Chapter Eight

 

 

Greg Hanstrom steps away from the green as the crowd rustles with contained excitement. Tipping the brim of his cap, he smirks at me before clapping his caddy on the back. We’ve always had a healthy amount of rivalry between us, so I’m not surprised that he’s gloating right now. I probably would too if I were about to see my biggest rival cut from the tournament.

That’s not what’s happening though. I’m not about to lose my position as the top golfer in the world because I can’t keep my thoughts on track and off the damn nanny. I step up and push my tee into the ground.

“Didn’t we only just decide we should be friends?” Erin says, and it’s that pouty mock seriousness where I know she really wants to laugh at me. We’ve spent enough time on the phone now that I can read her voice most of the time.

“I only asked if you were thinking of me. Friends can do that, can’t they?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a friend before.” Now I know she’s teasing me.

“Not one that’s a girl so much.”

“Oh, of course. It must be so hard to make friends when you’d rather make notches in your belt.”

“I’m not trying to make you another notch, am I? So why don’t you tell me, friend, if you think of me.” Because I sure as hell think about her.

“Perhaps a smidge.” Her laugh is breathy, and it’s impossible to tell if she means it or she wants me to believe it. And then she turns serious. “Abby misses you. I miss you. Of course, we do.”

“Frost, your grandmother knows how to handle balls better than you do,” someone behind me comments.

I take a moment to scratch the side of my nose with my middle finger while glowering in the direction of my heckler. That’s all the time I can afford to dedicate to the crowd before I concentrate on the game. I’m this close to missing the cut. If I screw up this shot, if my score isn’t good enough today, I’ll hang up my golf bag early this tournament.

I haven’t missed the cut since my first year playing pro. Even when my world blew wide open six months ago with Abby’s sudden appearance in my life I didn’t tank like this. Placing the ball on the tee, I line up my shot. I take my time, make sure everything’s perfect.

I can’t believe it’s come to this.

I’m all for being friends with the opposite sex. For instance, I’d be perfectly content with Erin and her boyfriend being just friends. But that doesn’t help me work out where to put my hands when Erin and I are spread out on the sofa talking about Abby’s day. Or keep my dick from reacting when we share space. Any space, anytime, anywhere. I’ve had to buy new pants before someone notices how stretched out the others have gotten after she moved under my roof. Even our platonic phone calls leave me hard and aching.

“Oh, before I forget, Abby wants to know what outfit you settled on for tomorrow. She wants to be able to point you out herself.”

“Probably the yellow argyle.” I collapse on the bed and tuck one hand under my head. “The louder the better. I need to distract Hanstrom and give myself an edge over the field.”

“It will definitely do that. Sometimes, I wonder how someone who dresses like you do could have the reputation you have.”

“Is that so?” I wiggle my eyebrows even though she can’t see me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to change my mind about being friends? Then I could show you exactly how my charm works.”

“Keep your charm and your bright outfits on the golf course. You need to play well, don’t you?”

“I always do.” Boy, do I want to play with her. Or I would if she didn’t have a boyfriend and I didn’t need a nanny.

“Garrett?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck tomorrow. We know you’ll make the cut.”

“Do you think he plans on swinging that club any time soon?” Greg is goading me, trying to push me out of the tournament since it’s the only way he’ll beat me.

It’s got to stop. I’m thinking about a redhead and why being friends sucks ass instead of giving Greg a run for his money.

Rolling out my shoulders, I send the ball across the green. It rattles over the ground and pops into the hole. Thank God.

I’m not out of the tournament yet.

***

“I thought you had it with that last putt.” Callum settles on a stool beside me at the club bar.

“Guess not.” I shrug without bothering to look up from the bar.

“So you’re trunk slamming?” He motions to the bar attendant for another round of shots and chasers. “It’s been a long time.”

“Ages.” I toss down a double shot of whisky that scours the back of my throat. “Forgot what it felt like.”

“It’s not so bad,” he says.

“Not so bad,” I repeat and drain half of the three beers still lined up in front of me. That probably depends on the why. In this case, the why is my inability to block out Erin’s voice from our phone call the night before. T

“Plenty of groupies here this evening,” Callum says.

I drag my gaze from my glass. “What?”

“Groupies. Your game’s off. Any chance you haven’t sunk any other kind of balls recently either?”

“You can’t be serious,” I grumble and throw down the contents of my glass. Fireball whisky. Fireball has sponsored plenty of after-tour benders, but not this time. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” Callum takes a more leisurely approach to his whisky. “Because there’s been a noticeable absence of your social escapades in the media lately.”

“That has nothing to do with my hiring the new nanny.”

“I didn’t say it did.”

“That’s because it doesn’t.” Just because it’s been months since I’ve been on a date doesn’t mean she’s the cause. Just because the only action I’ve gotten was a poorly executed foot job that I was only into because I thought it was Erin doesn’t mean she’s the reason I’m off my game, golf and otherwise. It’s pure circumstance that she showed up at the same time Callum convinced me I needed to be more careful with my image. “I’m trying to keep the sponsors happy. Weren’t you the one who told me I need to be more careful?”

“Careful, yes. Celibate? Christ, no.” He shakes his head and summons the bar attendant again. “We’re going to need a row of shots. One after the other. Line them up on the bar for my man here.”

The guy nods and reaches for the Fireball.

“That’s not necessary,” I say. “I’ve booked the next flight out and ordered a car service to take me to the airport. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Cancel it.” Callum points at the bar in front of us again. “Stick around. A couple groupies over there keep giving you the eye. We’ll invite them over and buy them a drink. Don’t you want to wake up forty-eight hours from now neck deep in soft bodies and permanent marker?”

I should give it more than a passing thought. But, truthfully, I don’t even bother to do that.

“The last thing I need is a night I don’t remember and phone numbers I’m never going to call.” I drain the final beer as I get up. “I’m going to go pack then catch my flight. Time to get home to my daughter.”

And Erin.

“Give that cutie a hug for me.” Callum salutes me with a shot. “I’m going to go find Ada Honeycutt. I hear her contract is up for renewal.”

***

Entering the apartment, I drop my suitcase and clubs against the wall and shut the door quietly. There’s no point in letting the girls know I’m home, not this late at night. Peeling off my jacket, I cross the living space to the kitchen. I need coffee. And to sober up a little. Probably wasn’t smart going to town on the whisky and beer, continuing with several drinks on the plane, not when I couldn’t stop thinking about Erin and what she and Abby were doing. What book she read to my little girl at bedtime and whether they talked about me before she shut off the light. Does she talk about me to her friends? Or even think about me in the same way I can’t get her off my mind?

Doubtful. She’d talk about Danny, wouldn’t she? Because this arrangement between us is all about Abby. Only about Abby.

I drop my jacket over the back of the sofa and toe off my shoes as I pass. Popping the buttons on my shirt, I’m pulled up short the moment I enter the kitchen. Every muscle in my body clenches. Blood rushes straight to my dick, leaving a slight nausea in its wake as I catch sight of Erin. Her back to me and her head bowed over whatever she’s doing, she hums. The illumination from the decorative lights hanging above the island glints in her hair that hangs in waves over one shoulder, making them look like a sea of fire. Damn, she’s pretty.

And too young for me, and my nanny, and she’s got a fucking boyfriend. And we’re supposed to be friends. Just friends. Only that and nothing more.

I swipe my hand over my face and try to clear the mental fog that urges me to scoop her up in a fireman’s hold and cart her off to my bedroom. That would be stupid. Especially when she’s so great with Abby. And still I wander my gaze down the white dress that stops rather distractingly mid-thigh. Saliva pools in my mouth as I imagine touching her there. Stroking my fingers up that sensitive bit of flesh, moving higher. Gripping her hip while I slide her panties down and fuck her. Whatever I do, I’d take my time with her.

Hot damn. I have to check that I’m still standing across the room, that I haven’t followed my damn dick. Don’t screw up a good thing, man. We need her. Abby needs her.

Clearing my throat, I cross the room to make myself a coffee. Not that I need it any more. There’s something sobering about coming face to face with reality.

“Arr,” she yelps. With a jump, she spins to face me while waving the spatula she’s holding.

“Sorry to scare you.” The pale, creamy dollop on the end of the flat surface does little to take my mind off my dirty thoughts.

“It’s okay.” She continues stirring as I lean against the counter beside her. “I thought you weren’t coming home for a couple more days.”

“I missed the cut. There wasn’t exactly any point in sticking around.” I shrug and take a sip of the dark brew, praying she can’t tell I’m semi-hard and that it would take one seductive smile from her to topple me over the edge.

“I’m sorry you didn’t make the cut,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

I nudge her gently and chuckle. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“Would it be awful of me if I admitted I’m not sure?”

“Okay, so in tournaments there’s usually a score that a player needs to achieve by the time they get to a certain hole if they’re to continue playing. Otherwise it’s over.”

“You get cut from the list of players?”

“Basically.” I nod. “What are you making?”

“Oh.” She glances at the bowl in front of her where she’s stirring more of whatever the creamy mixture is. “Uh, it’s boyfriend cheesecake.”

“Boyfriend cheesecake?” Well, that certainly has a deflating effect.

“It’s my day off tomorrow, and I’m catching up with Danny.” Picking up the glass bowl, she rests her hip against the counter and digs the spatula back into the mixture. “Thought I’d make him something special.”

“Right. I forgot it was your day off.” I snap the words. Danny’s probably a nice guy, but he’s nowhere near good enough for her. Or this cheesecake she’s making. Erin deserves something more. A man who can treat her right both in and out of the bedroom. A guy with a good job and the maturity to provide a decent lifestyle. Not someone who doesn’t have his shit together.

“I’m sorry. Did you need me? I thought with you away and Abby spending the day with Paynter and Chloe that it would be okay to keep my regular day off.” The utensil in her hand stills. “But if you—if Abby needs me, I can change days.”

Then, yes, you should cancel. But how I feel about her spending time with her boyfriend is my problem. The fact that I want to hike up her little dress and ask her to sit on my face is also my problem. And I’m a grown-ass man who can control himself around the damn nanny. The only one so far my daughter has really taken a shine to.

“No. Abby and I will be just fine. Go and enjoy yourself.” I dig my little finger into the mix and taste it. “Why do they call this boyfriend cheesecake anyway?”

Dropping her gaze from my mouth, she blushes. “Because they say it can take any relationship to the next level.”

“Oh, and you want that? With Danny?” My pulse pounds in my ears while I wait for her to respond.

“No.” Turning away from me, she pours the mixture over the cookie crumbs she’s pressed into a tin sitting on the island.

“No?” I inch closer, vibrating with need. If she’s in love with him, wouldn’t she want that commitment? “You don’t want more from him?”

“I mean, not right now.” She peers at me through her lashes, almost cautiously. “Not any time in the near future.”

“Why is that?”

“Danny and I…” She presses her lips together, the lines in her forehead gathering while she drops the spatula back in the empty bowl. “Me and Danny. It’s not exactly—”

“The right time?” I pick up the utensil and scoop up some of the filling with my finger.

She’s right about the damn cheesecake. It’s making me want to take things to a whole other level with her. Preferably a horizontal one. Instead I smoosh a little onto the tip of her nose and grin at how sexy she is when she stops stammering and gives me her undivided attention.

“No, it’s not the right time.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she echoes.

I don’t know why I can’t say anything else. Can’t steer this conversation in a different direction. Can’t stop this train wreck before it happens, even when I know that’s exactly what it is. My hand finds her hair, fingers digging through the fiery tresses to cup her neck as I shift closer.

God help me, she needs to step back. To shake her head. To tell me to go to hell before I ruin the good thing we have going. She doesn’t. Her gaze never leaves mine as I tug her hard against my chest. She tilts her face to mine a scant moment before I slam my mouth to hers. A slight moan vibrates through her chest as I press my tongue to her lips until she parts them so I can surge in and taste her.

Sweet like the cheesecake.

Breaking apart, I fight to catch my breath while I kiss the smear of dessert from her nose. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. We shouldn’t.” She’s shaking, breathing in sharp bursts, but still she doesn’t pull away.

“I shouldn’t kiss you again.” But I’m going to. I can’t fight my attraction to her any longer. Not now that I’ve had a taste.

“No.” Her palms are splayed on my chest, unmoving. As though to break this exact physical contact even a fraction will change our entire trajectory.

“We can’t do this.” I squeeze the back of her neck gently, meaning to reassure her, or me, that I’m going to let her go, that I’m going to step back, about face, get the hell out of the room.

Her eyelids flutter heavily as she moans.

“Fuck.” I wrap an arm around her waist and lift her up as I take her mouth again.

We slam against the counter, bounce off it, and crash into the island while our tongues war amid a clamour of harsh breaths and seductive whimpers. Her hands push and yank at my shirt, and I set her down on the cool surface. When I pull back to discard the clothing, she chases my kiss. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What?” Her gaze follows my hands to my belt as I undo it and the zip.

“You are,” I tell her. She’s so raw and eager, and fuck-me gorgeous. “I want to lay you out on this counter and eat you up with a side of that cheesecake.”

“Please.” She whines, her thighs clenching around my hips. Then she’s pushing at my pants, dragging them and my boxer briefs down until my cock springs free and she can wrap her palm around it.

Digging my fingers into her ass cheeks through the cotton dress, I drag her to the edge of the counter. She puts out her hands to brace herself while I hook my fingers into her panties to pull them down.

“Eek.” She lets out a surprised yelp that’s accompanied by a squelch as one hand lands in the cheesecake. The bowl tilts and dollops of filling end up all over the counter.

Heedless of the mess, she lifts her ass to help me as I pull her slinky black panties all the way down and drag them over her feet.

Hitching her dress up past her thighs, I slip my hands up her legs as she widens them for me. My finger glides though her arousal easily, and I circle her swollen clit before pushing into her. I practically crow, “Pity. I guess I’m going to have to eat all this myself.”

Her tits heave as she squirms on my digit, her breath rushing out of her before she bites her lip and brings her hand to her mouth to lick some of the sweet mess from her fingers.

It’s fucking hot the way the buttery concoction slides between her lips and down her wrist. I want her tongue on me, want her on me, any which way. Every way. I stop long enough to tear open a condom foil and wrap my wood. Longest minute of my life as she trails sticky fingers down my abs and leans in to follow them with her tongue. Then she shoves her hand in front of my face and I suck her fingers into my mouth. They taste like the cheesecake; I lick the traces of it from her skin and yank her hips to mine, shifting to sink inside her. Grasping her chin, I tip her face so I can kiss her again. Sucking and biting at her lips, I lift her up and push into her.

So tight, and hot, and wet. She squirms on my cock as she adjusts to me, taking me deep. Her nails bite into my shoulders as I stroke into her. Slow, fast, over and over and over. She climbs me, her arms wrapping around my head, pulling my face between her tits. Damn, I wish I’d stripped her naked. Wish I’d taken longer to enjoy this, as she cries out in my arms and practically cuts off my oxygen. My grip tightens around her hips, slamming into her harder while her orgasm clenches around me again and again until I’m utterly empty.

Knees weak, our bodies pressed together, I lower her to the floor. She clings to me for a minute, eyes wide and panting. I don’t want to let go of her. I’m pretty sure I could stand here all night if it would prolong the moment.

Erin is already drawing away though, and I can’t blame her. We were supposed to be friends. Not this. I peel off the condom, toss it in the bin, and tuck myself back into my pants. Doing up my zip, I try not to look her in the eye. I knew this was a train wreck in the making. Didn’t stop me though. I’m not sure it would have any effect if we found ourselves in the same predicament again. All I can do is try to wrap my head around what just happened so it doesn’t occur a second time. Picking up my shirt from the floor, I head out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” she says behind me.

Turning around, I watch her push her hair back from her flushed face. Her lower lip trembles despite how hard she’s trying not to let it. Shit, I don’t want to be a jerk. I don’t want her to be sorry for what happened between us. It’s not her fault I couldn’t keep control of my dick. “Should we talk about what just happened?”

“I should probably pack my things.” She picks up the cheesecake and dumps it in the sink, then turns on the water and grabs a cloth. All while avoiding looking at me. “Or do you want me to stay on for a week or two while you find a replacement?”

“What?” Fuck, that mess was supposed to be for her boyfriend. Someone who isn’t me. Someone who will never be me. I’ve never called myself a saint, but this is a low I didn’t expect to reach. Forgetting everything because she overtook my senses was irresponsible. Letting my desire get the better of me was a stupid move from the get-go, for so many reasons, but does she really plan on leaving Abby over it?

“You’re quitting?”

“It would be best.” Swiping the cloth over the puddle of gelatinous mess, she scoops it up and dumps it in the trash. “Wouldn’t it?”

Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. Isn’t she absolutely correct, that the minute we chose to have sex she stopped putting my daughter’s interests first? And so did I. That should be enough for me to agree that she should leave. Before Abby gets any more attached. Before I do. I want stability for my little girl, not someone who will eventually walk out on her because I screwed it up. “I’m going to go to bed. You should probably do the same. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Why the hell did things have to get complicated?

“’Night.” With a curt nod, I leave Erin to turn off the lights.

Outside Abby’s room, I watch her sleep by the glow of the nightlight. She’s going to hate losing another nanny. I’m going to hate replacing Erin.

Padding across the floor, I stoop over Abby, brush her hair back from her face, and kiss her on the temple. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”

She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like it’s about goats then settles into her pillow as I check to see she’s tucked in properly.

Maybe by morning I can convince myself that I want Erin to leave. And that I don’t want a longer, slower repeat of tonight with the nanny instead.