Page 74 of Who's Your Daddy
The next morning I’m once again annoyed with Callahan Murphy. Shocking, I know.
“What do you mean we’re driving?” That familiar annoyance flares to life in my chest.
Cal leans against the passenger door of the black Jeep. “You hated the helicopter so I rented this for us.”
I take a deep breath and clench my fists to keep from strangling him. “Why aren’t we flying? It takes four and a half hours to get to the city on a good day.”
“Because Sully said Murphy was having a grand time. Insisted we take our time, so we’re having an adventure.” He grins and damn if it doesn’t make my heart skip.
Mentally chastising myself, I school my expression into one of irritation. “No, we’re going home.”
“Eventually, but first we’ll enjoy a day of us.”
Taking a step back, I cross my arms. “There is no us.”
Cal follows, leaning in close and cupping my cheek. “That’s not what you were saying last night.” He waggles his brows, blue eyes dancing. “Or this morning. We can’t forget about this morning, either time.”
My cheeks flame. Dammit. The man is right. I tried to slip out of bed when the first rays of the sun shone in around the curtains, but Cal didn’t let me leave the bed until I’d had three more orgasms.
What can I say, I’m weak.
It seems this is Cal’s superpower. He is absolutely impossible to resist.
Over the years, more women than I can count have shown up at the office the week after a date with Cal, desperate for a little more of his attention.
None of them ever succeeded, and I refuse to be just another notch in his bedpost.
“Cal.” I grasp his wrist and yank his hand away from my face. “We work together. And you don’t do more than one night. Just stop.” I stomp my foot. Yes, it’s mortifying, but I just stomped like a toddler throwing a fit.
Cal doesn’t seem to mind my tantrum. In fact, his smirk turns into a grin, like he finds it endearing rather than irritating.
“Cal, I’m serious. When we get back to Jersey, we forget all about last night. This”—I wag a finger between the two of us—“never happened.”
He opens his mouth like he’s gearing up to argue, but after his eyes search mine and he sees how serious I am, he snaps it shut again and sags a little. “Fine. But until we get back to Jersey, it very muchdidhappen, and I’ll revel in it.”
My shoulders finally relax while the tension eases from me.
He yanks the door open and holds out an arm with a flourish. “So get in,Lola. You can control the music.”
With a sigh, I climb in. There is no point in prolonging this.
He jogs around the front of the Jeep and eases into the driver’s seat with far too much swagger.
“So, lunch,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.
I blink at the clock, then at him. “It’s 9:36.”
If we headed straight to Jersey now, we’d be there by two. A latelunch—in the comfort of my apartment and by myself—would be perfectly sufficient.
“Not yet.” He chirps. “But we need a plan. So Newport or Bristol Bay?”
Rhode Island? That’s not even on the way.
I shift in my seat and dig deep for patience. “What do you mean?”
He nods. “You’re right. Newport all the way.”
He taps the screen on the console, and the robotic voice of the GPS announces that we should arrive at our destination at 11:02 a.m. “Don’t worry, Lola.” He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “This will be fun.”
