Chapter Nine

 

ERIN

 

“Stupid cheesecake. Don’t ever ask me to make it for you again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your employer decided to come home two days earlier than he should have,” Danny says from his perch on my bed, where he’s flipping through a golf magazine he snagged from Garrett’s bathroom. Not the main bathroom in the hall, either, but the one in his bedroom. My friend has serious personal space issues. “That was the worst golf game he’s played in years.”

“I don’t know golf and even I could tell it was bad,” I admit.

“Yeah, he was pretty damn distracted. But anyway,” he says, switching gears so fast it takes me a few moments to catch on. “I told you I ended up not needing the cheesecake to close the deal with the hot waitress.”

“Not helping,” I say.

“Hey, at least my hook-up doesn’t have kids. At least, I don’t think she does.” He rolls his hand under his chin and places his elbow on his knee, like he’s emulating The Thinker. And then he shrugs and returns to devouring the magazine.

“This was only the second time in eight years. And, by the way, he’s not married.” I fold a red sweater and add it to the pile in my suitcase. “Not even dating anyone. He told me he hasn’t slept with anyone since I started working for him.”

“Yeah, I noticed there’s a lack of media fanfare about him lately. Well, except that one article, but that was all speculation. At least, it was until two days ago.”

Two days ago. When Garrett and I lost our minds and screwed our brains out on his kitchen counter. While I’ve regretted the decision a thousand times since, I’ve just as frequently wished for a repeat performance.

Except we can’t. Because I apparently have a problem sleeping with baby daddies and he doesn’t do relationships. Not exactly a match made in heaven, even if the sex made angels sing.

I haven’t seen him since that evening. We were supposed to talk the next day, but he was gone before I woke up. He left a note on the counter: “Abby and I are hanging out with my brother and the goat. Enjoy your day off. ~ G”

I headed to Danny’s house, where I regressed to my college days and proceeded to get wasted and passed out on the couch and didn’t wake up until the next morning. When I texted Garrett and apologized because I should have been home to take care of Abby, he responded that she’d spent the night at Paynter’s house and he was heading to the links, so I should relax and enjoy my day. I came back here to nurse my hangover while Danny took the waitress out for lunch and—despite the lack of boyfriend cheesecake—a little afternoon delight.

And now I’m packing my bags, getting ready to move in with my best friend. Again. I really need to break this cycle.

“Wait a minute. Two days ago,” I repeat, pausing mid-fold. “What are you talking about?”

He glances up from the magazine. “Oh, you didn’t see it? I thought you stalked your employer like I do. Here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, then flips it around to face me.

There’s a picture of Garrett, Abby, and me. He’s holding Abby while looking at me, and I’m reaching for his daughter while smiling up at him. I snatch the phone from Danny’s hand. “That was the charity event. Jesus, we look like—like…”

“A family?”

“Shut up. But yes. What the hell?” I scroll through the article, an editorial piece that’s all about Garrett’s personal life. All the holes in one he’s scored off the course and speculation about the hot young redhead on his arm, who, by the way, happens to be his daughter’s nanny.

“Thank God Fiona doesn’t know about my great fuck-up.” I drop the phone onto the bed and then sink down next to it. “Although this still sucks. He’s worked so hard to improve his image. This is going to blow all that effort to hell. Stupid Fiona.” Memories of the way she flirted with him, gave him that foot job, make me leap to my feet again. “He needs to sue her for libel.”

“Except what she’s written is true.”

“She doesn’t know that. No one does, except Garrett and I. And you. And considering all your dirty secrets I know, I don’t see you blabbing to anyone.”

“Well, that sucks, because Us Weekly pays a pretty penny for inside info like this, and I could use the rent money.”

“Not funny.” There’s a sound, the lock on the front door releasing, and Danny’s head whips up like someone’s just dangled a raw chicken leg in front of an alligator. “Down, boy.” I hurry out into the hall, nervous and excited all at the same time.

When I round the corner Garrett glances my way, and I come to a stuttering stop. He’s wearing a baseball cap, his dark hair curling out from under it, unruly enough to indicate he’s due for a cut. Glass-blue eyes catch and hold my gaze, but not before I take in the fitted pink golf shirt, lime-green pants, and the bulge below his belt. Only Garrett can rock such gaudy clothing and look damn sexy doing it.

“Where’s Abby?” I blurt.

He shoves his thumb over his shoulder and says, “With my parents. I was hoping we could…” His gaze hardens as he focuses on something over my left shoulder.

“Hey G-Man,” Danny says.

“Uh, he’s helping me pack,” I say.

“How about instead of that, you tell her the truth, asshole?” Garrett demands, glaring at Danny, who looks at me, his brows low over his eyes.

“No clue what you’re talking about,” Danny says.

“Here’s one: I had lunch at Skores today.”

Danny brightens. “Oh yeah? Me too.” And then his smile turns upside down. “Oh.” His gaze slides my way. “I think we just got busted.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t have lunch with you today. I was … Oh.” The waitress. Afternoon delight.

“I can explain,” I say.

“You have nothing to explain,” Garrett says, stabbing his finger in my direction and then shoving it into Danny’s shoulder. “He’s the one who needs to start talking.”

“She’d probably be better at explaining, actually.” Danny shrinks away from Garrett’s angry finger.

“She’s not the one who was getting a hand job under the table at lunch.”

I arch my brows at Danny, whose cheeks tinge pink. “I told you I didn’t even need the cheesecake,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Garrett says, and he flings his hands into the air. “She made you a fucking cheesecake, and just because it got ruined you go out and hook up with the first available slut?”

“She’s not a slut,” Danny defends his latest fling. “And by the way, I know how that cheesecake got ruined.”

I smack my head; Garrett’s eyes widen before his gaze flies to me. “You told him?” He sounds utterly dumbfounded.

Danny doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Yeah, she did. And I don’t think you have any right getting all indignant over my perceived cheating, Mr. Nanny Screwer.”

Garrett and I both stare at him. “Nanny Screwer?” I say. “Did you really just say that?”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

“I’ve never screwed my nanny before. She’s the only one. And yeah, we fucked up and shouldn’t have done it, but neither have you—”

“Cool your jets, hotshot,” Danny cuts him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And neither did I. Erin and me, we aren’t together.”

With my hand covering my eyes, I say, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I don’t get it,” Garrett says. “Are you telling me you broke up? Like, before we, uh…”

“Baptized that counter in there?” Danny offers, and Garrett glares at me.

“You gave him details?”

“I am her best friend, after all,” Danny supplies. “Girls are like that. They need someone to talk to. Especially when the guy takes off without so much as a courtesy cuddle before passing out afterward.”

“I would have cuddled,” Garret says, so indignant his voice cracks. “But I thought … What the fuck is going on here?”

“She lied to you,” Danny says, because this situation could not possibly get worse. Or maybe it can, with the way Garrett’s glaring at me like he’s considering tossing me bodily from his apartment.

“I can explain,” I say weakly.

“That would probably be a good idea.” Garrett’s teeth are clenched so tightly, I’m afraid his jaw might crack.

“Hey, you aren’t going to hurt her or anything, are you?” my ever-gallant best friend asks. The look Garrett gives him makes him crouch behind my back.

“I might hurt you, if you don’t get the fuck out of here.”

“That’s my cue,” Danny announces, and he skirts around the two of us, making a beeline for the door. “Let me know if I have to share my bed tonight.”

Garrett and I stare at each other until the door slams shut. “What the hell is going on?” he demands.

Maybe I should have asked Danny to stay.

“Um, it’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

Shit. “I should probably keep packing while I explain.” I break eye contact and head down the hall to my bedroom, Garrett trailing along behind me.

“Why are you packing?”

“Seemed the logical next step.” I pull open a drawer and dump the contents into my suitcase. Naturally, it’s my underwear. Because this situation is certainly not uncomfortable enough.

Garrett doesn’t pull his gaze away from the silk and satin. “Why don’t you tell me what that incredibly convoluted exchange was all about first. Then we can discuss your sleeping arrangements.”

Time to come clean. About one secret, anyway. Sucking in a deep breath, I say, “Okay, here’s the deal: Danny and I have been best friends for half our lives. Just friends. We’ve never hooked up, ever. He’s like a brother, so the idea is, frankly, gross.”

“So what was the comment about sharing his bed tonight?” Garrett asks, sounding deceptively calm.

I wave at my half-packed suitcase. “Whenever I’m between jobs, I crash at his place. He has like a hundred roommates and there’s no extra bed, so I just share his.”

“You’ve slept with the guy and he’s never tried to score a hole in one?”

“You and the golf analogies.” I shake my head. “But no. We’ve been friends since he was pre-pubescent with a face full of zits and a stiff wind got him excited. Well, I suppose that still happens, but anyway, not with me. We are legitimately just friends.”

“What about the cheesecake?”

“Oh.” I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I’m unsuccessful at fighting off the blush staining my cheeks as I recall, with vivid detail, how incredibly delicious that cheesecake was. And how incredibly delightful the ensuing physical activities were. That concoction definitely lived up to its reputation that evening. “That woman you saw him with? He’s been trying to get into her pants for a while now. He knows I’m a good cook, so he asked me to make it so he could offer it to her, in hopes he’d finally score. But as you can attest to, he ended up not needing the help.”

“Nope, he definitely didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if they banged in his car in the parking lot.”

“Actually, it was her car, since Danny doesn’t own one. And yeah, you’d be correct.”

“I can’t believe you guys tell each other this stuff. I mean, I used to tell my brother I got laid all the time just to give him shit because he wasn’t. But now that he’s living with Chloe, I’m pretty sure he’s scoring way more than I do, so it’s no fun anymore. But you and the weirdly not-gay best friend … that’s a whole other level I can’t even wrap my head around.”

“Trust me, I know how odd it is. But it works for us.”

“So, what about that night we met? At the bar. How come you lied to me then? Or were you actually dating someone at the time?”

Shaking my head, I pull a stack of pajamas—which are mostly just oversized T-shirts—out of the dresser and head over to drop them into my suitcase.

“Stop,” Garrett says, reaching for me. He clamps his hand onto my wrist. “Just stop packing for a minute. Okay?”

“Does this mean you aren’t mad?”

“I’m fucking pissed, actually.”

I tug my arm out of his grasp and inch away from him. Definitely not a good time to tell him he reminded me of someone else that night. “I’m sorry. I know it was wrong to lie to you. I just … Well, you were hot. And older. And forward. And apparently I have a type, so I try to stay away from guys like you.”

“You have a type?”

“Well, I screwed you, didn’t I? And you aren’t the first one.”

“What number am I?”

“The second.”

“You’ve slept with only two guys?”

“No, of course not.” Now I sound as indignant as he did when he found out I told Danny what we’d done. “You’re the second older guy with a kid I’ve screwed.” While I happened to be in his employment. But at least this time there’s no wife in the picture. Can I get a couple of points for that, at least?

He lifts his baseball cap off his head and readjusts it while he stares at the ceiling. Is he trying to figure out whether he can get away with firing me without giving me severance? Hell, as much as I’ve messed this up, I’m not sure I even deserve my last two weeks’ salary.

“It was a defense mechanism,” I continue, but I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to slip up and make him aware of my first nanny job. Something tells me he’d be a hell of a lot less sympathetic if he knew what happened back then. And I’m not sure there’s much compassion going on at all at the moment, so I’m pretty much working with bare bones here. “I love kids. I love what I do. I’m not usually attracted to the dads I work for. In fact, I deliberately try to avoid any scenarios that might possibly turn into what we did. And now … now we’ve crossed a line and I don’t know what to do, except resign. Which sucks, because I don’t want to leave Abby. Or you. And I know I should really stop nannying, but I’d have to start from scratch if I changed careers. Which is what I should do, but … I don’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does adjust his cap again while dropping his gaze to look out the window. I’ve lived with him long enough to know this is what he does when he’s frustrated.

“As soon as you stopped me in that bar, I was attracted to you. Before you even told me about Abby. I immediately convinced myself you were bad news, so I blurted out that I had a boyfriend, hoping that would scare you off.”

“I was bad news that quickly?”

“Oh, come on. You accosted a perfect stranger in a bar and asked her if she’d say no if you asked her to sleep with you. Which I have no doubt usually works in your favor.”

“Yeah, it usually does.” He glances at the bedroom door, then at me. “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

“So what’s the harm in sleeping with me?”

“I’m your nanny.”

He tugs his cap off again and creases the bill between his hands. “I know. And that should be all the reason we need.”

Neither one of us say it, yet the word might as well have been screamed. But…

“This is probably a bad idea,” he says. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you. What you looked like when I came home the other night and walked into the kitchen. Your hair, your face, your body.”

His gaze snaps to each part of my person as he says it, and I swear my skin is sizzling right now. “I, uh, I need to finish packing.” Hey, a coherent sentence. Good for me.

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“Pack?”

“Yeah.”

My head swivels from the suitcase to the door. “What, are you going to have someone do it for me?”

“Stop being deliberately obtuse.”

He thinks this is deliberate? “Um…” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I blurt, “Are you going to give me a severance?”

He slaps the cap back onto his head. “I’m not firing you, Erin. I think I want to keep sleeping with you.”

“You think?”

“Nope. I know I do.” He’s stalking toward me, and I plaster my hands against the wall, watching him until he’s a foot away, staring down at me. I swallow, and he presses his palms against the wall on either side of my head.

“Don’t leave,” he says, his gaze locked on my lips.

“Uh…”

No, this is a bad idea, we should stop. Yes, God, yes, please fuck me.

“Abby needs you.” He skates his fingers down my arms to my hands.

“That’s not playing fair.”

“I never agreed to play fair.” He threads his fingers with mine then drags my arms up over my head before securing them with one of his. The other trails along my skin, making me squirm, and then down my side to my waist. He squeezes for a moment, hard enough that it’s on the verge of pain, and I make a little noise that’s all pleasure.

“This is a bad idea.” Look at me, still able to think rationally.

He shakes his head. “This is an excellent idea.” His hand slips under the hem of my shirt and wraps around my back, his short, blunt nails gently scraping my skin. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. This is an excellent idea.

He feathers his lips across mine, but when I open my mouth to invite a deeper kiss, he’s already gone, nibbling his way over my cheek to my ear where he bites the lobe. I cry out and rotate my hips, seeking his body. He’s too far away.

“Closer,” I whisper.

And then he’s there, his knee wedged between my thighs so that I’m riding his leg. He’s still holding my hands prisoner and doesn’t let go when I try to pull free because I want to touch him. The fire in my belly flares brighter, hotter, and I need to shed my clothes because I think I might melt.

Luckily, Garrett’s damn good at reading my mind. He releases my hands long enough to flip my shirt over my head, knocking his hat off in the process, and then he grabs my wrists again, keeping them pinned above my head. His other hand is on my ass, pressing me against his leg. I rotate my hips because the friction feels damn good. He dips his head and licks the hollow between my breasts, and I’m arching my back and making noises that hopefully sound sexy and not like some dying animal.

His free hand strokes up my back again, and there’s that gasping moment of release when he unsnaps my bra. Pushing it aside, he shifts to the right until he finds my nipple and sucks it into his mouth, hard, so fucking hard. I cry out from the pleasure/pain combination and struggle against his other hand, still clamped around my wrists. I feel him smile against my breast, so I give up and grind against his leg instead. I just need a goddamn release.

But then he abruptly stops and straightens, pulling out from between my thighs, just as I’m about to explode. “Come back,” I whimper, so desperate for release I’d probably agree to damn near anything at the moment.

“Keep your hands above your head,” he orders, giving me a faux stern look. If my brain weren’t so soaked with need, I would stick out my tongue, but instead I nod, my eyes wide, watching the concentration on his face while he slowly pulls his hand away from mine.

When he’s apparently satisfied I’m not going to move, he reaches for my jeans, tugging at the button and pulling down the zipper. He slides his hands into the waist and then pushes them down over my hips, taking my panties with them.

But he’s still dressed. The first time we hooked up, I’d been so desperate for him to be inside me, I didn’t take the time to enjoy the feel of my hands on his bare skin. I bet it’s smooth, covering all that hard muscle. And does he have a happy trail? I can’t remember, but I need to find out.

He straightens and grabs my hands, which are fisted in the cotton covering his torso, leaving me balancing with one foot tangled in the leg of my skinny jeans. “I said, keep your hands above your head,” he says, his brow furrowed over shiny blue eyes with dilated pupils.

“Your shirt,” I protest. “I want to see you, too.”

Shaking his head, he sheds the bright pink polo. “Happy?”

Those sharp peaks and valleys, the rounded muscles, the dark line of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans is so much better than my fantasies. “Oh yes.” I practically breathe the words, my chest heaving, my body wound as tightly as a spinning top.

With a smirk, he says, “Hands. Above head. Got it?” And then he drops to his knees and I slam my head back against the wall so hard there’s a burst of pain in the back of my skull. But it only lasts a moment, until he leans forward and lifts one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder. He stares at my pussy for a second before running a finger over the seam, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake. I lean my head against the wall—gentler this time—and close my eyes.

Something strokes me, hot and wet and slightly rough. His tongue. Long rasps, like he’s trying to lap up every drop of my arousal. Problem is, every time he does that, he creates more. He’s never going to get it all. Hopefully, that knowledge won’t stop him from trying, because, oh God—

I bow forward, reaching down to thread my fingers in his hair. He leans back to look up at me. “I told you—”

“Don’t stop!” I squeeze my fists in his hair and shove his face into my crotch. “Oh my God, don’t stop.”

I feel his chuckle reverberate against my skin and his muffled reply is, “Yes, ma’am,” but I barely comprehend. I’m already gone; one more lick and I’m buried under the tidal wave of the most intense climax I can recall having pretty much ever.

He knows it, too. His hands are on my ass cheeks and he’s digging his fingers into my flesh as he continues to lap at me, dragging out the orgasm until I’m squirming to get away because the sensation is just too damn intense.

When he finally relents, he surges to his feet, my leg dropping to wrap around his hip while he struggles with his jeans with one hand and the other digs what I presume is a condom out of his pocket. When the foil packet appears in his hand, I snag it, taking care of unwrapping it while he shoves his pants down just enough to free his straining cock.

I start to wrap him, but he stops me and says, “Better let me. I’m pretty much hanging on by a thread here.”

Now he’s grasping my ass again, pressing against my opening as I eagerly wiggle in anticipation, and then he’s there, sinking into me, and it’s the second greatest feeling in the world.

I’m telling you, that orgasm was goddamn amazing.

There’s a knock on the door, followed by a voice calling out, “Hel-lo! Anyone home?”

“Fuck me,” Garrett bites out, but he doesn’t stop. In fact, he starts pounding faster, and holy hell it’s so hot, except—

“Garrett, that sounds like—”

“Yeah—uh—Paynt—uh—and Chloe—uh-uh.”

“Your brother? Shit! Stop—oh…” He’s hammering me like a man possessed, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t sending me climbing that peak again. Screw the people I can hear moving about the apartment—I’m on the cusp of another orgasm, and I can’t make too much noise, although Garrett’s grunting loudly enough that I don’t know how they can’t hear him, and then—

“Gah!” He slams into me one last time and freezes, squeezing my ass so hard, if I don’t have permanent indentions, I’ll definitely have bruises. And then he pulls out and steps away so quickly, I stumble and have to grab the dresser to keep from falling over.

He tugs up his pants while hopping around the room, grabbing my clothes and tossing them at me. “I’ll stall them while you get dressed,” he says, and then he drops the used condom into the wastebasket, pulls his shirt over his head, and slips from the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Holy hell, am I supposed to go out there and face his brother and fiancé?

And goddamn it, he finished before I could!