Page 17 of The Live-In Temptation (Steele Brothers of Starlight Cove #2)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
XANDER
Group text with Atlas, Xander, Declan, and Lincoln
Lincoln:
Someone just called the bar to ask if we host bachelorette brunches with bottomless mimosa jello shots.
I didn’t even know it was a thing, but we should definitely do that. What do you think?
Atlas:
I think it’s almost midnight. Wtf is wrong with you?
Lincoln:
It’s 11:07, grandpa. Calm down.
Atlas:
Some of us are trying to sleep. Xander’s got a 4yo for fuck’s sake
Xander:
I’m up
Lincoln:
See? He’s up.
Lincoln:
Wait. Why are you up? Isn’t your bedtime 9?
Xander:
Fuck off
Declan:
Also awake. Finishing up with my last client.
Lincoln:
So it’s only the grandpa of our group who takes personal offense to this hour of texting. And it’s his fault in the first place.
Atlas:
How the fuck do you figure that?
Lincoln:
Normally when it’s slow at the bar, I do a little swiping
Atlas:
…sweeping?
Declan:
He means on the hookup apps
Atlas:
Still not seeing how that’s my fault
Lincoln:
Your girlfriend is the one who held me to that bullshit bet I made at Mom’s.
Atlas:
I have no idea wtf you’re talking about
Declan:
He said he’d delete all his dating apps if Xander brought more than a carry-on with him. And since he brought a whole ass daughter, Linc lost.
Lincoln:
So actually it’s Atlas AND Xander’s fault
Xander:
I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compare my daughter to excess baggage.
Lincoln:
Don’t be a shit about it. You know I love that little bean.
But fuck.
The lack of co-ed company is getting to me. I got hard today from someone yelling at me in a certain tone.
That’s probably fine, right?
Declan:
Pretty sure that’s just one specific person.
Xander:
He’s not wrong. It sounds like a normal Wednesday for you.
Lincoln:
How did the hot librarian piss you off this week, Dec? And how’re things going with the hot nanny, Xan?
Xander:
This is why I usually have this thread muted.
Declan:
Same
Atlas:
Can everyone just go the fuck to sleep? Jesus Christ.
I was a glutton for punishment. There was no other answer for why I continued to test fate with these late-night, unnecessary trips downstairs. It was the same reason I hadn’t altered my morning shower or coffee routines since running into Chloe during both of those.
After last week—when she and I’d had a civil conversation with an audience of socks—I’d been craving more. And even though I could barely admit it to myself, I wanted it again.
Why? I had no fucking idea.
Apparently, I had a bit of sadism in me.
That was the only plausible answer. I liked to torture myself with things I couldn’t have.
Namely, my daughter’s too-beautiful-for-her-own-good and too-chaotic-for-my-own-sanity nanny who was ten years my junior and who made me feel like I was losing my mind at least four times a day.
Maybe I was still reeling from the fact that I’d told her about my dad. How little I’d actually shared about him was irrelevant. My relationship—or lack thereof—with Stan Steele wasn’t something I talked about. Ever.
Hell, I tried to never even think about it.
But somehow, with her, it had just…slipped out. Somehow, with her, I’d let my guard down.
That seemed to be a common thread when I was in her presence.
I should’ve taken that group text with my brothers as the stoplight on the whole evening. It was late. I should have been sleeping. I definitely should not have been creeping around my own house in the dark of night in the hopes of running into a little bit of chaos.
And yet…
I rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped short, my chest squeezing uncomfortably at the sight in front of me.
Chloe stood by the fridge. She wore those goddamn pajama shorts that haunted my dreams—or I assumed that was what she was wearing.
I couldn’t actually see them since that hoodie practically swallowed her whole.
It was longer than some of the dresses I’d seen her wear, but it might as well have been lingerie for the way my body reacted to her in it.
Her hair was messy and piled on top of her head in the sort of unrestrained bun she preferred—the kind that looked like it had barely survived the day.
That made two of us.
I felt like I was barely surviving most days since Chloe had barreled into my life.
She held a tub of cookie dough in one hand and a spoon in the other. Just as she took a bite, she lifted her eyes to meet mine, not an ounce of surprise in her expression. As if she’d been waiting for me…expecting me.
“Hey, Chief. You want some?”
I knew she was talking about the cookie dough. I knew that.
My cock, however, did not. Or chose to ignore it entirely. Instead, it focused on her saying those words in an alternate version of reality—one where she was sitting on the counter, wearing one of my hoodies and nothing else, legs spread, fingers playing between them.
I cleared my throat, but my voice still came out rough. “Is that safe to eat?”
“Honestly? Probably not.” She scooped another spoonful and held it out toward me with a raised brow, the light from above the stove glowing behind her like some kind of seductive halo for troublemakers and temptations.
God knew she was both.
I hesitated. This was such a bad fucking idea. True, all she was offering me was cookie dough, and the most dangerous thing in that was a minuscule amount of raw egg. But that wasn’t what had me hesitating.
It was the siren of a woman I couldn’t seem to get out of my mind and literally couldn’t get out of my house that made me want to turn around, lock myself in my bedroom, and get my shit under control.
I had to. Because I didn’t have another choice.
I was sharing a roof with her. Sharing a wall with her. And that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
But even knowing all those things, I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t go upstairs.
I didn’t lock myself in my bedroom.
Instead, I stepped closer to her. Too close, considering it was nearly midnight and she looked like this and I was her boss.
Not to mention, I had no doubt I’d be dreaming about her coming on my fingers and my tongue and my cock as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Just like I’d been doing every goddamn night since the day I’d seen her stumbling out of that fucking shed in the sheriff’s backyard.
But I didn’t stop myself.
I dipped my head toward the spoon she held out for me. Her gaze flicked down to my mouth, that slow, seductive brush of her tongue against her lower lip nearly enough to buckle my knees. Send me to the floor right here, grip her waist, and beg for what I really wanted to eat.
Settling for something I knew wouldn’t be nearly half as sweet, I wrapped my lips around the spoon, our gazes still locked and my cock hard enough to pound nails.
This close to her, I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, feel each of her exhales against me.
It would take nothing to close the space between us.
To capture that plump lower lip between my teeth and tug until she gasped.
To see how fucking delicious her tongue tasted—how fucking delicious she tasted.
Blowing out a shaky breath, Chloe turned away from me and set the tub of cookie dough on the counter. “Okay. Well, that was?—”
Her words cut off, but I could fill in a dozen different adjectives for her. Hot. Dangerous. Combustible. Unprofessional.
A bad fucking idea.
But instead of continuing her sentence, she turned around to face me, her brows raised. “This is new.”
This constant pull I felt when I was around her? Yes, it was. And it was becoming a real pain in my ass.
But that wasn’t what she meant.
She glanced at the coffee cup she held up between us. It was obnoxious and gaudy, featuring a pink dragon wearing a sparkly tutu and heart-shaped sunglasses while holding a latte in one claw and a glitter wand in the other. In bold letters arched above, it read, I am the drama .
Fucking ridiculous. Just like her.
I cleared my throat and glanced away, avoiding her gaze. “I saw it and figured it’d finally stop you from stealing my mug.”
“You bought me this?”
I didn’t like the surprise in her voice. Not even a little. Whether it was surprise over the fact that someone—period—had bought her something, or that I—specifically—had done so, neither sat right with me.
Fuck knew why.
Why should I care if my nanny got gifts? Worse—why the hell had I bought the damn thing for her in the first place?
“I bought you a warning label, chaos,” I corrected. “Besides, it was on sale.”
She breathed out a laugh, the sound like wind chimes, and shook her head, cradling the mug in her hands like it meant something.
I valiantly ignored the satisfaction that grew in my chest at her response.
“That was sweet.” She bit her bottom lip and glanced to the side as she set the mug back on the counter. “Now, we just need to work on your hair skills. Emma looked like a feral poodle when I picked her up from pre-K today.”
I grunted and took a much-needed step back, grateful for the reminder of my daughter—the very reason Chloe and I were here in the first place. “Emma wouldn’t let me near her with a brush. As usual.”
“Well, if you’d finally let me give you those lessons, we could probably fix that, Chief.”
“What lessons?”
Chloe hesitated for a second before reaching up and undoing the knot at the top of her head. And that simple act should not have been as hot as it was.
Her hair fell around her shoulders in a mass of unruly waves, the scent of her shampoo overwhelming me and going straight to my cock—as if the bastard needed any help.
She should’ve looked like a mess—a beautiful disaster with smudged eyeliner, her hair an absolute riot around her, and a tiny crumb of cookie dough at the corner of her mouth.
But, to me, all she looked like was something I wanted to devour.