by Jewel E. Ann
He smiles and it’s incredibly sexy. “I did your laundry.”
Inching my head side to side, I match his grin. “I’m in deep. So. Very. Deep.”
“Yeah?”
I nod and my fingers find the button to his jeans.
“How does that make you feel?” he murmurs, both of our chins tipped down, watching my hands ease down the zipper.
“Scared … intoxicated …” I squat, pulling down his jeans and briefs. My mouth voyages up his body, eliciting each muscle they touch to contract.
“Swayz …” He closes his eyes as I kiss his neck while sliding my hand along his erection.
“But mostly…” I whisper, brushing my lips across his ear “…it makes me feel … enraptured.”
My back meets the bed as he pins my hands above my head and crashes his mouth to mine. Our love song picks up its tempo—each emotion building toward the climax. Two entangled bodies move with more need … more urgency.
Since we ended our fight in the shower, sex has felt more desperate—more meaningful. It’s not just a physical need, it’s an emotional connection that demands nurturing.
After the bed’s a tangled mess of sheets and blankets and the only sounds in the room are my name on his lips and his on mine as we fall … fall … fall … playing out our love song until the final note, we find serenity.
*
“Don’t move. Five more minutes.”
I giggle. “Did you skip your workout for me this morning?”
“Mmm…” his chest vibrates against my cheek “…yes I did.” He rolls onto me, wedging himself between my legs.
My skin wakes up under the touch of his tongue trailing from my neck to my nipple. “Mr. Calloway, I don’t want to be responsible for you falling off the exercise wagon.” I arch my back.
His hand snakes under my backside, adjusting me so the head of his cock nudges my entrance. On a soft moan, he slides inside of me. “Are you sure?”
My breath hitches. “I … I might be okay with you slipping off the wagon this morning.”
Griffin moves inside of me, slowly waking up my body. “I want you to move in with me.”
My hands grip his ass, letting him know that I’m awake and needing more. But Griffin sets the pace, and right now his pace is conversational. He’s a damn tease.
“Faster …”
“My thoughts too. I don’t see any reason for you to wait to move in with me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” My nails dig into him a little more. “We’ll…” I try to move against him faster and harder, but it’s wasted effort. “…talk when we’re done.”
He sucks and bites the skin along my shoulder; muscular arms hold his upper body a few inches above mine. “Now.” He rocks into me a little harder, making sure I feel his point. “Just say yes and we’ll be done talking.”
I release something between a laugh and a frustrated groan. “Griff …”
“Griff what?” He circles his hips.
Fucking tease.
“You like this?” He speeds up.
“Yes …” I stretch my neck up to kiss him. He indulges me then pulls away, pumping into me faster.
“Does this feel good?”
“Yes …”
Faster. Harder.
“Do you love me?”
My eyes close as my muscles tighten. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to make you come?”
“Yes …”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
There it is … it’s close … right … there …
Stars …
“Move in with me.”
“Yes … yes … oh my god yes!” Morning sex is the best.
Griffin’s tongue invades my mouth and two seconds later his head strains back and my name falls from his lips after two “fucks” followed by three more.
He must like morning sex too.
After another long kiss, he rolls out of bed, grabs his overnight bag, and looks over his shoulder. “We’ll move your stuff when we get back in town.”
“We should talk—”
“Swayz, we just did. I said, ‘move in with me’ and you said, ‘yes, yes, oh my god yes.’”
I throw a pillow at him. “You’re such a caveman. I would have said yes without you pounding it out of me.”
“Maybe. But what fun would that have been?” He struts off to the bathroom.
I’m moving in with Griffin after one fight that nearly broke us up. I’m moving in with the guy I want to marry, but he hasn’t proposed. I’m moving in with Griffin, and I still don’t understand the visions of Nate in my head.
The average life I settled into after my dad died has tumbled into something unexpected, amazing, and scary as hell. I’m so afraid of losing him in the process of finding myself. And then there’s Nate who stands too close, pulls at my heartstrings with his adorable daughter and single-dad role. But he thinks I’m the reincarnation of Daisy—I’m not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Good morning. How’s my favorite baby?”
Nate carries Morgan down the hall in one hand and his messenger bag in his other hand, passing her to me with a huge grin on his face.
“She’s your favorite baby?”
I kiss her chubby cheek. Her mouth opens into a big smile. “Yes. I have no children of my own yet, no nieces or nephews, no friends who have named me Godmother to their children. So … how did the rest of the night go?”
He grabs his usual to-go cup of coffee. “Perfect. She didn’t wake up once. I think it must be the formula. There’s enough to last the day. I’ll pick up more on my way home.”
“Have you found someone to watch her when I’m gone?”
Nate eyes me over the black lid to his cup, taking a cautious sip. “My parents will watch her until Monday. My mom can be physically limited, but hopefully her knowledge mixed with my dad’s physical abilities will be the equivalent of one capable adult.”
Why do I feel so guilty?
“And next week?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“You have class.”
He nods. “I do.”
“You can’t take her.”
“This is true.” He sticks an apple in his messenger bag and latches it.
“I’m sorry. I really wish there was something I could do.”
“Not your child. Not your problem.” The tight smile on his face doesn’t help my guilt.
“Still …” My lips twist into a painful frown.
“Not. Your. Problem.” Nate kisses Morgan on the head.
“It feels like my problem.” I follow him to the back door.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “She’s not your—”
“I know, I know … stop saying she’s not my child. I get it. But I care about her, and I don’t want some stranger watching her or you losing your job because you’re trying to teach a class with a baby attached to your chest.”
“What do you want me to say?” He turns.
I cradle Morgan to me. This little girl needs me. I feel it in a way that’s hard to explain. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the guilt bearing down until my chest aches.
“Do you want me to ask you to stay home to watch her?”
My gaze falls to Morgan. I can’t look at him, not when he’s looking at me with those eyes that feel as familiar as my own. “Do you want to ask me to stay home to watch her?”
“Yes.”
My heart pauses for a breath—a silent gasp. I asked the question, but I didn’t expect a one-word answer delivered with such raw honesty.
And when our eyes meet, there’s not a flash of regret.
“But I won’t.”
Dear heart, you can start beating again.
“And I won’t tell you that it’s unnerving to think of you on the back of a motorcycle for hundreds of miles or surrounded by a bunch of beer-chugging men who get off on objectifying women.”
“N
ate …” I need to respond, but he’s robbed every thought that makes any sense.
“I guess…” his eyes avert away from mine as his teeth trap the corner of his lower lip “…it’s just what I think your father—any good father—would say to his daughter.”
Would my father approve of me going to a motorcycle rally with Griffin? Absolutely not. But he’s not here. I’m an adult. And Griffin loves me. I trust him with my heart and my life. He makes me feel safe, even when I don’t know why I have this desperate need to feel safe. Yet, I do.
“Griffin would never let anything happen to me.”
Nate studies me. “A man on a bike amid SUVs and semitrucks doesn’t have a lot of control. He’s at fate’s mercy.”
“Aren’t we all at fate’s mercy?”
Nate flinches. It’s slight, but I see it. And the regret grips my heart.
“That was terrible. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” He opens the back door.
Nate is a single father because fate lacked any sort of mercy the day Morgan came into this world and Jenna left it. Why did I have to remind him of that?
“Have a good day.”
My lips pull into a tiny, painful grin. “You too.”
The door closes. My familiar stranger breaks my heart every day. When I’m home, all I want is to fall into the world of Griffin Calloway—love’s muse. But when I’m here, with Morgan gazing up at me, so innocent and helpless, I feel like something incomprehensible has led me to her.
I can’t risk losing Griffin, searching for something that may never be found, but I also can’t let this go. Part of me belongs to this unknown.
“Let’s get some floor time … in your daddy’s room.”
Morgan’s arms flail. She’s excited about it too. My bare feet pad down the shiny wood floor toward the open door at the end of the hall. Nate used to keep his door closed; now he leaves it open. It feels like an invitation. He wanted me to see those photos last night. He gave me permission to snoop. Maybe this is his way of helping me figure this out.
The camera no longer phases me. I lay Morgan on her mobile play mat and retrieve the box of photos from Nate’s closet.
“My god …” I pull out picture after picture and arrange them on the floor beside Morgan’s mat. They’re so vivid in my mind—holidays, hockey games, the tree house, the lake. My hands move them in order; I’m not sure how they know—how I know—but I do. When I’m done, there are six pictures that I don’t recognize, but they are of Nate. He’s older than my memory recalls, maybe in his twenties.
“Nate …” I stop on a black and white portrait of him with his shirt off, maybe on a beach. He’s looking off into the distance like he’s lost or even a little broken. There’s a darker tint to his wavy hair, maybe from the water, and a trimmed beard shadows his jaw. A smattering of hair covers his defined chest. He’s … beautiful.
“Were you thinking of Daisy?” I whisper. This photo … I can’t stop staring at it. I’ve never seen such a deep expression on the face of another human. “I’m not her.”
But I wish I were. I can only imagine how incredible it must have been to be loved by Nate. Will I ever make a mark on Griffin like the one Daisy made on Nate? If I died today, would Griffin mourn me for the rest of his life? Would he find another to love and name his daughter after me?
I chuckle. “I hope not.” One Swayze is enough.
Morgan starts to fuss.
“Are you hungry? Or just tired of floor time?” I set the beach photo aside and gather the other pictures, returning them to the box, but my gaze returns to that photo. I want to be there on that beach with him. I want to run my hands through those windblown locks and look into those soulful eyes until I feel exactly what he was feeling in that moment. With my back to the camera in the corner, I slip the photo into my pocket. I will return it—eventually.
“This is so messed-up,” I mumble, returning the box to the closet shelf. “Okay, fussy pants, let’s get you fed.” She feels warm when I press my lips to her forehead. “What’s going on? Do you not feel well?”
Morgan drinks less than half of her bottle before she falls asleep, warm—too warm. I take her temperature. 102 degrees.
Swayze: Morgan has a 102 temp.
Professor: Eating?
Swayze: Not quite half her bottle.
Professor: Crying?
Swayze: Sleeping.
Professor: I’ll call John.
Five or so minutes later I get another text.
Professor: Let her sleep. See if she eats when she wakes. Retake her temp and let me know. I can come home if you need me.
Swayze: We’re good for now. I’m not worried. I just wanted you to know.
Professor: Thank you.
*
“Hey.” Nate drops his messenger bag on the counter.
I look up from my book, hot as hell from a small heater sleeping on my chest most of the day. “Hi.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Still 102. But she took the rest of her bottle and part of another one.”
He nods, resting his hand on the top of her head. I can’t look at him without seeing the Nate in the photo stashed away in my pocket.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I blink and avert my gaze from his eyes. It’s impossible not to look into his eyes and wonder what he was thinking when that picture was taken. “Yeah. Just … hot.”
“I’m sure.” He eases her from my chest, and she fusses a bit before falling back to sleep in his arms. “Thank you.”
I lift my stiff body out of the chair. “No apology necessary. Rocking sick babies is part of the job. I’ve done it many times before.”
He rests his cheek on top of her head. It’s precious and heartbreaking. She needs her mom and he needs his wife.
“Still …” Those soulful eyes find my gaze and a sad smile tugs at his mouth. “I feel bad that I wasn’t here.”
“You can’t be everywhere and everything to her always.”
“Well…” he rubs circles on her back “…I’m glad you were here. In fact, I have an offer for you.”
Sliding my bag over my shoulder, my head tilts to the side. “What’s that?”
“I’m in a bind. A big one with school starting next week and my parents leaving town. Would you consider staying home if I offered you a five thousand dollar bonus?”
“Excuse me?”
“If I had another option, I wouldn’t ask. I feel like a dick. This isn’t a finer moment for me, but I’m imploring you to stay. Take the money and use it for another trip when I’m not in such a desperate predicament.”
“Nate, I …”
“I know I said it’s not your problem. And if you say no, then I’ll have to … I don’t know … figure something out. This isn’t an attempt to make it your problem. I’m just offering you a lot of money—on top of your regular salary—to stay. Think of it as a business offer.”
Five grand. That’s a lot of money considering the inheritance from my father has dwindled since paying Dr. Greyson, paying off my car, and the new computer I purchased six months ago. Five grand in savings. Five grand to help do some more renovations around Griffin’s house. Maybe a new sofa. His is an old hand-me-down like mine.
Griffin. I don’t know how he would feel about this. He’s been looking forward to this trip all summer. But … five grand.
“I’d have to talk with Griffin. We’re supposed to leave tomorrow. Five thousand dollars isn’t worth my relationship. If I talk to him and he’s not on board, I just …”
Nate shakes his head. “I understand. I’m not asking you to ruin your relationship to bail me out of this mess. Call me after you talk to him.”
“I will.” I rock forward onto my toes and press a kiss to Morgan’s rosy cheek. “Feel better, baby.” My eyes shift upward, meeting his gaze. Fuck. This is the look. He’s giving me the same look that’s on his face in the photo. My spine prickles, turning to ice. “I looked at the ph
otos,” I mutter, my mouth just inches from his, separated by Morgan’s tiny head.
He blinks several times. The depth to his eyes go on forever. It engulfs me. I can barely breathe.
“I know.” He wets his lips while his gaze drops a mere inch, settling on my mouth.
I step back with such a jerk, my feet stumble to keep me upright. Nate can’t look at my mouth. It’s not his to look at like that.
“You okay?” A smile curls his lips.
I misread that. He wasn’t looking at my mouth. He wasn’t thinking of kissing me. Gah! I’m an idiot. “Yeah. I’m good. I’ll uh … call you.” My hand comes up in a nervous wave. Who waves to someone standing two feet in front of them?
“Okay.” His eyes narrow but his grin remains.
*
Griffin looks up from his motorcycle, giving it a final wipe down. The chrome shines like it’s brand new. But nothing shines quite like his smile.
“You should be home packing.” He flips the rag over his shoulder and gives me his sexy once-over.
“About that …”
“Yes?” He prowls toward me, backing me into his workbench.
The look in his eyes says take off your clothes. I’ve seen it many times. I usually like that look. But the garage door is open, and he’s right, I should be home packing. Maybe I’m off today. I misread Nate’s look, perhaps I’m misreading Griffin’s.
Taking off my clothes might be the right idea. Soften him up with sex. He used it to make me agreeable this morning; maybe I can work my own manipulative magic.
“Shut the garage door.” I give him my sexiest expression while my right hand teases his denim just below the button to his jeans.
He peaks a single brow then glances down at my hand. “You hungry, Swayz?”
I bite my bottom lip and nod.
“You want me to shut the garage door?” His eyes pull into a slight squint.
I nod, rubbing him more.
“Are you going to get on your knees for me?”
I nod, tugging on the button to his jeans.
“Right here?”
“Uh-huh.”
Griffin steps back, fastening the button I just undid. “Spill.”
“Spill?”
