Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

reluctant interest to all-out attraction.  If he’d pressured her, been the least bit aggressive, or hadn’t taken her son’s feelings into consideration, it would have been a heck of a lot easier for her to maintain some emotional distance.

But he’d asked her son’s permission, for God’s sake. And then proceeded to kiss her as sweetly as if they were both virgins on their first date.

It was that consideration that was her undoing.

She stretched an arm around his neck and found herself kissing him back.

“Excuse me,” a syrupy voice drawled before the kiss could get really interesting.  “The line’s moving, and I think that y’all are next.”

Embarrassment had her eyes popping open, her hands pushing against his chest.  And turning, she apologized to the woman and three children waiting with varying degrees of patience behind them.

“That’s okay,” the woman chuckled.  “If my husband looked like yours, I’d be all over him, too.”

Tate’s eyes went wide, but Clay’s laugh rang out as he wrapped an arm around her to draw her forward.  “Come on, sugar. You can watch me and the kid while we’re on the ride, and I give you permission to be all over me later.”

Shaking her head, Tate watched Clay get Max situated in the seatbelt.

And was struck, not quite easily, by what an amazing man he truly was.

How many men would voluntarily spend an entire day of their vacation entertaining the demanding five-year-old son of a woman they’d just met?  A woman who’d made it clear that she had no intention of providing any diversionary physical entertainment?

Of course, if she were being honest, she would have to admit that a couple minutes ago she’d been on the verge of forgetting that she didn’t engage in fleeting physical relationships with veritable strangers.  Clay’s tender kiss had rekindled long dormant fires that hadn’t been lit since… well, she hesitated to actually recall how long. She’d been in such a sexual drought that she was like a little pile of dry kindling.

And Clay Copeland was quite a potent spark.

What would it hurt, she mused, to indulge herself with a little adult recreation?  To allow whatever seemed to be igniting between her and Clay to develop naturally?

The Ferris wheel groaned suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, and she smiled and waved as Clay and Max began their backward ascent.

Clay winked, and then slid his arm around her son to help keep him from bouncing out of his seat with excitement.  Max looked up at him with naked adoration.

It was then that Tate came to the sinking realization that she couldn’t see Clay again.

Even if she could handle a brief affair in a mature and reasonable fashion – which, given her short and unimpressive history with affairs of any sort, was highly unlikely – she couldn’t discount the effect such a relationship might have on Max.  She’d always been very careful to keep her dating life, what there was of it, totally separate from her son. The look she’d just seen pass between Max and Clay reminded her of the wisdom of that decision.

For five years she’d done her best to shield Max from the rejection children inevitably feel growing up in single parent households.

Max was young still, but he’d already peppered her with questions about his absentee father.  Where he was.  Who he was.

Wondering why the other children he knew had daddies when he didn’t.

It was no fault of his own that his bastard of a father hadn’t been interested in making any significant contributions to his life other than donating his sperm.

As the Ferris wheel slid backward again, the little boy in question leaned over, waving an arm in enthusiastic greeting.  Clay said something in his ear which had him erupting in a fit of giggles, and Tate winced even as she waved back.

No, she definitely shouldn’t see Clay again.  And especially not in the company of her son.  Clay would be leaving in a few days, and if she allowed anything to develop, Max would be confused and possibly hurt when Clay waltzed easily out of their lives.

It would be best to thank Clay for a truly wonderful day, explain that she had nothing more than friendship to offer, and bid him farewell so that he could enjoy the remainder of his vacation.

Whether alone, or in the company of a more accommodating woman.

And it didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, which avenue he chose.

Drawing a fortifying breath, Tate pushed at an errant lock of hair and turned her attention to some of the other bystanders waiting for the ride to begin.

A happy set of plump grandparents waved enthusiastically to their grandsons, a father laden with camera equipment videotaped his wife and young daughter, and a pretty teen with dark eyes watched as a smaller girl climbed aboard and buckled herself in. From the child’s competence and the teen’s air of boredom they’d obviously gone through the routine before.  A man in a ball cap strolled over and began chatting amicably with the teen.

When the cars were filled, the sound of groaning metal gave way to a blast of rock music that signified the carnival’s shift into night.

Tate found herself regretting that their excursion was drawing to a close.

 

THE giant wheel circled, the cooler night air whispering against the accumulated heat at the back of Clay’s neck.  He smiled, watching the wind whip the layers of Max’s hair into a froth of messy peaks.  They reached the ride’s pinnacle, the gaudily illuminated carnival grounds spread beneath them. Max tilted his face up in wonder, and Clay marveled at how completely privileged he felt.

“This must be what it feels like to be Superman,” Max observed, hovering right at that border between fun and fear.

He clasped Clay’s hand and snuggled in close.  Clay felt something inside him swell, flow naturally as a wave into shore.  “You’re right.”  He gave Max’s hand a squeeze.  And felt pretty super himself.  There was something… wonderful about having a young child look at you with such unaffected trust and affection.

And he