Rock Him

by Rachel Cross

  Sterling Lowe’s noise this time sounded like a snort. “He isn’t. The apple didn’t fall far from that tree,” he stated, cryptically.

  “I’ll need to call my mom, to verify — ”

  “I’ve emailed you a letter from the bank to your mom detailing what she owes. Put me on hold and see.”

  Maddy pulled out her laptop and logged in. There was one email in her inbox. She opened it and the attachment.

  There it was in black and white. Twenty-three thousand, four hundred fifteen dollars and eighty-one cents. A third and final notice of foreclosure from her mother’s bank.

  “What if they foreclose before … ”

  “I won’t let that happen. And I’ll relieve your mom’s mind by having them send a letter stating they’ve extended the time frame. She’s tried a number of things to prevent the foreclosure — partial payments and the like — but she’s too far in arrears.”

  “Can you stop it?”

  There was a humorless laugh from the other end. “I thought you said you knew who I was?”

  She wiped at tears trailing down her cheeks. She didn’t know anyone who could loan her that kind of cash. Maybe if she told Asher? She discarded the idea immediately. He would most likely fire her on the spot if she admitted Sterling Lowe had contacted her. She could refuse and go get another full-time job. But one that would pay twenty thousand in a short period of time? No. Her dancing hadn’t improved that much since her college days.

  Then there was the not-so-simple matter of her health insurance. She’d quit the coffee shop, and even if they did hire her back, there would be a wait because of her preexisting condition.

  “Maddy, I’m waiting for your answer.”

  Bile gathered at the back of her throat. “I’ll think about it.” At least that would buy her time.

  “You’ll see, Maddy. He’s not capable and despite what you must think of me after this phone call,” he cleared his throat, “I love Ella and I’d do anything for her.” He hung up.

  Maddy glared at the cell phone in her lap. What a family. Asher wanted custody but didn’t want to parent. But his dad? She shuddered. How could that be good for Ella? Talk about the lesser of two evils. Maybe she could turn Asher into a better parent? He’d have to want it. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Once she had regained some semblance of control, she picked up the phone and dialed her mother.

  “Maddy, sweetheart, it’s good to hear your voice.” Her tone sharpened with worry. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed and coughed to cover it.

  “Are you sick?” There was real concern in her mom’s voice now.

  “No, no. I’m good. What about you, Mom?”

  Her mother let out a weary sigh. “I’m okay, Maddylove. Things are tough, but I’ll manage, I always do.”

  “Tough? How?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about. The twins moved away so I have fewer students. I’ve got more improvements to make to the house to be up to code but, well, never mind. How’s the new job?”

  Maddy stared up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly. “S’okay, the little girl is sweet.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “I know.”

  “If you need me call or email — you know email works better with the time difference, hon. I don’t have any part-time help right now, so it’s tough to talk during the week. You know, I’ve some experience with kids dealing with grief.”

  “Me and Dad?”

  “Well, yeah. But we also had the Flemmings’ son. He was four when his mother died, remember? They had his therapist come talk to me about stuff to watch for.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was really sad. Aneurism, right?”

  “Yep. Listen, sugar, I gotta’ get these kids some lunch. Talk to you later?”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “You too.”

  Maddy buried her face in her hands and wept.

  • • •

  Asher walked up the steps to the house and let himself in. It had been the worst kind of day, an entire day spent in meetings, but the discrepancies with one of Spade’s accounts could not be ignored. He’d be hiring another forensic accountant and firing a manager shortly. He was one to wrap his fingers tightly around the pulse of the empire that was Spade. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the best band manager in the business, the best accountant, financial manager and right on down the line. It was that he’d learned from his father that placing too much trust in other people to manage vast sums of money — and people — was ill advised.

  Then there were the creative differences he routinely had with some of the band members. They went through this periodically. Spade was commercially successful. Critically? Not so much. Every once in a while, someone in the band would get a wild hair to try something new, a radical departure from their trademark sound. He and the rest of the band might concede a song on an album or something played at a show. But Spade was successful year after year for hewing to the tried and true. They had lost plenty of great musicians over creative differences over the last two decades.

  And why couldn’t he follow through on the interest from the blonde model-actress with the wide smile at the record release party? She’d rubbed herself all over him and was just what he needed: no strings, stress relief in a hotel room. But something wasn’t right and he couldn’t seem to get an erection to save his goddamn life.

  Since Dee’s death, he’d had trouble mustering enthusiasm for much. It was baffling, this emotional numbness and depleted libido. Of course Dee’s death impacted him. But why was it fucking with his sex life? That was just plain wrong.

  Maddy put Ella to bed at the ridiculously early hour of eight P.M. so, as usual, he wouldn’t get a chance to see his niece today. Weekdays she was in school before he woke up and in bed before he got home. Maddy needed to relax on the bedtime. Kids didn’t need that much sleep. He’d like to see Ella, spend some time with her, maybe take her out to dinner.

  All the lights were off in the foyer, but he could hear the murmur of voices from the rear of the house. Asher took two steps forward, barely able to see as his eyes tried to adjust from the glare of the outside motion detecting spotlight, and straight into something solid in the hallway. He crashed to his knees.

  “Damn it. What the — ”

  A light came on. He pushed himself back to a standing position, staring in confusion at the proliferation of boxes in the hallway. There must have been twenty odd boxes stacked up. Maddy appeared, noiselessly from the rear of the house. She walked up to him, head cocked. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. What’s all this? Your stuff?”

  She tilted her head. “My stuff? No, Asher, this is Delilah’s stuff.”

  He stood, paralyzed in his effort to tamp down the upwelling of grief. “What’s it doing here?” he finally asked, gruffly. She shrugged. “Beats me. It arrived this afternoon.”

  Asher approached the boxes, a cold, hard knot of dread in his abdomen. There was no way he would go through her things. He was still trying to pretend she was alive. “They need to go to the garage in the morning.”

  Maddy’s lips twisted. “You want me to move them to the garage?”

  He shook his head, unable to stop himself from glancing at her hands. “No, of course not. Have someone do it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You think I can’t move some boxes?”

  “Quit being so sensitive. There are upwards of twenty boxes here and I have no idea how heavy they are. And that’s not your job. Talk to Justin. There must be someone — a grounds person — who can manage it.”

  She looked somewhat mollified. “I’ll ask when I see him in the morning.” Maddy studied him in the pause that followed. “Asher, some of the things in there m
ight be Ella’s. Things she wants, stuff that reminds her of home or her mom.”

  Asher took an involuntary step away from the boxes.

  “Maybe you should go through — ”

  The grief came up again and his throat tightened. He put up his hands. “No. I’m not doing that. You and Justin open it, and if it’s Ella’s stuff, make it fit. If it’s Dee’s stuff … just … just have it stacked in one of the guest rooms.”

  “Asher, you all right?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah. Tired, long day.”

  She took a step closer and peered up into his face. She was still in the shadows, but he could see her thick, dark hair was down, shaping her slightly exotic features. Her wide gray eyes, had something in their depths — pity? He glanced down her body. What on earth was she wearing? “What are those things on your pajamas?”

  She took two steps back and crossed her arms. But it was too late.

  He took a step closer and squinted. “Unicorns and rainbows?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Ella loves them.”

  “I’ll bet she does.”

  They were so long they covered the tops of her feet, and Maddy was practically swimming in them. He gave a short laugh. That was Maddy all right. If he’d hired one of the other nannies, she’d probably be standing here in a negligee.

  He gave her his best leer. “Want to come and have some hot cocoa with me, little girl?”

  Maddy flashed him a genuine grin. “Sure.” She followed Asher into the kitchen. “Plain hot chocolate, right?”

  “No spiking. No lacing.”

  Her grin widened.

  He poured water into two mugs, pulled down three tins, and laid them on the counter. “We have mint, spicy or regular.”

  She examined the tins. “Fancy.”

  “I’m a chocolate fan, it’s one of my many vices.” He shrugged.

  “That I can believe. I’ll try mint.”

  Putting the mugs in the microwave and setting it, he turned to her. “So how’s it been going?” His gaze drifted down. An adult woman in cotton unicorn pajamas in his kitchen. That was a first.

  She pulled her hair back with one hand. The movement pulled the too-big flannel top across her chest and he got a glimpse of one perfectly shaped breast where the top gaped between buttons.

  A surge of lust went through him.

  He blinked.

  Hello.

  “Asher?”

  He gave his head a shake. What the hell was that? He couldn’t get enthused about the model with perfect tits, but got hard with a glimpse of side-boob? He shuddered. “Yeah?” Turning back to the microwave, he concentrated on the two spinning mugs.

  “We need to talk about Ella.”

  “Okay.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded for her to sit on the barstool at the kitchen island. “I’ll bring these over.”

  The microwave dinged as she settled herself on the stool.

  He opened the mint tin and put two spoonfuls into her mug, stirred, closed it, then did the same with the spicy hot chocolate.

  Carrying the steaming mugs over, he put them down.

  “Shot of milk?” he asked over his shoulder, moving toward the fridge.

  She grinned, showing a row of even white teeth. “Shot of milk sounds good.”

  His brain conjured an image of her laid out on his kitchen island, the ridiculous pajama top pushed up, while he licked milk out of the smooth divot of her belly button. Semi-aroused, he went to one-fifty in a millisecond. He moved a hand to adjust his suddenly uncomfortable jeans.

  What the fuck?

  Sticking to his offer, he opened the refrigerator, took out the milk and carried it over. He poured it into their mugs and put it away.

  When he came back to the island, she was blowing on her mug. God. Her lips. How had he never noticed them before? Full and perfect, her lower lip was slightly smaller than her upper. Now the inappropriate fantasies were raging.

  Get a grip. She’s the fucking nanny.

  He settled onto the stool next to her, forced a smile and took a gulp of hot chocolate.

  She turned to face him. He didn’t dare look down to her legs, where her feet were propped on the rungs. God knows what his libido, suddenly in overdrive, would do with that image. Probably imagine her firm calves wrapped around his neck, while he — -

  “I know I haven’t been here long but … ” She rubbed her lips together.

  Was she being deliberately provoking? His brows drew together as he met her eyes. Nope. They were full of innocent concern. It wasn’t her. Something was wrong with him.

  Celibacy.

  He’d probably get worked up over any female after four weeks of abstinence. Whatever had been going on with his psyche the last few weeks was fixed. He let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t her.

  “Asher?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening,” he said, returning his focus to the hot chocolate.

  She sighed heavily. “I really want this to work out.”

  He raised his eyebrows and contemplated her. “Isn’t it?”

  Her even, white teeth toyed with her lower lip again. He almost groaned aloud; his libido was back with a vengeance.

  “Let me put it another way. You and Ella need to bond.”

  He frowned. “Aren’t we?”

  “Uh … no.”

  Confusion warred with impatience. “You’ve only been here a few days.”

  “More than a week actually, but you’re hardly around. I think you need to start as you mean to go on.”

  Sounded like lyrics for a song.

  “Asher?”

  He cast an apologetic glance her way. “I’m sorry, Maddy, it’s been a long day — rough week as a matter of fact — lots going on with Spade. Yes, start as I mean to go on. I was hoping to talk to you about that. I’m not getting enough time with Ella. What do you say we push back her bedtime? I don’t usually get home until well after ten most nights, but I’ll come home early, say eight-ish, a few nights a week so we can have dinner together and hang out until bedtime.”

  Her mouth had dropped open during his speech, but it snapped shut with a click. “Are you joking?”

  He took another sip of spicy hot chocolate. “No,” he said, mildly. “Eight o’clock is a ridiculously early bedtime.”

  “What time are you proposing?”

  “Ten? Ten-thirty?

  She let out a shout of laughter.

  He frowned. “What’s funny?”

  “You can’t do that, Asher.”

  He set his jaw. Was she upset because this would wreak havoc on her social life? It wouldn’t be every day. “Oh, but I can. You work for me, remember? I know it’ll require longer hours — ”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I pay overtime.”

  She had an expression on her face he was sure had been on his many times: amusement combined with disbelief.

  “I’m serious, Maddy.”

  She thumped her mug down on the table. “Asher. How would you feel if I tried to explain management of a successful rock band to you?”

  “You said she’s adaptable — ”

  “Not regarding sleep.”

  He scanned her over the rim of his mug. “We’ll try it my way this week. I would like to spend more time with her. We’ll do dinner at eight and a ten or ten-thirty bedtime.”

  She shook her head. “She’ll be tired and grumpy and — ”

  He shrugged. “So, she takes a nap. Kids do that, right?”

  She studied him with those serious gray eyes.

  His groin tightened.

  Damn it.

 
“I hate like hell to do this to her, but I can see this might be a fairly harmless lesson for you. We’ll try it your way. But I want you to be around this week for the fallout.”

  He straightened. “Fallout?”

  “One week. But if we don’t last a week your way, you have to promise to be up by seven A.M. and home by six P.M. three days a week from here on in.”

  Since shifting Ella’s schedule would not be the problem Maddy made it out to be, he could agree to a promise that, if upheld, would cast his professional and personal life into chaos.

  Maddy held out her hand.

  He shook it, and held it.

  She froze.

  Gently, he turned it so he could see the disfigured joints. He traced the back of her hand, the almost translucent skin, running his thumb over joints that were swollen and warm to the touch. She was close enough that he could smell the heady scent of mint chocolate on her breath.

  He made some sound that, knowing her, she probably interpreted as pity.

  She yanked her hand away, mumbled goodnight, and fled the kitchen.

  • • •

  Ella’s eyes rolled back, her lashes fluttered. Her head fell forward in slow motion to land in the salmon, peas and noodles on her plate.

  “My God.” Asher put down his utensils, rose from his chair and rushed to Ella’s side.

  Maddy continued eating her dinner, making a valiant effort to suppress her grin.

  “Maddy,” he hissed.

  I must not laugh. “Yeah?”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s exhausted.”

  His eyes widened. “But … but she passed out mid-sentence. Something’s wrong with her.” He looked at Maddy from his crouch beside Ella. “She’s breathing.”

  “Of course she’s breathing. She’s just tired.”

  “What should we do?”

  “We should go back to an eight o’clock bedtime.”

  He groaned. “Damn it.”

  “Are you agreeable?” Maddy calmly speared a mouthful of salmon on her fork.