Grinder (Seattle Sharks 1)

I arched an eyebrow at him.

“And to make sure we weren’t being too loud…for Lettie.” He quickly added.

“You’re fine. For a bunch of Sharks you’re all very tame,” I said and my cheeks flushed. Damn margaritas made my tongue want to say—and do—naughty things.

“Oh, if you think I’m tame you’d be in for a real surprise,” he joked and the innuendo sent heat through my blood. The hallway seemed too small and dark suddenly and was filled with his scent—a crisp, sharp soap and salt smell that I loved catching whiffs of all throughout the house.

He gazed down at me with those blue eyes of his and my panties may as well evaporated. All it’d take would be one move from him, one hint, and I wouldn’t be able to resist him—because I didn’t want to.

“Really?” I asked, stepping closer to him. “You know how much I love surprises.”

He seemed content to stare down at me, waging some internal battle I couldn’t decipher, and didn’t wait to. Fueled by margaritas and the dirty girl bucket lists Jeannine had assembled, I put my hand on his hard chest, lightly tracing the ridges of his muscles with my fingers.

I wanted to know what his skin felt like, tasted like.

Hell, I wanted to know how well he’d fill me.

When he didn’t stop my wandering fingers, I pressed up on my tiptoes, leaning into him, my lips a breath away from his mouth that I thought about on a near-constant basis. He sucked in a sharp breath as he grabbed my hips, those long, talented fingers of his digging into my curves. I closed my eyes, my heart racing. I was beyond ready to taste Gage after all this time of want.

He gently pushed me backward, away from his glorious mouth, and the body I’d drooled over for months.

Heat flushed my skin and the rejection wilted my racing heart, but I didn’t lose his gaze.

“I can’t—”

He what? Humiliation washed over me, heat stinging my cheeks.

“Of course,” I cut him off, not needing to hear his reasoning because it would hurt too damned much.

After all, the man gave away sex like free samples at a department store. He just didn’t want to give it to me.

I pushed away from him, stumbling slightly, but avoiding his hands as he tried to steady me. “No. I’d hate for you to have to touch me.”

“Bailey…”

“No,” I said, backing down the hall. “No need to explain. I got the message loud and clear, boss.” I tucked tail and ran back to the girls, and the copious amounts of alcohol I was going to need to forget this.

Chapter 5

Gage

I pulled the bottle of Tylenol out of the cabinet and cursed myself for the thousandth time. She’d been right there, her mouth inches from mine, looking at me with those soft, hazel eyes, and I’d rejected her.

I was either a saint or the biggest fucking idiot on the planet.

My dick was arguing the latter.

“Daddy, I think Bailey is up!” Lettie whispered so loudly that I heard her across the kitchen.

“It sounds like it,” I whispered back just as loudly. The microwave clock read ten-thirty. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time Bailey had slept in. It sure as hell hadn’t been since she moved in with us. She needed a morning. Hell, after last night she needed a week full of mornings.

I slid a glass of water across the bar as Bailey walked in, her little bare feet padding along the hardwood. Even her painted toes were somehow sexy.

“Morning,” I said softly, motioning to my peace offering, as shitty as it was.

“Thank you,” she answered in the same tone, popping two of the small pills and taking half the glass of water with them.

“Good morning, Bailey!” Lettie shrieked in glee.

I winced at the same time Bailey did. I’d quit drinking when she’d been born, knowing that I needed to be at my best for my daughter at all times, but it wasn’t like I didn’t remember being hungover. College was a bitch.

“Hey, Lettie,” Bailey said, dropping down to hug her. Her eyes held no censure for the volume of her voice, just open acceptance and a profound love that was echoed in my daughter’s eyes.

Lettie kissed Bailey’s cheek and then ran back to her spread of art supplies on the table.

Bailey stood and downed the rest of the water before coming around the island to pour a cup of coffee, her motions stiff. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. Cue awkwardness.

“So, about last night,” I said, ready to just bite the bullet.

“What do you have planned for the day?” she asked, changing the subject as the keurig hissed to life.

“Bailey—”

“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. Her brown mass of hair tumbled with the movement.

Tension clung to the moment, tightening my chest in a way I’d almost forgotten. How long had it been since I’d really cared what a woman had thought? Felt? I waited, fighting my basic need to spin her around and demand she talk to me.

Finally, she turned, holding her mug close to her face and looking up at me from under long, thick lashes that framed incredible eyes. “Look. I don’t want to talk about it,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to where Lettie sat.

“I don’t see how that’s an option.”

She shrugged. “Pretty easy. We agree to never speak of it. Kind of like Fight Club.”

A corner of my mouth tilted into a smile. “Isn’t another rule of Fight Club no shirts?”

Her cheeks flushed and I nearly kicked myself. “Right, well, that won’t be a problem.”

“It’s just that with Lettie—”

She put her fingers over my lips to silence me and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to suck the digits into my mouth just to see how her skin tasted. “No, you don’t need to explain. I was in the wrong, and it won’t happen again.”

She slowly lowered her hand from my mouth.

My forehead puckered. Never? Wait, wasn’t that what I wanted? I couldn’t kiss her, touch her, taste her like I wanted. Not when there was Lettie to think of. What if shit went south and I lost my nanny? Lettie lost her best friend?

“I think it merits a discussion,” I said my voice above the whisper we had been using.

“Well, I don’t!” she snapped then winced, her free hand flying to her temple. “Ugh. What was I thinking?”