Page 49 of Filthy Player

PAIGE

I waited around Monday morning until Elsa could come over and hang with my dad until his new home health care nurse showed up. Then I lost myself in eight hours of work where I did at least a dozen oil changes and then helped out with a new commission for a 1964 Camaro. A rusted and dulled orange color with thick black racing stripes that ran from the front all the way to the back, it looked like a disaster when it arrived on a flat bed trailer. The rust all around the wheel rims and missing two tires were the least of our restoration problems. In four to six weeks, it would be a thing of beauty.

I called and talked to Melanie, the nurse, a half-dozen times and every time we spoke she assured me with a sweet tilt in her voice that everything was fine and she and my dad were just settling in and getting to know each other.

Everything Beaux had done made me more indebted to him. Not that I expected him to hold it over me. He was quickly showing me he was the kind of man to provide and protect and be a partner in all things big or small. Sure, he did it in a way that was way more bossy than I would normally be attracted to, but I’d also grown up with my dad, a man’s man through and through, being the only guy I knew. And in some ways, Beaux reminded me of him. Strong and resilient, confident with a hint of well-deserved arrogance.

When I closed my eyes while I sat in the office and thought about Beaux, I could imagine this was exactly the kind of guy my dad would want for me. It had nothing to do with the multi-million dollar contract attached to Beaux’s name.

It was his kindness and his patience and his easy smiles and his intensity and pure focus whenever I was in the room.

It was his undeniable sexiness that made my knees wobble every time he flashed his blue eyes on me.

Good Lord. I was falling for him, and for once, I didn’t want to step on the brakes.

I talked to Beaux last night on the phone. He called me after he got home from practice and the first thing he’d asked was how the nurse was working out and how Dad was feeling.

My heart turned to a pile of mush.

So when he told me—commanded, not asked—I was coming to his place tonight after work to have dinner, I had absolutely no way to refuse him.

I didn’t have a single excuse and for the first time since I could remember, I didn’t want to spend the time thinking of one.

Now it was Tuesday, and I was walking up the three small steps to his brownstone.

In my purse was a clean pair of underwear and a toothbrush, because if he expected me to pay up for his help with my body, I was primed and ready to go.

He’d already proven to me he wanted more than a quick one night fling.

I scraped a hand through my hair while my heart palpitated at an alarming rate.

“Dinner,” I told myself. “He’d only said dinner.”

I rang the bell and almost immediately heard footsteps echoing on the other side of the door. Quick and firm, they sounded hurried, and then the lock was undone, the door opened.

In Beaux’s typical, casual fashion, he was wearing a pair of faded, ripped jeans and a teal Rough Riders T-shirt. His hair was swept to the side and styled in that sexy and popular way of his. His jaw was clean of scruff giving me a perfect view of his sharp, defined jaw and beautiful full lips. I couldn’t do anything except stand there, on his stoop, mesmerized by the magnificent sight of him.

At six foot five, almost a full foot taller than me, he was a mountain of a man.

I loved his size.

“You coming in?” Beaux said, one hand on the door the other on the frame. “Or do you want to keep staring at me.”

“Yes.”

He laughed and reached out. His hand slid to my back, hot against the cool silky cream top I was wearing, and he yanked me inside.

I fell to his chest and then his other hand was at my jaw, thumb sweeping, driving me breathless.

“Have a good day?” he asked, murmuring and moving down toward me. His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I wet them on instinct and tilted my head up, seeking his mouth. “Yes.”

I didn’t have to ask and I didn’t have to wait long. His nose glided against mine and then his lips brushed over mine. He tasted sweet, with a hint of garlic telling me he’d been cooking dinner, which surprised and pleased me.

I’d assumed we’d order in. But his house smelled divine and I took it all in as my hands pushed into his hair, I arched into his body, and then my back was against a wall. He’d pinned me and yet I never felt freer.

“God you smell good,” he said, shoving his face into my neck. “And you taste even better. I just want to stand here and ravish you.”

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