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Sedeo Parker was one hell of a
man. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans which fit his lower
half, making her long to peel them off and find the hidden
treasures beneath. A plain white tee-shirt molded snugly to
his torso, highlighting the tan his skin still held. In one
arm, he held the adorable child with cornflower blue eyes
she’d met during the fateful night two months ago.
Yasmine was at a loss for
words, and for a brief moment, she stared between him and
the child in his arms. She’d noticed the shock in his gaze
when he’d realized who it was on the other side of the door.
“Hi,” she blurted. Great,
Yas. Now he’s gonna think you’re a fool. “I don’t know
if you remember me. I was one of the firefighters…” She
trailed off, biting her tongue.
As he continued to watch her
silently, she shifted uncomfortably. Unable to stand the
quiet, she spoke again, “My name is Yas. Yasmine Van Cort.”
Lame Yas. Real lame. Do what you came here to do
and leave with some dignity. “I-I’ve been meaning to get
this back to you. Sorry, it took so long.” She held out the
envelope holding the photo.
She stared at his long, thick
fingers as he grasped the end of the paper. Is it really
so wrong to find a man’s hands attractive? The sound of
surprisingly clear babbling filled her ears, and she snapped
back to attention to find the little girl leaning out past
Sedeo toward her, arms outstretched, her intentions very
clear.
“Hold me,” the child finally
demanded.
“What’s her name? She speaks
very clearly for someone so young,” Yasmine asked as she
brushed two knuckles along the baby-soft cheek.
“Shelby. She only looks
small. She’s actually twenty-one months old,” he responded.
Sedeo tried to readjust her, but Shelby yelled and reached
for Yasmine again.
“Hold me,” Shelby said again,
a stubborn note in her voice.
“I don’t mind holding her,”
Yasmine informed him. |
