by Misti Murphy
“That’s a long time.” I’ve gone longer—a lot longer—but now that I’m living with Mr. Lickable, it feels like forever.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
I chuckle. “Do they know you have a daughter? The media, I mean.”
“Yeah. It was hot news for a minute when I took custody of her. But I’ve done a good job of keeping her under wraps, and, honestly, not changing my lifestyle, so they’ve practically forgotten. They’re more focused on watching for my next hook-up.”
“Maybe that’s the key.” I snuggle more deeply into the soft cushions and stare out over the city and the Great Lake beyond. When I glance at him, Garrett is giving me an expectant look. “Shifting the focus to the fact you’re a family man now. It’s pretty damn obvious to me you care about your daughter, probably more than anything else in your life. Why don’t you let the media see that?”
He sips wine, a contemplative look on his face. “You may be on to something here. I’m going to mention it to Callum tomorrow. We’ll have to figure out how to do it without disrupting Abby’s lifestyle too much. I don’t want the media hounds to fall so much for the story that they’re stalking the two of you on the playground.”
“Yeah, I’d rather avoid that, too. Didn’t you mention a charity dinner coming up soon? Maybe you can take her.”
“Maybe I can take both of you.”
“What? No. That’s a bad idea.”
“No, seriously, it’s great. You, me, and Abby. With the way she so obviously adores you, it’ll be perfect. The media will love the glimpse into my personal life.”
I’m not part of his personal life. I’m Abby’s nanny, and I don’t see how my tagging along to a public function will improve his image with the paparazzi. “I—”
He leaps from his seat, a wide grin on his face. “It’s settled. This is gonna be great. I can’t wait to see you all dolled up.”
Yeah, great. Exactly what I’m thinking.
Chapter Six
GARRETT
“Is she a real princess, Daddy?” Abby clings to my arm as she points out a woman in an expensive cocktail dress.
“Sorry, Abby, she’s not a princess.”
“But, Daddy, she’s wearing a princess dress.” Eyes wide as saucers, she scrunches the blue tulle in her hands and lifts it to show me. “See, it’s like mine, and you said I was a princess.”
“Because you are a princess.” Outside the open doors to the ballroom that’s set up for tonight’s charity dinner, I set Abby on her feet and crouch to chuck her under the chin. “Now, do you have your goat?”
“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly. “Erin said it was in my bag. Why am I a princess and that lady’s not one?”
“Um.” Why does child logic have to be so infallible? I can work my way around a golf course with less time spent in the rough than I do when trying to deal with my daughter’s unfailing reasoning. “Well—”
“Every girl is a princess, Abby.” Erin joins us, scooping up Abby’s hand in her own as she bends as close as she can. “You ask any daddy and they’ll tell you their daughter is their princess. That’s why your daddy doesn’t see anybody else here as a princess. Only you.”
“Even your daddy?” Abby turns her attention to Erin.
“Even mine.”
I probably should get to my feet the minute I turn my gaze on her. It would be smarter than lingering too long at a height that brings me in direct eye contact with the diaphanous blue-gray dress that ends above her knees. I shouldn’t imagine scraping my hands up her tanned skin, hiking the sheer material inch by torturous inch off her thighs so I can slip my fingers between them. I shouldn’t want to touch her at all. I definitely should not want to pull her closer by that inconsequential skirt and stick my head under it so I can lick her.
And another thing I have no business considering is whether the nanny is wearing any panties. Or what kind they are. Or if that sloth of a boyfriend she’s with has any idea how to make a girl like her scream his name. I bet he doesn’t. That kid has no idea. I climb to my feet and pray that my erection isn’t too out there and proud.
She smiles at my daughter and then turns to me. The color of her eyes deepens against her auburn curls messily gathered up on one side of her head, and the beaded top of the dress makes them sparkle.
I’m a perfectly healthy thirty-seven-year-old guy, and based on the erratic rhythm of my pulse, it’s possible I’m having a heart attack.
“What do you think, Daddy? Is Erin a princess?”
She’s something all right. Beautiful. Sexy. Arm candy. Abby’s sensational nanny. The pain in my chest increases, and the back of my neck feels a little damp. Rolling one shoulder and then the other, I fiddle with the knot in my tie and clear my throat.
“Here.” Erin steps closer and straightens my tie.
“Da-a-d.” A small hand tugs on my jacket.
She’s so close I note every single eyelash smudged dark with mascara as it kisses her cheek. “Y-yes. Erin is a princess too.”
“Thank you.” She finishes with my tie, but her fingers stay glued to the silk as she glances up at me. The fine lines of her lips that give texture to her lipstick draw my attention. I want to kiss them, taste them, suck the color off them. The more I try to fight this attraction, the harder it gets to ignore.
Want is such a funny word, isn’t it? One minute I had this perfectly acceptable life with no kids, no responsibilities beyond the game. I didn’t want anything. The next a tiny stealth ninja is making all my decisions and holding me ransom. And the things I want are multiplying. “We should go in.”
“Of course.” Erin steps back and touches the small bead pearls at her ear with one hand while she takes Abby’s in the other. When they turn to lead the way into the ballroom, I adjust the front of my tuxedo and repeat the periodic timetable backward.
“There you are.” Callum strides toward us before we’ve made it more than a few steps. “We’ve been waiting for you. I’ve spoken with Fiona Davenport from PEOPLE Magazine and Kalvin Cooper from Golf Digest. They’re already seated at our table, and they’re all worked up to get the exclusive on the little miss’s formal introduction to society.” He drops his hands to his knees and bends down to Abby. “How’s my favorite golf prodigy?”
“Uncle Callum, when are you going to buy me a goat? You said you were going to get me my very own goat.”
“That’s right.” He stands and straightens his tie then runs a hand through his strawberry- blond hair while he grimaces an apology. “Didn’t think you were going to remember that. Um, some deals just take a little longer to come to fruition, girly. I’ll keep working on your dad.”
“No, you won’t.” I clamp a hand on Callum’s shoulder and drag him into the ballroom. “No goats, no pigs, no ducks. No farm animals of any kind. I’m not running a circus.”
“Well, then you aren’t going to like this.” Callum’s green eyes sparkle as he rubs his hands together, claps me on the shoulder briefly, and powers ahead of me toward the paparazzi he invited.
***
“Garrett, I’m going to take her home. All the excitement has tuckered her out.” Erin gets up from the table and reaches for Abby, who is fast asleep on my lap, her little fists balled up around the lapels of my jacket. A hot spot under her cheek that I’m immediately suspicious of seeps through my shirt as Kalvin drags out an antiquated recording device he places on the table along with a notepad.
This guy is old-fashioned, but he did spend most of dinner doting over Abby like my own father does while she went on about her escapades with Spot.
“How about a couple more questions each?” I say to Kalvin and Fiona while I shift Abby’s head to my shoulder and hint for Erin to sit back down. “And then we’ll go home at the same time. It’ll be easier than trying to catch a cab when the Black Hawks are playing.”
“At least let me take her for you.” She hovers behind me.
“I’ve got her,” I grumble. She’s my daughter, and yes
, the girl is our nanny, and yes, her sole existence in our lives is to look after Abby, but right now she’s acting a little too maternal around people who will read anything they can between the lines of what we say and do.
Erin quiets and slides into the chair beside Callum without another word. I better remember to have a word with her about journalists later. And, from the tense cast of her shoulders and the scornful look she levels at me, I need to apologize for my bluntness. Damn it, I don’t want her to be mad at me.
“Thank you for allowing us this opportunity to get a peek at the more personal aspects of your life,” Kalvin says as he waves off one of the servers currently circulating the room, offering champagne out of magnums. “Abby’s an absolute delight.”
“She’s a very important part of my life.” Pointing at my own crystal flute, I grab the server’s attention. I’m lightly buzzed but not inappropriately so, and I’m just antsy enough that another drink won’t go astray. Since we can’t really have a conversation with the journalists watching our every move and Abby has me pinned to the chair, I have to come up with another way to let Erin know that I was just protecting this setup we have. Picking up the glass of wine, I swing my leg out gently until I touch hers.
“What’s it like bringing up a little girl on your own?” Kalvin asks.
“It’s challenging,” I tell him, waiting for Erin to acknowledge me somehow. She refuses to look at me as I run my foot up the outside of her leg. But she bites her lip while Callum tries to engage her in conversation. “But we do okay. We’re both just learning how to be a family. Ups, downs, the whole nine yards.”
“Speaking of golf, Abby did mention she has her own clubs. Do you ever play together?”
“Absolutely.” I smile, my chest puffed up. “She loves coming to the range with me.”
“She’s a golfing prodigy,” Callum chimes in. “She’s got a swing so perfect, it’ll near take your breath away.”
Erin nods enthusiastically at his pronouncement and flicks a glance at me.
“That’d be something to see.” Kalvin jots something down on the pad in his hand.
It should be weird that my foot is rubbing Erin’s calf while my daughter is asleep on my lap and two journalists are asking questions. But it’s not. Okay, it’s odd, but nowhere near what I expected. It’s just kind of ... nice. In a way I never thought touching a woman would be.
“Perhaps we could arrange that.” Callum nods then turns his attention on me. “It’d be a great photo op.”
“I’m not sure it’s necessary to prolong this exposure to the media.” The only reason we’re doing this in the first place is because getting the media to lay off the bad boy label so I can keep my sponsors onside seemed like a good idea, but not at the expense of Abby growing up without a modicum of privacy.
“How do you juggle raising a child with your other personal pursuits?” Fiona Davenport leans forward, her chin resting on one palm while she waits for my response.
“Abby comes first. Always.” I jump as Erin’s foot slides up my leg and between my knees. Her toes wiggle against my zipper, and I immediately have a hard-on for the nanny.
Erin laughs from the other side of the table, and I glare at her. My daughter’s on my lap and she’s trying to give me a foot job. Who does that? As awkward as it is that I’m holding my kid, I’m less tense now that Erin isn’t ignoring me.
Having her mad at me makes me crazy, but so does this game she has going on under the table. I want her foot off my dick, but only because I want to drag her away from this interview so we can find a cozy corner where I can show her exactly what she’s doing to me. Only that can’t happen because of my daughter. And not just because she’s asleep on my shoulder right now.
I look around in the hopes of figuring out a way to put Abby down, but unless I want to kill this moment with Erin or lay my daughter on the floor, I’m stuck holding her.
“So you’re not dating anyone?” Fiona asks, her lips parted. The foot between my leg rocks against the bulge in my pants.
“The answer to that is the same as always. No. I don’t date, because that wouldn’t be in Abby’s best interest. She needs a father who can give her as much of himself as possible.”
“You don’t think that your current lifestyle might become a problem for your daughter as she gets older?” Kalvin asks.
“What are you trying to suggest?” I snap. Damn, the way Erin uses her toes is surprisingly erotic.
“Your exploits are well documented.” Fiona’s practically panting in her seat, rocking at the thought. Before Erin traipsed into our lives, I could have had Fiona before the entrée arrived tonight. I could have her now with just the right glance and a trip to the nearest elevator. No doubt she’d follow me. It’s a move that hasn’t failed me yet. Except with Erin. Now Fiona’s the least interesting person at the table, despite the fact it’s been weeks since I’ve gotten any relief that hasn’t come in the shape of my hand.
“That was the old me. The me prior to finding out I had a daughter.”
Erin stands, pushes her chair back, and comes around the table. “Should I take her now?”
Christ. I glance down at my lap where Fiona’s foot, not Erin’s, continues to press on my erection. Fiona Davenport with the Cheshire grin and her toes on my dick and her mind racing with some fantasy where she ends up in my bed and has enough fodder to write her own exclusive. I jump up so fast the chair almost topples. “Yes. We’re done here. You should take her.”
Erin takes Abby, and my girl stirs before laying her head on her nanny’s shoulder.
“Thank you again for your time.” Kalvin packs up his notepad and recording device.
“Where did you meet your girlfriend?” Fiona interrupts. “And how did you get her to pose as your nanny? Or is she actually your nanny? Isn’t she too young for you anyway?”
Yes, she actually is my nanny. Yes, she probably is too young for me. No, I have absolutely no idea what just happened. One minute I think Erin’s coming on to me and I don’t want to fight it. The next Fiona Davenport is feeling me up? I could wink at her right now and she’d trip over herself to get out of her chair. But I don’t. I only want Erin.
The one woman I can’t afford to sleep with.
Chapter Seven
ERIN
“I believe Mr. Frost already explained his stance on girlfriends. And his nanny happens to have eight years’ experience and countless impeccable references,” I snap at the obnoxious reporter with handy feet.
She’s lucky I have eight years’ experience keeping my cool with immature people, although generally they’re under the age of ten. Otherwise, she might have found herself under the table by now, and not on her hands and knees, blowing Garrett’s mind with her lips instead of her feet.
I toss a glare at my employer while patting Abby’s back to ensure she stays asleep with her head resting against my shoulder. What the hell is he thinking? This whole masquerade was contrived to convince the paparazzi that he is exactly not the type of guy who’d enjoy a ball massage under the table while holding his slumbering daughter in his arms.
“You’re awfully comfortable for being the hired help,” the snotty female reporter tosses out while the guy stuffs his recorder into the inner pocket of his blazer and makes a swift exit. I’m sure he wants no part of this uncomfortable exchange.
I bet his article will do nothing but improve Garrett’s questionable public image. I appreciate his integrity. Makes me want to give him some kind of exclusive story. Maybe I’ll talk Garrett into letting Kalvin join us when Abby practices her swing.
Meanwhile, it’s time to deal with the trash.
“You’ve obviously never had experience with the type of families who hire live-in nannies. If you did, you’d know how important, how special that bond is. How close the family becomes. I’m helping Garrett raise his child. She’s like a daughter to me.” Shit, I should add that it hurts like someone scooping out my heart with a spoon each time I’
ve had to walk away from the kids I’ve taken care of. But I can’t seem to formulate the words that will make this about my livelihood, not about being Garrett’s nanny.
“Oh?” The woman arches painted on brows, which carves unattractive lines into her forehead, while her gaze shifts to Garrett. He’s standing next to me, staring at me like he doesn’t quite comprehend my words.
“Does that mean her father is like a husband to you?” Snarky Woman asks, and if I didn’t have Abby in my arms, I’d throat punch her. This chick has no idea how lucky she is right now. Not only did she get to feel up Garrett with her toes, but she’s gonna get to walk away in one piece, too.
“Let’s go, Erin,” Garrett says, his hand on my back, exerting enough pressure that I stumble forward a few steps. He doesn’t let up, and I’m propelled toward the ballroom door, and then we’re out in the lobby and he’s stalking up to the coat check. When he returns, he drapes Abby’s coat over her back and wraps mine around my shoulders, pulling the lapels together around both Abby and I.
I glance up at him through my lashes. As much as I want to smack him upside the head over the whole footsy thing, this small gesture of consideration also makes me want to lean forward and kiss him. But he’s my boss, not my date. Our purpose here is to show the media what a good dad he is. His nanny kissing him in the lobby isn’t exactly conducive to fixing his bad boy image.
He catches my eye and stares back for several heartbeats until he finally breaks the connection and mumbles something about flagging down a cab.
And then we’re settled in the backseat, Abby sound asleep between us. I tug at the hem of my dress, which is trying to creep up my thigh. Garrett shifts in his seat while his gaze keeps drifting to my legs.
“What the hell was that little exchange with Fiona?” he asks, cutting through the Hindi pop music blaring through the speakers.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
