by Misti Murphy
“It gets into my opponent’s head and screws with their game. I’m not opposed to playing dirty if it gets me what I want.”
Now I’m thinking about playing with Garrett’s balls, except we aren’t on a golf course and there’s a distinct lack of clothing. “Which ridiculous outfit are you wearing today?”
He chuckles. “Actually, I’ve already showered and changed into a pair of shorts.”
“Just shorts?” Damn it, why did I ask that? I don’t really want to know. Well, yes, I do, but I shouldn’t want to know.
“Yep. Want me to send you a pic?”
Do I ever. Which is wrong, so very wrong. And he doesn’t help when he adds, “So, what are you wearing?”
I want to be wearing him instead of this T-shirt and capris.
But I can’t jeopardize this job. I like Abby too much. Hell, I like him too much. I like the verbal sparring as much as I like the light flirtation, and I really like the way his voice gets all low and husky when we talk after I’ve tucked the little one into bed.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I should probably let you go. If you’re coming home tomorrow, I need to change the sheets on your bed.”
“I don’t know why you convinced me to let the housekeeper go. I didn’t expect you to take care of my house as well as my kid when I hired you.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see the action. “It’s par for the course,” I say, just because I want to hear him chuckle at my using one of his favorite golf analogies. “But, seriously, most of my nanny gigs expected me to keep up the house, too. And I like to be in charge of stuff. If I don’t get to control my surroundings, I’ll likely start telling you what to do. So really, this works out for all of us.”
“You’re probably right. I’m not good at following directions. Unless, of course, the reward is worth the trouble.”
Is it just me, or do our conversations always sound like double entendres?
***
Garrett’s on his way home, and per Abby’s request, I’ve made what she insists is his meal of choice for dinner. He texted a short while ago, letting me know his flight landed, and he’s heading our way as soon as he gathers his clubs and luggage.
“You sure this is your daddy’s favorite meal?” I ask the toddler who’s been helping me prepare a welcome home dinner.
Abby nods enthusiastically from her perch kneeling on a barstool next to the kitchen island.
“Steak, macaroni and cheese, and applesauce.”
“Yep,” she reiterates.
“Okay. We’re going with it.” I lift the bottle of wine I’d meant to save for the steak. I’ve managed to down half of it while preparing dinner, nervous over seeing him again. Which is stupid. Why am I nervous?
My phone chirps.
Ready to see my girl. And this taxi driver is driving too damn slow.
I smile as I type out a reply.
He’s just making sure you get here in one piece. I hope you’re hungry.
You have no idea.
My smile widens. If only he meant what I wish he meant. I’m hungry for you, Erin. I want to feast on you, to lay you out on the dining room table and lick you until you scream my name.
I clench my thighs and swallow more wine; my hands shake as I reply.
I made your favorite, at least according to Abby.
Oh great, so we’re having mac and cheese for dinner?
That’s what I get for listening to a three-year-old.
You don’t like mac and cheese?
Sure. Just not as much as Abby does. It’ll be fine. You haven’t let me down yet.
No, not yet. And it’s the last thing I want to do. Which means I need to keep these torturous thoughts to myself.
Five minutes, his next text says. I give in to the impulse and scoop Abby into my arms.
“Your dad’s almost here,” I tell the toddler. Yeah, I’m trying to convince myself my excitement is for her benefit, but really, I’m eager to see him too. That whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” must cover friends, too. And employers and employees.
I hear a key being thrust into the keyhole, so I fling open the door. Abby shrieks, “Daddy,” as she reaches for him, propelling us both forward into Garrett’s arms.
“Well, this is a hell of a welcome home,” he says, his arms wrapped around me with Abby squished between us. She squeezes my neck while leaning toward him, and I go with her until she can throw her other hand around his shoulders. When I look up, his lips are right there, slightly parted, so close that if I lean a fraction closer…
Abby launches herself at him and he lets go of me to keep her from falling. Laughing, he situates her on his hip and says, “I guess you missed me, huh?”
“We both did,” Abby says.
Garrett lifts his gaze to me, those mesmerizing blue eyes watching, reading me, probably guessing that I started fantasizing about him somewhere between bedtime stories and nothing-but-shorts. Since last night, in my head, he’s not only feasted on me on the dining room table, we’ve fucked while I sat in his lap outside on the balcony, and I’ve sat in a bathtub full of bubbles and took him into my mouth while he stood next to me, gloriously naked and hard and desperate for me. Yeah, we’ve been busy over the course of twenty-four hours. We should be exhausted.
“It’s been a long week,” I say, resisting the urge to fan my face. And because it feels right, this moment, this sensation of being a family, I add, “She’s right.”
“Good,” he says, and he passes Abby back to me so he can drag his bag and golf clubs into the apartment. “It smells good, by the way. I thought we were having mac and cheese for dinner.”
“Well, I added a couple steaks to the side.”
“Hell, you can make mac and cheese every damn night if it includes steak. Any chance I can have a beer, too?”
“I opened a cabernet to go with dinner, although I may have polished off a fair amount of it already.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? This could be a real interesting evening, then.”
Clearing my throat, I fight the blush I can feel staining my cheeks, and lead the way into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass?”
“Sure. Look at this. Applesauce too. You know this is Abby’s favorite meal, right?”
I give the kid a mock dirty look. “She said it was your favorite.”
He accepts the wine I pour for him and watches me over the rim of the glass while he takes a sip. “My favorite meal isn’t appropriate to share with a three-year-old.”
I gasp, a quick intake of breath, and snag my own drink. I need the liquid courage more now that he’s here, in person, all that delicious-looking flesh covering amazingly sharp, sleek muscles.
He’s your employer, Erin.
Damn. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such an intense attraction to someone before in my life. Even my colossal fuck-up, the baby daddy I shouldn’t have slept with, the guy who not only convinced me to give up my virginity but also to become the other woman, didn’t stir me up like Garrett does.
We sit down to dinner and Garrett cuts Abby’s steak while asking about her day.
“We hung out with Uncle Danny,” she says.
Garrett lifts his gaze to me, a question in his eye. “Uncle Danny?”
“His idea,” I say. Danny took to my dark-haired little charge almost as quickly as I did, although if he had to choose, he would still go for his idol, the golf pro with a reputation for holes in one both on and off the course.
“Does he have a job yet?”
Another point of contingency for Garrett. I suppose it’s flattering that he thinks I deserve better than my goofy, unemployed best friend, although sometimes I’m tempted to say, “Just what sort of guy do you think I should date?” But I’m afraid of the answer.
“Not yet, although he actually sent out a résumé last week.”
“One? That’s not going to get him very far.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What are you gonna do if
he decides to ask you to marry him? You can’t continue as a live-in nanny if you’re married, can you? I know I wouldn’t want him living in my house, you guys banging in one of my bedrooms. And what happens if you get pregnant? How’s he gonna support you if he doesn’t even bother looking for employment?”
“Well, Dad, thanks for the lecture. If that ever becomes an issue, I’m sure we’ll work it out.” I grab my glass and drain the remaining wine without looking at him. I don’t want to think about these things, partially because they’ll never happen, and more because I can’t imagine getting married, having babies, leaving Garrett and Abby. The idea actually hurts, like it puts a hole in my heart.
When I place my glass back on the table, he refills it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s change the subject. Paynt sent me a text and said you guys stopped by his place this week.”
I nod and blow out a breath. “Yes. I can’t believe Abby didn’t tell you on the phone. She was having Spot withdrawals. She’s very cute, by the way. The goat, I mean. Although she’s certainly a troublemaker.”
“Yeah, she and Abby are two peas in a pod. Now you see why I shut it down whenever she starts talking about adopting an animal?”
I chuckle. “Maybe a little. Oh, Paynter said to let you know your sister Ronnie is going to be here over July Fourth weekend, and you’re supposed to make sure you’re not out of town.”
He digs his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his calendar. “Looks like we’re good. What’s he got planned?”
I grin like a hyena. I’ve been so excited, but then I forgot the big news as soon as I opened the door and saw Garrett standing on the threshold. “Oh, just a little wedding.”
“What?” His gaze flies to my face. He’s already opened his contacts list in his phone, probably ready to call Paynter.
“Yep. He and Chloe decided to tie the knot.”
“Why?”
“Well, the usual reasons, I suspect.”
He tosses me a smirk. “I meant, why so soon? Don’t people usually plan weddings a year in advance?”
“If they’re having a big, elaborate reception, yes. But they’re doing something small in their backyard. They’re planning to exchange their vows on the beach, actually. And Chloe said something about her biological clock going haywire, so they don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Aunt Chloe wants to have a baby,” Abby piped up. “Another kid for me to play with.”
“Yeah, just don’t lead this one around the yard on a leash, okay, kiddo?”
“Da-a-ad.”
We chatter on about the upcoming wedding, and Abby informs Garrett that she and Spot are going to be flower girls, which causes him to laugh, a great belly laugh that steals my breath and makes me conjure pictures of him out of his clothes, like I’ve been doing since yesterday. And that forbidden image makes my throat constrict, so I jump out of my seat and start cleaning the kitchen.
“Time for bed, sweet pea,” Garrett says, and despite her protests, he sweeps Abby into his arms and brings her to me so I can kiss her goodnight, and then he carries her off to brush her teeth and put on pajamas.
“Don’t forget Spot Junior,” I call after them, the pang in my heart so sharp it might as well be real needles stabbing into my chest. This perfect little scenario—it isn’t reality, and I need to stop fooling myself, stop pretending. Garrett is my employer, and the relationship we’ve developed in my head is a bad idea. I’ve been down that path once before, and it ended in disaster.
I stare down at the soapy water in the sink, at the dishes that need to be loaded into the dishwasher, the empty wine bottle on the counter. Desire courses through my veins, hot and thick, and I twist the cold water tap, desperate for something to cool my libido.
Instead of cooling my jets, the icy splash takes me back eight years, to an uncomfortably similar scene. I’m cleaning up after dinner while the dad puts the kids to bed. His wife, as usual, is out of town, jetting around the world to support her job as an executive for an automotive manufacturer.
The dad returns to the kitchen and pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge. Legally, I’m not old enough to drink, but the first time I protested when he offered me one, he laughed and said, “You can’t tell me you don’t drink when you hang out with your college friends.”
But he isn’t a college friend; he’s my employer, even though he keeps insisting I should view him as a friend. More, even, than that. “You’re part of our family now, Erin,” he’s said on more than one occasion.
Stepping up behind me, he reaches over my shoulder, holding the bottle in front of me. “Come on, take a break,” he says. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet tonight.” We have, of course, over dinner, but it was about the kids’ grades and schoolwork and whether he needed to look into hiring a tutor for his son, who isn’t doing so well in math. I’m practically running their household, but math tutoring is definitely outside my repertoire.
We end up in the sitting room attached to his bedroom, where there’s a comfy couch and a flat-screen TV and a door that separates us from his sleeping children. I sit first, and he drops down next to me, closer than we should be, but I don’t ask him to move. I like him. I’m attracted to him, too, but I figure that’s just me being a fairly innocent eighteen-year-old and he’s this virile older guy who’s really good looking. Sexy even.
He grabs the remote and starts flipping channels while his other arm drapes across the back of the couch. I nervously drink my beer and secretly enjoy this sense of intimacy even though I shouldn’t. If his wife were home, they’d be up here doing this right now, while I’d be downstairs in my own bedroom, probably texting Danny.
And then he settles on a movie, which happens to be right in the middle of a sex scene. Holy crap, there’s full on frontal, and damn, I’m getting turned on. He probably is, too, because he keeps shifting in his seat, like he’s uncomfortable. But he doesn’t change the channel. And when the scene ends, he says, “Shit. That was hot. Did you like it?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t mind doing what they just did.”
My laugh is high-pitched. “Your wife isn’t due home for another three days.”
“I know. That’s a long time. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”
He doesn’t exactly have a choice.
“You sure are beautiful, Erin. Sometimes I wish I’d held out, waited for you to come along. We’d make an awesome couple, don’t you think?”
“Um, we probably wouldn’t have met if you weren’t married with kids,” I point out.
He pats my arm and stands. I avert my gaze from the erection pressing against the front of his pants. “You never know. Fate has a way of making sure people end up together. Listen, I’m going to go take a shower. You’re welcome to keep watching, if you want. There’s a TV in the bedroom, too, if you’d rather curl up in bed instead.”
I stand, glad for the excuse to get that thing away from eye level. “I’m going to head to my own room. ‘Night.”
“Hey.” Garrett’s voice pulls me from the memory, and I fling around, spraying soap bubbles and water across the kitchen. He glances down to where wet spots have decorated his pants, right across the crotch. “Um, do you need help?”
Shaking my head, I use my arm to push my hair out of my face. “No, I’m good. You go ahead and unpack, relax, whatever you want to do.”
Instead of leaving the room, he comes closer and then, bending over, pulls out a bottle of Brunello from the wine fridge. After opening it, he lets it hover over my empty glass. “More?”
I nod mutely and he pours the burgundy liquid. After swiping his own glass off the counter, he says, “I’m going to go change.”
“Okay.” I fail miserably at keeping my gaze above his shoulders as he leaves the room. But hot damn, the man has an ass that makes a woman want to take a bite. It’s round and firm and I swear he has his pants tailored to emphasize th
at particular asset.
He steps back into the room at the same time I finish cleaning the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a basic, white T-shirt. I nearly fumble my wine glass. It’s not often I see him like this, even though we live in the same apartment. The rare day he doesn’t have to leave for practice or business or whatever it is golf pros do when they aren’t playing the game are my days off, and I usually run and hide at Danny’s house to avoid this exact scenario.
“Um, hey.”
“More wine?” he asks as he fills his own glass.
“I’m okay right now, thanks.”
“Come take a break,” he says, nodding at the French doors leading outside. “Relax for a minute. I feel like all you ever do is work.”
“I could say the same about you,” I say, stubbornly pushing away the memory I really wish I could forget forever and following him outside onto the balcony. “I should probably go to bed.”
He glances at his watch. “It’s seven thirty.”
Crap. Sighing, I sit down in the cushioned chair, while he drops into its twin on the other side of a square, glass-top table. “So, how was the tour? Did you win?”
He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Second place by two shots. I was distracted, made some stupid decisions out on the course.”
“Like sleeping with that model?” Yep, I’ve started following his career. Abby and I even popped popcorn and watched him play on television Saturday afternoon, while it had been pouring rain outside.
He scowls, his body practically vibrating. “Yeah, that’s exactly what distracted me. Because it didn’t happen. In fact, Callum threatened to sue that reporter if she doesn’t issue a retraction statement by tomorrow. Fucking bullshit.”
“Wow, you’re really upset about this. Are you saying your reputation as a ladies’
man isn’t true?”
“It’s very true. But a couple of my sponsors have been on my ass lately, telling me I need to clean up my act or they’re going to drop me. I haven’t slept with anybody in weeks. Since I hired you, actually.”
