Dawson Family Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Emily Goodwin

  “And you say this house isn’t haunted.”

  Wes laughs again, and dammit, I need to look away. Because this man is beautiful when he smiles. “It’s faulty wiring and a drafty old house with poor insulation.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, mister.”

  He leans back and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s three AM. You’re sleep-deprived and it’s making you paranoid,” he teases. “We should probably call it a night.”

  I grab his arm before he gets up, and the moment my fingers touch his warm skin I regret it. Because now I know he’s as warm as I imagined, and I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

  Though, unlike the moth, I know what will happen if I succumb and fly right into the bright light. I don’t feel like burning to a crisp today, so I pull back.

  “We have two episodes left. I won’t be able to sleep until I know how this ends. Stay with me?” I meant to say stay and watch it with me, but somehow the other words got lost on the way out.

  Wes is standing above me, with the light from the TV illuminating his back. He’s so big and so tall, and with his long, messy hair hanging around his handsome face, it’s like I’m sitting before Thor himself. I swallow hard, lips parting, preparing myself for him to go up to bed.

  Alone.

  Which would be a good thing. The right thing.

  For him.

  For me.

  And for Jackson.

  But I’ve never been good at doing the right thing.

  “Sure,” Wes says, and I watch his beautiful lips curve into a smile. My body is reacting hard to him, and I have to reel in my libido. Trying to convince myself his physical attraction is the only thing that’s pulling me to him, I put a pillow in my lap and tuck my legs firmly underneath myself.

  Wes settles back onto the couch, and the TV show cuts to a scene of a bright and sunny day, contrasting with the dark and gloomy mood of the rest of the show. The light illuminates Wes’s face, and I take a few seconds to study him.

  It’s the middle of the night. We’re both tired, and if he’s anything like me, he’s questioning the existence of ghosts and demons right about now, and feeling very vulnerable.

  Very human.

  He rests his head against the back of the couch, and this is the most relaxed, the most real I’ve seen him with the exception of the moments he’s with Jackson. Right now, sitting here in the dark, the walls have been lowered, and he’s not resisting the fact that I’m here. I get not wanting to admit you want help, but what I don’t get is why Wes seems resentful of the fact that he needs a nanny.

  Maybe it has to do with Jackson’s mother, who walked out on them?

  “I didn’t see that coming,” Wes says, pulling my attention back to the TV. I look away from his face and it takes me a few seconds to catch up to the twist that was revealed.

  “That’s fucked up,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “Yeah, it is. But it explains why the shadows always followed her.”

  “Ohhh, it does.”

  Tiredness grips me and if I were to lay down and close my eyes, I’d be asleep in minutes. I want to see how this show ends because I know once I get up and walk up to my room, I’ll be awake enough to lay there terrified the shadows cast by inanimate objects will manifest into dark spirits.

  And I like being here next to Weston.

  It’s weird. It doesn’t make sense. We’re not talking. Not touching. Yet his presence is calming, and the faint scent of his woodsy cologne clings to his muscular body, and I know if I were to inch close and snuggle up, resting my head on his chest so I could count his heartbeats, the smell would fill my nostrils and I’d be a goner. There’s something about an attractive man who smells good that makes them irresistible.

  I’m so comfortable right now and feel so safe around him. I close my eyes for just a minute.

  “Scarlet,” Weston whispers. “Scarlet.”

  My eyes flutter open and I realize I’ve fallen to the side, drifting to sleep. Wes is looking down at me, his face dangerously close to mine.

  “You’re falling asleep,” he says with a chuckle. “Go to bed.”

  “No way.” I stretch out, moving closer to him. “We’re too far in to give up now. I don’t take you to be a quitter.”

  Wes laughs again. “I’m not, though I never looked at turning off the TV because it’s now almost four AM as quitting.”

  “We’ve got, what, one episode left? It’s quitting in my book.”

  “Well, I guess we have to watch until the end.” The smile is still on his face as he leans back, but the second he relaxes he gets up again, moving in between the couch and the coffee table, reaching over to get the blanket that fell onto the floor. He grabs it and spreads it over me.

  My heart speeds up and suddenly I feel like I’m in a rickety boat, being tossed about in stormy water. Not because Wes scares me, but because he does the exact opposite.

  You’re walking the line of dangerous territory, I remind myself. He’s my boss. Sleeping with your boss is never a good idea.

  “Thanks.” I smooth out the blanket and sit up, fixing the pillows. “Is it just my imagination or is it colder in here now?”

  “It’s colder. I have the heat set to go down a few degrees between midnight and five AM. It goes back up at six-thirty, around the time Jackson gets up.” His brows furrow. “Though I suppose I can change it to seven-thirty now since he doesn’t have to get up so early anymore.”

  I nod, knowing what he’s talking about. They used to leave the house around seven in order to drop Jackson off at Wes’s parents’ before Wes went in for work.

  “Are you cold?” I ask him, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and offering to share the blanket.

  “I’m okay,” he says and kicks his feet back up on the coffee table.

  “Really?” I ask dubiously and reach out—against my better judgment, of course—and press my hand against his bicep. “You are warm.” I push up and eye him suspiciously. “Are you really a shifter?”

  “Huh?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Shifter. Or werewolf. In paranormal romance books, any sort of were or shifter is always described as being warmer than normal humans.”

  Wes raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I’m a little weird, maybe I should have warned you.”

  Slowly, he angles his body toward me and brings one arm up, resting it on the back of the couch behind me. “I like weird.”

  “Well, you’re in luck.”

  Our eyes meet and my heart flutters. This is the most real I’ve seen Wes, and this is the most real he’s seen me. Because right now, I’m not Scarlet, the con-artist, scourge of the South Side. I’m just Scarlet, the quirky blonde who reads smutty vampire and werewolf romance novels in her spare time and gets way too wrapped up in scary TV shows.

  Wes’s fingertips brush against my shoulder, and I shiver. I tip my head towards his, lips parting. He moves his head down toward mine.

  He needs to stop.

  I need to look away.

  But I don’t.

  And he doesn’t.

  Our eyes meet, and I know he’s feeling the exact same thing as I am. My heart flutters in my chest, like it’s taking flight before it starts flapping its wings as hard as it can, beating away like a drum inside my chest.

  He sweeps his hand down, and his fingers trail along my arm. His touch is gentle, making me want to lean in and feel more. He’s doing it on purpose, knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’s going to get from me.

  I don’t know if I should be mad at him for it or not. Swallowing hard, I take my bottom lip between my teeth and slowly lean in. He brings his hand up again and pushes my hair back behind my ear.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  The little bit of logic that hasn’t left me is screaming to stop, because if he kisses me, things won’t end there. I’ll climb into his lap, press my core against him and feel his cock har
den beneath me. I’ll wrap my arms around his neck and buck my hips back, rubbing his cock against me once, maybe twice, before going in for another kiss. His hands will settle on my waist, pushing under my T-shirt, feeling the soft skin on my back. He’ll shift his weight, rubbing himself against me until the top of his boxers dampens from the glistening tip of his cock.

  He’ll press his lips to mine again, and I’ll push my tongue into his mouth. We’ll fall back on the couch, kissing with fervor as we peel off each other’s clothes. He’ll want to carry me upstairs, but I’ll be too impatient to wait even half a minute to feel his big, rough hands sweeping over my body, moving down my thighs, parting my legs, and rubbing over my clit.

  If I let him kiss me, I’m going to end up sleeping with him. And nothing good ever comes from sleeping with your boss.

  My heart flutters again and the little bit of logic dissolves into nothing.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  And I’m going to let him.

  12

  Weston

  If there was ever a rational part of my brain, it’s now dead and buried six feet under. My cock has taken over, and right now it’s screaming at me to kiss Scarlet. To take her in my arms, feel her breasts crush against my chest, to put my lips to hers and see if she tastes as good as I think she will.

  It plays out before me, and I imagine her in my lap, legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my shirt over my head. My cock jumps at the thought, and I inch in closer and closer.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is a bad idea. She’s Jackson’s nanny and hasn’t even been here that long I’m already trying to make a move on her. But it’s not like she’s uninterested, and I can tell by the way she’s biting her bottom lip and is moving toward me that she wants this too.

  We shouldn’t. We really fucking shouldn’t.

  But dammit, I’m tired of holding back, of going to bed alone. I’ve spent the last four years convincing the world that I’m not lonely, but you can only lie to yourself for so long before the smoke and mirrors gives way for the bullshit it really is.

  I’m going to kiss her.

  I bring my hand to her face, cupping her cheek. Her skin is so soft, and her long hair tangles around my fingers. I want to take a fistful of it, pulling it gently as I kiss her hard.

  Scarlet’s tongue darts out, wetting her lips. I’m officially a goner now. No logic is left, and I move forward, bringing my other hand to her waist. My fingers rest on the curve of her hip and she tenses for a second before melting against me, bringing a hand up and resting it on my chest. She tips her head up, lips parting.

  I inhale, heart beating faster and faster. I take one last second to look at her pretty face, to admire the sapphire blue of her eyes, the light freckles on her cheeks that she covered up with makeup the first time I saw her. I brush her hair back, moving it out of the way.

  My heart is beating so fast I can hear it echoing in my ears, and I wonder if Scarlet can hear it. She brings her free hand up, placing it over my hand that’s cupping her cheeks. Her thumb rubs over my palm and she leans into my touch.

  My cock is hard, pulsing, begging for me to get this show on the fucking road. To kiss her, bring her close, and feel the heat of her pussy hovering over me. She pushes herself forward, and the softest whimper leaves her lips.

  God, this woman. If I don’t kiss her now, I’m going to implode. I tighten my grip on her waist and pull her close. Her breasts crush against my chest and she slides her hand up and over my shoulder.

  And then I kiss her.

  The moment our lips touch, desperation sparks between us, and she holds me close, pressing her body against mine. I run my hand down her waist and down to her ass, lifting her up and bringing her onto my lap. She straddles me, slowly easing herself over my cock, gasping slightly when she takes in the length, feeling it through my pajama pants. She stops kissing me for a brief moment, looking down in my lap, and the lust in her eyes paired with the shock does me in.

  With an animalistic growl, I flip her over, moving on top of her. She curls her legs around my waist, rocking her hips so she rubs against my cock. Fuck, it feels so good even with clothes on I could come right now, dry humping her like a horny teenager. I haven’t been with a woman since Daisy left and the desperation is getting to me.

  Scarlet grabs the hem of my shirt, but right as she goes to pull it off, the bottom stair creaks.

  “Daddy?”

  Jackson’s little voice comes from behind us, and I move off Scarlet so fast I fall off the couch, hitting my shoulder on the coffee table.

  “Dammit,” I mutter, rubbing the spot where the corner of the wooden table hit. Scarlet scrambles up, smoothing out her shirt.

  “Hey, buddy.” She rushes around the coffee table. “What are you doing down here?”

  “The Tall Man is back.”

  Scarlet glances over her shoulder at me, flicking her eyes to my cock. She knows I can’t exactly stand up right now.

  Sitting on the bottom stair, she pulls Jackson onto her lap and brushes his hair back. “Is he still there?”

  “No. He went into Daddy’s room and then Daddy wasn’t there. I thought the Tall Man got him.”

  “We were watching a movie,” Scarlet says, wiping away a tear. I push myself up onto the couch. “No Tall Man down here. Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says and pulls out of Scarlet’s arms to run to me. “Daddy, will you tuck me in?”

  “Of course, buddy.” I wrap my arm around him and kiss the top of his head. Scarlet turns on a light and I pause the TV, knowing watching even a few seconds of this show will make him have nightmares. In the light, I look at Scarlet. She meets my eyes and then looks away.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  She’s here for Jackson. Not me. We’re lucky Jackson had a nightmare and stopped us before we got in too deep. Because getting in deep was exactly what I wanted to do. This can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

  Scarlet’s bedroom door is closed when I get up Sunday morning. Technically, Sundays are to be her day off. Unless some big crime happens in Eastwood and I have to go in, I’m always off on Sundays. It was discussed with her before she even started, but seeing her door shut like that makes a bad feeling form in the pit of my stomach.

  Not that I’m in a rush to see her either. Because…what the fuck will I say? Hey, last night almost fucking you was fun? That I want to do it again but know we shouldn’t. That my will is paper-thin at best and avoiding each other is ideal, but that won’t work because you fucking live here. God, what the fuck did I do?

  She’s. Jackson’s. Nanny.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” I ask Jackson, plugging in the coffee pot.

  “Can you make bacon and eggs like Scarlet does?”

  “Sure,” I say, internalizing my grimace. I’m no master chef, but I do try to eat healthy and I want Jackson to grow up with good eating habits like I did. And it makes working out worthless when I eat like shit anyway, so the Pop-Tarts and cereal mornings should be over.

  Jackson watches cartoons while I cook, and I’m putting his plate on the table when Scarlet comes downstairs. Her hair is messy, and she has pillow creases on her face. My mind immediately jumps to her waking up in my bed, rolling over with that bed-head in my face. I’d slip my arm around her and bring her close, not ready to get up.

  “Morning,” she says with a small smile and crosses the kitchen, going right for the coffee.

  “Morning.” I pull the creamer out of the fridge. Her fingers brush over mine as she takes it from me, and the small touch is enough to send a jolt through me, going right to my cock. I need to get it the fuck together.

  “How’d you sleep?” she asks Jackson, looking over her shoulder as she prepares her coffee.

  “I stayed with Daddy. He kept me safe,” Jackson replies between bites of bacon. “The Tall Man didn’t come back, but I did see him standing outside your door.”

 
Scarlet’s face blanks. “Well, I’m going to be sleeping well tonight.”

  I laugh, wishing I could give her a similar offer. My bed is open to anyone scared of the dark tonight.

  “Are you still coming with us to Grammy’s tonight?” Jackson asks Scarlet.

  She flicks her eyes to mine and in that half-second, the room fills with tension so thick it’s hard to breathe.

  “Yeah,” she tells him with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she keeps her eyes focused on the floor in front of her. I pile bacon, eggs, and toast onto my own plate, and take another down from the cabinet for Scarlet.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “I’m always hungry in the morning.” With a smile, she sets her coffee down and starts to walk over to the stove. Her perky tits bounce slightly under her T-shirt and I need to turn around and stop looking for my own good.

  “Want to play zombies after breakfast?” Jackson asks Scarlet.

  “Today’s Scarlet’s day off,” I remind him gently. “She’s here but not really here.”

  Jackson tips his head. “Huh?”

  Scarlet laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t really have any plans other than showering and reading a chapter or two from my book.”

  “Are there zombies in your book?” Jackson’s eyes widen.

  “Actually, yes.” Scarlet fills her plate and joins us at the table. “It’s a romance set in the zombie apocalypse. It’s really good.”

  “Can you read it to me?”

  “When you’re older.” She smiles and then digs into her food. We eat in silence, and I’m a little jealous of the innocent way Jackson is completely oblivious to how fucking awkward things are right now.

  “After breakfast, let’s go grocery shopping,” I tell Jackson, who groans in response. I’m sure Scarlet would appreciate a little time to herself, and Lord knows I need some time away. Or a cold shower.