Father Of The Brat by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

you may have noticed, is an adolescent.”
    “So?”
    “So nothing, I repeat nothing, is ever easy about them. They go out of their way to make things as difficult and unreasonable as possible. For themselves and for everyone around them.”
    Carver furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Why would they do something like that?”
    Maddy smiled again. “It’s a hormonal thing.”
    Carver smiled back. He wasn’t sure when the conversation had gone from analyzing Rachel’s behavior to investigating Maddy’s, but for some reason he was unable to stop himself when he said, “Oh. Sort of like what you’ve always had for me, right?”
    Her gaze dropped immediately toward her coffee mug. “I do not now, nor have I ever had, a thing, hormonal or otherwise, for you.”
    “Sure, Maddy. If you say so.”
    She rose from the table and retreated to the sink, where she went about stacking and restacking the dirty dishes. Carver was up right after her, following until he stood behind her, his body nearly flush with hers. He had no explanation for his action. He only knew that Maddy suddenly attracted him more fiercely than a stray sock to a washing machine’s black hole.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, spinning around to look at him.
    Bad move, Carver thought. The only thing more intensely alluring than Maddy’s backside was Maddy’s front side. His gaze fell to her throat, to the long, delicate line of her neck, and her rapidly beating pulse. Her white shirt collar was open, and from his vantage point, he could glimpse just a teasing wisp of the champagne-colored lace that covered her breasts. As he continued to take full advantage of his position, her creamy skin began to grow rosy, and he knew that she was fully aware of how blatantly he was ogling her. But she did nothing to stop him. Which was good. Because Carver had no intention of stopping.
    “Carver,” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”
    He dropped one hand to her waist, the other to her hip. He started to lean in toward her, inhaling a vague, end-ofthe-day trace of her perfume that made him want to bury his head in her neck for a more thorough investigation. “Helping,” he replied softly. “Helping you. With the dishes.”
    “Looks more like you’re helping yourself,” she retorted as she flattened her palms against his chest to halt his forward motion. “And to a lot more than the dishes.”
    Carver allowed her to stop him, but only momentarily. Arming himself with his most disarming smile, he bent his head to hers again. “Oh, I don’t know, Maddy. I always thought you were a real dish.”
    This time she pushed him away a little harder. “You always thought I was a real pain in the neck, remember?”
    With one final shove, she managed to disengage their bodies once and for all. Carver stood with his hands in front of him, clutching air where only a moment ago he had felt the soft pressure of warm curves beneath his fingertips. Maddy was indeed too skinny, he thought as he had the day he’d seen her at the airport. But he had no doubt that she would still be a real handful.
    “You’re blushing,” he said with a smile, reveling in the telltale patches of red that stained her cheeks.
    She spun back around quickly and began to run hot water into the sink. “I am not,” she denied.
    Carver came up behind her again, but this time he didn’t touch her. He only leaned over her shoulder and placed his cheek as close to hers as he dared. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I won’t tell anyone there’s still a final gasp of breath left in Maddy Saunders. I won’t even tell them that you’re the one who’s keeping her on life support. Your secret’s safe with me.”
    Maddy didn’t respond to his charge in any way. She only submerged the dirty plates and glasses and silverware into the sink, rolled up her shirtsleeves, and plunged her handsinto the steaming water. Carver could only imagine how painful it must be to