Holy mother of all that is hot.
I had no idea my friend’s brother was such a hottie. I only knew the hockey player they call the ‘Hard Hitter’ by reputation. Unlike my hockey-obsessed father, I don’t follow the game and was ill prepared to come face to face with that panty-melting smile of his. I shouldn’t have blurted out that he wasn’t what I expected—sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain, which has gotten me in trouble in the past.
Truthfully, I expected an egomaniac, a guy who strutted around like he was the cock of the walk. What I found instead was a guy who cared about his daughter’s well-being. A guy whose words made my thoughts go in a direction I didn’t want then to go. I’m off men for a while, maybe even forever. A relationship is not in my near future, considering how many of them I’ve screwed up in the past. Now I’m all work and no play, my business my main concern.
How’s that working out for you, Sam?
Not great, judging by the way my body reacted when faced with six feet of pure testosterone. A hot, dominant male with calloused hands that have undoubtedly brought a lot of pleasure.
I take a deep, steady breath and pull myself together as my office door closes with a soft click. Even though he’s gone, his scent—that of freshly showered skin—and his presence still dominate the small space. Working to clear my thoughts and get my much-neglected body under control, I turn my attention to sweet little Daisy as she happily babbles with the bear. Zander might be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but I’m not about to spend this session thinking about him.
But later…when I’m tucked into bed. Oh, how I’ll imagine all the dirty things he says between the sheets, all the filthy things he’ll demand of me.
Stop it, Sam!
Good God. I’m a professional, and getting involved with a client’s parent is anything but smart. Not that I think I’m his type or anything. He probably dates perfect women. Perfect hair, perfect bodies, perfect speech…perfectly proper.
While I might come across as that nice girl, deep down I have cravings…needs. Not that I’d ever express them. Not ever again, anyway. It was less than a year ago, after I’d blurted out in bed that I wanted it a bit rough, that my fiancé went ballistic. He made me feel small, embarrassed, saying there was something wrong with me. Nice girls like me shouldn’t want such filth. He was disgusted with me, and when I tried to explain, my damn stutter came back, making me feel twice as foolish.
He’d looked at me with disdain, his lips twisted in derision. I’ll never forget the way he made me feel. Never want to feel that way again. After he dumped me, broke off the engagement, I locked up my longings, buried my cravings, and put my focus into my business.
Truthfully, when it comes to relationships, I have a penchant for ruining them. Before my fiancé, I once blurted out that I loved the guy I’d been seeing. That sent him running. And before him, the guy I’d been dating said I didn’t pay him enough attention. I’d been studying too much, apparently, and failed to create work/life/balance.
Yeah, I’m a screw up.
Now, relationships are not on my agenda. Since I can’t quite figure out the whole balance thing, my entire focus is on work—growing my business so I can pay down my student loans and still make my mortgage payments.
“Daisy, I see you found Mr. Giggles.”
“Mr. Giggles,” she says her ‘s’ coming out at a ‘th’.
I drop down onto the floor next to her and for the next half hour, spend some time getting to know her. From the other room, I hear my front door open, the screen door clanging shut. I’m guessing Daisy’s father must have gotten bored with the magazines and decided to get a breath of fresh air. Not that I can blame him. It’s a beautiful day. I spend the rest of our time practicing a few more enunciation games with Daisy, then climb to my feet.
“Want to go see what Daddy’s up to?” I ask her.
She gives me a smile and nods her head. “Daddy said he would get me an ice cream later.”
I check my watch. It’s late afternoon, and Daisy was my last client of the day. “Well aren’t you a lucky girl.” I open the door to the office. “What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”
“Chocolate.”
A girl after my own heart. “Me too,” I say and lead her down the hall.
But when I spot Zander at my front door, screwdriver in his hand and fixing my hinges, I stop dead in my tracks.
“What…what are you doing?” I ask.
He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes lingering a moment too long, then he grins and says, “Fixing your door. I hope you don’t mind?”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“What can I say, I was bored. When I’m bored, I like to put my hands to use.”
Before I can help myself, my gaze drops to his hands—big, calloused hands—and my thoughts race, thinking about other ways he might put those hands to use…on my body. Roughly.
Oh, God…
“Daddy, the big bear is named Mr. Giggles,” Daisy says and chuckles.
“Is that right?” Zander asks, and holds his arms out for his daughter. She darts toward him, and he scoops her up. “Did you have fun?” She nods her head, and her ponytail bounces around her tiny shoulders.
Zander looks at me, his eyes holding so many questions.
“She did just fine,” I say. I step closer and tap Daisy on the nose. But when I do, tension arcs between Zander and me.
Holy! Never in my life have I felt such electricity, such deep desire stirring in my body. This kind of thing never happens to me. Nevertheless, I’d be smart to ignore it. I can’t let anything distract me from my business. Not when I’m in the danger zone. All my focus and energy must go into my career, getting it in the black so I can start paying things down.
“I guess I should book another appointment.”
“Same time next week?” I ask. Then again, maybe he has better things to do on a late Friday afternoon. Like get ready for a hot date or something. “Unless you have plans,” I say.
He thinks about it for a second, then nods. “No plans. That will work.”
“We’re getting ice cream,” Daisy says.
“That’s right. Those are our big plans for the night.”
“Sam likes chocolate too. Daddy likes vanilla, but I don’t.”
“Vanilla is good,” he says, his nostrils flaring, like he can smell the body wash I showered with earlier.
“Can Sam come with us?”
Zander’s gaze shoots to mine. “Uh…”
“Thanks for asking, Daisy. But I’m not able to come,” I say. “I have plans.” Not really a lie. I have a meal that needs to go in the microwave and a date with Netflix.
Zander gives a curt nod. “We’ll get out of your way then.”
He’s about to leave but stops when I say, “Thank you for fixing my door. I really appreciate it. Can I pay you for it?”
His eyes narrow, like he’s surprised by that. “It was nothing. But maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
He scrubs his chin, looks at his daughter as she cups his cheeks, and then shakes his head, as if to get it on right. Is he changing his mind about what he was going to say? He winks at me. “Maybe a cup of coffee or something next time I’m by.”
My cheeks heat, mortified. My God, my mother would kill me for my bad manners. I always offer a beverage to the parents. But this time I was so thrown off by his good looks and charm—the way he dominated my space—my manners packed a bag and headed south…meeting up with my suddenly overactive libido.
“I’m…I’m so sorry,” I say. Don’t stutter Sam. “Excuse my bad manners.”
His smile falls. “No, no. It’s okay. I was just kidding. I had a coffee in the car on the way here.”
Okay, so if he was teasing about the coffee, what was he really going to say?
Oh, maybe you can make it up to me with a hot, dirty roll in the sack, where I hold you down hard and give it to you even harder.
My entire body buzzes to life.
“Ice cream, Daddy,” Daisy sings out, breaking the tension. Zander smiles at his daughter.
“Ice cream it is.” He gives me a nod and walks through the door. The screen glides shut behind him, and I open it and close it again, checking out his handiwork. He’s a hockey player, good with a stick, but I guess I never took him for a handyman, too. From what Quinn told me, after their mother walked out on them when they were young, their father worked long hours as a mail carrier and wasn’t there much for the family. A lot of the responsibility fell on Zander.
As my thoughts go to Quinn, I grab my cell from my back pocket and send her a text.
Zander and Daisy just left.
Three dots repeat as she texts back.
How did it go?
Great, Daisy is a sweetie.
I stare at the phone as she texts back, debating my next words.
She really is. Zander is doing a great job with her.
Speaking of Zander…
Your brother is nice.
I leave out the hotter-than-hell part. Best not to give Quinn any ideas. I haven’t known her that long—we met a couple years back, after she started her own daycare and was searching for a speech pathologist—but she’s always trying to set me up. I had just graduated when she first reached out to me, working at a clinic to gain experience. We hit it off, but she’s always at me—you need to date, Sam. You need to get out more.
She’s not wrong.
He fixed my door.
That was nice of him.
Like I said, he’s nice. I’d like to repay him. Any ideas how?
Three little dots pop up again, and I fully expect her to come back with something inappropriate. Then again, maybe not. This is, after all, her big brother.
He likes pie.
I stare at that for a moment and wonder what she’s getting at. Pie? I text back. Where the hell is she going with this?
Yeah, homemade. Especially cherry.
Are you suggesting I make him a cherry pie?
And deliver it to him. He’s home with Daisy tonight. I’ll send you his address.
I ignore the odd little thrill that he’s not on some hot date.
Don’t you think that’s a bit much?
No.
His address comes through, and I do a double take. He’s in one hell of a posh area of Cambridge. Then again, it shouldn’t surprise me. He’s a hockey player worth millions. I can’t imagine what he thought of my rundown little place, or what he’d think of the small house I’d grown up in. It wasn’t much, but I had the love and support of my mother and father.
Gotta run, Scotty is crying.
I slide my finger across the phone and end the call. Turning, I stare down the hall and into my kitchen.
Wait, I’m not really considering Quinn’s suggestion, am I? How weird would it be to find myself on Zander’s doorstep with a cherry pie in hand—a homemade cherry pie. I do make a mean one, having spent a lot of time in the kitchen baking with Mom when I was young.
The man fixed my door. A cherry pie to thank him is overkill, and he’d probably think I was crazy. Okay, enough of that. I am not going to bake him a pie and deliver it. No way. No how.
I don’t think.