by Whitley Cox
Were they sleeping together?
Aaron bet Zak got a lot of tail. He probably rarely ever failed at picking up a woman. The guy was jacked. Even more than Aaron. Taller too. With tattoos down both arms, dark red hair, blue eyes and a megawatt smile. Plus, the dude owned a fucking gym franchise. He probably had little gym bunnies hopping all around him morning, noon and night.
Aaron wanted to punch a hole through the fucking wall. He wanted to punch a hole through Zak’s fucking flirty-ass face.
He’d stopped listening to Isobel and Zak’s conversation. He was too deep in his own head. But when Isobel’s laugh, a laugh he’d never heard before—warm and carefree—swam around the kitchen, and all because of something Zak had said, Aaron’s blood began to boil. He was close to losing it.
“Need ice,” he muttered to nobody, taking off in the direction of the garage at a breakneck speed. It would not bode well for him—for anybody—if he put his fist into Zak’s face. It might make him feel better for half a second, but after that he’d feel worse than he did now. Also, Zak could probably hold his own in a fistfight, and Aaron might find himself flat on his ass with a broken nose and a black eye faster than he could say, “The only easy day was yesterday,” the official motto of the United States Navy SEALs.
Blowing out a long exhale, he shut the garage door behind him and paced back and forth in front of his truck. Where was The Rage Room when he needed it the most? He could punch the punching bag, but the whole house would hear that and know something was up. The same if he threw something or hollered. He needed a pillow to scream into. He needed to soundproof the garage and reinforce the beam so that it didn’t shake half the house when he beat the living shit out of the bag.
Why did he join The Single Dads of Seattle so soon? He wasn’t ready to socialize. He wasn’t ready to talk preschools and shitty diapers, sleepless nights and dance recitals. He wasn’t ready for any of it.
And fuck if he ever thought he would be.
He wasn’t a dad. He was an uncle hanging on by a thread the width of a fucking pubic hair.
Every morning he woke up hoping that the day would be easier than the last. That yesterday wouldn’t be easier than today, that he’d finally feel like he was Sophie’s dad and not just the consolation prize who was inevitably going to send her into years of therapy because he himself needed therapy, he was so fucked up.
And then there was Isobel.
Perfect, sweet, smart, kind, beautiful, patient Isobel.
How she hadn’t run for the hills already was beyond him.
She was a fucking saint.
It drove him damn near mental to see her flirting with Zak in the kitchen. Drove him over the edge most nights when he went to take a shower after her, only to smell her body wash in the bathroom, feel the steam from her shower where her naked wet body had just been. He knew it was wrong that he jerked off in the shower every night to thoughts of her, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was the only way he could temper the urge to knock on her door—no, knock down her door and claim her as his.
His back was to the door, but his training kicked in immediately, and his entire body stiffened. He knew it was her. The momentary volume increase from the men in the house followed by the soft click of the door closing made his breathing turn rapid.
Suddenly, her hand was on his back, slowly moving up to his shoulder.
He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.
She’s the nanny.
Don’t fuck the nanny.
Don’t fuck the nanny.
Do. Not. Fuck. The. Nanny.
“Aaron,” she whispered. Fuck, her voice was like warm honey. So sweet, so smooth. “Is everything okay?” She squeezed the top of his shoulder. “Can you turn around and look at me … please?”
That last word did it. That faint, almost timid please.
He turned around, wrapped his fist around her ponytail and took her mouth like she held all the answers, all the oxygen, all the hope in the world.
Her hands fell to his chest, and she pushed him away.
Careful not to frighten her with his need, he let go of her hair and took a step back. He ran his hands through his hair and looked away. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was—”
“No, you were just standing on my foot.” Then she leapt up into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and took his mouth with the same intensity as he’d taken hers—possibly more.
Aaron groaned as she tugged on his hair, deepening their kiss, forcing her tongue deeper into his mouth. She whimpered but didn’t pull away. Instead she opened wider for him and sucked on his tongue like it was his cock—or at least how he hoped she sucked cock. Holy fuck. She nipped his bottom lip, smiling as a groan made its way up from the depths of his throat, and he palmed her breast. Her giggle was light and girly. He wanted to make her do it again.
He moved them over to his workbench and plunked her butt down. Her ankles locked around his back, and she pressed the apex of her thighs against his hips.
He moaned. Fuck, she felt good. And she smelled goddamn amazing.
He knew that the moment they stopped kissing, the moment they pulled away from each other, he’d have to find a new nanny for Sophie, but for the moment, for just one brief moment in what was one of the worst times of his life, he didn’t feel pain. In Isobel’s arms, with her legs wrapped around his waist, the heat of her nestled up tight against his erection, her lips sucking on his tongue, all he felt was good. Fuck, he’d even go so far as to say he felt great.
The attraction wasn’t one-sided. He’d have never guessed it. But now he was fucking thrilled he’d been wrong.
All the tension and stress, the feelings of inadequacy, the grief and anger lifted off his shoulders, replaced by the silky softness of Isobel’s arms as they wrapped around him tightly and her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.
The moment they stopped kissing and she removed her arms, the weight would drop back on his shoulders. The tension and stress. The responsibility of being Sophie’s dad. The anger he felt over Dina’s death. Over the Velasquez family. There was just so much death.
The doorbell chimed.
Only in this case, it wasn’t saved by the bell. The spell was broken by the bell.
Isobel was the first to break their connection, pulling away from his mouth and lifting her arms from his shoulders.
And just like he expected, all the stress dropped right back on them. Only a new weight was added, too—the weight of what he’d just done.
He’d kissed his nanny.
“Isobel, where are you?” a woman’s voice called throughout the house.
Isobel’s eyes went wide. Her flushed face and puffy lips were sexy as hell and made Aaron want to lock the garage door and forget about everyone on the other side of it for the rest of the night.
“That’s Mercedes,” she whispered. He backed away and helped her off the workbench. “She’s here to pick me up.”
He nodded and scratched the back of his neck, not sure what to say after what they’d just done. He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I—” His words were as strained as his zipper.
She pressed her finger against his lips, her smile wide and seductive. “Don’t apologize. Don’t. Please. I have to go. We can talk more about … this tomorrow.” She walked toward the door. “Have fun tonight. Or at least try to. Try to win, too.” Then she opened the door and headed out into the house, leaving Aaron standing in the garage, confused as fuck and with a raging boner.
14
Isobel touched her mouth and smiled as the memories of Aaron’s lips, his tongue, his hands, his … all came flooding back.
That hadn’t been at all what she’d gone into the garage for, but damn if she wasn’t pleased with the surprise.
Always one to pick up on people’s emotions almost before they did, she could tell Aaron had not been happy that she and Zak had been as chatty as they were. Or that Zak was as close to Iso
bel as he had been. Aaron’s body grew tighter by the second, his cheeks flushed a ruddy color, his nostrils flared, and if the man had hackles she could see, they’d be standing straight up.
The kiss had surprised her. But it was the best kind of surprise.
Here she thought he disliked her. Tolerated her for the sake of Sophie and that the attraction was entirely one-sided.
How happy was she that she’d been wrong?
“What’s with the smile?” Mercedes asked, having to yell over the loud music as they sat at their VIP booth in one of the nightclubs. Isobel had lost track of which club they were at. They’d been to at least three. And it was just her and Mercedes left. All the other celebrators had headed home for the night, claiming exhaustion, CrossFit the next day or some other millennial excuse, as Mercedes put it. Isobel felt bad, but she would have just as soon gone home too. She was tired, and truth be told, she wanted to get home and explore that kiss more with Aaron.
A nudge had her blinking a few times.
“Hmm?” Mercedes hummed. “What’s with the smile? You look like you’re in a trance.”
Isobel shook her head. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about something.”
“Is it that houseful of super-sexy men you just left? Because I’ve been thinking about them too. Especially that one with the military haircut and amber eyes. What was his name again?”
Isobel took a sip of her martini. “Colton. That’s Aaron’s friend.”
“He was hot.”
“Excuse us, ladies.” Two men, probably a good five years younger than Isobel and Mercedes, approached their table. “But we couldn’t help noticing that the two of you are all alone this evening,” the taller of the two said.
They were both well dressed, with name-brand polos and pants, expensive watches and equally pricey haircuts. The cologne that drifted over with them reeked of money and privilege.
Isobel was immediately turned off.
“Might we buy you a drink?” the other one asked. His eyes were a deep dark brown, so dark Isobel wasn’t sure if it was the club lighting or the man actually had no discernible pupil.
She hoped that Mercedes would bust out her inner bitch and dismiss them. Isobel was in no mood to be entertaining puppies. It didn’t matter how cute, put together and friendly they were. She had a real man waiting for her at home.
Oh dear lord. One kiss and he’s already your man? Get over yourself.
Yeah, but it was the best kiss she’d ever had, so …
“Sure,” Mercedes piped up. “We’re just celebrating my promotion.”
One guy went on one side of Mercedes. The other scooted in next to Isobel.
They were trapped.
Her body temperature went up. She squirmed away from the guy next to her and practically sat on Mercedes’s lap. How could she get it through to her friend that these guys were con artists?
“What’s your promotion?” tall guy asked, flashing a big, white smile. His teeth were freakishly straight. Those had to be veneers. Or possibly even all new teeth entirely.
“Purchaser for the entire women’s division. I’m in fashion.” Mercedes tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and grinned. “What do you guys do?”
“We’re on the college swim team,” they said in unison, puffing up their chests and flashing more dazzling fake smiles.
Mercedes, always a heavy drinker when partying, was several drinks further along than Isobel and a shameless flirt when she was into her cups. She stroked the arm of the guy beside her. “Ooh, swimmers. I bet you have swimmer’s bodies underneath those shirts.”
Isobel rolled her eyes.
“Wouldn’t be getting ready for the Olympic qualifiers if we didn’t,” the one beside Isobel said, scooting in closer to her.
“I’m Vance. This is Troy,” tall guy said, wrapping his arm around the back of the booth behind Isobel.
She didn’t want to be rude or harsh on Mercedes’s night, but she was getting a really bad vibe from these guys. They were players. They were cads. Garbage wrapped up in a very expensive package with a pretty velvet bow.
Drinks arrived at the table seconds later, and the guys passed them out. They were all smiles. All creepy, way too big, way too fake smiles.
“To promotions,” Vance said, lifting his martini glass in the air. Troy followed suit. Mercedes was next.
They all sat there waiting for Isobel to lift her glass too.
Mercedes cleared her throat and elbowed Isobel. “Drink,” she murmured. “Don’t be rude.”
With another eye roll, hesitantly, she clinked their glasses.
Mercedes tossed back her martini in two sips.
Isobel nursed hers for a while, sipping it slowly. It was a good drink. Better than the ones they’d been drinking all night. Better gin. But she also knew her limit and when she’d had enough. She didn’t want to feel like shit in the morning, so she had no intention of finishing her drink, no matter how good it was.
Good drinks aside, she barely heard a word Vance spoke to her. Her mind was elsewhere. She was wondering how and when they could ditch the Speedo twins and she could get back to Aaron. Get home. She was tired of the club scene. And not just tonight. She was tired of it altogether. Getting too old for the meat market, the loud music, the overpriced drinks, the skeezy guys on the prowl. She wanted to find a good man who she could cuddle up on the couch with, with a bottle of wine, a plate of nachos and a good movie.
Was that too much to ask?
Did guys like that exist anymore?
They had to.
Her sister had found one.
Mark was the real deal. A real, honest-to-goodness doctor with a kind heart, a full head of hair, a great sense of humor and an awesome kid. And more importantly, he loved her sister implicitly.
Isobel wanted that.
She needed to find her own Mark.
“Another round,” Vance called, signaling the waitress.
Isobel went to shake her head, but Mercedes elbowed her again and said, “Totally.”
And that was the last thing Isobel remembered hearing before the night got crazy and the world went dark.
Her mouth was full of cotton, or at least it felt like it was. She’d been drinking gin martinis but couldn’t remember her mouth ever feeling like this after a night out with Mercedes. She didn’t recognize the smell or the sounds around her either. This wasn’t her apartment or Mercedes’s place. This wasn’t Aaron’s house.
Male laughter made her eyes flash open.
Where was she?
Pushing herself up to sitting, she realized she was on a couch in a strange living room. Alone. More laughter from down the hall had her standing up and creeping toward the noise. She was still a little wobbly on her feet. Had she really had that much to drink? She didn’t think she did. She hadn’t felt pass-out drunk.
“Who first?” She recognized that voice. It was one of the guys from the club earlier.
“We’ll do blondie upstairs. She clearly wanted it. Was all over me. Besides, I don’t know how the fuck we’re going to get into that jumpsuit thing without cutting it off her. Fuck, those things are ugly.”
More laughter, as well as the sound of eating.
“She might wake up if we leave her though,” the other one said.
“Yeah, but her struggling is part of the fun.”
More laughter.
“I do like it when they put up a fight. When they pretend that they don’t want it, when we really know they do. They always want the D.” That sounded like Troy, he had the deeper voice.
Goosebumps raced down Isobel’s arms, and her gut churned violently.
Her struggling is part of the fun.
Oh God, she was going to be sick.
“Sounds good.” Chewing. “We should get going though. Finish up.”
Crap!
She scanned the living room for a weapon. Nothing. Not even a decent lamp.
Her father had made sure both Isobel and Tori knew t
he basics of self-defense. Had it just been one guy, Isobel could probably take him out. But there were two of them, and she was still feeling the effects of whatever drug they’d given her—because clearly, she’d been drugged. She knew what it felt like to be drunk, and this was beyond that. Her wits were not all there. Neither was her spatial awareness, and the way her limbs felt as if she was constantly moving through Jell-O, the two guys together could easily overpower her.
“Should we rock, paper, scissors to decide who goes first?” one of the guys asked.
Disgusting.
The hallway offered nowhere to hide. Neither did the living room. The stairs were at the end of the corridor though. Mercedes was upstairs. Would they go to the living room to check on Isobel? Could she go find Mercedes and get them out of there?
“One more slice.” The sound of a crunching beer can had Isobel, with her high heels in her hand, booking it down the hall on tiptoe toward the stairs.
She still had her purse, thank God. And her phone. Once she was at the top of the stairs and out of earshot of the kitchen, she called Aaron. She needed help. She needed to find Mercedes. She needed to get them out of there.
“Hello?” Aaron’s deep rumble grounded her, calmed her racing heart. “Iz, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
Her voice shook. “Aaron … I think we were drugged. I woke up in a strange house on a couch. I don’t remember drinking enough to black out. I have to find Mercedes.”
“Where are you?” Panic filled his voice.
She glanced out a window at the end of the hall. “I—I don’t know. I have no idea. I don’t even remember how we got here. I don’t remember anything. W-we met a couple of guys at the club. I got a weird vibe from them right away, wanted to leave, but Mercedes wanted to stay. They kept buying us drinks … ” A boisterous guffaw from the kitchen made her stomach lurch up her throat. She dropped her voice to an even lower hush. “I’m scared, Aaron.”
“Is the friend finder app turned on on your phone?”
Her head pounded, and her vision was a touch blurry. She pulled the phone away from her ear.