The Woodsman's Nanny - A Single Daddy Romance

by Emerson Rose

  “What? Why are you a bitch?”

  “I was so stupid, assuming you were talking to a girlfriend, and it turns out it was the person who saved your baby’s life. Wait.” She sits up suddenly.

  “She did save her life, didn’t she?”

  Her face is so full of hope, it makes my chest ache knowing she’s concerned about my daughter, a child she’s never met.

  “Yes, she saved her, and I’m forever indebted to her for that.”

  She slumps against me again, only to bolt upright a few seconds later.

  “Where is she? She doesn’t live with you.”

  “She lives with my sister, Samantha, in Oceanside. She has custody of her.”

  “Why?” Violet’s beautiful face is twisted with shock and confusion.

  “I’m a single father in the Marines. I have to be able to ship out at a moment’s notice, and she’s better off with Sam anyway.”

  “How can a little girl be better off without her daddy?”

  “I’m no good with kids. I’m too rigid, too direct. Sam has other kids and a wonderful husband. It’s just a better environment for her to grow up in. I see her everyday, and I spend time with her on the weekends. She knows who I am, and I hope she knows I love her.”

  Violet lowers her eyes, and I wait while she thinks.

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Your personality traits are who you are. You can’t say she’s better off without you because you’re strict and anal. Those are good qualities in a parent. I do understand the Marine part of it though. Has she always lived with your sister?”

  “Yes, Samantha took her right after Katie died. I was so grief-stricken I couldn’t take care of myself, let alone a newborn. It wasn’t meant to be permanent at first. She was just supposed to help me transition, but it worked out so well and I got deployed to Iraq, so we made it permanent a year later.”

  We sit in silence for a while, her absorbing everything I’ve just said and me reliving it in my head. I try not to think of Katie’s death because I’m mostly responsible for it. I was so busy with work and my own life that I didn’t see how much she needed me. I missed the warning signs. She tried to tell me she didn’t feel well. She tried to show me she was struggling, but I was too concerned with making sure the diapers were stacked in perfect rows on the shelf in her nursery and bottles were sterile and hidden away in the kitchen cupboards. My obsession with lists and keeping supplies stocked consumed my life. When Malory was born, my compulsions became more powerful, more overwhelming. It made me blind to Katie’s depression. I could have saved her if I’d listened and taken her to get help, and Malory wouldn’t have suffered mild brain damage from nearly drowning.

  “Major?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you lay down with me?”

  “Yeah, here on the couch or on your bed?”

  “My bed.”

  I scoop her up and carry her down the hall. She points to the door on the left, and I enter and lay her on her very feminine purple comforter. There’s a lot of purple in here, I notice, looking around, but her name is Violet, so go figure. She likes photographs and candles and knickknacks. Every surface in the room is covered with them, and it makes me cringe inside. She has an antique rocking chair in the corner of the room with clothes thrown on it, unfolded and wrinkled. I’m going to have to close my eyes and forget the chaos around me if I expect to stay in Violet’s bedroom.

  She scoots over, and I curl around her from behind and shut my eyes. I’ll be all right as long as I don’t look at it . . . I hope.

  The warmth and comfort of her body soothes my anxiety, and I don’t even remember falling asleep. Violet is like medication for my obsessive behavior. When I touch her, the restless, uneasy feeling in my chest disappears and I feel like I can cope. I’m grateful she didn’t ask me to leave when I told her how Katie died and that I had a daughter. That’s a lot of baggage on top of her suspicions about my OCD. I’m not the kind of man for her. She deserves better, but I think I may be falling in love with her and I’m too selfish to give up on this second chance.

  20

  Orgasmic Cupcakes

  Violet

  I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him I’m pregnant after that heart-wrenching story about his wife and daughter. And he thinks he’s not good with kids, ugh. How will I ever tell him he’s going to have another?

  I think he’s still sleeping, but I really have to pee. Maybe if I slip out carefully, I won’t disturb him. I try, but it’s useless. His arms are wrapped tight around my body and his legs are tangled with mine. I’ll have to wake him.

  “Major?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, you’re awake. I really need to go to the bathroom. Could you let me out?”

  He slides his legs out from between mine and loosens his arms.

  “I wasn’t going to let you sleepwalk away from me again,” he says while I stand next to the bed doing a pee pee dance. I swear, pregnancy shrinks your bladder. I pee ten times more per day than I ever have.

  “Thank you for keeping me safe from myself. I usually only sleepwalk at night though. I don’t know why.”

  “Go on, hurry up now before you pee your pants.”

  “What time is it?” I call from across the hall when I sit down on the toilet seat.

  “Eighteen thirty,” he calls back.

  I slept for two hours and I could still go back for more. Sleep and pee, pee and sleep. Pregnancy is a wheel of magnified necessary bodily functions, and I’m tired of going around and around.

  When I return to the bedroom, Major is gone. I hear him in my kitchen. Lord, I hope he’s not checking my cupboards. I throw stuff in there willy-nilly when I grocery shop. My cans and boxes are far from organized.

  When I come around the corner, he’s arranging Sayeed’s flowers in a vase, picking off the dead blooms and brown leaves.

  “They needed water,” he says plainly.

  “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes I did. They were just lying there on your table . . . dying.”

  “Well, thank you again. I was just going to throw them out, but since you’ve gone to the trouble, I can put them on the table and we can—” He scoops up the flowers, tosses them in the trash, and dumps the water from the vase down the drain.

  “Okay then, never mind.”

  “I was trying to be mature, but I’d much rather you not be reminded of another man every time you look at those flowers.”

  A smug smile slides across his face and my heart flutters. It actually flutters like it skips a beat. He’s jealous and possessive, but in a good way. It’s cute.

  There’s a pink box on the counter behind him. “What’s this?” I say, opening it up.

  “Oh my God, cupcakes. You remembered!” My mouth waters when I peruse the beautiful little masterpieces. “They’re so pretty. I don’t want to ruin them, but I’m going to,” I say, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. I pluck the one labeled, Peanut Butter Passion from the box, and he happily watches me bite into it with the enthusiasm of a toddler.

  “Good?” he asks when I close my eyes and moan. God, I love sugar. This baby has a serious sweet tooth, and this cupcake is going to make him or her very happy.

  “Orgasmic.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really? I’ll have to remember that. I’m not sure how I feel about you eating orgasmic cupcakes.”

  “You should feel really, really good. Here, try,” I say, holding the cupcake up for him to taste. He takes a bite, and I know right away he feels the same way.

  “That is an exceptional cupcake.”

  He has a little bit of frosting on his lip, and I stand on my tiptoes to lick it off. He stills with our lips touching, not moving, and then, without looking, he removes the cupcake from my hand and puts it back in the box. His hands slide down my back until they cup my ass, and he swiftly lifts me onto the counter. M
y breath is coming in little puffs as he reaches up to pull the rubber band out of my hair, causing it to tumble down my back and shoulders. He still hasn’t kissed me, but just being this close to him causes my heart to race, and my core trembles like a volcano waiting to erupt.

  He combs his fingers through my hair, and with one hand tugs my head back, exposing my neck. When his lips touch my skin, it feels like fire and ice. I don’t know who’s hot and who’s cold, but his lips and tongue burn a trail up my throat to my ear. The tip of his tongue traces my earlobe, and his breath in my ear is too much. I grab his shirt and frantically pull it from his jeans and start unbuckling his belt.

  “I want you to fuck me on the counter, Major,” I pant while he unbuttons my blouse and pops my sensitive breasts out over the cups of my bra. He bends down to trace one of my stiff buds with his tongue, and I wrap my legs around his waist and drop my head back with a thump against the cupboard behind me.

  “I intend to do just that,” he says in a low, gravelly, seductive voice that makes my core pulse with anticipation.

  I shrug my top off. Thank God I’m not showing yet. I’ve noticed changes in my body. My hips are a smidgen wider and my breasts are plumper. Leggings and tunic tops are my clothing of choice lately, but my baby bump is nearly invisible to anyone but myself. I need to tell him, but not yet, not now, not today.

  He unclasps the front hook of my bra, freeing my breasts. His mouth is on mine now. Finally. Our tongues explore and reacquaint. His teeth nip and tug on my lips, desperate for more of me, and I know exactly how he feels.

  Close isn’t close enough. I need him inside me. I lift his shirt and our lips briefly separate when I pass it between us and throw it on the floor. I skim my hands over his chiseled abdominal muscles and break free from his mouth to kiss a trail along his jaw, behind his ear, and down his neck to his chest, where I give him a taste of his own medicine and circle his nipple with my tongue. His skin is salty and delicious. I want to lick every inch of him. I continue kissing until I reach his navel, where I swirl my tongue over the surface of it and lick all the way up his washboard stomach and his defined pectorals. A deep, guttural growl begins in his chest and ends in a muffled moan when I cover his mouth with mine.

  He slips his fingers inside the elastic waistband of my leggings and peels them down. I place my palms flat on the counter and lift my ass while he pulls them over my hips and I rub my legs together, kicking them off. I’ve managed to unbuckle his belt, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten between kissing and touching every part of him I can reach. Not to worry. He’s out of them in a flash with his rock hard cock pressing against my belly in seconds. I dig my nails into his muscular ass and pull him closer. He slips a finger between my folds and growls into my mouth, and I feel his cock twitch against my belly.

  “Fuck, you get so wet for me, Violet, so, so wet,” he says, dragging the slickness of my arousal forward and circling my clit with his finger.

  “I’m dying to taste you again, but I can’t wait. I need to be inside you. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t take the time to tell him there’s no need to apologize. He rubs the head of his cock down my slit and slides in balls deep with one swift thrust.

  My head hits the cupboard again, harder this time, but I don’t feel pain, only intense pleasure. I clench my legs around his body and dig my heels into the small of his back. My hands are palm down against his chest, holding him back to give him better leverage. I like this position. I can look into his eyes. Major’s eyes are the most interesting shade of blue. They’re usually a mixture of ocean blue and cornflower blue, but right now, full of passion and emotion, they’re black rimmed with a sliver of pale blue surrounding his pupils. I see so many things in his eyes as he pumps in and out of me, desire, understanding, respect, even a touch of sadness. I think I may feel more than just enamored or hungry for this man. I think I feel love.

  “Major,” I exhale his name when he pushes deep inside me. “I think I might love you,” I say, and he pauses.

  I don’t know where that came from. I don’t know why I just blurted that out in the middle of mind-blowing sex. I have no control over my mouth. It just happened.

  His grip on my hair tightens, and he pushes deeper into me. He lunges for my mouth, kissing me hard. He pounds into me relentlessly with such force that I have to hold onto the counter with one hand to keep from falling.

  I’m so close when he lifts me off the counter. His mouth abandons mine, my body molds to his, and he buries his face in my neck, forcing me to do the same.

  He yells, but I can’t make out what he says because the volcano that’s been brewing between my legs erupts at that exact moment, and I sink my teeth into his shoulder.

  “Fuck yes, Violet, I love you,” he pants as his cock pulses deep inside me. I will never forget this moment for as long as I live. Major’s fierceness, my pounding heart, his declaration of love and the rusty taste of his blood on my tongue. Absolute perfection.

  We cling to each other, catching our breath, coming down from the highest high imaginable.

  “I want to take you and those orgasmic cupcakes over to the couch and do this again, but I don’t want to mess it up, it’s so . . . white,” he says against my neck.

  “It’s scotch guarded, and if we ruin it, I’ll buy a new one.”

  I feel him smile against my skin and he easily lifts me off the counter with one arm. He grabs the pink box and carries me to the long white sectional. I’ve always hated this couch anyway. It was Luke’s fabulous idea to buy such an impractical piece of furniture. It would be nice to have a reason to replace it, and I can’t think of a better way to ruin it than having messy orgasmic cupcake sex on it with Major Sawyer Steele.

  21

  Thot

  Major

  Getting my ass chewed by a superior isn’t the way I enjoy starting my day, but I think it brought a tiny bit of joy to Corporal Jamison’s heart. I’ve been such a prick to him lately that he deserves some retribution, even if he isn’t dishing it out personally.

  After a night of licking frosting from every inch of Violet’s body, talking until dawn, and the two-hour drive home that should have only taken forty-five minutes, I should be exhausted. But I’m not. Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in months, I feel rested and light and—fuck, I don’t know—happy, I guess. It’s been forever since I told a woman other than Sabrina that I loved her, and the fact that Violet confessed it first made it all that much sweeter.

  I’m not going to lie. I was worried about the good doctor. But, there’s no way she could have done the things she did to me last night with another man on her mind, and I intend to keep it that way.

  I’m going back down to San Diego Friday to spend the weekend with Violet and double date with Garcia and Kimber. They’ve become pretty close. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pops the question before her baby is born. My blood boils every time I think of her cock sucking ex-husband and the way he left her high and dry when she got pregnant—with his own fucking kid. What kind of Marine does that? What kind of man does that? I wonder if he’s noticed the subtle changes in his duties over the past few months. Ranking Major has its advantages, and Karma’s a bitch . . . sucker.

  I’m looking forward to dinner tonight with Malory at Sam’s. She’s such a good mother. She must have inherited good mama genes from our biological mother, because our adopted mother doesn’t even deserve the title.

  My phone vibrates on my desk and I pick it up. A picture of Malory that I’ve assigned to Samantha’s number flashes on the screen I click the accept button.

  “Hey, what’s up? How are my girls?”

  “You sure are chipper today,” Sam says. I can tell right away that something’s off. Her usual musical voice is monotone and flat.

  “It’s been that bad, huh?”

  “Yep, you were putting the dick in ridiculous for sure.”

  I chuckle. Even when something’s wrong, Sam tells it how it is.

/>   “I wanted to talk to you before you came over tonight.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it Malory? Is she okay?”

  “No, she’s fine. It’s not about her . . . well, not directly anyway. Sawyer, Craig wants a divorce. There’s someone else,” her words trail off, and I hear her start to cry.

  Fuck.

  “Sam, why haven’t you said anything until now? Is he sure about a divorce? It seems sort of sudden.”

  She sniffles and blows out a shaky breath. “I didn’t know. God, Sawyer, I had no idea he wasn’t happy or that he was screwing around on me. Some woman called the house the other day. She said she was sleeping with my husband and I needed to wake up and smell the coffee. I told her to go to hell and mentioned it to Craig that night in bed. He admitted he was cheating on me and asked me for a divorce all in the same breath.” She starts to softly cry again.

  She doesn’t deserve this. Nobody does, but Samantha has been a model wife for going on ten years. She skipped college to help put Craig through medical school, and she helped him open his own chiropractic clinic. She sacrificed years of her life taking care of him and their children—and mine. Malory . . . she won’t be able to take care of Malory if she’s single, with no degree and no career. That’s got to be why she’s calling.

  “Sam, we’ll get through this. We always do. I’m here for you. I’ll help you any way I can. You know that.”

  “I know.” Her breath hitches between sobs. “But what am I going to do? I won’t have a job. I’ve been doing the books for Craig’s office for years, and I never got a chance to go back to school.”

  “One thing at a time. I’ll have a talk with Craig tonight when I come over and find out what the hell is going on. In the mean time, you call this number. Do you have a pen?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “555-9218. That’s Brad Stetson. He’s my lawyer. Tell him I gave you his number and explain your situation. If Craig’s going to be a dick about this, you need good representation. He’s going to have to pay you alimony and child support. You won’t be broke. I’ll find a way to take Malory back to ease the burden if need be. Just take care of yourself for now and leave the rest to me.”