Page 19 of Sexy Bad Daddy

“Time for bed, sweet pea,” Garrett says, and despite her protests, he sweeps Abby into his arms and brings her to me so I can kiss her goodnight, and then he carries her off to brush her teeth and put on pajamas.

“Don’t forget Spot Junior,” I call after them, the pang in my heart so sharp it might as well be real needles stabbing into my chest. This perfect little scenario—it isn’t reality, and I need to stop fooling myself, stop pretending. Garrett is my employer, and the relationship we’ve developed in my head is a bad idea. I’ve been down that path once before, and it ended in disaster.

I stare down at the soapy water in the sink, at the dishes that need to be loaded into the dishwasher, the empty wine bottle on the counter. Desire courses through my veins, hot and thick, and I twist the cold water tap, desperate for something to cool my libido.

Instead of cooling my jets, the icy splash takes me back eight years, to an uncomfortably similar scene. I’m cleaning up after dinner while the dad puts the kids to bed. His wife, as usual, is out of town, jetting around the world to support her job as an executive for an automotive manufacturer.

The dad returns to the kitchen and pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge. Legally, I’m not old enough to drink, but the first time I protested when he offered me one, he laughed and said, “You can’t tell me you don’t drink when you hang out with your college friends.”

But he isn’t a college friend; he’s my employer, even though he keeps insisting I should view him as a friend. More, even, than that. “You’re part of our family now, Erin,” he’s said on more than one occasion.

Stepping up behind me, he reaches over my shoulder, holding the bottle in front of me. “Come on, take a break,” he says. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet tonight.” We have, of course, over dinner, but it was about the kids’ grades and schoolwork and whether he needed to look into hiring a tutor for his son, who isn’t doing so well in math. I’m practically running their household, but math tutoring is definitely outside my repertoire.

We end up in the sitting room attached to his bedroom, where there’s a comfy couch and a flat-screen TV and a door that separates us from his sleeping children. I sit first, and he drops down next to me, closer than we should be, but I don’t ask him to move. I like him. I’m attracted to him, too, but I figure that’s just me being a fairly innocent eighteen-year-old and he’s this virile older guy who’s really good looking. Sexy even.

He grabs the remote and starts flipping channels while his other arm drapes across the back of the couch. I nervously drink my beer and secretly enjoy this sense of intimacy even though I shouldn’t. If his wife were home, they’d be up here doing this right now, while I’d be downstairs in my own bedroom, probably texting Danny.

And then he settles on a movie, which happens to be right in the middle of a sex scene. Holy crap, there’s full on frontal, and damn, I’m getting turned on. He probably is, too, because he keeps shifting in his seat, like he’s uncomfortable. But he doesn’t change the channel. And when the scene ends, he says, “Shit. That was hot. Did you like it?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t mind doing what they just did.”

My laugh is high-pitched. “Your wife isn’t due home for another three days.”

“I know. That’s a long time. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

He doesn’t exactly have a choice.

“You sure are beautiful, Erin. Sometimes I wish I’d held out, waited for you to come along. We’d make an awesome couple, don’t you think?”

“Um, we probably wouldn’t have met if you weren’t married with kids,” I point out.

He pats my arm and stands. I avert my gaze from the erection pressing against the front of his pants. “You never know. Fate has a way of making sure people end up together. Listen, I’m going to go take a shower. You’re welcome to keep watching, if you want. There’s a TV in the bedroom, too, if you’d rather curl up in bed instead.”

I stand, glad for the excuse to get that thing away from eye level. “I’m going to head to my own room. ‘Night.”

“Hey.” Garrett’s voice pulls me from the memory, and I fling around, spraying soap bubbles and water across the kitchen. He glances down to where wet spots have decorated his pants, right across the crotch. “Um, do you need help?”

Shaking my head, I use my arm to push my hair out of my face. “No, I’m good. You go ahead and unpack, relax, whatever you want to do.”

Instead of leaving the room, he comes closer and then, bending over, pulls out a bottle of Brunello from the wine fridge. After opening it, he lets it hover over my empty glass. “More?”

I nod mutely and he pours the burgundy liquid. After swiping his own glass off the counter, he says, “I’m going to go change.”

“Okay.” I fail miserably at keeping my gaze above his shoulders as he leaves the room. But hot damn, the man has an ass that makes a woman want to take a bite. It’s round and firm and I swear he has his pants tailored to emphasize that particular asset.

He steps back into the room at the same time I finish cleaning the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a basic, white T-shirt. I nearly fumble my wine glass. It’s not often I see him like this, even though we live in the same apartment. The rare day he doesn’t have to leave for practice or business or whatever it is golf pros do when they aren’t playing the game are my days off, and I usually run and hide at Danny’s house to avoid this exact scenario.

“Um, hey.”

“More wine?” he asks as he fills his own glass.

“I’m okay right now, thanks.”

“Come take a break,” he says, nodding at the French doors leading outside. “Relax for a minute. I feel like all you ever do is work.”

“I could say the same about you,” I say, stubbornly pushing away the memory I really wish I could forget forever and following him outside onto the balcony. “I should probably go to bed.”

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