After hauling all of the music equipment to the parking lot, Lorenda meticulously arranged and rearranged the instrument cases in the trunk of her SUV. Jaycee and Trevor played with Malarkey over on the empty playground, and she tried to shake off the tingle that rushed up her arm every time Mitchell handed her another case and their fingers brushed.

Busy.

She needed to keep busy. Busy was her friend when something was seriously wrong, and the thing that was seriously wrong was helping her load the car. Had just invited himself on the boys' campout, even insinuating that she and the boys were his family. Well, technically they were family, but she and the boys weren't the family Mitchell was really here for.

Healing his relationship with his dad for his mother's sake was Mitchell's priority, not Lorenda and her boys.

She moved a trumpet over to squeeze a flute into the small space. He handed her a trombone next, and she placed it toward the back of the trunk.

What was even more seriously wrong was that she'd liked it when he'd sent the silent territorial vibes that she and the boys belonged to him. At least that's how it had felt at the time. Couldn't have been her imagination, because Bart's eyes had widened with surprise for a fleeting moment.

And her kids had run to Mitchell instead of her, like he was their father.

Seriously. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Hand me the French horn." She pointed to a large case, and Mitchell picked it from the pile of instruments. "Thanks." She didn't look at him when she took it, but her hand brushed his, and she fought off a shiver.

The same shiver that had lanced through her when he'd acted all alpha protective in the gym. Gah! She didn't need alpha! And she didn't need her boys becoming devoted to Mitchell as their father figure. They were already halfway to calling him Dad . . . or Zeus . . . or Jesus . . . if their looks of hero worship were any indication.

She shuffled the cases around some more and finally yanked one out. "I need to unload them all and start over." Yes, busy, busy, busy.

Mitchell's hand closed around her arm, and he turned her to face him. "I came to give you the news about the mugger. He got out of the county jail." Mitchell's thumb caressed her arm, and he gave his head a small shake. "Still hasn't talked." Now all five fingers moved against the bare flesh of her arm, making it pebble. "I'll be here until this is solved one way or another."

Him being here was precisely the problem. She and the boys already liked him being here way too much. But the look of bona fide concern in his eyes, like he'd stand in front of a speeding truck for her and the kids, made her mouth go dry and her resistance go soft.

She was such a cream puff.

So she tried to suck it up and stay strong. "Look, Mitchell. Maybe you should stay with your parents."

Several creases appeared between his eyes.

"I mean, I really like having you around." Something flashed in his eyes, and she wished she'd left off the "really" part. "The kids love it, actually, but you see, we're not your responsibility, you know, and, well, um. Yeah."

He took a small step and closed the gap between them. His breath smoothed across her cheeks, and she stared up into his mocha-latte eyes. Some coffee chain should really name a drink mocha hotte with a picture of his eyes on the cup, because women would stampede the doors first thing every morning. It would be just like Black Friday every single day. Sweet baby Jesus, the color was so smooth and delicious that she wanted to drink him in . . . and then kiss the hell out of him to get a taste.

He reached for her hair and pulled free a tiny piece of lint that must've come from a cleaning cloth she'd used on the instruments. He flicked it away and then went back for more, his fingers lingering against her skin.

"Bart seems interested in you. He was kind of a strange guy in high school." His hand floated at her ear for another moment like he didn't want to move it.

She chewed her lip. "I've always felt kind of sorry for him. Kids weren't very nice to him when we were growing up, and he was so henpecked by his controlling mother."

"Want to tell me about the offer he mentioned?" Absently, like her mouth mesmerized him, Mitchell gently swiped away something from her cheek. His calloused fingers, rough against her ear, sent a shock wave of desire rippling from her earlobe all the way to her toes. Which curled against the flat, bejeweled sandals.

"He's been asking me out for a while. His wife left him."

"Really," Mitchell deadpanned. "Someone married him?"

"She's Russian . . . or Ukrainian . . . or something." Lorenda shook her head.

"Did he order her online?"

Lorenda arched a brow. "Now you're not being very nice."

"Unfortunately, I'm serious." He let his hand fall away, but not without letting his fingers brush against the length of her hair.

She wanted to grab it and put it right back against the sensitive flesh beside her ear . . . or maybe against her cheek . . . or maybe thread his fingers through her hair before guiding it down to her- "Lorenda."

She jumped at the intimate way her name rolled off his tongue. Deep and husky like he could read her mind. Her lips parted, but nothing came out except a small gasp when his head dipped and his handsome face hovered so close to hers, his gaze flowing over every inch of her face before their eyes locked.

"What was he talking about?"

She swallowed. "Well, um, he seems to think he could mentor the boys."

Mitchell's jaw tensed, his shoulders almost curving around her protectively.

"He's trying to help, but I think he wants me and the kids to be a package deal."

Mitchell's eyes dilated, and at that moment there was no doubt in Lorenda's mind that he was lethal when facing an enemy during battle.

"I've said no," Lorenda rambled, because by the look on Mitchell's face he might march back into the school and teach Bart a new meaning for the word mentoring. But Bart really was harmless, albeit a little pathetic.

"If he's bothering you, why are you setting up the music program here?" Mitchell rasped out.

"He's not bothering me. He's just a little persistent. And nowhere else in town is available after school until next spring when the rec center is finished."

"Then wait until next spring to start the program," Mitchell said.

She shook her head. She'd considered that. Truth was, if she didn't start the program now, she was afraid she'd never get around to it. She'd put this dream on the back burner for Cameron and the kids. It was now or never. Plus, she liked the idea of spending more time around the school because Trevor's teacher had sent a note home about his behavior.

"I think it would help Trevor if I'm here more. He's a lot like you, Mitchell." She chewed her lip. "The boys don't have a father to keep them hemmed in. I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate it more than you know, but it could also backfire if they start thinking of you as a father."

His heavy exhale cascaded over her cheeks and neck, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. "Sparky." The affectionate way he said it made a balmy glow wash through her. "You're an extraordinary woman. I don't know why my brother lost sight of that."

An ache seeped into her chest and squeezed her heart.

"The way you look out for Jaycee and Trevor is amazing. The same goes for the way you want to share your love of music like it's a gift that should be given away without asking for payment in return."

Lorenda couldn't have been more bowled over if she'd been a pin at the end of an alley.

Her throat closed. "Oh" was all she could croak out.

Mitchell saw in a matter of days what Cameron couldn't see in all the years he and Lorenda had dated and been married. Maybe it was lack of maturity because they'd married so young, or maybe it was lack of time spent really getting to know each other as adults. Whatever the case, Cameron hadn't completely ignored her talent, but he hadn't totally appreciated it either.

"Music is a gift that can't be assigned a monetary value. It's priceless." She twirled her grandmother's antique ruby ring around her finger, because she'd stopped wearing her wedding ring years ago. "It's . . . I don't know . . ." She twirled the ring again and looked at the blue sky. "It's sort of like my duty to pass it on to others."

He gave her a smile so soft, so full of heart, that she felt it to her soul.

"I can relate," he said.

She knew he could. Protecting others had been a gift that he'd seen as his duty since he was a kid.

"I especially want to share it with kids because they can learn it so much quicker than adults. Like speaking another language."

That sweet smile faded a little. "I'm sorry my brother enlisted. I'm even sorrier that he wouldn't come home for good when you had the boys." Mitchell's gaze raked over her face. "I tried to talk sense into him when you were pregnant with Trevor, but he wouldn't listen. I should've tried harder."

A block of ice formed in her chest, and she pressed a hand to her heart. "You tried to stop Cameron from re-upping?" The same coldness around her heart threaded through her words, because Cameron had said the opposite.

Her confusion must've shown on her face, because Mitchell reached up and gently smoothed a thumb across her forehead like he was trying to smooth out the worry lines.

"What is it, Sparky?"

"I begged Cameron to get out of the military when I found out I was pregnant again so soon after having Jaycee." Her voice dropped to a vacant whisper. "He said you asked him to stay in. You needed him, and the Lawson twins always had each other's backs."

Mitchell's expression turned even more sorrowful, and he gave a small frown of disappointment.

He didn't defend himself. Neither did he throw his brother under the bus. It's how she knew Mitchell had been telling the truth. Cameron hadn't stayed in the military for his brother. He'd stayed in for himself.

The familiar chill of rejection, abandonment . . . loneliness skated over her.

"All the more reason I'm sticking around until I'm sure you and the kids aren't in danger," Mitchell said. "I . . ."

Lorenda stilled, waiting for him to finish, because for a moment she thought he might say, "I want to stay because of you and the kids. Not because of my brother."

And didn't it just suck that she wanted him to say those things. That she was tired of being alone. That she yearned for someone to touch her and kiss her and just talk to her. It sucked that she couldn't risk opening herself up to more rejection because Mitchell would make an inevitable exit from their lives. And it sucked that she certainly couldn't risk exposing the boys to that kind of pain.

It all sucked. Hard.

What didn't suck was the way Mitchell looked at her like he did want her. Like he did care about her. But she doubted he'd ever say it or act on it, because of whatever complicated bro code men lived by.

Against every sound argument she'd just run through in her head, Lorenda reached up, intending to cup his cheek with the palm of her hand. She wanted the light stubble along his strong jaw to tickle her fingers, but she hesitated. Let her hand hover there so close that she could feel the heat of his skin.

All the emotions that had been flickering through Mitchell's eyes collided at once and ignited into desire. And that was her undoing. She placed a knee on the inside of his, so his legs framed hers, and she leaned in. Went up on the balls of her feet until their noses grazed and his hand found her waist to pull her closer. His expression told her he was hungry for her kiss and her touch. And anything else she was offering. But just before she touched her lips to his, a car pulled into the parking lot, and Malarkey let out a string of barks from the playground.

She pulled away, and so did Mitchell, putting an arm's length between them. Thank God, because kissing him would've been foolish, and what if the boys had seen them? The car pulled through the parking lot and disappeared behind the school.

"My failed relationship with Cameron wasn't your fault." She picked at a cuticle. "You don't owe me and the kids anything." She rubbed her arms with both hands like she was trying to warm herself.

It was seventy-five freaking degrees out and she had goose bumps.

Her gaze darted away to the school building. A small crack in one of the blinds covering the windows snapped shut, and uneasiness slithered up her spine.

"Look." Mitchell drew in a deep breath, weighty with concern and determination, like he was trying to figure out how to solve world hunger, or how to cure the common cold, or why fruitcakes were so popular for the holidays when nooooobody liked them. He leaned his weight against the frame of the trunk. Bent a knee, which brushed against Lorenda's again, and there went that ripple that rocked her world. "I understand your concerns about the boys. The last thing I want is for them to get hurt. But, Lorenda, I am their uncle. I can't stay away from them forever."

She bit back the urge to say, "You've done a pretty good job of it since Cameron died."

"I've got a bad feeling, Sparky. Sometimes safety trumps emotions."

She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look.

He ran fingers through that thick mane, and her mouth went dry.

"If you and the boys are in some sort of danger, then there's no way I'm leaving you alone. Your safety is too important, even if the boys are a little disappointed when I leave town."

A little disappointed? Disappointed didn't begin to describe what they'd be if Mitchell lived with them much longer and then left. He'd been living over the garage for a few days, and the boys were already playing SEAL Team 5 in the yard. Their father had been assigned to SEAL Team 8. Mitchell had been a member of SEAL Team 5.

He studied her. Seemed to read her mind.

"If you kick me out of your garage apartment, I'll just pitch a tent across the street and camp out." He chuckled. "Trust me, it would be an improvement over some of the missions I've been on."

True. Not to mention Lorenda would be eaten up with guilt if she forced him out of a warm apartment that would otherwise sit vacant and he moved into a tent like a homeless person. And her boys would likely try to move into the tent with their uncle Mitch and think it was all fun and games.

She sighed. Heavily.

Yep, she had the spine of a marshmallow.

He smiled like he was close to victory. "Can I see your phone?"

"Why?" She plucked it from her purse but held on to it.

"Do you trust me, Sparky?"

Yes. She did trust him. She just didn't trust herself if she had to live with him much longer. She handed him the phone.

After a few minutes and a lot of tapping on the screen, he handed it back to her. "I downloaded a safety app so we can track the kids at all times. We'll all be in a family circle on the app. If any one of us has an emergency, we just hit the "Panic" button and every phone number in the circle will sound with an alarm. I'll come over tonight and teach the boys how to use it on their phones."

She stared down at the phone. She should be grateful. Really, she should. He was trying to help. Trying to look out for her and the boys.

Instead she was scared sierra-less. Because all it would take was a few more looks like he'd just given her, a few more touches of her hair, or a few more attempts to play knight-in-worn-denim-armor for her and the kids, and she'd be lost. Or at the very least, beating down the door between her bedroom and his apartment.

She tried to focus on loading the rest of the equipment. She pointed to a case. "Hand me the sax."

"Did you mean sex?" Minx purred from her phone. "Because I'm not that kind of girl."

Mitchell's brow rose.

Lorenda's racing heart nearly pounded through the walls of her chest. Teeth gritted, she said, "I'm just trying to finish loading my SUV."

"STDs can be prevented by abstinence or condoms," Minx informed her.

Throaty laughter rumbled from deep in Mitchell's chest. When he showed no sign of stopping, she crossed both arms over her midsection and waited for him to finish.

Finally, he wiped under both eyes. "As I recall, you're all set in the condom department, Sparky."

Lorenda sure as heck was, thanks to her BFFs. She still owed all three of them a throttling for the embarrassment their little gag gift had caused.

Unfortunately, if Mitchell touched her hair or stared at her mouth again, she just might put those gag gifts to good use. And because it had been so long, if Lorenda ever did open that door, the handful of condoms in her purse wouldn't be nearly enough.