Catch of a Lifetime (8 page)

   Having her here to take care of Michael while he'd put out those seventeen or so fires on the project was a godsend. Now the lead scientist was back on the job, R&D was on track, all the investors were happy with the results of the latest solar-chip testing, and he could relax and enjoy the rest of Michael's birthday.

   Then Angel flipped her hair to the side, a curtain of golden silk flowing over her shoulders and Logan's re laxation took a hike.

   Her hair was gorgeous and he simply could not stop wondering what it'd feel like falling across his chest. Intertwined in his fingers. Caressing his skin—

   Hell.

   He had to stop. She was here to help him with Michael and nothing else.

   If only he wasn't aware of her all the time. Even with her nose buried in her book, something about Angel just reeled him in. Something called to him. Made him see her as a beautiful woman and not the hired help.

   But she'd given no indication that she saw him the same way, and, really, the last few hours proved that he needed her here in a babysitting capacity, so he had to get his frustrated, testosterone-laden mind off her.

   Deciding that checking what Michael was up to was the safer thing to do at the moment, Logan climbed the steps to the patio outside the kitchen. "Hey, sport. What are you doing?" He picked up one of the folded pieces of paper that was lying on top of a leather-bound notebook. "This is really good. It's a goose, right?"

   Michael took the paper animal from him, unfolded it, smoothed it, then refolded it. "It's a swan. I taught Angel how to make it, but she didn't do it good."

   Logan pulled out a seat next to Michael. "So where'd you learn to do that?"

   Origami was a pretty impressive feat for a six-year old. Logan let a little parental pride shine through. He may not have had a chance to help with the nurture part of making Michael who he was, but he'd been pretty dexterous with his fingers growing up. Michael had ob viously inherited those genes from him.

   "At the soup kitchen. Ms. Narita showed me."

   Thank God Logan was sitting down. Unlike with the jail announcement. "What were you doing in a soup kitchen? Did Christi—I mean, Rainbow work there?"

   Michael shrugged and kept his face lowered. "We went there a lot 'cause Rainbow said they cooked better than she did. They had ice cream, too. But not peppermint. When I get bigger I'm gonna work real hard so I can buy my own peppermint and have a big house to live in with a pet and Rainbow and everything." Michael put another bend in the swan. "See this? It can flap its wings."

   The folded paper swan went up and down when he pulled on the tail. Logan took it from him to try it out, all the while trying to keep his shock at what Michael had said out of his voice. "That's really neat, sport. I'm proud of you."

   He also ached for the child who'd had to eat in soup kitchens. Whose tattered wardrobe fit in a shabby pil lowcase. Who was already planning to work hard so he could provide for his own mother—a mother who, while Logan was no longer her biggest fan, appeared to have gone to jail despite what he was beginning to suspect were mitigating circumstances.

   But why hadn't she come to him? He would have helped.

   "Logan?" Michael asked. "Can we have burgers to night? On the grill? Mr. Ray made them that way once and they were good."

   "Sure thing. Who's Mr. Ray?" Logan was almost afraid to ask.

   Michael picked up something that looked like an aardvark. Or maybe it was a mouse. "The landlord. He used to give me hotdogs sometimes. 'Til we moved. So, can we?"

   Logan would give the kid prime rib every night for the rest of his life if that's what he wanted. "Sure." He cleared his throat. "Would you like to help me make them?"

   Michael looked up then. He even pushed the rim of the baseball cap back. Then he looked at Angel. "Can Angel help?"

   Logan closed his eyes for a second. What was it about Angel that made Michael cling to her instead of him? She wasn't even related.

   Then he looked over at her and knew why
he'd
cling to her—"Of course she can. Why don't you ask her?"

   "Cool!" Michael hopped up off the chair and ran down the steps.

   Logan opened the grill, unable to prevent himself from watching Angel smile as she took Michael's hand. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, if not
the
most beautiful.

   He turned on the propane and lit the burner, her laughter doing all sorts of babysitter-inappropriate things to his insides. He didn't know whether he should be grateful or worried that the sight of her had pushed thoughts of Michael's upbringing out of his mind. Then the setting sun backlit her dress as she walked toward him and Logan groaned.

   Worried. He should be worried.

   Every single curve. Right there. As if she weren't wearing a thing.

   And, man, did he remember how she looked wearing nothing.

   He eased the grill cover down, trying to concentrate on not burning himself instead of on her.

   Why couldn't he get over the fact that she'd been naked? He'd seen naked women before. Okay, not strange ones on his boat. But the image of her would not leave him—and the dress only enhanced it, teasing him with that damn little cutout on her chest and covering curves he could probably draw perfectly. If he could draw.

   "How about some help?" she asked, her hair falling down her back, the ends swaying by her hips.

   Her smile was soft and beautiful; it reached her in credibly blue eyes, and her voice… It was so lyrical—

   "Logan?" Michael tugged on his shorts. "Angel wants to know if we can help."

   His son. Touching him. Asking a question.

   Logan found saliva somewhere in his mouth and used it to form a coherent—he hoped—reply. "Dishes. We could use those." His arm even worked to gesture toward the table. His lips worked, too, as they returned the smile his son gave him.

   "Race ya into the kitchen, Angel!"

   And just like that, Michael and his touch were gone.

   But Logan could still feel the warmth where their skin had met, and, in a way he'd never imagined, it filled his heart.

   "He's a wonderful child." Angel's voice filled him in a whole other way.

   He looked down at her. She was so small. Almost a child herself—but not. A fact he couldn't seem to forget. Or disregard. Or even
want
to disregard.

   "Don't you think?"

   Think what? Oh. Michael. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, he is. I just wish I'd gotten to know him sooner. Like six years sooner."

   And he was admitting this to a total stranger, why?

   "Angel, why don't you help him? The dishes are in the upper cabinets and I haven't gotten around to child proofing just yet. They're pottery and heavy and if he breaks them—"

   "Aye, aye, captain." She kicked her heels together and saluted him before hurrying inside.

   He watched her all the way.

   The fire crackled behind him and Logan laughed at himself. He was acting like a teenager with his first crush.

   Too bad he'd broken up with Joanne last month. If he hadn't, maybe he'd be a little better equipped to deal with the wallop Angel packed, but Joanne had started getting serious and he'd had to end it. She wasn't the woman for him; he'd known that. He wanted a woman he could envision having children with, and Joanne's idea of motherhood was nannies and boarding schools. He was
not
sending Michael away to any boarding school.

   He'd always wanted kids. Wanted a traditional, nor mal family. One that included little league teams and sleepovers. A family that had meals together as his friend Drew's did. A family who read stories at bedtime, vacationed in campgrounds, and went to amusement parks. Joanne hadn't had the same vision.

   So, he'd ended it, and when Michael had shown up, he'd decided to put dating on hold. Bringing random women around wasn't in his son's best interests, nor was spending nights out on dates.

   And then… enter Angel.

   Something inside him thudded. What an entrance she'd made. Naked, gorgeous, and good with kids… could any woman be more perfect?

   Except that she was his son's babysitter. Getting in volved with her would be worse than the worst cliché— again, not that she showed any signs of wanting to be involved with him. So, for Michael's—and his—sake, he'd just have to suck up the frustration and live with it. God had given him two hands for a reason.

   But why couldn't the new babysitter look like Marilyn Manson instead of Marilyn Monroe?

MICHAEL KEPT CHATTERING SO MUCH DURING DINNER THAT Angel hadn't known whether to be relieved she wouldn't have to contribute to the conversation or to worry he'd accidentally blow her cover.

   Actually, she'd almost blown it herself. Human food wasn't totally new to her, thanks to the occasional cap sized vessel and the undersea wedding reception her parents had held for her brother Reel and his Human wife, Erica, complete with their favorite Human foods, but burgers hadn't been part of her experience.

   She'd almost swooned when she bit into one. The combination of flavors and textures… And of course, the dry bread and condiments that hadn't been watered down… The burger was to die for. The flavors were so different. Stronger. Better.

   And the beverages… She'd passed on the milk Logan had insisted Michael drink, but the iced tea was deli cious. Fresh water, too, and even a sip or two of grape wine, so different from the kelp wine Mers had. What an experience for the palate. And the chocolate cake Logan carried out… it almost brought tears to her eyes.

   She'd tasted chocolate before on the rare occasion and could smell the cake's sweetness. Charley, her fa ther's advisor, could go on and on about the consistency of cake. She couldn't wait to try it.

   "Should we sing?" Logan looked at her.

   Sing? He wanted her to sing? Here? In front of his son? Usually when Human males wanted a Mer female to sing, it wasn't appropriate for children.

   "You know 'Happy Birthday,' right?"

   Ah. Right. She remembered that tune from Human Cultural Basics 101. "Of course I do."

   Logan lit the candles on the cake, and Angel tried not to stare at the flames. They fascinated her. While tem peratures in Atlantis were regulated by the heat of molten lava that flowed beneath the sea bed, flames were a for eign concept. She was going to have to experience this fire phenomenon up close while she had the chance.

   She leaned forward, catching the hair that swept over her shoulder before it could catch on fire. She didn't want to experience it
that
closely.

   Logan cleared his throat, and when she looked up, he quickly averted his eyes. "Ready?" he asked, his voice deeper than before.

   Angel glanced down. The peekaboo hole in her dress gapped forward. That explained the throat-clearing. Thank the gods Logan was such a gentleMer—man. She pressed one hand against the bodice of the dress, tucked the hair behind her ear with the other, and sat back. "As ready as I'll ever be."

   Logan cleared his throat.

   Angel looked at him.

   He looked back.

   "Are you guys gonna sing or what? I want cake." Michael hopped up and down in his chair.

   Logan cleared his throat again and spun so fast to look at Michael that Angel thought the man might fall out of his chair.

   He tapped the rim of Michael's cap. "Ah, sure we are, sport."

   He started the song then and Angel quickly caught up. Beneath her melody, he had a very nice voice. Tenor. On key. It could be a bit stronger, but that wouldn't take much work.

   His lips formed the words properly—not that she was looking at his lips or anything—but perhaps he could lengthen that "you" note. His technique wouldn't take much tweaking. He breathed at the right moments, not straining to hit the high note, soft when he should be—

   She suddenly realized she was singing solo. She stopped, mid
-dear Michael.

   "What?"

   Both males stared at her, Logan with a strange gleam in his eye and Michael with a breathy, "You sing like an angel, Angel."

   No, actually, she sang like a…

   Siren.

   Oh Hades. Her voice. She'd forgotten the effect it had on Humans. Especially adult males. Logan, his pupils almost nonexistent—the classic characteristic of Siren Song enchantment—was clearly under its influence.

   "Uh." She cleared her throat and took another sip of that delicious wine. "I, um, that is… I guess I like to sing?" She shrugged her shoulders, going for nonchalant.

   Big mistake. With the way her voice was working on Logan, his eyes went right to her breasts.

   And wouldn't you know… they reacted. Now she knew what bras were for and was sorry she hadn't worn one, and, whoa, Michael should
not
be seeing that. She crossed her arms, then rested her elbows in front of her on the table.

   "When do we eat it?" She didn't care if it was a stupid question. She raised her voice an octave and went off key, going for a neutral expression to get Logan's mind off her. But if that look he wore was any indication, she'd say those stories she'd heard of Humans dying with smiles on their face after being lured into the depths by Sirens were true.

   But what woman wanted a man bewitched by her voice into a conditioned response? Not her. A man should want her for her personality and mind first,
then
her body. This blind lust her enchanted voice created was just that… blind.