I swallowed past the lump in my throat and let her walk away. My eyes followed her as she crossed the living room to cuddle up on the couch with my daughter. The Sound of Music started playing, and I knew they were in for a movie-morning.
I needed to run this off.
Hard.
“Hey, I’m going for a run, is that okay?” I asked.
Bailey raised her hand and waved me off. For fuck’s sake, she wouldn’t even look at me anymore. I tied my running shoes and was out the door in record time, the fall morning crisp and cool despite the forecasted rain later.
My feet pounded against the pavement as I wove through our neighborhood, trying anything to get Bailey off my mind. I finished the first mile and kept going, my frustration fueling me to nearly super-human speed.
Damn it, we’d lived in the same house less than a week and we’d already crossed the one line I was adamant we couldn’t. It didn’t matter that she was gorgeous, that her hazel eyes drew me in and kept me, or that my dick rose to the occasion whenever she walked into the room.
None of that mattered.
Bailey was friend-zoned, damn it, and not just because of our Moms. No, in all honesty, they were the least of my concerns. Bailey needed to stay on the other side of the friendship line because of Letti—because as long as I kept my dick in my pants and away from Bailey, maybe she’d stay.
Women left. It was just a fact of life, and while I could survive another blow, I knew Letti couldn’t. Helen walking out had crushed her, even though she hadn’t understood at the time. She’d only been two. She didn’t know how to process that her “mother” had left us for a better, uninjured prospect, she’d only known that mommy didn’t come when she cried.
Eventually she’d stopped asking for her, and that had broken my heart a little more.
Yeah, I could take it if I fucked up and Bailey walked out.
But Letti?
I’d be damned if I was going to do a fucking thing to hurt my baby girl.
I pounded through another four miles and ended in front of our house, stretching on the front lawn much to the delight of the gardening stepford wife across the street.
“Hi, Gage,” she said, smiling from under a wide-brim hat.
“Laurie,” I acknowledged, turning to walk back into the house. She’d been hinting since we moved in, and relentless the last year or so.
“Sure is hot out here,” she called after me. “Want to come in for a drink?”
Fat chance in hell. “Maybe another time,” I suggested with a neighborly smile and retreated into the safety of my house.
When I heard Bailey’s laughter from the kitchen I realized that I’d just jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.
“Daddy! Cookies!” Lettie yelled from her perch on the kitchen counter where she sat happily licking dough off one of the beaters.
“I see,” I said, my smile instant. “Are they yummy?”
“The yummiest!”
I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and did my best to ignore the way Bailey’s ass looked in yoga pants as she reached into the oven for another tray.
“Try one,” Bailey suggested, holding one in the palm of her hand.
Her eyes were as warm as the chocolate-chip cookie she offered and I sank into them. There were reasons I couldn’t touch her, reasons I couldn’t—
My lips closed around the tender skin of her fingers as I gently bit into the treat, letting my tongue lick the chocolate off the delicate tips. I wasn’t sure what was more delicious—the cookie or the catch in her breath.
I winked at her as I swallowed, watching her lips part and her eyes widen in confusion.
Yeah, I just fucked up...and enjoyed every second.
“It’s phenomenal, thank you. You don’t have to take care of me,” I told her.
“Well, taking care of you is taking care of her,” she finished with a nod of her head toward Lettie.
I moved toward my daughter and caged her between my arms. “I see more chocolate!” I sounded the alarm and attacked the skin of her neck, blowing raspberries.
Her giggles were contagious. “Daddy!”
“Lettie!” I answered and goobered her neck again to hear her laugh.
There was nothing like her laughter. It filled my heart, reminded me that I was human, gave me a strength I’d never known before they’d placed her swaddled little body in my arms.
“You stink!” she said with a giggle.
“That’s the smell of hard work, my Lettie-Lou.” I rubbed noses with her and she giggled again.
“Hard work stinks!”
I laughed, the sound rumbling through our kitchen and echoed by Bailey. “Then I guess I’d better shower,” I told them. One more kiss on her tiny nose and I abandoned my girls for the shower.
My girls.
The thought stopped me cold as I was half-way on the steps.
I paused, my hand gripping the banister almost painfully. I forced air through my lungs one breath at a time until I could relax my hand and push the panic back. Just because this moment felt fucking perfect didn’t mean it would stay that way.
But God, the sound of Lettie’s laughter from the kitchen mixing with the scent of fresh-baked cookies made this house feel more like home than it had in the last eighteen months since I’d bought it.
And I knew it was because of Bailey.
You know what happens when you realize you want the one thing you can’t have?
You fucking crave it.
Day.
Night.
One week of living with Bailey and I was on edge, wavering between basking in the tiny piece of perfection she’d created, and destroying everything just so it wouldn’t hurt so much when she inevitably left.
Add that to the permanent hard-on I was sporting, and I was a miserable prick. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone this long without getting laid. The worst part was that it wasn’t like I couldn’t go out to a random bar, pick up a chick and scratch the itch…
It was that my dick wouldn’t listen to my head. It wanted Bailey and only Bailey, and it let me know that every single time she walked into the room.
“Hey, Gage,” she said as I hung my keys up in the mud room. “How was practice?” She had a laundry basket perched on her hip and a light sheen of sweat clung to her collarbone. Had she been running? Working out?
“Long,” I answered, dropping my bag.
“You ready for the game tomorrow?” She walked past me into the laundry room, her ponytail swishing. She hadn’t so much as looked me in the eye since my lick-the-chocolate-off-your-skin moment last week. Not that I blamed her. I was the king of mixed signals.
“Uh-huh,” I grunted, all of my blood draining from my head to my dick at the sight of her shapely ass in those running pants.
“Good,” she called from the room. “Lettie’s down for a nap. We took a little hike and she got tuckered out.”
“Okay,” I answered, thanking God there was a door between us, even if it was half-open.
“Do you need me to throw anything into the wash?”
“No, but thanks. You don’t have to take care of me,” I told her again, knowing she’d just do it anyway.
“I don’t—” Her voice was muffled as she started the dryer.
“What?” I asked, but her reply was lost in the tumble. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you,” I said as I opened the door to the laundry room.
“I said that it doesn’t bother me to take care of you,” she answered louder, facing the washing machine.
I should have left, but my feet were nailed to the floor and my jaw landed next to them as she peeled her running tank up over the smooth skin of her back and then over her head, leaving her in just a sports bra and those pants.
DamnIwannatastealltheskin.
Great. She’d broken my brain.
She tossed the shirt in the washer and shut the door, the sound bringing me out of the fantasy where I’d already stripped
the rest of her clothes off.
Allthewaytonaked.
I shook my head. Fuck my life, even my thoughts were jumbled.
“Right, sorry,” I said. I could not spy on my nanny like a thirteen-year-old with a hard-on.
Because you’re twenty-seven with a hard-on.
Bailey jumped, startled and then laughed. “God, Gage. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
She turned, leaning against the washer. “You already said that.”
I had to peel my eyes off the bare skin of her stomach. She was toned, but still curved, soft in all the places I ached to get my hands on.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and I finally met her eyes, skipping over the tight press of her breasts against the hot pink sports bra.
“Nothing,” I answered. After all, it shouldn’t matter that she was in workout clothes, right? I saw women every day at the gym with less on than Bailey was wearing right now.
But none of them affect you like this.
“Gage?” she asked, her voice a little breathy. Did she realize what was going on in my head? Her breasts rose and fell a little faster, which told me she knew something was up.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her, to run my hands up the sides of her stomach and see if her skin was as touchable as it looked. I wanted to taste her mouth, sink my hands into her hair, and bury myself so deep in her that I’d never find my way out.
“Gage?” she repeated, her eyes darkening.
“Tell me no,” I begged.
Her lips parted. “You’re the one who said this wasn’t a good idea.”
“I know what I fucking said, Bailey. I need you to tell me no.” It took every ounce of willpower to stand immobile when my body was raging.
The tension thickened as she glanced away, and then back to me. “I don’t want to tell you no,” she admitted softly.
“Bailey,” I warned.
“I want to know what it’s like to kiss you, even if it’s only this once.”
Only this once.
Once was brilliant. Once was just right, just to get her out of my system, to kill the mystery.
I crossed the small distance between us, took her face between my hands and slanted my mouth over hers.
Fuck, she was sweet. Her mouth opened for me, and I plunged inside, stroking her tongue with mine, exploring every single inch I could with quick sweeps and longer thrusts. She tasted like berries from the workout water she loved.
Once will never be enough.
She kissed me back and nearly brought me to my knees. Every moan pushed me higher, and when her fists tangled in my shirt, pulling me closer, I snapped.
My hands skimmed the soft skin of her sides. I was wrong before—her skin wasn’t just soft and touchable, it was silk, hot and vibrant under my fingers.
She whimpered when I grabbed her ass, fulfilling my fantasy, and arched up against me. That sound broke me like nothing else could. Fuck, she was everything I’d dreamed, and then some. I lifted her by her ass and she wrapped those perfect legs around my waist.
Her back hit the washer as I leaned against her, one hand coming back up to cradle her face. While my hands were tender, my dick wasn’t—grinding against the seam of her pants until she gasped my name.
I swallowed the sound and went back to her mouth, kissing her harder and deeper every time she rolled her hips back against me. She fit perfectly with me, moved just right, tasted like heaven, and drove me utterly mad.
I had to stop this before it got out of hand.
Or out of your pants.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, and she bit my lip gently when I pulled back. Then she yanked my head to hers and kissed me for everything she was worth. Her tiny flame of a tongue slid into my mouth, leaving me groaning, desperate to get inside this woman and fuck her until I couldn’t remember why I’d ever thought it was a bad idea.
Everything about this was right and hotter than hell.
My dick screamed at me, cursing the miniscule barriers between us, and I had to agree that it had a point. My fingers slid along her ass toward the seam between her thighs, the warmth of her pussy radiating through the thin material.
She moaned my name, rocked against my hand, and I thought of every unsexy thing I could to keep from coming in my pants.
“Bailey? Daddy?” Lettie’s voice was faint but clear, and as effective as a giant bucket of ice water.
“I’ll be right there, honey” I answered, leaning my head against Bailey’s forehead as we both struggled to calm our breathing.
Her legs slid from my waist, and I lowered her gently to the ground.
“I’ll go,” she said softly. “You’re still…”
“Hard,” I offered, well aware that my dick could probably hang laundry at this point.
“Yeah,” she said, running her tongue along her bottom lip.
I groaned, wanting to suck on that lip...and that tongue.
“At least we know, right?” She asked, and then slipped out from under my arms to tend to Lettie.
I leaned forward on my elbows, bracing my forehead on the edge of the front-loader, and told my body to calm the fuck down.
I’d never been so glad to be cock-blocked, let alone by the very reminder of why I needed to keep my dick in my pants and my hands off my daughter’s nanny. What the fuck was I thinking? If Bailey belonged to anyone in this house, it was Lettie. I’d never taken anything from my daughter and I wasn’t about to start now.
At least we know, right?
Yeah, I knew that she was the hottest, most perfect kiss I’d ever had, and now I was totally and completely fucked.
That could not happen again.
Ever.
Chapter 6
Bailey
CRACK! A player’s helmet bounced off the wall as Gage slammed against him, his skates steady while the other’s slipped. Lettie jolted in my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her, comforting both of us. I knew he was in the best shape of his life, but I was terrified he’d reinjure his shoulder. A second surgery would most certainly mean he wouldn’t be signed to the Sharks again, or quite possibly any other team either.
I could barely make out his face under his helmet, so I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he grimaced. I suppose I could be imagining things—I’d done quite a bit of that since he’d crossed his own line in the laundry room.
The cold bench beneath me heated up as the memory of his taste filled my mind. The man was intensity and warmth and sex all combined, and when he let me in…good God, it was incredible. He’d practically made me come from a few touches and a deep kiss—I might as well have been a teenager again for how often that kiss was on replay in my brain.
An excited squeal from Lettie sharpened my focus in time to see Gage pass the puck to Rory, who shot it so fast the goalie didn’t have time to flinch. The two were an unstoppable force, complimenting each other in every regard—Gage was strength, strategy, and intimidation; Rory was speed, stamina, and aim.
The two gave each other a quick glove-covered fist bump after the shot.
“Daddy’s a badass!” Lettie shouted.
I gasped, biting my tongue so I didn’t laugh.
“Lettie,” I said and shifted her on my lap so she could look me in the eye. “You shouldn’t say that word.”
“What?” Her little forehead wrinkled before she smirked. “Daddy?”
I tilted my head at her, she was Gage’s daughter all right. “You know what. I won’t repeat it because it’s not a nice word.” Though I guaranteed she heard it from her father or Rory or Warren. When the trio came together at the house, it was hard for them to keep their animalistic sides in check—it was sexy as hell to me, but not so great for Lettie’s vocabulary.
“Say, Daddy’s awesome, or Daddy’s a rockstar, instead. Okay?”
She nodded, her brown curls framing her face. “Okay!” She hugged my neck and turned back around, her attention recaptured by the game.
Le
ttie and I went to as many games as possible, even traveling with Gage on the road most of the time, and she was such a trooper. Never once complaining about the cold, the smells signature only to the rink, or the fast food we ate too much of because of the number of away games. The girl didn’t care what we did, as long as she was near her daddy. Gage couldn’t stand to be separated from her, so it worked out beautifully.
“Whoohoo!” Lettie shouted, jerking her fist in the air when Gage zoomed by. “Daddy’s a rockstar!” Her little voice cracked she yelled so hard but she earned several awhs from the small crowd scattered throughout the bleachers. Glancing over her shoulders, she beamed at me.
“Good job!” I said and nuzzled her neck. I loved it when she actually listened to me. She was three, so my chances always averaged fifty-fifty.
I hissed when Gage slammed another player into the boards so hard the poor bastard hit the ice with a loud smack. It gave Warren the advantage and he raced toward the goal with the puck.
“If he isn’t careful he’ll rip himself up again,” a woman said from behind me.
“Think it’s inevitable at this point. He won’t let up.” Another responded.
I held Lettie a little tighter. Don’t feed the hockey wives. Don’t feed the hockey wives.
“I was hoping to see the new kid start today. He’s got to have chops because Gage’s skates will be hard as hell to fill.”
Lettie turned her head toward the women before glancing at me. “Is Daddy giving away his skates?”
Oh hell no.
“No, baby. He’s not.” I stroked her hair until she turned back around to stare at the action on the ice.
I whipped my head around, focusing on the group of women sitting a couple benches above us, all wearing matching yoga pants tucked into Uggs, some with their husband’s jersey’s worn over white long sleeved shirts. The bunnies—who were easy to mark because of their lack of warm clothing—decided tight white t-shirts were smart clothes for an ice-cold rink.
“Gage is stronger than he’s ever been,” I said as calmly as I could. “He’s not going anywhere.” The last thing I wanted Lettie to hear was someone tearing him down. Where the hell did these women get off?
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