“Sure. I get it.”

“Anyway, you gave him a really wonderful day, and I feel like I’m twisting your arm about tonight.”

He decided, after a moment, that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. There was just too much sincerity in that glorious face for a con. And if there was a twinge of guilt because he had given considerable thought to talking her into bed, that was his problem.

“Look, he’s asleep, right?”

“Yes. All the excitement wore him out.”

“So, I’ll eat your brownies and watch your TV. No big deal.”

Her smile came easily now, beautifully, and made his mouth water. “I left the number of the club by the phone, just in case. The Finklemans should be home by eleven. She’d come over and relieve you if you want.”

“We’ll play it by ear.”

“Thanks, really.” She stepped back into the kitchen to let him in. “My shift ends at two, at closing.”

“Long day for you.”

“I’ve got tomorrow off.” After grabbing her purse, she took a quick look around. “Make yourself at home, okay?”

“I will. See you.”

She hurried out, those incredibly sexy heels clicking across the tile. Coop let out a long breath and told himself to settle down. The lady had just set the ground rules. Fun and games were out.

She had the face of a siren, the body of a goddess and legs designed to make a strong man whimper—but deep in her heart she was Betty Crocker.

Coop took a deep sniff and decided to content himself with a plate of double-fudge brownies.

The storm rolled in just before midnight. Coop had taken Zoe at her word and made himself at home. He was stretched out on her couch, sunk deep in the cushions, with his feet propped comfortably on her coffee table. He was dozing in front of an old war movie, his only regret being that he hadn’t thought to bring a couple of beers down with him.

Zoe’s selection ran to milk, juice and some unidentified green liquid.

He’d poked around a little—it was simply in his nature. The clutter ran throughout the house, but he began to see a pattern to it. Obviously she wasn’t a detail person, but the general lack of order made the house comfortable, even cozy. Coop wasn’t sure if the result was by design or simply because she was a woman who worked two jobs and had a kid to raise.

And from the library books he’d found stacked here and there, it seemed she spent most of her free time reading up on flowers, car repair, tax laws and time management.

He couldn’t help but think it was a waste of a perfectly stunning woman, this voluntary burial of self in books and nowhere part-time jobs.

But it wasn’t his problem.

The crash of thunder from outside harmonized nicely with the artillery barrage on the TV screen. Coop had just decided that this babysitting racket was a snap.