Sasha’s Dad by Geri Krotow Page B

from me, bit by bit, this school year. I understand that’s all part of her growing up, but… I’m grateful she at least has you to talk to.”
    His mournful tone sent a shock of compassion through Claire. She lifted her hand to reach out to him, then let her arm drop back to her side.
    “It can’t be easy, Dutch, being a single father. You’ve raised her right—look at how well she’s doing in school, how polite she is with other adults. But it’s normal for her to pull away now. Isn’t it a comfort to you to know she was here instead of running around town with friends and their older siblings? Do you want to see her hanging out at the convenience store, bumming cigarettes or trying to buy beer?”
    “No.” He closed his laptop and put it on the passenger seat. Then he turned back to Claire. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes blazed with intensity. She gulped in a deep breath. He was angry, but she knew she was close to some kind of compromise. He might crack and admit things were working out.
    “So what’s the harm in burying the hatchet? I’m not asking for us to be buddies, Dutch, or for you to forgive me. But this—” she waved her hand between them “—has got to give. Sasha doesn’t need to feel this constant tension between us. It’s not healthy for her.”
    Dutch’s response was nonverbal and lightning-quick. Before Claire could take even a step back from the truck, he jumped down and stood in front of her. The instant proximity startled her, but she felt the heat that emanated from him. Even through his sweatshirt and her jacket, Claire felt his warmth.
    She looked up and started to take a step back, but his hands were quicker. He grasped her upper arms and stared into her eyes, making sure he had her full attention.
    “You’re right, Claire. Sasha needs a woman in her life—and you’re the perfect one, as far as Natalie’s history is concerned. But as for you and me, I want to make something clear.”
    He leaned forward and she saw his eyelashes sweep down against his cheekbones an instant before his lips met hers. Neither domineering nor apologetic, the kiss was certain, brief and hot.
    Claire hung on to her control, but only because of the brevity of his kiss. She gave herself a full minute to stand still before she opened her eyes. His gaze remained intense, but now she saw what could have been a reflection of her own face.
    Surprise. Bewilderment.
    “Why did you do that?”
    “Why didn’t you fight it?”
    They spoke in unison, then reached for each other again.
    Unlike the first kiss, this one wasn’t so rushed.
    Dutch moved his lips over hers as if she were his last grasp on sanity. Claire met his kiss with equal desire. When his hands left her upper arms and buried themselves in her hair, Claire slid her arms up and around his neck. She held on tight.
    “You taste so sweet,” he told her as he licked first her top, then bottom, lip. He leaned back against the cab of the truck and brought her with him, hip-to-hip.
    Claire gasped at the pleasure of the contact. Even in their jeans they fit together perfectly.
    Dutch sucked gently on her bottom lip and Claire thought she’d scream in need.
    “Dutch.” She gasped his name into the spring air, the last of the day’s sun reflecting against the red enamel finish of the truck.
    A rumble that carried across the wind and made the ground beneath them tremble broke Claire’s reverie.
    Claire pulled back and looked at Dutch. “It’s a truck driving down the highway—it’s not coming up here,” she said.
    Dutch allowed her one more glimpse of the passion in his eyes before he stretched out his arms and forced Claire to take a step back. He loosened his grip on her arms and lowered his own.
    He stayed against the cab. Claire hated the instant cold vulnerability caused by the sudden break of contact between them.
    “So much for making things clearer.” Dutch sent her a wry grin. “But my point remains, Claire. You