Transcend Read online

  “Stop!” I grab the yellow blanket from the back of the sofa and toss it over him before tackling him.

  “Oof!” He chuckles.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my nose into his skin while taking a deep inhale. He’s all cedar wood and spice. Warm and delectable. I feel small pressed to the hard planes of his body. And safe. Griffin makes me feel safe.

  “I missed you, hot stuff.” He palms my ass and gives it a firm squeeze, adjusting me over his erection covered by the blanket.

  “I missed you too.” His scent is crack to my senses. My nose refuses to move from its lodged position in the crook of his neck.

  “Tell me about your day?”

  Begrudgingly, I lift my head. “For real? Or just because you like background noise when you’re having sex?”

  Griffin sits up, setting me aside like a throw pillow. He has a dragon tattooed on his back, and the tail of it runs down his right butt cheek and ends partway down the back of his leg. When he stands, my eyes go straight to it.

  “I love that tattoo.”

  “I know you do.”

  “So cocky.”

  “Nope. I’ve just heard you say it a million times. I love your tattoo too.”

  “It’s a birthmark.”

  He gets dressed. Such a shame. It should be illegal for Griffin to put on clothes. But I know why he’s doing it, and I kinda love him for it.

  “Every detail. You have my undivided attention.” He sits down and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him.

  “I don’t deserve you, Grocery Store Guy.” I kiss him.

  The day he wrote his number on the back of the receipt, he signed it Grocery Store Guy.

  Fisting my hair, he deepens the kiss. It’s sensual, familiar, possessive, and utterly intoxicating. I think I’m falling in love with this man, but I’m still too deep in lust to know for sure.

  He pulls back, rubbing his lips together like he’s savoring my taste. “Go.”

  I grin. “Coffee with sugar.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Sugar with coffee, but go on.”

  “Barre class. Shower. A bit of design work. Then Dr. Greyson.”

  “Good name.”

  My eyes double in size. “I know. Right? And his appearance fits his name too.”

  “Bonus.” Griffin gets me. That’s huge. That’s everything.

  “I made another appointment.”

  “So a good day?” He gathers my hair and moves it away from my neck before ducking down to kiss me. “Didn’t you have an interview too?”

  Yep. Totally falling for this man. Griffin may be a grease monkey some days, but he’s smart and attentive when he wants to be, and he remembers stuff that most twenty-three-year-old guys would not remember. Hell, most guys of any age wouldn’t remember the little things that Griffin does.

  “Yes.” I stretch my neck to the side to give him better access. “Funny thing … I met this guy in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. I totally recognized him, but he didn’t recognize me. Then I get to the interview, and it’s the same guy. What are the chances?”

  His hands rest on my legs, sliding upward until his thumbs brush over the spot I want them most. “One in a million,” he mumbles into my neck. “So how do you know him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” He unfastens my pants. The guy is a multi-tasking god. His dick hasn’t lost focus; I can feel it bulged against his jeans. He devours the skin along my neck, but he’s still one hundred percent engaged in this conversation.

  We’ve had full conversations during sex. I suck at it; my mind goes blank like too much blood is needed in my girl parts, leaving an inadequate amount in my brain to function properly. But Griffin can fuck me into next week, coming hard—almost violently—without missing a single detail or comment, even if his words are strained, breathy, and grunted out with each thrust.

  “I know him and things about …”

  His hand slips down the front of my panties. “Keep going.” His finger brushes my clit.

  “Um … Griff.” My eyes blink heavily.

  “Things about?” He sucks my earlobe, teasing it with his tongue the way his finger teases my clit.

  “His past. But I don’t know how because it doesn’t coincide with my past, or at least I can’t make the connection. It’s so … Jesus …”

  Griffin slips his middle finger inside of me. “Biblical?” He chuckles.

  And the shift has happened. There’s no longer enough blood left in my brain. “Just fuck me, Griff.” I grab his face and pull it away from my neck, smashing my lips to his.

  *

  “You have to leave.” I block the doorway to my bedroom when naked, insatiable Griffin follows me down the short hall connecting my bedroom and bathroom.

  His gaze slides along my naked body, and that’s why he has to leave. “You’ve stopped by the shop, and I’ve kept working. Why can’t you work when I’m here?”

  “Because it’s late and my bed is inviting enough without you in it. With you in it … I don’t stand a chance. I need to finish the website so I can pay rent and stop whoring myself out for groceries.”

  He drapes his shirt over my head. “Then stop looking at me like you want more.”

  I giggle, seeing only his bare feet step into his boxers and jeans. Griffin snags the shirt from my head, a killer grin on his freshly-shaven face. He slips it on as I turn and grab a nightshirt from my dresser. This room could not be any more cramped. I have a full bed, desk, and dresser crammed in here with barely enough space to turn around.

  “Congratulations on the job, baby.” He hugs me from behind and nuzzles into my neck.

  I close my eyes and ghost my fingers over his arms. “I don’t have the job yet.”

  “You’ll get it. Anybody would be a fool not to hire you.”

  “You might be biased.” I laugh.

  “Slumber party at my place this weekend.”

  I turn in his arms. “Slumber party?” This guy puts the best smile on my face. My cheeks hurt when we’re together.

  “Ask your mom. Maybe you can ride home with me on the bus after school on Friday.” He winks.

  “You have too many sisters.” He does. Three. And they’re all younger and still in school.

  He lifts me off my feet and kisses me, one hand sliding to grip my ass. Website? What website?

  “Goodnight,” he whispers over my mouth before easing me back onto my feet.

  I rub my lips together as I follow him to the door, admiring his backside when he shoves his feet into his black leather boots by the door. “Will there be pillow fights?”

  Griffin chuckles while still bent over tying his laces. “Yes.” He stands and turns toward me. “Wear something pink and lacy and put your hair in pigtails.” Biting his lower lip, he nods slowly. “Dear God yes … pink lace and pigtails, baby.”

  I laugh and head back toward my room. “Goodnight, Grocery Store Guy.” As soon as I hear the roar of his Harley out front, I sit at my desk and start designing. Two seconds later, I’m on the internet searching up Nathaniel Hunt. “Why are you in my head,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Where are you off to so early?”

  Halfway down the stairs I pause, glancing up at my neighbor bent over the railing. A loose ponytail corrals her black curls as she scrutinizes me. Her lips hug the red handle of a toothbrush.

  “Erica, are you spying on me?”

  “Nope,” she mumbles around foam. “Just keeping an eye on things.” Her gaze flits between me and the door across the hall from her apartment.

  “Dougly at it again?”

  Erica holds up a finger before dashing back into her apartment. Doug Mann, her new sixty-something playboy neighbor with orangish hair plugs—that elicit a cringe every time I see him—possesses a hidden sex appeal that we can’t figure out. And his nose … let’s just say it should have its own zip code. Since he moved in a month ago, he’s had a steady trai
l of women pass through his revolving door. Young women. Pretty women. Hookers? We’re not sure. It seems like the only plausible explanation for the old and ugly (Dougly) man (Mann) entertaining that many women.

  “Two. There were two of them willingly following him into his place when I got home last night around eleven.” Erica hoists her backpack on her shoulder as she scuttles down the stairs toward me.

  “Ew …” I wrinkle my nose and swallow the bile crawling up my throat. “Maybe he’s rich.”

  “I don’t think rich people live in this building.”

  Our footsteps echo in sync as we approach the main floor. “You’re a cardiologist and you live here.”

  “Second year resident. Dirt poor. Buried in school loans. I’m not rich. Nor do I have a ridiculously hot boyfriend who rides a Harley.”

  Musings of Griffin and his overabundance of hotness elicit something between a chuckle and a dreamy sigh.

  “In fact…” her blue Saab parked behind my car beeps when she unlocks it “…I’m quite certain I’m the only one in the building not getting any.”

  “But you’re saving lives.” I hop off the curb, riding my Griffin high.

  She tosses her backpack in her car and leans on the top of the open door. “When your inked god is in your bed, do you wish you were saving lives instead of …” Her eyebrows waggle.

  I open my door. “Are you asking me if I’d rather have sex with Griffin or save the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “No brainer. Griff all the way.”

  Erica shoots me the bird and slips into her car. “You never said what has you out and about so early.” Her head pokes back out before she shuts the door.

  “I got a callback for a nanny job. So I’m off to meet the baby today.”

  “Oh, good luck!”

  *

  My teeth chatter, fed by a bad case of nerves. Nate’s sister-in-law, Rachael, called me Friday to set up a time to meet Morgan. Her father, this familiar stranger, resides in my head, entangled in my thoughts and dreams. Hours of online research led me to repeated dead ends. He’s listed under the university website. I found his wife’s obituary. The county assessor’s website gave me the value of his home—with a dizzying seven-digit value.

  My gut tells me to proceed with caution. Especially when I know I’m of sound mind. Nate has to be the crazy one. After all, he, too, is a patient of Dr. Greyson’s. The poor guy’s wife died. Maybe he’s had a breakdown. Memory loss or something like that.

  My knuckles rap three times on the rich wooden door, hard enough to be heard but hopefully soft enough to not wake a sleeping baby.

  “Swayze?”

  My gaze lands on the swaddled baby hidden in the white blanket dotted with pink bunnies. A tiny patch of dark hair peeks out from the top. The woman holding the baby looks like a statue. Why do people get so stiff the moment they pick up a baby? Her earthy-toned eyes blink. Okay, she’s alive. A constipated smile creeps up her face, marring her natural beauty accented by strands of chestnut silk sweeping along her chin in a reverse bob.

  “Yes,” I say with muted enthusiasm. If I scare her, she could crack and send the baby tumbling to the floor.

  “Come in.” She grimaces at the baby without moving the ridged cradle of her arms.

  If the baby wakes, the world will end. That much I can deduce from this situation.

  “I’m Rachael,” she mouths. Good thing I can read lips. Not really, but her exaggerated jaw flapping makes it easy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I fight off a giggle. Babies also turn perfectly-put-together humans into buffoons.

  Slipping off my shoes, I browse around for any signs of Nate. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too. And thank you for the callback. This must be Morgan?” I refrain from saying the obvious “she’s so tiny.” But she really is tiny, even for a one-month-old.

  Rachael’s back stiffens on a silent gasp. I spoke beyond a whisper and the world may end.

  An exhale tiptoes past her parted lips once she realizes babies don’t require complete silence to sleep. “Yes…” Rachael watches Morgan “…she’s being lazy this morning.” She tests a few more words. Morgan doesn’t flinch. “Only took half her bottle before drifting back to sleep.”

  When her wonder-filled gaze meets mine, I lift my brows a fraction. Wow! Did she just now realize it’s okay to talk in front of a sleeping baby? Poor girl. And by girl I mean young lady because I’m certain she’s older than I am, at least by five or so years, but younger than Nate.

  I follow her to the living room filled with oversized leather furniture and a wall of curtain-framed windows overlooking dense woods. There’s a newborn living here. Where is the baby swing sitting in a corner? Or the dark wicker basket of diapers and other baby essentials that should be on the wooden coffee table? Toys. Why are there no toys that Morgan is too young to play with but they can’t resist trying to entertain her with them anyway?

  No blankets.

  No tiny baby hats.

  No knitted booties from a grandma or great aunt.

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  I lift up my hands. “Mind if I wash my hands real quick?”

  Rachael’s smile grows a fraction like I passed the first test, but I honestly don’t think it’s a test. That would require more knowledge of babies and a confidence she doesn’t possess.

  “Do you have kids?” I ask, washing my hands at the kitchen sink, but I think I know the answer.

  “No. Never been married. I don’t even have a boyfriend. But I’m getting a crash course in motherhood.” Her smile dissipates as her brow tightens.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Rachael smiles as if she feels the need to make a quick recovery. Her sister died a month ago. I don’t think forced smiles are necessary yet.

  “We’re doing well.” She hands Morgan to me.

  I bring her up on my shoulder. She burps, let’s out a squeaky cry, and falls right back to sleep.

  “Wow. She never burps for me.”

  I sit in the rocking chair, and Rachael sits on the love seat, tucking her legs underneath her.

  “Burped babies are happy babies.” I nestle my nose into the blanket and take a hit of that new baby smell.

  “You have siblings?” she asks.

  “No. I did a lot of babysitting in high school and took on summer jobs as a nanny during college. What about you? Any other siblings?”

  “An older brother in Washington. But he’s not married either. Our mom died a few years ago, but our dad lives here in Madison. When Jenna died, I was the only one who stepped up to help Nathaniel, aside from his mom. But she’s had some health issues, so we don’t like to ask her for too much help. And Nathaniel doesn’t have any siblings, so …”

  “So you’re all figuring this out as you go because no one has any real baby experience.”

  She chuckles a bit. “Pretty much. I was supposed to start grad school this fall, but I’m going to take a year off to help with Morgan. Nathaniel works long hours, so that’s why he needs you. He insists I find a life beyond Morgan. But …” Rachael traps her bottom lip between her teeth and focuses on Morgan in my arms. “I feel guilty handing her off to anyone else. Jenna wouldn’t have wanted that. No offense.” Her nose wrinkles when she glances up at me.

  “None taken. But I’m a little confused. You asked me here to meet Morgan. I assumed you’re still making a final decision, but you just said Nate-Nathaniel needs me …”

  “He does. He just doesn’t know it. You’re the best fit. The youngest, but most experienced. And watching you with her confirms it, but Nathaniel’s a little uneasy about …”

  I know where this is going. She doesn’t have to say it. “I recognized him from pictures. I get it. Our first meeting was weird. Totally my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything until I figured out the connection.” I shrug. “It was no big deal. But I understand how it might have freaked him out at first. This is his child. He s
hould be skeptical to a fault.”

  “Well, after a slightly heated argument last week, he agreed to let me hire you if I still felt all ‘gung-ho’ after meeting you. Honestly, I don’t think he knows what he wants other than …”

  We share a painful look. His wife. Nate wants his wife back.

  “I want the job, so don’t take this the wrong way. Were the other applicants so bad that I looked that good just from my résumé?”

  “Not bad, just old. I’m not trying to discriminate, I just wanted someone younger but experienced. Taking care of a baby can be an exhausting job. So the job is yours if you want it. I can send the contract home with you today to look over.”

  I pull in a deep breath, suffocated by the sterile air.

  No lavender candles.

  No sugar cookies baking in the oven.

  No baby powder lingering in the air.

  Morgan starts to fuss, so I stand and walk around with a gentle bounce to my step. Below the TV mounted to the wall is a fireplace mantle holding framed pictures. I recognize Nate’s parents; they’re on the beach holding on to their big floppy hats so they don’t blow away. There’s one of Nathaniel and Jenna on their wedding day at the doors to a cathedral, rose petals floating around the happy couple as they make their escape. I haven’t seen that smile from Nate in a long time. Maybe it died with his wife.

  With each step around the room, my heart cracks a little deeper. There are no pictures of Morgan. There should be the classic hospital mugshot that only the parents can love and one with Nate. Why hasn’t anyone taken a picture of him asleep on the sofa with Morgan nestled into his chest, the official daddy and baby first date picture?

  It’s a cricket kind of silence in the house, only without any crickets. At least a few chirps would be some sign of life.

  No TV murmuring in the background.

  No music or soft static from a white noise machine.

  No little wind-up toys playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

  It’s almost too painful to be here, but I can’t walk away. This house—this family—needs two paddles and a jolt of life put back into it.