer.” He eased back the lapels of his Scottish tweed jacket, exposing a broad chest in a beige silk Armani shirt, shoved a hand in each pants pocket, and tried to understand the softness he saw in her. He couldn’t believe that she liked children; if she did, she’d have some. She probably preferred her work.

       “Sure, why not?” he replied, carefully sheltering his thoughts. “It’ll save me the trouble of taking them to an ice-cream parlor where they’ll want everything they see.”

       “Do they have to stay in that thing?” She nodded toward the stroller.

       “You may be brave,” he told her, displaying considerable amusement, “but I don’t believe you’re that brave.” His eyes were pools of mirth.

       “What are you talking about?” She tried to settle herself, to get her mind off the virile heat that emanated from him. She had never before reacted so strongly to a man, and she disliked being susceptible to him.

       His suddenly huskier voice indicated that he read her thoughts and knew her feelings. “Preston can destroy this place in half an hour if he really puts himself to it,” he explained, “but with Sheldon to help him, you’d think a hurricane had been through here. We’re all better off with them strapped in that stroller.”

       “If you say so.” She knelt unsteadily in front of the stroller and addressed the twin who’d pointed toward the logo. “What’s your name?” A miniature Rufus right down to his studied gaze, she decided.

       “Preston,” he told her with more aplomb that she’d have expected of a child of his age, and pointed to his twin. “He’s Sheldon.”

       “How old are you?” she asked his identical twin brother.

       “Three, almost four,” they told her in perfect unison, each holding up three fingers.

       Naomi looked first at one boy and then the other, then at Rufus. “How do you know the difference?”

       “Their personalities are different.” He looked down at them, his face aglow with tenderness, and his voice full of pride.

       She introduced herself to the boys and then began serving the ice-cream. On a hunch, she took four of the plastic banana-shaped bowls that she’d bought for use in the logo and filled them with a scoop each of the chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry flavors.

       Rufus nodded approvingly. “Well, you’ve just dealt successfully with Preston; he’d have demanded that it look exactly like that painting. Sheldon wouldn’t care as long as it was ice cream.”

       Naomi watched Rufus unstrap his sons, place one on each knee, and help them feed themselves while trying to eat his own ice-cream. Her eyes misted, and she tried to stifle her desire to hold one of the children. She knew a strange, unfamiliar yearning as she saw how gently he handled them. How he carefully wiped their hands, mouths, and the front of their clothes when they had finished and, over their squirming objections, playfully strapped them into the stroller.

       “Do they wiggle because it’s a kid thing, or just to test your mettle?”

       He laughed aloud, a full-throated release as he reached down to rebutton Sheldon’s jacket. She would have bet that he didn’t know how; it was the first evidence she’d had that his handsome face could shape itself into such a brilliant smile, one that involved his eyes and mouth, his whole face. He had a single dimple, and she was a pushover for a dimple. The glow of his smile made her feel as if he had wrapped her in a ray of early morning sunlight, warming her.

       “Both, I guess,” he finally answered.

       He turned to her. “That was very nice, Naomi. Thank you. Before I leave, I want you to tell me why you hung up when I called you. Didn’t you know that I would have to send the police or come over here myself and find out whether you were in trouble? I brought my boys because I don’t leave them alone and I couldn’t get a sitter quickly.”

       “Don’t you have a housekeeper, nursemaid, or someone who takes care of them for you?”

       Rufus stood abruptly, all friendliness gone from his suddenly stony face. “My children are my responsibility, and it is I, not a parental substitute, who takes care of them. I do not want my children’s outlook on life to be that of their nanny or the housekeeper. And I will not have my boys pining for me to get home and disappointed when I get there too tired even to hug them. My boys come before my career and everything else, and I don’t leave them unless I have no choice.” He turned to leave, and both boys raised their arms to her. Not caring what their father thought, she quickly took the opportunity to hug them and hold their warm little bodies. His expression softened slightly, against his will, she thought, as he opened the door and pushed the stroller through it. “It was a mistake to come here. Goodbye, Naomi.” As the door closed, she heard Preston, or maybe it was Sheldon, say, “Goodbye, Noomie.”

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