Her knees, her spine and her jaw all sagged. She caught herself reacting to him for a moment purely as woman to man, warmed by the glow of his tall, dark and blatantly sexy good looks. It was totally involuntary. It was... stupid, she reminded herself.
Doug’s death had trapped her in a high-stakes game with uncertain rules and her children’s future on the table. A joker like Sean MacNeill wouldn’t help her odds at all. But, goodness, he was gorgeous to watch.
He saw her. Setting down the box, he straightened, pushing back the brim of his cap with his forearm. His slow smile thumped into her midsection and quivered like an arrow. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Oh, please.” She flapped her hand. “You can call me Rachel.”
“Rachel.” He lingered wickedly over the name, rolling it in his mouth like something delicious. “Well, it suits you. But then, so does ‘beautiful.’”
She was amused. “Me, and everyone else you know?”
He came up to the porch, all long bones and male muscle, and tipped back his head to look at her. Her heart actually fluttered. “How do you figure that?” he asked.
“Well, for a man who must spend his time in the company of a lot of women, ‘beautiful’ is convenient. I mean, it saves you the trouble of remembering who you’re...” Rolling off of, she thought. “With,” she finished.