by Misti Murphy
“All I did was answer a reporter’s questions. You were practically challenging the woman to a cage match.”
“All you did?” I lift my brows and strive for a cool look as the driver pulls up in front of Garrett’s building and shifts the car into park. While Garrett pays the guy, I scramble out and turn to reach for Abby. But he already has her and is heading for the elevator. We don’t speak again until we’re zooming up to his apartment.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he says, glaring at me.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Hell, if she’d kept it up another few minutes, you would have had to figure out how to hide a dark stain on the front of your pants.”
His glare shifts to surprise as the doors whoosh open. I step into the hall and head toward his apartment while digging my keys out of my purse. I can hear him following me, but I don’t turn around or otherwise acknowledge him. Right now, I just want to escape to my bedroom, to separate myself from him and all the annoying feelings he stirs up inside me.
Before I can stab my key into the lock, he’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Abby’s back brushes mine when he reaches around me and uses his own key to unlock the door and push it open.
“I thought it was you,” he says so low I’m not sure I heard him right. My heel catches as I try to cross the threshold into his apartment, and he reaches out and grabs my arm to keep me from falling.
I whirl around. “You—you—”
“Let me put her to bed,” he cuts across my stuttering. I stand there watching his retreating back. I want to rush to my bedroom, but what if he comes in after me? I’m not sure conversing with a bed in the immediate vicinity is a good battle strategy on my part.
He thought it was me?
“Yes,” he says, returning to the foyer sans a sleeping Abby. “I thought it was you. I didn’t realize it was Fiona until you stood up.”
“I stood up because I figured out what was happening, and…”
“And what?”
“And I was jealous.” I can’t believe I just admitted that to him. This would be a hell of a lot easier if it were about him ruining the steps we’d taken to improve his bad boy image.
“You were?” He tugs at his tie, freeing it from his neck and draping it around his shoulders. Then he takes my coat and hangs it next to his in the front closet. Turning around to face me, he adds, “Really?”
Slipping off my heels, I roll my eyes and head to the kitchen. This conversation is probably better had over a drink. He trails behind me.
“What’s your poison?” I ask.
“You.”
“Stop.”
“Fine. Jamison. Top shelf, to the left of the fridge. Are you drinking with me?”
“Most definitely.” I splash amber liquid into two glasses and hand one to him. He tosses back half his drink while I sip more sedately.
“We need to talk.”
“Clearly.”
“Erin, look. I—”
Lifting my hand, I cut him off. “Look, Garrett, this hasn’t happened since my first job. Maybe that’s because they always end up finding out. I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t been together that long—er, I haven’t worked for you for that long. I didn’t expect any of this to happen.” Screw sipping. I take a slug from my glass.
“I understood pretty much nothing you just said.”
Leaning against the island, I stare down at my drink. “We need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This.” I wave my hand between the two of us. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” Maybe if I say it out loud, it will stay true.
He drives a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, much like I suspect it would look after a vigorous round of sex. With some other woman. Would he have gone home with Fiona if I hadn’t interrupted his ball massage?
“I keep forgetting you have a boyfriend,” he says.
Shit. Me too.
“It’s not even about that. It’s about…” Part of me wants to tell him about my colossal fuck-up, so he’ll understand why I cannot possibly cross that line with him. But I don’t want him to think of me that way. I’m not that woman who sleeps with men because of their status or money, even if it sure as hell seems like that’s who I’m attracted to.
“It’s about Abby,” he says. “I get it. But I still want you, even though I know I shouldn’t.”
I stare at the floor and don’t tell him I want him, too. He doesn’t need to know that. What good would it do? “The best thing for Abby—for all of us—is if you and I can agree to just be friends.”
I can’t believe I’ve managed to say the words without stuttering or swallowing my tongue or laughing hysterically at the absurdness of that statement. Because the last thing I want to do is be friends with the sexy daddy I work for.
Not unless that friendship comes with benefits.
Chapter Eight
GARRETT
Greg Hanstrom steps away from the green as the crowd rustles with contained excitement. Tipping the brim of his cap, he smirks at me before clapping his caddy on the back. We’ve always had a healthy amount of rivalry between us, so I’m not surprised that he’s gloating right now. I probably would too if I were about to see my biggest rival cut from the tournament.
That’s not what’s happening though. I’m not about to lose my position as the top golfer in the world because I can’t keep my thoughts on track and off the damn nanny. I step up and push my tee into the ground.
“Didn’t we only just decide we should be friends?” Erin says, and it’s that pouty mock seriousness where I know she really wants to laugh at me. We’ve spent enough time on the phone now that I can read her voice most of the time.
“I only asked if you were thinking of me. Friends can do that, can’t they?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a friend before.” Now I know she’s teasing me.
“Not one that’s a girl so much.”
“Oh, of course. It must be so hard to make friends when you’d rather make notches in your belt.”
“I’m not trying to make you another notch, am I? So why don’t you tell me, friend, if you think of me.” Because I sure as hell think about her.
“Perhaps a smidge.” Her laugh is breathy, and it’s impossible to tell if she means it or she wants me to believe it. And then she turns serious. “Abby misses you. I miss you. Of course, we do.”
“Frost, your grandmother knows how to handle balls better than you do,” someone behind me comments.
I take a moment to scratch the side of my nose with my middle finger while glowering in the direction of my heckler. That’s all the time I can afford to dedicate to the crowd before I concentrate on the game. I’m this close to missing the cut. If I screw up this shot, if my score isn’t good enough today, I’ll hang up my golf bag early this tournament.
I haven’t missed the cut since my first year playing pro. Even when my world blew wide open six months ago with Abby’s sudden appearance in my life I didn’t tank like this. Placing the ball on the tee, I line up my shot. I take my time, make sure everything’s perfect.
I can’t believe it’s come to this.
I’m all for being friends with the opposite sex. For instance, I’d be perfectly content with Erin and her boyfriend being just friends. But that doesn’t help me work out where to put my hands when Erin and I are spread out on the sofa talking about Abby’s day. Or keep my dick from reacting when we share space. Any space, anytime, anywhere. I’ve had to buy new pants before someone notices how stretched out the others have gotten after she moved under my roof. Even our platonic phone calls leave me hard and aching.
“Oh, before I forget, Abby wants to know what outfit you settled on for tomorrow. She wants to be able to point you out herself.”
“Probably the yellow argyle.” I collapse on the bed and tuck one hand under my head. “The louder the better. I need to distract Hanstrom and give myself an edge over the field.”
“Is that so?” I wiggle my eyebrows even though she can’t see me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to change my mind about being friends? Then I could show you exactly how my charm works.”
“Keep your charm and your bright outfits on the golf course. You need to play well, don’t you?”
“I always do.” Boy, do I want to play with her. Or I would if she didn’t have a boyfriend and I didn’t need a nanny.
“Garrett?” she asks.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck tomorrow. We know you’ll make the cut.”
“Do you think he plans on swinging that club any time soon?” Greg is goading me, trying to push me out of the tournament since it’s the only way he’ll beat me.
It’s got to stop. I’m thinking about a redhead and why being friends sucks ass instead of giving Greg a run for his money.
Rolling out my shoulders, I send the ball across the green. It rattles over the ground and pops into the hole. Thank God.
I’m not out of the tournament yet.
***
“I thought you had it with that last putt.” Callum settles on a stool beside me at the club bar.
“Guess not.” I shrug without bothering to look up from the bar.
“So you’re trunk slamming?” He motions to the bar attendant for another round of shots and chasers. “It’s been a long time.”
“Ages.” I toss down a double shot of whisky that scours the back of my throat. “Forgot what it felt like.”
“It’s not so bad,” he says.
“Not so bad,” I repeat and drain half of the three beers still lined up in front of me. That probably depends on the why. In this case, the why is my inability to block out Erin’s voice from our phone call the night before. The sound of her voice in my head. I could listen to her for hours.
“Plenty of groupies here this evening,” Callum says.
I drag my gaze from my glass. “What?”
“Groupies. Your game’s off. Any chance you haven’t sunk any other kind of balls recently either?”
“You can’t be serious,” I grumble and throw down the contents of my glass. Fireball whisky. Fireball has sponsored plenty of after-tour benders, but not this time. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it?” Callum takes a more leisurely approach to his whisky. “Because there’s been a noticeable absence of your social escapades in the media lately.”
“That has nothing to do with my hiring the new nanny.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“That’s because it doesn’t.” Just because it’s been months since I’ve been on a date doesn’t mean she’s the cause. Just because the only action I’ve gotten was a poorly executed foot job that I was only into because I thought it was Erin doesn’t mean she’s the reason I’m off my game, golf and otherwise. It’s pure circumstance that she showed up at the same time Callum convinced me I needed to be more careful with my image. “I’m trying to keep the sponsors happy. Weren’t you the one who told me I need to be more careful?”
“Careful, yes. Celibate? Christ, no.” He shakes his head and summons the bar attendant again. “We’re going to need a row of shots. One after the other. Line them up on the bar for my man here.”
The guy nods and reaches for the Fireball.
“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’ve booked the next flight out and ordered a car service to take me to the airport. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Cancel it.” Callum points at the bar in front of us again. “Stick around. A couple groupies over there keep giving you the eye. We’ll invite them over and buy them a drink. Don’t you want to wake up forty-eight hours from now neck deep in soft bodies and permanent marker?”
I should give it more than a passing thought. But, truthfully, I don’t even bother to do that.
“The last thing I need is a night I don’t remember and phone numbers I’m never going to call.” I drain the final beer as I get up. “I’m going to go pack then catch my flight. Time to get home to my daughter.”
And Erin.
“Give that cutie a hug for me.” Callum salutes me with a shot. “I’m going to go find Ada Honeycutt. I hear her contract is up for renewal.”
***
Entering the apartment, I drop my suitcase and clubs against the wall and shut the door quietly. There’s no point in letting the girls know I’m home, not this late at night. Peeling off my jacket, I cross the living space to the kitchen. I need coffee. And to sober up a little. Probably wasn’t smart going to town on the whisky and beer, continuing with several drinks on the plane, not when I couldn’t stop thinking about Erin and what she and Abby were doing. What book she read to my little girl at bedtime and whether they talked about me before she shut off the light. Does she talk about me to her friends? Or even think about me in the same way I can’t get her off my mind?
Doubtful. She’d talk about Danny, wouldn’t she? Because this arrangement between us is all about Abby. Only about Abby.
I drop my jacket over the back of the sofa and toe off my shoes as I pass. Popping the buttons on my shirt, I’m pulled up short the moment I enter the kitchen. Every muscle in my body clenches. Blood rushes straight to my dick, leaving a slight nausea in its wake as I catch sight of Erin. Her back to me and her head bowed over whatever she’s doing, she hums. The illumination from the decorative lights hanging above the island glints in her hair that hangs in waves over one shoulder, making them look like a sea of fire. Damn, she’s pretty.
And too young for me, and my nanny, and she’s got a fucking boyfriend. And we’re supposed to be friends. Just friends. Only that and nothing more.
I swipe my hand over my face and try to clear the mental fog that urges me to scoop her up in a fireman’s hold and cart her off to my bedroom. That would be stupid. Especially when she’s so great with Abby. And still I wander my gaze down the white dress that stops rather distractingly mid-thigh. Saliva pools in my mouth as I imagine touching her there. Stroking my fingers up that sensitive bit of flesh, moving higher. Gripping her hip while I slide her panties down and fuck her. Whatever I do, I’d take my time with her.
Hot damn. I have to check that I’m still standing across the room, that I haven’t followed my damn dick. Don’t screw up a good thing, man. We need her. Abby needs her.
Clearing my throat, I cross the room to make myself a coffee. Not that I need it any more. There’s something sobering about coming face to face with reality.
“Arr,” she yelps. With a jump, she spins to face me while waving the spatula she’s holding.
“Sorry to scare you.” The pale, creamy dollop on the end of the flat surface does little to take my mind off my dirty thoughts.
“It’s okay.” She continues stirring as I lean against the counter beside her. “I thought you weren’t coming home for a couple more days.”
“I missed the cut. There wasn’t exactly any point in sticking around.” I shrug and take a sip of the dark brew, praying she can’t tell I’m semi-hard and that it would take one seductive smile from her to topple me over the edge.
“I’m sorry you didn’t make the cut,” she says, wrinkling her brow.
I nudge her gently and chuckle. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”
“Would it be awful of me if I admitted I’m not sure?”
“Okay, so in tournaments there’s usually a score that a player needs to achieve by the time they get to a certain hole if they’re to continue playing. Otherwise it’s over.”
“You get cut from the list of players?”
“Basically.” I nod. “What are you making?”
“Oh.” She glances at the bowl in front of her where she’s stirring more of whatever the creamy mixture is. “Uh, it’s boyfriend cheesecake.”
“Boyfriend cheesecake?” Well, that certainly has a def
lating effect.
“It’s my day off tomorrow, and I’m catching up with Danny.” Picking up the glass bowl, she rests her hip against the counter and digs the spatula back into the mixture. “Thought I’d make him something special.”
“Right. I forgot it was your day off.” I snap the words. Danny’s probably a nice guy, but he’s nowhere near good enough for her. Or this cheesecake she’s making. Erin deserves something more. A man who can treat her right both in and out of the bedroom. A guy with a good job and the maturity to provide a decent lifestyle. Not someone who doesn’t have his shit together.
“I’m sorry. Did you need me? I thought with you away and Abby spending the day with Paynter and Chloe that it would be okay to keep my regular day off.” The utensil in her hand stills. “But if you—if Abby needs me, I can change days.”
Then, yes, you should cancel. But how I feel about her spending time with her boyfriend is my problem. The fact that I want to hike up her little dress and ask her to sit on my face is also my problem. And I’m a grown-ass man who can control himself around the damn nanny. The only one so far my daughter has really taken a shine to.
“No. Abby and I will be just fine. Go and enjoy yourself.” I dig my little finger into the mix and taste it. “Why do they call this boyfriend cheesecake anyway?”
Dropping her gaze from my mouth, she blushes. “Because they say it can take any relationship to the next level.”
“Oh, and you want that? With Danny?” My pulse pounds in my ears while I wait for her to respond.
“No.” Turning away from me, she pours the mixture over the cookie crumbs she’s pressed into a tin sitting on the island.
“No?” I inch closer, vibrating with need. If she’s in love with him, wouldn’t she want that commitment? “You don’t want more from him?”
“I mean, not right now.” She peers at me through her lashes, almost cautiously. “Not any time in the near future.”
“Why is that?”
“Danny and I…” She presses her lips together, the lines in her forehead gathering while she drops the spatula back in the empty bowl. “Me and Danny. It’s not exactly—”
