Chapter Thirteen

 

ERIN

 

“These are nice digs and all, but why am I here again?” Danny asks from where he’s standing on the beach, admiring Paynter’s massive, brick Stepford house in the distance.

I glance up to ensure Abby and Spot are still within sight, that the goat isn’t eating anything it shouldn’t, and that they aren’t anywhere near the water, and then I hand him the end of a tape measure. “Hold this and don’t move. And you’re here because I need the help, you have time on your hands, and you stole Garrett’s condoms, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well, I was thinking about my hot date and getting laid but ensuring at the same time that I manage to avoid unplanned pregnancy. And how do you know I stole his condoms? You guys so close he tells you when he’s getting a little tail now?”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” Holding the tape measure, I walk backward from him so I can determine how large this space is, to report it back to Ronnie, who’s in New York at the moment. She says she needs to order tents and decorations this week in order to ensure we have what we need for Paynter and Chloe’s wedding in July.

“You know damn well we’re sleeping together. What, were you hoping I’d accidentally get knocked up? Are you that sick of a best friend?”

“Dude, I know you’re on the pill. I figured y’all already had ‘the talk’ and that it was cool, because he probably wasn’t using them anyway.”

I type the number from the tape measure into my phone and then head across the beach toward the water. “Okay, your personal space issues aside, until two weeks ago, all we were doing was screwing each other. On the down low, I might add. So, no, there was no ‘talk.’”

“Is it weird I’m kinda stoked that I cock blocked my favorite golf pro?”

“Yes. And you didn’t.”

“Couldn’t stop yourselves, eh?”

I roll my eyes and note the second number, then start walking again.

“So how’s it going, anyway? This whole let’s-pretend-we’re-in-a-relationship gig? The media’s been all over it. G-man is now the Prince Charming of professional golf. It’s pretty freaking nauseating, frankly.”

I smile for a second and then frown. “We aren’t pretending. We’re legitimately trying to make a go at a relationship.”

“In order to appease the gossip-starved media.”

“Yes. No. What are you trying to say?” I stop walking and put my hands on my hips while glaring at him.

He lifts his arms as if to fend off whatever accusations I’m about to throw at him. “Hey, I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just calling it like it is, sister. I mean, I know you’re in love with him, but how’s he feel about you? Seems to me he pretty much does whatever his manager tells him to do. And you said yourself this was Callum’s idea.”

“I’m not…” Oh crap, is Danny right? These past two weeks have been heaven, pure and simple. Like the happy ending in a romance novel, the part you want to go on and on because you’re so glad your hero and heroine have finally figured it out and gotten together and it’s probably forever.

The three of us have been out and about in Chicago, smiling, holding hands, acting like a family. Garrett swings his arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek any time someone with a phone or camera appears in front of us. He bought Abby and I a dozen more matching outfits. We’ve made plans for me and her to accompany him to the next tournament, which is nowhere near Dallas, by the way. He even made a comment about us joining him for every tournament in the foreseeable future.

And we’re sharing a bed. I’ve almost entirely moved into his bedroom. We spend so much time between the sheets, I actually kind of miss our secret liaisons in the kitchen or dining room or bathroom. Although the other night, after we tucked Abby into bed, we were outside on the balcony, splitting a bottle of wine. One thing led to another, and I ended up sitting astride him, watching the twinkling lights twelve stories below us bob up and down while I rode him to a spectacular climax.

We haven’t heard from Morgan, although it has only been a couple of weeks. Fiona’s gone quiet, too, which is nice but doesn’t necessarily mean anything. That woman can sniff out juicy gossip like a Brittney tracking pheasants.

And Callum has orchestrated this entire thing. He’s brilliant, actually, and I’m so glad he’s part of Garrett’s team, but … Danny’s right. Garrett didn’t decide he wanted to date me because he had some sort of revelation that he’s in love or even that he likes me enough to want to do stuff other than bang each other senseless at every available opportunity. No, he made that decision based on advice from his manager. And his manager offered the solution as an attempt to improve his public image.

And, by the way, he’s still paying me to be his nanny.

Our relationship really is a sham.

“Well, this sucks,” I say as I tap the final number into my phone, send the text off to Ronnie, and tell Danny to release the end so the tape measure will roll back into its holder.

Danny shrugs. “Hey, you’re getting laid on the reg, right? And I’m guessing he’s pretty damn good, although that’s based purely on that Garrett’s Wood website I stumbled across the other day.”

“Wait, there’s really a website called Garrett’s Wood?”

“Yes, and trust me, you do not want to go there. Also, I checked, and none of those pictures are less than six months old.”

Pictures? Of Garrett’s wood?

“Besides, you’re living the fantasy you’ve had for pretty much your entire adult life, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh come off it, Erin. This is Danny-boy, the one person who knows you better than you know yourself. And I know that your little fantasy is to be the other half in a household like Garrett’s. You want the readymade family. The loving husband who’s already a doting father. The package deal.” He taps his temple. “It’s all up here for you. You hated yourself that first time, with what’s his name, because there was a wife in the picture and that made you feel like shit for ruining their marriage. But now there’s no wife. Just a daddy and his daughter. You get to love them both. And you get to be naughty with the sexy bad daddy. It’s your fantasy come to life.”   

Goddamn it, I hate that he’s so perceptive. And right. “You do know me better than I know myself. And crap, I’m so screwed.”

“Literally, yes; daily, I’m sure. But figuratively, why do you say that?”

I flap my hands as we make our way toward where Abby is trying to teach Spot how to play fetch. Except the goat doesn’t seem to get the concept of returning the stick back to Abby. Rather, she thinks she’s supposed to eat it.

“Because it is all for show. Garrett doesn’t actually want me. Okay, maybe he does. But he sure as hell doesn’t love me. Hell, he’s probably not even capable of loving another person.”

“He fell in love with Abby.”

“Yeah, but she’s … well, she’s his kid. He doesn’t really have a choice. But with me, he has plenty of choices.”

“I think you’re underestimating your sexy daddy, although I do think you all are going about the process of figuring this out in an incredibly fucked up manner.”

This conversation is giving me a headache. “Come on, let’s drag Abby away from her favorite goat. We need to stop at the grocery store and I need to get dinner started before Garrett gets home.”

***

 

Danny’s still here when Garrett walks through the door, mostly, I’m sure, because he’s hoping for a free meal, since if he were at his own place, he’d probably be eating ramen noodles. Again. The man’s going to have hypertension issues before he turns thirty. Most people quit ramen when they graduate from college and get a real job. Of course, therein lies the problem with Danny.

“Where are my gorgeous ladies?” Garrett calls out as he steps into the kitchen, a giant grin on his face while Abby bounces in her chair and lifts her arms, ready for her hello hug and kiss.

“I saw Spot today, Daddy,” she says. “And—”

“No, you can’t have a goat.” He ruffles her hair and skirts around the island, heading my way. “Hey, Red,” he murmurs, sweeping me into his arms.

I sink into his embrace like I do every night. He’s so solid, so warm … dammit, Danny, get out of my head. You can’t be right. Garrett presses kisses to my neck, along my cheek, and now his soft lips take mine so tenderly. He’s such an amazing actor, because this feels so real.

But it isn’t.

“Come to steal more condoms?” he asks Danny.

“Nah, I’m good,” Danny replies. “I’m not getting it on quite as frequently as you apparently are.”

“Too bad for you.” Garrett heads to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer. “Want one?” he asks me, deliberately ignoring Danny.

“Sure, I’ll take one,” Danny says anyway.

Garrett shoves one into Danny’s chest while his gaze drops below the belt. “I’m kinda surprised they worked for you. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a magnum kind of guy.”

Danny smirks. “You know, you’re fast losing steam as my favorite golf pro. I may have to start throwing my support behind Greg Hanstrom.”

“That’s not a bad idea. You’d make him so fucking nuts maybe he’d start screwing up his game.”

“Little ears,” I remind him, nodding at Abby, who’s sitting at the table, scribbling in a coloring book. “So how was your day?” I return to adding the finishing touches to the chicken piccata I’m making for dinner.

He leans against the counter next to me, and I try not to let it affect me, the way he seems to like to be close to me whenever we’re in the same room.

“Good. Shot one of my best games and found out that if I fit two more tournaments into my schedule and manage to win them, I can still make the top five going into the FedEx Cup.”

“Damn,” Danny says, sounding impressed. Garrett ignores him.

“That’s great,” I say. “But make sure you don’t schedule anything over the week of July Fourth.”

“Paynt’s wedding, I know. Speaking of, are you going to make me go shopping with you when you buy outfits for you and Abby to wear to the wedding?”

“Why do you ask?”

He leans close to my ear and whispers, “Because I want to make out with you in the dressing room.” Then he sucks my lobe into his mouth, and I grab the edge of the counter to keep from leaping into his arms and demanding he take me right here, our audience be damned. Or maybe Danny and Abby can go play something in her bedroom so we can…

“You guys are gross,” Danny says, sending me careening back to reality. “And do I have to go to this wedding shindig?”

“No,” Garrett says.

“Yes,” I say at the same time. “You’re working, remember? Ronnie’s paying him to help with setup,” I explain for Garrett’s benefit.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I might be busy that day,” Danny says.

“Did you see how much she’s paying you?” I ask.

“Even if she’s paying you ten bucks an hour, that’s more than you’ve made in—when’s the last time you had a real job?”

Danny sniffs and lifts his chin in the air as he walks over and places his empty beer bottle in the sink. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“If I had to choose between hanging out with you and Spot, it’d be the goat, hands down,” Garrett quips.

“Really?” Abby says from her seat at the table.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Garrett warns her. “Now go away, Danny. I want to hang out with my family.”

His family. He’s including me when he says that word. Except it’s all for appearance sake.

“Here,” I say to Danny, grabbing yesterday’s leftovers from the fridge and handing him the plastic container. “I’ll see you later.” He accepts the peace offering and heads out the door, and I’m left with my new, pretend family.

***

 

After dinner, Garrett bathes Abby while I clean up the kitchen, and then we both tuck her into bed. As soon as I pull the door closed behind me, Garrett wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him before pressing my back against the wall, trapping me between the drywall and his hard, hot body.

He licks my neck and whispers in my ear, “Finally, we’re alone. Now, let’s get naked.”

Oh, that sounds divine. Except … I’m not in the mood. I mean, I am, especially when he shimmies his hips like that. But I can’t get out of my head enough to focus. For the past two weeks, I’ve deluded myself into believing this is real, and now I realize it isn’t, and I’m not sure how to handle it.

Before, when I knew I was just a steady fuck, the rules were laid out ahead of time. I’d accepted them and my role in his life. Now I’ve spent two weeks believing I’m more than that and I don’t know if I can go backward.

Too much time has passed with me not reciprocating, because he leans away so he can look into my face. “What’s wrong?”

I avert my gaze. “Nothing.”

“Whenever a girl says nothing, that means it’s something. Even I know that.”

I squirm to the side, trying to get out from between him and the wall, and he lets me go. I wander into the living room with him trailing along behind me. Clearly, I’m not nearly as good an actor as he is, and I know I won’t get away without offering some sort of explanation.

“Danny told me why you’re acting like this.”

“Like what? And why do you listen to anything that guy says?”

“Because he’s usually right.”

“He’s an idiot. What did he say this time?”

There’s a magazine on the coffee table. Golf Digest. Garrett’s on the cover, with Abby perched on his left arm. They’re both grinning at the camera and holding golf clubs, hers a miniature version of his. The caption reads: Garrett Frost and daughter: two generations of golf greats. Kalvin Cooper didn’t mention the errant nanny in the article, other than to allude to the fact that Garrett’s life seems to be damn near perfect at the moment.

“That this is all for show,” I say.

“Huh? Erin, talk to me. What’s going on?” He steps close and reaches for me, but I move away.

“I thought … When Callum suggested we either stop sleeping together or decide to try a go at making it a relationship … I thought it was real. But then I realized the only reason you agreed was to improve your public image. And now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I’m going to rip that guy’s balls off and feed them to him next time I see him.”

“Danny’s just the messenger, you know. I should have known from the start. It’s really all my fault.”

“What is, precisely? The fact that I can’t keep my hands off you? The fact that I invited you into my bed? The fact that I’m trying my damndest to learn how to be in a relationship, when I have literally never, ever done this before? Which part is your fault again?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

He grabs my arm and pulls me around to face him. “Listen, Erin. I can’t predict the future. I have no idea where this is going to lead. I don’t even really know how to define it yet. But I like it. I like what we have. Spending time with you. You and Abby both. I like you sharing my bed. My freaking toothbrush holder. There are tampons in my bathroom. That’s definitely a first for me.”

I dare to look up into his face, and I can feel my heart melting with the genuine emotion I see there as he cups my cheek. It is genuine, right? He’s telling me this isn’t an act, like Danny suggested.

“Can’t we just do our best to enjoy this? I know it won’t be easy because eventually, the media hounds are gonna want something more exciting to talk about and they’re damn good at instilling doubt. But in the meantime, I want to be happy. I want you to be happy. Together. With me.”

“You’re doing a marvellous job of bringing my libido back to life.”

He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me tightly to him so that every one of my curves is molded to every one of his hard edges. Unable to resist, I rub against him and practically purr.

“I told you I don’t play fair.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m really good at playing, though.” His hand is under my shirt, sliding up my back, his nails gently scraping my skin. I shiver and tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin, taste his chest.

“Yes, you definitely are.”

He flips his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor and then tugs mine off, too. Cupping my breasts in his hands, he lifts them and bends to lick along the scalloped edge of my bra and then dip his tongue into my cleavage while I throw my head back and damn near lose my balance. With a chuckle, he wraps one arm around my back and guides me to the couch. He flips us around and sits, pulling me into his lap. I straddle him and wantonly rub along the erection straining against his zipper.

“I swear, I can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles as he unsnaps my jeans. I wiggle out of them and then climb back into his lap.

“I know the feeling.” Shifting lower on his thighs, I grab the waistband of his pants, shoving them just far enough down his legs to allow his cock to spring free, bobbing like it’s eager to get this party started, too.

“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.