She flounces out of the lounge, and my shoulders sag in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about my little sister. She’s always been that way,” I tell him. “She’s hard to ignore, but I’ve had years of practice. It gets easier.”
“She’s got good ideas,” he says, his voice a sensual purr. “A family date sounds about right.”
My breath catches in my throat when he says date.
“I, uh…” My mind is spinning, whirling. “You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to write the letter for you.”
“I want to, Poppy. I’d like to see you again, ideally some place other than your work. I’d like to do something nice for you.”
I want to doubt that he’s really asking me out. I want to think this doesn’t mean anything.
The man’s eyes are locked on mine. He’s intense, but in the best ways. I feel a flush creep its way along my chest, and I have to look away.
He’s too attractive. His strong jaw covered in thick black hair, the concentration that lines his brow as he looks me over. I shiver, every nerve ending in my body awake under his gaze.
I can’t go on a date with him.
But it’s not really a date if we bring our kids, right? Maybe it’s just a friendly little thank-you dinner. I could do that, right? He’s just being generous so he doesn’t feel bad about asking me to write the letter.
I’ll agree, and I probably won’t hear from him again.No matter how much I tell myself I shouldn’t want to hear from him again, I feel instantly disappointed at the idea.
I’m out of my mind.
I’ve been locked down with Jax and his flu for too long. I need to tell this guy yes and send him on his way.
“Yes, to dinner.” I nod. “You have my number. Send me your lawyer’s contact information, and then, uh, I guess we’ll be in touch.”
“We will.” He nods, then pulls the sunglasses over his eyes. He turns to leave the lounge, but when he reaches the door, he turns back. “Thank you, Poppy.”
I can’t see his eyes, but the growl in his voice sends every tiny hair on my arms to attention. I plaster on a smile and wait until he’s left the lounge to sink back into the chair. Sweet Lord, that man. The letter. His kids. My kid. A date?
He’s got me so tongue-tied, I’m even thinking in single syllables.
Phantom. The gorgeous man who literally is going to haunt my dreams. It’s just dinner. Just a letter. What could possibly go wrong?
Yeah…I know.
This has trouble written all over it.
6
PHANTOM
I wakeup early Saturday morning to another raging hard-on. The dream I had about Poppy ended with me doing filthy things with that full mouth of hers. I’ve had the same dream every night since she agreed to have dinner with me.
If things were different, I’d pick a woman at the compound and work out this frustration the right way. But I’m a full-time dad now, and that means the only release I’m getting is with the woman in my dreams.
I take care of business thinking about Poppy’s big brown eyes, then climb out of bed, the faint light of early morning starting to make it past my room-darkening curtains.
The house I live in now is nothing like the places I grew up. I shove aside the curtains, and instead of a graffiti-covered alley with overflowing dumpsters, junkies, and sex workers, I see nothing but blue and green.
My large, open backyard runs rightup to a small dock I built with my own hands. I have a couple of kayaks and some inflatable tubes that the girls have floated on every night until the bug spray failed them and they came running in for dinner.
I crack my window and let in some fresh air. It’s peaceful. No concrete jail yard. No drunken prospects puking on the gravel.
The sound of water running through the pipes reminds me that I’m not alone. Two teenagers bring more noise, and God, the smells—all good, mind you, but the body sprays, hand lotions, and shower gels that seem to stink up every room make me feel like I’ve been dipped in fruit-flavored candy.
And I love every single second of it.
