One Little Indiscretion

by Joss Wood

  She hadn’t been back in Boston long and she was already over the snow, the cold and the wet. Her uniform for the past few years had been shorts, T-shirts and flip-flops, and she found dressing in layers an absolute pain.

  Northern hemisphere winters were a huge con on her “should I permanently move back to Boston?” list.

  Joa stepped into the sunroom—funny!—off the kitchen and started to disrobe: coat, hat, gloves and scarf. Feeling ten pounds lighter and dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and skinny jeans, she felt almost normal.

  But damn, she did miss her flip-flops.

  Joa walked into the kitchen, surprised by the quiet. In her experience, mornings in a household of kids was a madhouse and she’d expected the boys to be sitting down to breakfast with Ronan making their lunches or packing their bags. If he was anything like her other dads, then she’d expected to see him rushing around in an untucked button-down shirt, the ends of his tie on his chest, tailored suit pants and socks, talking to his kids, looking fine and yes, smelling gorgeous.

  Joa tipped her head up to look at the ceiling, annoyed with herself. She thought she was done with behaving that way. None of her other dads could hold a candle looks wise to Ronan, but they were all good fathers.

  And maybe that was the root of her fantasies, why she found herself so attracted to them: they were all about family.

  Men who made being a good parent a priority was a huge turn-on for her and that was, surely, because she never had a father, or parents, of her own. Her mother had been useless and God only knew who her dad was.

  But her crush on her previous employers had been more cerebral than physical, and her fantasies had revolved around what they represented: a family, having someone in her corner, a man who provided a constant source of love and security.

  Safety.

  Ronan wasn’t safe at all.

  He was a stressed-out, terse, snappy man and...

  And she was physically attracted to him. Brutally, horribly so.

  And she’d rather swallow poison than ever admit that to him.

  “Joa, you’re here. We are running late.”

  Joa snapped out of her fantasy to be confronted with reality and...wow, reality was damn fine. Ronan, wearing only a pair of black exercise shorts and sneakers, stood a few feet from her. Joa could see the fine sheen of perspiration on his shoulders, dampening his chest hair, which narrowed down into a fine line that bisected a very, very nice set of abs. His shorts hung low enough on his hips that she could see a stupendous pair of hip muscles, and Joa felt her knees weakening.

  Wow.

  Ronan gestured her into his kitchen. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands on his hips. She wanted her hands there, her chest pressed into his, her tongue on the ball of his tan, freckled shoulder, tasting his skin.

  Yeah, think about that, Jones. That’s a marvelous way to take control of this situation.

  Joa jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans—so as not to touch you, my dear—and met Ronan’s eyes.

  “Morning.” Excellent, Joa, you actually managed to croak a word.

  “Thanks for coming over so early. The kids are still asleep since they got to bed late last night. I battled with them and eventually put them into my bed with a movie. I also overslept and I’m running so late,” Ronan said. “And I have a crazy day ahead of me.”

  “How so?” Joa asked, grateful for the neutral topic.

  Was it her imagination or did Ronan seem too eager to respond to her innocuous question? “General madness at work, and I’ll be home late tonight. I’m running a specialized sale on sports memorabilia.”

  Was he expecting her to start her duties as an au pair tonight? Could he possibly be that arrogant, that presumptuous? She’d come over this morning to discuss—and only discuss—Keely’s wild suggestion, not to begin employment. She was here as a courtesy, that was all. She didn’t want to be an au pair anymore—why did nobody seem to understand that?

  “Keely might think she’s boss of the world, but I saw your horrified face when she suggested you work for me. I know the situation isn’t as cut-and-dried as she made it out to be,” Ronan explained. “I made alternative arrangements for a babysitter tonight.”

  Joa arched her eyebrows, silently asking who’d agreed to help him out.

  “My brother Finn is on monster duty tonight. Luckily, I should be done by ten.”

  Right. She remembered he was Murphy’s chief auctioneer as well as being their worldwide operations manager. “I thought you only ran the big sales.”

  Ronan nodded. “Normally, I let the junior auctioneers run the smaller sales, but my sports guy was rushed to the hospital two days ago with a burst appendix. I do have other auctioneers, but there are some pretty big spenders in the audience so I thought I’d run the sale, connect with them on a guy-to-guy level.”

  “I’d like to see an auction,” she admitted.

  “You’re always welcome, though I am assuming you will be at the auction for Isabel’s collection. It will be one of the biggest auctions any house has conducted. It’s been billed as a once-in-a-generation sale.”

  Oh, right. She’d temporarily forgotten that she and Keely had agreed to auction off their massive collection to swell the coffers of Isabel’s foundation. The money raised would fund many projects in the greater Boston area, including the shelter Joa had found herself in fifteen years before.

  Ronan shrugged, his expression self-deprecating. “So it’s not a big deal or anything. Your lost Homer will be the last item auctioned, if Sadie manages to prove its provenance.”

  “Do you think it’s genuine?”

  “It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t because I never emotionally invest in anything that passes through our hands. I can appreciate the skill and rarity and beauty, but I know we are only temporary guardians of the artwork. And I refuse to waste my energy worrying whether a piece is genuine. It either is or isn’t and I can’t change the result.”

  “That’s a fair assessment,” Joa told Ronan, sliding onto a stool at the island counter.

  Ronan’s eyes met hers and electricity arced between them. She saw his eyes widen slightly and drop to her mouth. She saw him swallow and when he ran his hands over his face, she knew he was also uncomfortable with the chemistry bubbling between them.

  It was hella inconvenient... To put it mildly.

  “If you come to work for me, nothing will happen between us, Joa.”

  Wow, okay, that was blunt. Joa thought about the words he’d tossed down between them. She could ignore him, but that was taking the easy route.

  As she’d learned from a lifetime of looking after herself, it was better to deal with a problem when it was small because unsolved problems usually led to bigger, bolder problems later on.

  So a response was necessary.

  “If I did come to work for you, and I’m not planning to, you can be damn sure nothing would happen.” She was happy to hear that her voice sounded even. And a little cool.

  “I just don’t want you getting any ideas that, because you are Keely’s friend, and Isabel’s heir, I will change my stance. You’d be in my employ.”

  Arrgh, was she speaking English?

  Joa fought the urge to scream. “Again, I have no plans to be an au pair again. And I am under no illusions about the situation, Ronan.”

  “You sure? Because I know you have been checking me out.”

  God, he was blunt. And rude. She knew he expected her to blush, to stammer, maybe apologize. Screw that.

  “I’m a thirty-year-old healthy female who hasn’t had sex in a while and you’re a good-looking guy. But the world is full of good-looking guys and I don’t jump them as a matter of habit so I think you’re safe, Mr. Murphy.” She emphasized the last two words and Ronan winced at her sarcasm.

  “Look, I didn’t want to m
ake you feel uncomfortable, but I think it’s better to clear the air...”

  “It didn’t need clearing,” Joa snapped. “You and Keely are driving me nuts! May I remind you that I don’t need a job, and that if I was considering helping you out, which I am not, I would be doing you a favor by looking after your boys until you find a decent nanny?”

  The skepticism on his face pissed her off. Ronan was a little too entitled.

  Joa slid off her stool and shook her head. “I’m not sure why I’m here and we’re going nowhere. I don’t want to be an au pair, you don’t really want to hire me. Maybe its best that you find someone else.”

  “I would if I could.” Ronan cursed and rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you...”

  “I’m not upset, I’m annoyed,” Joa replied. “Don’t assume that I am one of those women who will use your kids to worm my way into your life. Yes, I’m attracted to you, but I’ve never thrown myself at a man in my life and you won’t be the first. I’m not that desperate or that insecure.”

  She could, if she let herself, but she wouldn’t. She had more pride than that.

  Ronan crossed his arms over his chest and the muscles in his biceps bunched. Damn, he really wasn’t helping.

  “And if you don’t want to be ogled then put on a shirt!” Joa added.

  Ronan released another curse and stepped out from behind the counter to walk in the direction of the laundry room and yep, she couldn’t miss it. His shorts were tented from a steel-hard erection. The bastard was lecturing her when he was equally affected.

  “Seriously?” Joa nodded at his shorts. “That would suggest you are as attracted to me as I am to you.”

  He braked and closed his eyes. “Morning wood.”

  Joa wasn’t buying it. “Don’t BS me. You’re equally tempted.”

  Why was she pushing this point when it would be smarter to ignore his reaction? What was wrong with her?

  “You’re a sexy woman and yeah, I’m attracted.” He made it sound like he was admitting to a massive crime against humanity. “But it’s still not going to happen,” Ronan told her, his voice sharp.

  “Damn straight it’s not. I prefer my lovers to be excited about taking me to bed, not angry and resentful.”

  It was way past time to end the embarrassment and move on. “Let’s simply admit that there’s a mutual attraction that will never be acted on. Agreed?”

  Ronan’s reply was a sharp nod.

  Ronan looked thoughtful as he rubbed the back of his neck, showing the pale skin of his underarm and sexy tufts of underarm hair. Man, she was losing it. She needed sex; she really did.

  But not, obviously, with him.

  Joa glanced away, feeling a small hint of guilt. It wasn’t like her to refuse to help anyone—Isabel had taught her better—but Joa’s gut instinct was to put a considerable amount of distance between her and Ronan. But she understood that working for him, helping him with his kids, would be a mental step backwards. Blowing air over her bottom lip, she looked at the photograph of his wife attached to his fridge by a heart-shaped magnet. Ronan was also, and obviously, still in love with his wife.

  Going to work for him would be like flying from the frying pan into the fire.

  She’d placed herself in this position before, working for men to whom she was attracted and it was time to stop repeating past mistakes.

  Her previous employees had been nice men, good men, but she hadn’t felt a fraction of the physical pull to them as she did to Ronan. Fighting that chemistry would be exhausting, but she was strong enough, had had enough practice at pushing down her emotions—the foster care system drummed that into you—that she could ignore this inconvenient attraction to Ronan Murphy with both her hands tied behind her back.

  She would not put herself back into an uncomfortable, untenable, nobody-but-herself-to-blame situation. She had to look after herself first, just like she’d always been forced to do.

  Joa stood up and reached for her bag, pulling it over her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t. I hope you find someone soon.”

  Ronan pushed his hands through his hair and looked horrified. Gobsmacked. Obviously, as a Murphy, he didn’t hear the word no very often.

  “What?”

  “Best of luck, Ronan,” Joa said, walking toward the back door. As she stepped into the sunroom, she turned and sent him a tight smile, drinking in that luscious body and doing her best to ignore his pissed-off expression.

  “Oh, and if you don’t want your female employees to lust after you then I strongly suggest you put on some clothes when conducting job interviews, Murphy. Walking around half-naked isn’t conducive to keeping the arrangement businesslike and might give potential nannies the wrong impression.”

  Six

  In the small office Carrick had allocated to her at Murphy’s International, Sadie sat back in her chair and glared at her monitor. She had a ton of work to do, but she’d lost her ability to concentrate.

  Carrick had strolled into her brain, plopped himself down and refused to leave.

  Dammit.

  Sadie pushed her laptop away and placed her arms on the desk, resting her chin on her fist. In a little more than a month her world had been flipped on its head, the plan of her life rewritten and reimagined.

  Who knew that when she’d taken this job, a few scant weeks later she’d find herself pregnant and crazy obsessed over a man who made her blood sing?

  Sadie thought back to her conversation with Hassan and, forcing herself to be as unemotional as possible, remembered his thoughtful comments on her situation. Was Carrick simply not good for Tamlyn or was he not good to her? Were Boston society’s perceptions fair?

  In Carrick, she’d seen no trace of the man who’d treated Tamlyn badly, who was verbally abusive, who thought the sun dimmed when he sat down.

  Carrick was tough, sure—he had to be to run a multinational, successful business like Murphy’s—and he took no prisoners, but so far, she hadn’t seen the jerky man Tamlyn had told her about. Not in the way he spoke to his staff, his brothers, his friends.

  Her.

  Sadie sighed. Maybe she was hoping he wasn’t the man Tamlyn and Beth said he was; maybe she wanted him to be a better version of himself with her; maybe she was seeing Carrick naively. He was the father of her unborn child, the man who took her from zero to horny in six seconds flat. It was natural for her to want to see the best in him.

  And she couldn’t help remembering that she’d also only seen the best side of Dennis before the wedding. It was only when they were back in Boston, juggling the demands of two successful careers, both traveling internationally, when the ugliness started to creep in.

  Like all things, it had started small...

  She desperately wanted to believe that Carrick wasn’t another Dennis, that she wasn’t misjudging him. Would Carrick also eventually turn out to be a bastard? If she believed Tamlyn and Beth, then he would.

  If she had to trust her intuition, she believed he wouldn’t.

  But she’d trusted her intuition before and it had proved to be as faulty as a badly wired house.

  Sadie rested her forehead on her bent arms, conscious of a headache building behind her eyes. She took a couple of deep breaths, felt her tension levels drop and told herself she was stressing about this for nothing. She wasn’t going to marry Carrick, nor fall in love with him.

  If he showed himself to be a bastard to her child, she’d make sure her baby was protected.

  She wouldn’t have these crazy thoughts running around her head if she hadn’t slept with Carrick a second time. But she had to be honest here; she had no intention of not having sex with him in the immediate future.

  Oh, she knew there would come a time when she’d feel too big, too uncomfortable, to think about sex, but that was half a year away. In
less than a year, her life would be coated with an extra layer of crazy and she doubted that, between the baby and her job, she’d have the time to date, or have any interest in doing so.

  Carrick would move on—why did that feel like acid splashing on her soul?—and she’d be a single mom wrestling her way through motherhood.

  Until then she’d take this time, this reprieve, and do everything within reason that she wouldn’t be able to do when she had the responsibility of a child.

  And that included sleeping with, and not falling for, the very sexy Carrick Murphy.

  “What are you frowning about?”

  Sadie jerked her head up and looked toward the door. Think about the sexy devil and he arrives.

  Sadie lifted a hand and sent him a quick smile. “Just general frustration.”

  “Baby or art-related?”

  “Both,” Sadie said as he leaned his shoulder into the door frame. His tie was pulled down from his open collar and lay flat against the white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of tailored pants.

  Judging by his tired eyes and messy hair, the day had kicked his ass and she fought the urge to stand up and wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tight.

  She suspected Carrick was the tree many people relied on for shelter from the sun, wind and rain, tall and broad and protective. But who protected him from the elements? Where did he lay his head?

  “You look tired,” Sadie said.

  “Bitch of a day,” he admitted, surprising her.

  “Tell me.” She didn’t think he would, but miracles occasionally happened.

  Carrick walked over to her small desk, picked up her cup of peppermint tea and, before she could warn him that it was hours old and stone cold, took a sip. Then he took another, draining the cup of its contents.

  “One of the biggest items for the auction next week has been withdrawn.”

  “Why?”

  Carrick pulled a face. “My client was told by his spirit guide that it wasn’t a good time to sell, that he should wait for further instructions.”