She stands from the couch. “I meant if there were other girls, you’d have been kissing someone else. Let’s remember I had to tear you away from a pair of women that night.” She remains on her feet, standing at the end of the couch. “I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Why are you always running away?”
Her footsteps stop.
The doorbell rings and I stand to go answer it, but on my way, I stop at Lena’s back. My hand wraps around her wrist, my finger running a figure eight along the inside. “Trust me. I might not have been where I wanted to be that night, but I was with who I wanted to be with that night. Stay and eat something.”
I inhale her scent, lavender and vanilla, and leave her standing there while I walk to the door before they ring the doorbell again and wake Annabelle.
After I pay the driver, I come back to find Lena still standing where she was, her cheeks pinker than I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure why I told her what I did, but I wanted her to know that I didn’t kiss her on New Year’s because she was the only woman there when the clock struck twelve. I kissed her because I wanted to. It’s as simple as that.
“Why does it matter to you?” she asks, glancing at me.
I take the white boxes out of the brown paper bag. “What?”
She slowly walks toward me at the kitchen counter. “Why are you so hung up on what I think about you?”
“I just like fucking with you. That’s all.”
She nods, and our eyes meet for a second. She probably knows I’m lying. And that’s exactly why I care. For some reason, Lena Boyd is the only woman who sees through me and the front I put up to my family, the world. And maybe that’s why I’ve been pushing so hard for her to tell me what an asshole she thinks I am. That I’m not worthy of that kiss on New Year’s. So I can hear what she really thinks of me and put her out of my mind. She’s way too good for a guy like me.
Light streams in my room and I squint, rolling on my sheets, exhausted and a little banged up from last night’s game. Damn Langley and his laser focus on where I was every second. Even though he didn’t play his best game last night, he’s still a contender. I cringe, rising slowly until I remember Annabelle. I grab the monitor and see that it’s off. Shit, did the power go out or something?
I run out of my room into Annabelle’s. Her door is open, and I rush through to find Lena in the rocking chair, holding Annabelle and feeding her a bottle. Did Annabelle really sleep through the night?
Lena looks up and her gaze falls back down to my daughter. Her tongue slides out and licks her bottom lip. “I just thought as a thank you, I’d let you sleep in.”
My heartbeat slows now that I know Annabelle is okay, and I rest my shoulder on the doorframe. “Thanks.”
“No problem. That’s a nasty bruise. Do you get hurt like that often?”
I look down at my stomach to see a black and blue bruise. “It’s nothing.”
Although that’s obviously what’s making me cringe when I move.
She places the empty bottle on the table, picks up Annabelle and puts her on her lap, then runs her hand in a circle on her back, patting lightly, holding my daughter as though she’s a professional nanny. This is another layer of Lena Boyd I had no idea about. I see what everyone means when they say she’s motherly.
Annabelle lets out a huge burp, and we both laugh. Lena picks her up and stands. It’s then I notice she’s wearing my T-shirt still, but the shorts are gone. And I finally get my first look at Lena Boyd’s legs. They’re as good as I imagined—long, shapely, and perfect for wrapping around a man’s waist. Or his head.
“Last night must’ve been a big night. She’s sleepy.” Lena smiles at Annabelle.
I give my head a shake to clear my thoughts. “Lay her down.”
I watch Lena lean over the crib to place Annabelle inside. My shirt runs up, but it’s so big on Lena, I only get a glimpse of her ass for a moment before she’s standing back up.
Turning around, she stays by the crib, not coming toward me. Her gaze falls over my body, her tongue sliding out of her mouth again as though she has no control. There’s a hunger in her eyes that makes my dick chub. Could we cross that line? Surely being my family’s PR rep isn’t her life goal.
“I should go.” She walks toward me, but I don’t move out of the doorway. When she realizes it, her gaze slowly meets mine. “Ford…”
It’s not clear what she wants from me—for me to press her to do what I think she wants me to, or for me to pretend there isn’t something that feels like it’s tugging us together, even if I can’t explain what that is or why.
“Lena,” I say, mimicking her tone. I step closer, removing any distance between us. Her nipples poke through my shirt and brush along my chest. My arm winds around her, touching her waist, ready to hoist her up.
Her phone rings from her bedroom and Annabelle lets out a small cry, clearly not as asleep as we thought.
“That could be the pilot,” she says and squeezes around me, brushing her entire body along mine.
“Yeah.”
I watch Lena walk into the bedroom and shut the door. Fuck. I run my hand through my hair because there’s no denying I almost lost all self-control and tried to sleep with her. It has to be because I need some female attention. God knows it’s been too long at this point, even before I made that stupid fucking bet with Tweetie.
When I pick up Annabelle, she looks about a minute away from a tantrum and I realize I feel the same way. I need to get laid and I need it soon, before I end up fucking the last woman I should.
Sex diet be damned.
When the plane takes off, leaving the beaches of Florida behind, I finally release the breath I’ve been holding. I didn’t spread my legs for Ford Jacobs. Mission accomplished.
Now if only I could stop replaying his intense stare or the feel of his arms around me in his daughter’s nursery. Not that it’s much of a nursery. A crib, a rocker. No decorations.
I was just doing him a favor with Annabelle. He let me stay the night with no notice, so I was being nice, like anyone would, right? He played a hard game the night before and we were up late, eating and chatting about all kinds of things—where to get the best egg rolls in New York City, how he first got into hockey. The topic of his playboy ways was put aside, and as much as I’m surprised, I actually enjoyed his company.
I couldn’t figure out how to turn the monitor off in Annabelle’s room because the main unit looks like something NASA would use on a space mission, so I opted to turn off the one in Ford’s room. Going into his room to turn off the monitor, seeing him sprawled out in only his boxer briefs, wasn’t part of the plan. I can’t lie, I stood there for a few seconds, watching him sleep. I didn’t lie last night. Lots of women see him as the Triple Crown. He’s got it all. If I hadn’t witnessed his turbulent relationship with his father, I’d say he was handed not only a silver spoon, but an entire silver platter. But I know his deciding to play hockey and not take over the business caused a rift in his family. One that has remained unfixable.
Still, I can’t stop wondering, if the pilot hadn’t called and my phone hadn’t woken Annabelle, would Ford have taken me to bed? Would we have kissed only to realize it was a mistake, or would the lust coursing in that room have been enough to keep us going until we quenched our thirst for each other? Afterward, would I have hated myself and been discarded like all the other women in Ford’s life?