by Misti Murphy
“You’ve slept with the guy and he’s never tried to score a hole in one?”
“You and the golf analogies.” I shake my head. “But no. We’ve been friends since he was pre-pubescent with a face full of zits and a stiff wind got him excited. Well, I suppose that still happens, but anyway, not with me. We are legitimately just friends.”
“What about the cheesecake?”
“Oh.” I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I’m unsuccessful at fighting off the blush staining my cheeks as I recall, with vivid detail, how incredibly delicious that cheesecake was. And how incredibly delightful the ensuing physical activities were. That concoction definitely lived up to its reputation that evening. “That woman you saw him with? He’s been trying to get into her pants for a while now. He knows I’m a good cook, so he asked me to make it so he could offer it to her, in hopes he’d finally score. But as you can attest to, he ended up not needing the help.”
“Nope, he definitely didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if they banged in his car in the parking lot.”
“Actually, it was her car, since Danny doesn’t own one. And yeah, you’d be correct.”
“I can’t believe you guys tell each other this stuff. I mean, I used to tell my brother I got laid all the time just to give him shit because he wasn’t. But now that he’s living with Chloe, I’m pretty sure he’s scoring way more than I do, so it’s no fun anymore. But you and the weirdly not-gay best friend … that’s a whole other level I can’t even wrap my head around.”
“Trust me, I know how odd it is. But it works for us.”
“So, what about that night we met? At the bar. How come you lied to me then? Or were you actually dating someone at the time?”
Shaking my head, I pull a stack of pajamas—which are mostly just oversized T-shirts—out of the dresser and head over to drop them into my suitcase.
“Stop,” Garrett says, reaching for me. He clamps his hand onto my wrist. “Just stop packing for a minute. Okay?”
“Does this mean you aren’t mad?”
“I’m fucking pissed, actually.”
I tug my arm out of his grasp and inch away from him. Definitely not a good time to tell him he reminded me of someone else that night. “I’m sorry. I know it was wrong to lie to you. I just … Well, you were hot. And older. And forward. And apparently I have a type, so I try to stay away from guys like you.”
“You have a type?”
“Well, I screwed you, didn’t I? And you aren’t the first one.”
“What number am I?”
“The second.”
“You’ve slept with only two guys?”
“No, of course not.” Now I sound as indignant as he did when he found out I told Danny what we’d done. “You’re the second older guy with a kid I’ve screwed.” While I happened to be in his employment. But at least this time there’s no wife in the picture. Can I get a couple of points for that, at least?
He lifts his baseball cap off his head and readjusts it while he stares at the ceiling. Is he trying to figure out whether he can get away with firing me without giving me severance? Hell, as much as I’ve messed this up, I’m not sure I even deserve my last two weeks’ salary.
“It was a defense mechanism,” I continue, but I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to slip up and make him aware of my first nanny job. Something tells me he’d be a hell of a lot less sympathetic if he knew what happened back then. And I’m not sure there’s much compassion going on at all at the moment, so I’m pretty much working with bare bones here. “I love kids. I love what I do. I’m not usually attracted to the dads I work for. In fact, I deliberately try to avoid any scenarios that might possibly turn into what we did. And now … now we’ve crossed a line and I don’t know what to do, except resign. Which sucks, because I don’t want to leave Abby. Or you. And I know I should really stop nannying, but I’d have to start from scratch if I changed careers. Which is what I should do, but … I don’t know.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he does adjust his cap again while dropping his gaze to look out the window. I’ve lived with him long enough to know this is what he does when he’s frustrated.
“As soon as you stopped me in that bar, I was attracted to you. Before you even told me about Abby. I immediately convinced myself you were bad news, so I blurted out that I had a boyfriend, hoping that would scare you off.”
“I was bad news that quickly?”
“Oh, come on. You accosted a perfect stranger in a bar and asked her if she’d say no if you asked her to sleep with you. Which I have no doubt usually works in your favor.”
“Yeah, it usually does.” He glances at the bedroom door, then at me. “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“So what’s the harm in sleeping with me?”
“I’m your nanny.”
He tugs his cap off again and creases the bill between his hands. “I know. And that should be all the reason we need.”
Neither one of us say it, yet the word might as well have been screamed. But…
“This is probably a bad idea,” he says. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you. What you looked like when I came home the other night and walked into the kitchen. Your hair, your face, your body.”
His gaze snaps to each part of my person as he says it, and I swear my skin is sizzling right now. “I, uh, I need to finish packing.” Hey, a coherent sentence. Good for me.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“Pack?”
“Yeah.”
My head swivels from the suitcase to the door. “What, are you going to have someone do it for me?”
“Stop being deliberately obtuse.”
He thinks this is deliberate? “Um…” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I blurt, “Are you going to give me a severance?”
He slaps the cap back onto his head. “I’m not firing you, Erin. I think I want to keep sleeping with you.”
“You think?”
“Nope. I know I do.” He’s stalking toward me, and I plaster my hands against the wall, watching him until he’s a foot away, staring down at me. I swallow, and he presses his palms against the wall on either side of my head.
“Don’t leave,” he says, his gaze locked on my lips.
“Uh…”
No, this is a bad idea, we should stop. Yes, God, yes, please fuck me.
“Abby needs you.” He skates his fingers down my arms to my hands.
“That’s not playing fair.”
“I never agreed to play fair.” He threads his fingers with mine then drags my arms up over my head before securing them with one of his. The other trails along my skin, making me squirm, and then down my side to my waist. He squeezes for a moment, hard enough that it’s on the verge of pain, and I make a little noise that’s all pleasure.
“This is a bad idea.” Look at me, still able to think rationally.
He shakes his head. “This is an excellent idea.” His hand slips under the hem of my shirt and wraps around my back, his short, blunt nails gently scraping my skin. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. This is an excellent idea.
He feathers his lips across mine, but when I open my mouth to invite a deeper kiss, he’s already gone, nibbling his way over my cheek to my ear where he bites the lobe. I cry out and rotate my hips, seeking his body. He’s too far away.
“Closer,” I whisper.
And then he’s there, his knee wedged between my thighs so that I’m riding his leg. He’s still holding my hands prisoner and doesn’t let go when I try to pull free because I want to touch him. The fire in my belly flares brighter, hotter, and I need to shed my clothes because I think I might melt.
Luckily, Garrett’s damn good at reading my mind. He releases my hands long enough to flip my shirt over my head, knocking his hat off in the process, and then he grabs my wrists again, keeping them pinned above my head. His other hand is on my ass, pressing me against his leg. I rota
te my hips because the friction feels damn good. He dips his head and licks the hollow between my breasts, and I’m arching my back and making noises that hopefully sound sexy and not like some dying animal.
His free hand strokes up my back again, and there’s that gasping moment of release when he unsnaps my bra. Pushing it aside, he shifts to the right until he finds my nipple and sucks it into his mouth, hard, so fucking hard. I cry out from the pleasure/pain combination and struggle against his other hand, still clamped around my wrists. I feel him smile against my breast, so I give up and grind against his leg instead. I just need a goddamn release.
But then he abruptly stops and straightens, pulling out from between my thighs, just as I’m about to explode. “Come back,” I whimper, so desperate for release I’d probably agree to damn near anything at the moment.
“Keep your hands above your head,” he orders, giving me a faux stern look. If my brain weren’t so soaked with need, I would stick out my tongue, but instead I nod, my eyes wide, watching the concentration on his face while he slowly pulls his hand away from mine.
When he’s apparently satisfied I’m not going to move, he reaches for my jeans, tugging at the button and pulling down the zipper. He slides his hands into the waist and then pushes them down over my hips, taking my panties with them.
But he’s still dressed. The first time we hooked up, I’d been so desperate for him to be inside me, I didn’t take the time to enjoy the feel of my hands on his bare skin. I bet it’s smooth, covering all that hard muscle. And does he have a happy trail? I can’t remember, but I need to find out.
He straightens and grabs my hands, which are fisted in the cotton covering his torso, leaving me balancing with one foot tangled in the leg of my skinny jeans. “I said, keep your hands above your head,” he says, his brow furrowed over shiny blue eyes with dilated pupils.
“Your shirt,” I protest. “I want to see you, too.”
Shaking his head, he sheds the bright pink polo. “Happy?”
Those sharp peaks and valleys, the rounded muscles, the dark line of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans is so much better than my fantasies. “Oh yes.” I practically breathe the words, my chest heaving, my body wound as tightly as a spinning top.
With a smirk, he says, “Hands. Above head. Got it?” And then he drops to his knees and I slam my head back against the wall so hard there’s a burst of pain in the back of my skull. But it only lasts a moment, until he leans forward and lifts one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder. He stares at my pussy for a second before running a finger over the seam, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake. I lean my head against the wall—gentler this time—and close my eyes.
Something strokes me, hot and wet and slightly rough. His tongue. Long rasps, like he’s trying to lap up every drop of my arousal. Problem is, every time he does that, he creates more. He’s never going to get it all. Hopefully, that knowledge won’t stop him from trying, because, oh God—
I bow forward, reaching down to thread my fingers in his hair. He leans back to look up at me. “I told you—”
“Don’t stop!” I squeeze my fists in his hair and shove his face into my crotch. “Oh my God, don’t stop.”
I feel his chuckle reverberate against my skin and his muffled reply is, “Yes, ma’am,” but I barely comprehend. I’m already gone; one more lick and I’m buried under the tidal wave of the most intense climax I can recall having pretty much ever.
He knows it, too. His hands are on my ass cheeks and he’s digging his fingers into my flesh as he continues to lap at me, dragging out the orgasm until I’m squirming to get away because the sensation is just too damn intense.
When he finally relents, he surges to his feet, my leg dropping to wrap around his hip while he struggles with his jeans with one hand and the other digs what I presume is a condom out of his pocket. When the foil packet appears in his hand, I snag it, taking care of unwrapping it while he shoves his pants down just enough to free his straining cock.
I start to wrap him, but he stops me and says, “Better let me. I’m pretty much hanging on by a thread here.”
Now he’s grasping my ass again, pressing against my opening as I eagerly wiggle in anticipation, and then he’s there, sinking into me, and it’s the second greatest feeling in the world.
I’m telling you, that orgasm was goddamn amazing.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by a voice calling out, “Hel-lo! Anyone home?”
“Fuck me,” Garrett bites out, but he doesn’t stop. In fact, he starts pounding faster, and holy hell it’s so hot, except—
“Garrett, that sounds like—”
“Yeah—uh—Paynt—uh—and Chloe—uh-uh.”
“Your brother? Shit! Stop—oh…” He’s hammering me like a man possessed, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t sending me climbing that peak again. Screw the people I can hear moving about the apartment—I’m on the cusp of another orgasm, and I can’t make too much noise, although Garrett’s grunting loudly enough that I don’t know how they can’t hear him, and then—
“Gah!” He slams into me one last time and freezes, squeezing my ass so hard, if I don’t have permanent indentions, I’ll definitely have bruises. And then he pulls out and steps away so quickly, I stumble and have to grab the dresser to keep from falling over.
He tugs up his pants while hopping around the room, grabbing my clothes and tossing them at me. “I’ll stall them while you get dressed,” he says, and then he drops the used condom into the wastebasket, pulls his shirt over his head, and slips from the room, slamming the door closed behind him.
Holy hell, am I supposed to go out there and face his brother and fiancé?
And goddamn it, he finished before I could!
Chapter Ten
GARRETT
“I’ve got to take this call,” Chloe says, getting up from the table in the middle of the restaurant. She squeezes Paynt’s shoulder. “I’ll be quick.”
Paynt’s attention drifts with her until she’s out of sight.
Beside me, Erin fidgets with the napkin across her lap, and instead of giving in to the urge to take her hand in mine, I knock my foot against hers until she looks at me. There’s not much I can say or do while Paynter watches, especially considering what he walked in on no less than an hour ago, and it’s frustrating as hell. Thank God he knocked before he barged in.
“Did you say when Ronnie is getting into town?” I try to distract both my brother and Erin. “She talked you into letting her decorate your yard, right?”
“Yeah.” He brushes the pad of his thumb against the tip of his nose. “She’s thinking chandeliers. Everywhere. Huge phallic-shaped lights all over my yard.”
Erin’s gaze widens at his poor attempt at a joke; only the sparkle in his gaze betrays his straight face. But then she still hasn’t been able to hold eye contact with him or Chloe since they walked into my apartment. No one said anything, but Paynt couldn’t hide his stupid, smug face when she walked out of the room we’d just finished screwing in. And then Chloe dragged her along to dinner with us, so neither of us have had a chance to deal with the awkwardness.
“You should have seen the chandelier in Paynt’s foyer before the one he’s got now,” I say to Erin.
“Nah, we’re not really going with chandeliers,” Paynt admits. “Ronnie and Chloe have been talking about white silk tents and paper lanterns floating in the lake.”
“Sounds pretty,” Erin says.
“Yeah, but I need to hire a couple of guys to help with the heavy lifting. Otherwise, you know she’ll try and do it all, and it’s a wedding, so...” Paynt shrugs.
“It’s not every day your baby brother gets married,” I tell him. “And you know Ronnie’s a perfectionist.”
“She won’t be able to enjoy it if she’s running herself ragged.”
“Better her than Chloe though, right?” I ask. “Don’t want one of those—what do they call them?”
“
Bridezillas,” Erin answers, and then adds, “I might know someone who can help. My friend Danny—”
“Not Danny. He’s not going anywhere near my sister.” I stare at her.
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding?” The kid might be her best friend, but he’s a slacker. I didn’t like him when I thought they were sleeping together; I’m not sure I like him any more now that I know they aren’t. “Because I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“He’s pretty handy. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help.” She refuses to look at me while she takes her phone and a pen from her purse and quickly jots down a number on the back of a business card from some golf shop. “I’ll admit he and Garrett got off on the wrong foot, but that was my fault.”
“I’m still not sure your best friend knows how to work at anything other than flirting.”
“Really?” Erin asks.
“Pot meet kettle,” Paynter crows. “Sounds like you two have something in common.”
“Will you excuse me a minute?” Erin pushes her chair back.
I consider getting up too. We should probably talk about this Danny thing before he starts integrating himself in my family affairs. But Erin is tense as she climbs out of her chair, and the last thing I want is her angry with me when I have to leave from here to go directly to the airport where I’ll catch a flight that will take me away from my girls for the next week.
“Sure,” Paynter answers her, and with a nod she hurries off in the direction of the restrooms. As soon as she’s gone he clears his throat.
“Don’t even say it,” I say with a growl in my voice.
He ignores my warning. “You’re dating your nanny now, are you?” He smirks then he gets more serious. “Thought you were supposed to be cleaning up your image and putting Abby first.”
“I am putting Abby first.” I glare at him as Erin disappears behind him. “And I’m not seeing anyone. I’m staying out of the media. My sponsors have no reason to complain.”
“You’re out to dinner with your kid’s nanny sans kid,” Paynt adds. “Wouldn’t that be a reason for them to complain?”
