I turn the shower off and listen to voices outside the bathroom door. I towel-dry my hair, pull on Jonah’s sweatpants and soft blue T-shirt and give myself a once over in the mirror. Cripes, I look like stumpy, the eighth dwarf, in his far too big clothes. But beggars can’t be choosers, so these things will have to due until I can get to my place tomorrow.

I carefully open one of his drawers, looking for a comb but half expecting to see a box or two of condoms, or some kind of ointment for a rash that has doctors stumped. That thought makes me chuckle.

I grab his comb and run it through my hair and when I’m done, I listen for sound outside the door, and wait until the delivery men are downstairs before I step into the hall. I walk into the bedroom Jonah put the crib in. It’s a decent-size room, with a double bed and dresser. It’s painted in a soft grey, and I wonder if Jonah might be interested in making it a little more feminine. Not that he’d know how, but I could help him. Then again, maybe it’s not in my best interest to spend any more time around him than necessary. The close proximity is messing with my brain and my body.

“Hey,” he says, and I nearly jump from my skin.

I turn to him. “Were you trying to scare me?”

He laughs. “No. I was just getting the baby monitor set up.”

Still a little bowled over after hearing his private conversation with his daughter—my God, my ovaries were ready to explode—I try to act casual. I plant my hand on my hip and say, “Well, for a big guy, you’re kind of stealthy. You should wear a bell or something.”

I wait for a response, but instead of coming back with some smart-ass comment, his gaze leaves my freshly scrubbed, makeup-free face, and slowly travels down my body.

I lift my arms and let them flop back to my sides. “I’m probably going to have to sleep naked, otherwise I’ll end up strangling myself in these clothes.”

His nostrils flare slightly, and that’s when I realize what I’ve said. Jesus, girl, why are you talking about getting naked in front of Jonah?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Ah, if that’s what you want,” he says, his voice an octave lower. “Or I could try to find you something smaller.” His gaze sweeps over me again, and he scrubs his chin.

Wait, is he picturing me sleeping naked or something? God, I hope not.

Liar.

I shake my head to clear it. Obviously the guy who can get any girl he’s ever wanted, who has shown zero interest in me my whole life, is not fantasizing about me naked. That can only be for the best, right?

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Needing to change the subject, I head toward the door. “Which room do you want me in?”

“How about the one across from me? That way if you need me, or I need you, we’ll hear each other if we have to call out.”

Oh, I can think of all kind of things I need Jonah for. Dirty things. Deliciously sexy things that would likely surprise the Body Checker.

“Sounds reasonable. Are the men gone?” I ask.

He gestures toward the big box leaning against the wall. “Yeah, and I want to get this crib set up right way.”

“I can help.”

“Our food is here though, so let’s eat.”

He leaves the room and, as I follow him, I try not to look at his perfect backside, all wrapped up so beautifully in his jeans as we head down the stairs. He glances at me over his shoulder and I’m far too slow to react. When my gaze finally meets his, he has a knowing grin on his face.

Shit.

“I ordered lasagna from Luigi’s.”

“Oh, my fave.”

He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, I know, that’s why I ordered it.”

It might mean nothing to him, but my traitorous heart goes a little wobbly at his thoughtfulness. I reach the main level and check on Daisy, who’s still sound asleep on the sofa. I grin as I touch her cheek. “She’s beautiful, Jonah,” I say.

“Thanks,” he answers. “Have a seat, I’ll bring our plates in.”

I take a chair across from Daisy, and Jonah brings me a plate of lasagna and a glass of white wine. “You read my mind,” I say as I take the glass from him.

He gives me a lopsided smile that’s so damn adorable, I almost forget that I don’t like this guy. “I thought you could use a glass, even though you’re handling all this better than me.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and then comes back with his own plate of lasagna and a glass of water. I’m pleased by that, pleased that he listened to what I had to say this morning about drinking and is trying to do his best.

I bite into the lasagna, and a moan crawls out of my throat. Once again, Jonah’s nostrils flare, and he scrubs his chin like he’s fighting some internal war.

“Good?” he asks, his teeth clenched.

“The best.” I slide my fork into my mouth again—and that’s when I become aware of the way Jonah is watching me. I remove the utensil and use it to point at his plate. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He digs into his lasagna and devours it in record time.

Good Lord, I’ve eaten around a table with Jonah many times. When did he start shoveling in his food? “Hungry much?”

His fork clatters on his plate as he sets it on the coffee table. “I just want to get started on the crib.”

“Let me finish up and I’ll help.”

“No, it’s okay,” he says quickly and makes a beeline for the stairs, like he can’t get away from me quick enough.

Was it something I said?

I’m not sure, but I’m starving, so I dig back into my food, eating it slowly, because that’s way better for digestion. When I’m done, I take our dishes to the kitchen and load them into the dishwasher.

Before heading upstairs, I check on Daisy again, and turn the volume up on the monitor. Papers crinkle as Jonah unfolds the instructions, and I head to the washer and dryer to switch the bedding, tossing Daisy’s new crib sheets and blanket into the wash. With a bundle of fresh-smelling sheets in my arms, I walk to my room, directly across from Jonah’s master suite, and make up my bed. I smooth my sheets out and sit, noticing I can see straight into his room, an unobstructed view of his bed.

For the briefest of moments, I picture myself between his sheets, his body on top of mine, holding me down and doing the filthiest things to me. A hot blaze rides through my veins, and my hairline grows damp as I envision his mouth on me, those hands touching me in ways that will rock my world. Lord knows my worlds has never been rocked before, but if the rumors about the Body Checker are right—

“Quinn,” Jonah calls out, and my thoughts come crashing back to the present.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little higher than I would have like.

“I need you to hold something for me.”

As my thoughts go off in a million different directions, thinking about what I’d like to hold for him, I jump from the bed. “Yeah, sure,” I say as I rush into the baby’s room.

My feet come to a resounding halt at the doorway.

Holy God. Seeing Jonah all rough and rugged in his hockey gear is one thing, but this Jonah, bent down on one knee as he uses an Allen key to screw the bed together, well…that’s something else entirely. Something that reminds me I’m a woman, one who hasn’t been touched in a very long time.

So what should you do about that, Quinn?

“Can you hold the other end up, so I don’t twist the frame?”

I step around him and lift the edge of the crib as he works the tool. “You read the instructions?” I asked.

“I glanced at them, why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Just wondering.”

“It’s not rocket science.”

“I guess I didn’t realize you were so good with your hands. I mean, I know you can handle a hockey stick, I just didn’t think…”

“I’m a hands-on kind of guy,” he says, and when my gaze flashes to his, catches his devious grin, I swear to God he’s talking about sex.

“I put Daisy’s sheets in the washer,” I say, desperate to change the subject.

“What time do I put her down tonight?”

“Did her mother give any instructions? Do you even know if she’s sleeping through the night yet?”

“Nothing. I don’t even know how to get ahold of her, either. She just handed Daisy over and left.” His teeth clamp together with an audible click, and he grunts. “Pretty shitty thing to do if you ask me,” he mumbles through those clenched teeth.

I shake my head, incredulous, and his eyes lock on mine. In that instant, I know we’re both thinking the same thing. How can a mother walk out on her child?

How could mine walk out on Zander and me?

I clear my throat. “I guess we’ll just have to wing it for the next little bit, until we get her on a schedule. I’m going to make some calls later, to see about a nanny. The sooner we find one, the better.”

Jonah finishes tightening the screw and walks toward me. Our hands touch, a soft brush that does the most ridiculous things to the needy spot between my legs.

Since I’m desperate for a man’s touch, and he’s a man who has the right touch—again, according to the rumors—then maybe I should take advantage of my time here. Scratch an itch while helping him. A tit-for-tat kind of thing.

Jonah is saying something but I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear.

“Quinn,” he says, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah.”

“Where were you?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice as he waves one hand in front of my face.

“Oh, nothing,” I say quickly. “Just thinking about Daisy’s mother.”

He nods, and he places his hand on my arm, giving it a comforting squeeze, one that doesn’t feel brotherly at all. “This must be hard for you, too. Maybe I’m asking too much.”

The sadness in his voice curls around my heart. “I’m okay,” I say quickly. “I don’t mind helping Daisy.” I’m not about to discuss my demons with this man. A man I hate. A man I’m thinking about having sex with.

Good Lord, Quinn. Get yourself together already.

Jonah lets the subject drop. If there is one thing he’s good at, it’s reading a room, and I’m beginning to believe he knows me better than I think he does.

He takes the rail I’ve been holding and attaches it to the stationary crib side. Once he finishes that, he goes to work on putting the brackets on the base. I stand back for a moment and admire him as he works, take pleasure in the way his muscles ripple and relax again as he steps up to be the man Daisy needs him to be.

“Grab that,” he commands in a soft voice and gestures to the rail. I comply, my body quivering slightly as he takes charge. Would he be as demanding in the bedroom?

A noise I have no control over crawls out of my throat.

“You okay?”

“Ah, yeah, just twisted my finger,” I fib.

“Let me see.” As he stands over me, taking my hand to examine it, I become acutely aware of his size, his hardness, our close proximity. His eyes narrow. “Which finger?”

I hold out my index…and he brings it to his mouth, dropping a soft kiss onto the tip.

My entire body comes alive, and I jerk my hand back. “What…what are you doing?”

His head rears back. “Jesus, sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” He grips the back of his neck, a familiar habit when he’s uncomfortable. “That’s what my mom used to do when I was a kid, and maybe having Daisy here is just messing with me. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“It’s okay, Jonah. We’ve touched a million times.”

“Not like that,” he says, as we both stand there, staring at each other, tension taking up space between us.

I finally break the moment and say, “We better get this done before Daisy wakes up.”

“Right,” he says, stepping back, the spell between us broken.

I help him lift the base and attach it to the crib ends. As he tightens all the screws, I stand back and look at the pretty white sleigh crib.

“It’s perfect,” I say, and don’t miss the longing in my voice. God, what is going on with me today? I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to have a family of my own a long-ass time ago. Yet in the span of one day, Daisy has tugged at all my maternal instincts.

Jonah stands and crosses his arms. He nudges me. “Good job.”

I laugh. “I didn’t do much.”

Just then, Daisy’s cries come through the monitor.

“Is she hungry again?” he asks, his body going tense.

“Or she needs a diaper change.”

He looks at me, and I’ve never seen such horror on a man’s face before. I do my best not to laugh at him.

“I’m not doing that,” he says adamantly.

“Oh, yeah you are,” I say, and put my arm through his. I give him a tug but he doesn’t budge. Jesus, he’s strong.

“Quinn…” There is pleading in his voice.

“Come on, you have to learn. I’m not always going to be here to help you out, you know.”

“How long will you be here?” he asks, and for the briefest of seconds, his look isn’t one of fear, it’s longing.

Longing?

Okay, I’m definitely losing my mind. Daisy being here isn’t just affecting him, it’s messing with me, too. No way would Jonah look at me with longing, right? This is my brother’s best friend. The NHL’s Body Checker. A different girl in his bed every night.

“Until we get a nanny. Someone we’re both comfortable with,” I say, then exit the room. I hurry down the stairs, and Jonah is on my heels.

Daisy is wailing by the time we reach her, and Jonah stands over her, panic on his face once again. My heart softens, and while I’d like to just go ahead and take care of Daisy, Jonah has to learn.

“Hey there, little one,” I say, having heard Jonah call her that earlier. “Do you need a diaper change?” I remove the blankets and tuck one underneath her. The changing table is still in a box so we’ll have to make due.

“Grab me the baby wipes and a diaper from the bag,” I say, and Jonah obliges. He plunks himself down on the coffee table to watch, and I show him how it’s done. “It’s easy,” I say. “You just unpeel the tape here, lift her legs to pull it out, the roll it up and re-tape.” I pull a couple wipes from the bag, clean her up, and slide a new diaper under her. “The tape goes around the back,” I explain. I finish changing her and take her into my arms.

Jonah has a sweat going on when I stand and head to the kitchen for her bottle.

“Okay, that doesn’t seem so hard.”

I hand the baby over to him and wash my hands before I get her bottle from the fridge, and when I turn back, catching the way he’s looking at his daughter, my heart melts. They might not have had any bonding time before now, but I give it a few days before the two fall totally in love.

A yawn pulls at me as we walk into the living room, and I hand Jonah the bottle. He sits, and feeds her the way I taught him. I flick on the TV, find some old rerun and half watch it. The washer beeps, and I rush upstairs and switch the sheets.

When I come back down again, I find Jonah with his head back, his eyes closed, and Daisy in his arms. I’m pretty sure both are sound asleep. I smile at that and lower the volume on the TV. But sleep pulls at me too. I flick through the stations, wasting time until the bedding is done. When the dryer finally finishes, I make Daisy’s bed and head back downstairs.

“Jonah,” I say quietly, and his eyes open. Dark brown eyes lock with mine, and for a moment he looks confused. “We need to put Daisy to bed.”

He nods and cradles the baby in his arms. “Right.”

“Here, let me take her.” I reach for the bundle as he stands. He stretches out.

“What time is it anyway?”

“It’s just a little after eight. But I think we can both use a good night’s sleep.”

We head upstairs, and I give Daisy a kiss on the cheek before I place her in her crib. She makes a little gurgling sound, and Jonah steps up to me and covers her. His hands so big next to his daughter’s, but so soft and gentle as he touches her. My poor ovaries are going to explode before I can get a nanny in here.

We leave her door cracked so we can hear her and I head to my room, expecting Jonah to go to his.

“I think I’m going to put a few more things together.”

“Okay, don’t be up too late. I suspect that little girl is an early riser.”

I make a quick trip to the bathroom, then go to bed, but don’t close my door all the way, just in case Daisy or Jonah need me through the night.

Even though I’m tired, sleep doesn’t come, partly because of the craziness of the day, and partly because Jonah is still up assembling the small dresser and changing table that matches Daisy’s new bed.

A long while later, Jonah’s footsteps sound in the hall. They pause outside my door, and I suck in a quick breath. With my door cracked, he can see me. Should I let him know I’m awake?

Before I can make that decision, he walks into his bedroom, and I peek over the covers, see him move around in his room. He peels off his shirt, and I cover my mouth to stop the moan rising in my throat. My God, the man has one gorgeous body.

He reaches for the button on his jeans, and I pinch my eyes shut. It’s wrong to look, right?

I inch one eye open just as he peels his pants from his legs and tosses them over a chair.

Look away, Quinn. Look away.

I don’t look away.

No, instead, I watch him strip and disappear into his master suite bathroom for a shower. I resist the urge to sneak in, watch him soap his gorgeous body. Jesus, I’m turning into a regular old voyeur. But when it comes right down to it, there is no denying I want to feel that man’s touch, and in turn put my hands on his rock-hard body.

But that wouldn’t be wise. No, not wise at all.