by Misti Murphy
“Fast,” I say, guiding his erection to my opening. “Hard. Don’t stop. Don’t slow down.”
He wraps his arms around my back and cups my shoulders and thrusts, impaling me. And then he lifts me up and pulls me down again, over and over until I’m panting, struggling to keep up as my insides coil tighter and tighter.
“Anything for you, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. Sweat beads on his brow, and I can see his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t change the punishing pace. I grasp his hair, twisting my fingers into the locks with one hand while clinging to the back of the couch with the other. The pressure builds inside me and my hips buck faster.
Without breaking stride, he leans forward and clamps his mouth around one of my nipples and that’s all I need to go careening over the edge, my orgasm so intense I swear I black out for a few seconds. The world comes back into focus when he abruptly flips me over so I’m lying on my back on the couch, and then he’s pounding into me again, pressing me into the cushions while sweat drips from his brow onto my chest. And then he gives a shout and stiffens, bowing his body against mine as his release hits him with, I suspect, the same freight train effect mine did a few minutes prior.
With a gusty sigh, I let my body relax and close my eyes, at least until I feel him shift and pull out. Then his arms slide under me and my lids flutter open when he lifts me and carries me into his bedroom. After gently placing me on the bed, he crawls in next to me and wraps his arm around me. Then he kisses my neck and drops back against the pillow and I smile.
This is exactly where I want to be.
***
Lord, vigorous sex makes me thirsty. Garrett’s sprawled on his back, one arm flung across my abdomen, the other curled over his head, his mouth slightly open while he snores gently. I slide out from underneath his arm and pad down the hall to the kitchen for a glass of water.
It’s after two a.m. and there’s no television on in the background, no child’s voice calling for me from another room, or her dad slamming a door and then stomping down the hall. Leaning against the counter, I quench my thirst and enjoy the peace and quiet while casually scanning the room, double-checking to ensure everything is in its place. I notice the stack of mail Garrett must have left when he arrived home this evening. Yesterday evening, I mean.
Wandering over, I sort through the envelopes and advertisement flyers, separating them into piles: Bills, trash, other. The last one looks like a card. It’s addressed to Garrett. Probably fan mail, although usually that goes to Callum or the post office box Garrett has set up for just that purpose. I flip it over; it isn’t sealed. I shouldn’t be nosy. It’s probably a groupie offering to do some sort of sexual favor; Callum said that tends to be the bulk of his fan mail.
Which is exactly why I pull out the card to read it. Maybe she’ll describe a position we haven’t tried yet. I’m an adventurous girl, after all.
The insert is flat, cream-colored, with initials embossed at the top. The handwriting is small, block letters, more masculine than feminine. As I read, my heart rate shoots into the stratosphere and I break out into a cold sweat.
Are you sure you know your nanny? She’s not who you think she is. She makes a habit of sleeping with her bosses. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. My advice is to fire her and find someone new to take care of your kid. Before it’s too late.
I reread it seventeen more times, but the message doesn’t change, and my heart rate doesn’t slow, either.
Holy shit.
Peter Wilkins. My very first nanny job. My very first time having sex. My first experience with cheating, my first heartbreak, what I thought was my first real relationship. The reason I apparently have a thing for men like Garrett.
Peter seduced me, he used me, he and I destroyed his marriage, and now he’s trying to ruin my career. Which will work, if Garrett sees this letter.
With shaking hands, I stuff the card back into the envelope and start to tear it in half. That’s when I notice.
There’s no stamp.
He’s been here. In Garrett’s building.
Chapter Fourteen
GARRETT
“How’re the prince and princess of golf?”
“Is there any truth to the rumors that you two are looking to tie the knot soon?”
“How has your daughter taken to you shacking up with the nanny?”
“Erin, Erin, how do you deal with the female groupies?”
Gripping Erin’s hand, I don’t stop until we’ve made it past the line of paparazzi outside the event Callum talked me into attending at the golf club. Sooner or later, I am going to have to stop listening to him when it comes to anything that doesn’t make or break my career.
“Are we doing okay?” We stop for a moment at the top of the stairs and make a show of being together. A kiss on the cheek, my hand at the small of her back, a wave to the crowd. It can’t be easy to be thrown into this the way Erin has.
“Are we?” she murmurs. Her smile’s a little too big, a little too tense. If I had only said no, we would be at home in bed right now. I never expected that bed would become one of my favorite places. It’s a marker of how much Erin is changing my life that we spend Saturdays in bed, drinking coffee and reading newspapers while Abby plays with Spot Junior between us. Or that she sleeps in my bed more nights than she doesn’t. The fact that I never planned for her to dig her way between my covers doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s just right.
Right for me, and right for Abby.
“Do you miss being single, Garrett?” Fiona Davenport weaves between a couple of fans to get as close to us as possible. “Do you think you’ll ever regret getting tied down by the woman who’s supposed to look after your kid?”
Fiona’s voice is nails on a chalkboard and instantly grates on my nerves. The woman refuses to let up, and I’m not sure if she digs for a story or her own personal satisfaction, but if she’s hoping for the latter, she hasn’t got a chance.
“No, I don’t.”
“You were the bad boy of golf, able to have any woman you wanted, and now you’ve settled for this Cinderella story? Is Garrett Frost in love?”
Erin does that thing where she almost turns around but doesn’t dare give away the fact that she wants to know the answer, too, so she stares at a fixed spot somewhere ahead of us. And yeah, maybe Garrett Frost is in love for the first time. It’s possible. Logical even. But how am I supposed to know if this is more than just really great fun? Leaning closer to Erin, I whisper in her ear, “If looks could kill, Red.”
“I can’t stand her,” Erin says, then we’re moving inside the building and the tension melts from her face and shoulders as I take her coat to check it.
A few of the other guests stop to talk to us as we make our way into the room where tables and a dance floor are set up. We make polite chitchat over champagne as we do the rounds, nothing too stimulating, but, frankly, I’m stuck on the whole love thing. Callum, having spotted us, waltzes across the room, a glass in one hand and a woman I’ve never met before on the other. God help me, I cannot talk media strategy tonight. The sponsors are happy for now. Why can’t we let it rest? At least until I come to grips with this new belief taking root in my skull that matches the constant sensation in my chest.
“Let’s get a drink.” I take Erin’s hand and start dragging her toward the bar.
Digging in her heels, six-inch stilettos that match her floor-length silver dress, she grasps my arm. “Garrett, about what Fiona said.”
“That woman is all bark and no bite.” I intend to press on to the bar, but Erin’s gnawing at her lip like she might actually be considering running away. I finger a loose lock of auburn hair and tuck it behind her ear. “You shouldn’t listen to a word she says.”
“Why is that?” She drops her hand from my arm. “Is it because she’s right that you’ll regret this? Or is it because you’re in love with me?”
“Neither,” I tell her, taking her by the crook of
the elbow. Now I really need a drink, because I may have just lied to her face. “Let’s get some champagne and enjoy the evening. Callum’s spotted us anyway.” I pick up a couple of flutes from a tray resting on the bar a moment before a server picks it up and meanders through the crowd. Handing one to Erin, I toss back the sparkling liquid. “Can we talk about this later?” Winding an arm around her waist, I pull her closer, so that we’re almost standing side by side. “At home? In bed?”
“Maybe.” She takes a breath and nods as though she’s come to some conclusion, some resolution. “Okay. There’s something I should tell you about my employment situation anyway.”
Most likely she wants to quit being Abby’s nanny. Almost surprising she let it go this long before she called the fact I’m still paying her into question. Especially after Callum brought it up three weeks ago, when we decided to try turning our relationship into a relationship. It’s strange how hard it is to see what’s right in front of your face until someone else points it out to you.
“Evening, Garrett, Erin.” Callum finally catches up to us. “You two are the talk of the evening. The way you ignored Fiona Davenport’s questions outside. It’s all anyone’s chattering about. Is professional golf’s bad boy in love for the very first time?”
Is he? How on earth am I supposed to know the answer to that when I have never felt this way about anyone before?
I glance at Erin, who is standing frozen by my side, pretending not to pay any attention whatsoever as she stares at nothing in particular at the far end of the room. In this case, nothing in particular might be the band setting up or the older guy off to the side of the stage who is looking, no ogling, my girlfriend again. Wasn’t he doing the same thing when we walked in? Christ, is she my girlfriend?
“Excuse me,” she says. “I need a minute.” She practically thrusts the glass into my hand and walks off.
“Is Erin okay?” Callum asks. We both watch her go until she’s out of sight. “She doesn’t seem her usual spirited self.”
“It could be everyone asking me if I’m in love with her while she’s right beside me,” I snark.
“Well, haven’t you told her yet?” The asshole beams at me.
“Told her what?” I drain her glass too and exchange it for a full one off a tray that circulates under my nose. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to tell me I should have told her how I felt about her long before now.
“Never mind.” He shakes his head. “Drink up. Fiona Davenport’s got you locked in her crosshairs.”
“Fuck.” I glower into the crystal as Callum beats a hasty exit. “Not again.”
First, I need to do something about Fiona before she makes any more obvious digs at Erin. Striding across the room, I pass her and pop my now empty glass down on a table before ducking out a side door that leads to a terrace overlooking the eighteenth and a pond surrounded by weeping willows. Their branches create ripples in the water as they trail over the surface under the gentle breeze.
Once upon a time I would have dealt with Fiona Davenport by taking her to bed and then ignoring her. Now I have no idea how I’m supposed to get the bitch to leave Erin and I alone.
“What’s going on, G-man?” Danny jogs up the stairs in front of me. He’s actually dressed for the part. Of course not as wait staff, which might actually make sense, but in a tuxedo.
“Is that my suit?”
“Yeah.” He grins, flicking imaginary lint off his shoulder. “Looks better on me than it does you, don’t you think?”
“No,” I growl as I advance on him. I know he’s Erin’s best friend, but he’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since he showed up in my apartment the first time. “Can you stop taking my stuff? What are you doing here anyway?”
“What do you mean what am I doing here?” Danny finally drags his attention away from his own reflection in the tall glass behind me. “Erin sent me an SOS thirty minutes ago. I guess you guys aren’t that close after all, not like best friends close, huh?”
“What’s the SOS?” I ask.
“What do you mean, they aren’t close?” Fiona steps onto the terrace to join us.
“Don’t answer that,” I snarl at Danny. If he can manage to keep his mouth shut for once in the time I’ve known him, it’ll be a miracle.
“And you are?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders past me.
“Fiona Davenport.” The journalist flutters her eyelashes at the kid. Clearly, women can’t see past his face, because I have no idea what they can possibly find interesting about a guy who has nothing going for him.
“Uh-huh.” Danny takes her hand and bows over it. “You’re Freaky Foot Job Fiona.”
“What?” She pales and tries to pull her hand away. “No. How dare you—”
“Sure you are.” If Danny smirks any harder, I’m concerned he’s going to crack his face and then Erin will probably kill me. He points a thumb over his shoulder in my direction. “You’re the Fiona who gave Garrett here a foot job under the table a few months back. Hence the nickname. Have to say, that was one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s not true. That isn’t what happened.” She glares at him. “Now if you could kindly get out of my way, I’d like to ask Mr. Frost a few more questions before dinner.”
Can I admit I’m enjoying this exchange? Just once Danny might be worth the pain of putting up with him.
“You aren’t the desperate journo who sneak assaults men’s dicks with your toes?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure I have a photo of that on my cell, actually.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and fidgets with it. “Let me think, you were wearing a red dress, and some fine-ass Victoria Secret panties.”
“Oh my God.” Fiona’s eyes bug out of her wan face.
“Oh come on, Danny, now you’re getting creepy,” I tell him, staring out over the lawn. I’m not exactly interested in stopping him, just toeing the line of decency.
“She’s my best friend. I do what I have to. Even where you’re involved.” He finally stops scrolling and holds his phone up to Fiona. “This you?”
“Absolutely not.” She pushes his arm away, tries to get past him.
“You’re really not a good liar, Freaky Fiona.” Danny chuckles. “Look, you have the same tattoo on the inside of your left thigh that I’ve seen on the Internet, and the same webbed toes. I’m guessing if you don’t stop hounding the G-man and his family, he’s going to use these photos to ruin your credibility.” Then he shrugs and puts his phone away. “I, on the other hand, could work around the webbed toes if you wanted a bit of a quickie in my car. Well, my housemate’s car.”
Crack.
I flinch at the sound of her hand lancing across his jaw before she spins on her heel and marches back inside.
“That fucking hurt.” Danny rubs at his jaw as he approaches the edge of the stairs. “She might be hot, but that woman is crazy.”
“You were a real jerk.” I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh out loud.
“You’re welcome.” He shrugs. “But you know I didn’t do it for you.”
“Got it.” I glance around the quiet, dimly lit grounds. Erin must still be inside somewhere. “What’s this SOS business, anyway?” I turn and head in the direction Fiona disappeared, with Danny keeping up. “Not that I’m not grateful you showed up when you did.”
“Wow, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Possibly the only nice thing you’ve ever said to me. And I’m not sure what the SOS is,” he says. “Erin occasionally sends me a text when she’s on a bad date or in a sucky situation. A ‘save me’ text. I thought you’d fucked up.” He scratches the bridge of his nose. “Especially after they asked you how you felt about our girl in the line-up and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.”
“You heard that?” I pause outside the doors. Does Erin think I don’t have feelings for her? The way everyone else keeps talking about it, maybe she doesn’t realize how much she does mean to me.
&nb
sp; “Everybody heard that, G.” He claps me on the shoulder. “It was televised. And just for your information, the answer should have been ‘hell, yes.’ Unless you really are only doing it because that manager of yours told you to?”
It’s not, and Danny’s right. “Shit. I was supposed to say yes.”
But Danny couldn’t give a shit about what I’m saying. His attention is locked on a point behind me. A moving point. Turning around, I’m caught by the same image he is. A lone golf cart careening across the course, with a woman driver dressed in silver that sparkles in the moonlight, holding a magnum of champagne to her lips. Behind her, a man, running and hollering, tries to keep up. In front, a single white duck flaps its wings but can’t quite attain lift-off.
“Oh fuck,” Danny whispers in awe.
“Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.” I take off running too, as Erin aims the cart at a thin section of course between water hazards. She’s never going to make it. She can’t even drive a straight line. I have to get to her before she goes into the water and drowns. Danny’s right behind me, and people are already pouring out from several doors on the terrace to gawk at the spectacle we’re making.
We are never going to live this down.
Chapter Fifteen
ERIN
He’s here. My worst nightmare is here, at a freaking charity golf event. Eight years ago he didn’t even like golf. He was a football guy, through and through. Even played in high school, then went to a Class D college so he could hold onto the glory days for another four years. That’s where he met his wife. She didn’t know jack about sports, he once told me. But she’d been a virgin when they met. He’d been her one and only, from that point on.
I should have known Peter Wilkins was a jackass the moment he told me that story, which, in retrospect, was all part of his screwed up game to lure me into his bed. The nanny. The woman responsible for taking care of his kids. The woman his wife taught to cook. The woman he used as a substitute when his wife traveled with her job. God, I was so naïve back then.
