Authors: Rachel Cross
She sighed heavily. “I really want this to work out.”
He raised his eyebrows and contemplated her. “Isn’t it?”
Her even, white teeth toyed with her lower lip again. He almost groaned aloud; his
libido was back with a vengeance.
“Let me put it another way. You and Ella need to bond.”
He frowned. “Aren’t we?”
“Uh … no.”
Confusion warred with impatience. “You’ve only been here a few days.”
“More than a week actually, but you’re hardly around. I think you need to start as
you mean to go on.”
Sounded like lyrics for a song.
“Asher?”
He cast an apologetic glance her way. “I’m sorry, Maddy, it’s been a long day — rough
week as a matter of fact — lots going on with Spade. Yes, start as I mean to go on.
I was hoping to talk to you about that. I’m not getting enough time with Ella. What
do you say we push back her bedtime? I don’t usually get home until well after ten
most nights, but I’ll come home early, say eight-ish, a few nights a week so we can
have dinner together and hang out until bedtime.”
Her mouth had dropped open during his speech, but it snapped shut with a click. “Are
you joking?”
He took another sip of spicy hot chocolate. “No,” he said, mildly. “Eight o’clock
is a ridiculously early bedtime.”
“What time are you proposing?”
“Ten? Ten-thirty?
She let out a shout of laughter.
He frowned. “What’s funny?”
“You can’t do that, Asher.”
He set his jaw. Was she upset because this would wreak havoc on her social life? It
wouldn’t be every day. “Oh, but I can. You work for me, remember? I know it’ll require
longer hours — ”
“That’s not the point.”
“I pay overtime.”
She had an expression on her face he was sure had been on his many times: amusement
combined with disbelief.
“I’m serious, Maddy.”
She thumped her mug down on the table. “Asher. How would you feel if I tried to explain
management of a successful rock band to you?”
“You said she’s adaptable — ”
“Not regarding sleep.”
He scanned her over the rim of his mug. “We’ll try it my way this week. I would like
to spend more time with her. We’ll do dinner at eight and a ten or ten-thirty bedtime.”
She shook her head. “She’ll be tired and grumpy and — ”
He shrugged. “So, she takes a nap. Kids do that, right?”
She studied him with those serious gray eyes.
His groin tightened.
Damn it.
“I hate like hell to do this to her, but I can see this might be a fairly harmless
lesson for you. We’ll try it your way. But I want you to be around this week for the
fallout.”
He straightened. “Fallout?”
“One week. But if we don’t last a week your way, you have to promise to be up by seven
A.M.
and home by six
P.M.
three days a week from here on in.”
Since shifting Ella’s schedule would not be the problem Maddy made it out to be, he
could agree to a promise that, if upheld, would cast his professional and personal
life into chaos.
Maddy held out her hand.
He shook it, and held it.
She froze.
Gently, he turned it so he could see the disfigured joints. He traced the back of
her hand, the almost translucent skin, running his thumb over joints that were swollen
and warm to the touch. She was close enough that he could smell the heady scent of
mint chocolate on her breath.
He made some sound that, knowing her, she probably interpreted as pity.
She yanked her hand away, mumbled goodnight, and fled the kitchen.
• • •
Ella’s eyes rolled back, her lashes fluttered. Her head fell forward in slow motion
to land in the salmon, peas and noodles on her plate.
“My God.” Asher put down his utensils, rose from his chair and rushed to Ella’s side.
Maddy continued eating her dinner, making a valiant effort to suppress her grin.
“Maddy,
”
he hissed.
I must not laugh
. “Yeah?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s exhausted.”
His eyes widened. “But … but she passed out mid-sentence. Something’s
wrong
with her.” He looked at Maddy from his crouch beside Ella. “She’s breathing.”
“Of course she’s breathing. She’s just tired.”
“What should we do?”
“We should go back to an eight o’clock bedtime.”
He groaned. “Damn it.”
“Are you agreeable?” Maddy calmly speared a mouthful of salmon on her fork.
“Fine,” he said curtly, standing.
“Do you remember the terms?”
His expression was lethal. “Yes.”
Maddy put down her utensil and pushed back her chair. She carried her plate to the
sink, careful not to show Asher her smug smile.
She walked over to the little girl. “Ella? Ella, honey?” No response but the slow,
deep breaths of slumber.
She handed a wet-wipe to Asher and gently levered Ella’s head up. He cleaned the child’s
food-covered face. Ella murmured something unintelligible, her eyes still closed.
“Can you carry her up?” Maddy asked Asher in hushed tones.
He nodded and hefted Ella into his arms. Maddy followed on his heels, grinning. She
was glad Asher’s little experiment with bedtime hadn’t lasted more than four days
— and not just because of the concession she’d managed to wring from him. Poor Ella
was exhausted. Hell,
she
was exhausted. These last few nights, Ella revved up at nine
P.M.
and wanted to stay up until eleven.
“Second wind.” Maddy’s mother had called it when Maddy explained the problem in an
email.
Bedtime had become a nightmare. But the real problem was, Ella was so overtired after
school she would melt down from four o’clock until dinnertime. Now Asher would have
to make time for his niece. And the poor kid was desperate for his attention. He was
doing marginally better although he appeared shell-shocked every time Ella mentioned
her mother, and he refused to go through his sister’s boxes. Maybe she should offer
to help? Nah. He’d do it when he was ready.
The phone conversation with Sterling Lowe haunted Maddy. Her mother’s financial situation
kept her up at night, but she couldn’t give Ella’s grandfather what he wanted. It
wasn’t right. She would keep Asher’s parenting struggles to herself. If something
major came up, she’d talk to Asher and seek guidance from her mother and Ella’s therapist.
Not Sterling Lowe. That cure had to be worse than the disease.
She could believe that Sterling wanted what was best for his granddaughter. And there
was no doubt that Asher had a steep learning curve in the child-rearing department.
The real question was whether Asher had the interest and ability to make a life with
the child. Could he prioritize her over Spade — over himself?
Maddy twisted her lips. His progress in that area was incremental — token gestures,
increased time at home. But being home more didn’t always translate into more time
with Ella. It translated into time on the phone, in the study, and in poolside meetings
with God knows who all from his industry — mostly suits. If things continued this
way, she’d have no choice but to tell the therapist Asher wasn’t cutting it as guardian.
Then there was the other problem. She was starting to get what all the fuss was about.
Asher was more than charming. He was charismatic. His looks and flirtatiousness were
a weapon he had honed to the precision of a deadly blade. Once he pulled it out, manipulation
was not far behind. With a sinking feeling, she realized she was attracted to him.
When he entered a room, the air snapped and sparkled. Now that he was around more,
wearing his body hugging concert t-shirts and snug jeans, her hormones were in a perpetual
state of high alert.
And his reputation as the biggest playboy partier on the planet? Highly exaggerated.
There had been no orgies at the house — in fact, no women at all. Of course, he was
probably conducting his affairs elsewhere in deference to Ella. But still, he didn’t
come home reeking of liquor and women, and he rarely drank alcohol at home. Why was
she spending time thinking about his sex life? It wasn’t as though they’d ever have
a relationship outside of the professional one.
Maddy glanced up in surprise from the kitchen table where she was trying to write
a paper when she heard clomping on the main staircase. It was early for Asher to be
up. Though he had agreed to meet daily to discuss Ella at the psychologist’s urging,
they had only met twice. The psychologist was clamoring for another meeting, too,
but she’d have to get in line.
Asher’s step faltered as he spotted her and she leveled him with a stare.
“Maddy.” He greeted her heartily, ramping up the smile.
She hastily turned back to her computer screen. Too late, the image was already burned
into her retinas. No shirt! He wasn’t wearing a shirt. And what were those tattoos?
Had the top button of his jeans been undone?
No. Do not check him out again.
His shoulders were broad and thickly muscled — from what? He was a guitarist for
heaven’s sake. It wasn’t like he did heavy lifting. There had been a smattering of
hair across his chest that tapered as it made its way into the fly of his jeans, lean
hips and those muscles at the top of his waistband … what were they called? Oh,
yeah. Obliques. She stifled a sigh. She wasn’t into tatted-up men, she reminded herself.
Especially rock superstars. She peeked up as he seated himself at the table across
from her, coffee in one hand, banana in the other.
She tried to keep her gaze from sliding down his broad, inked chest. “Asher, we agreed
to meet daily.”
His smile disappeared. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes and no.” Maddy closed her laptop. “This morning Ella had a stomach ache. Last
night, a nightmare.”
He took a sip from his mug. “Maybe she’s sick?”
“The therapist thinks its anxiety.”
There was real fear in those beautiful hazel eyes as they darted away from her study
of him.
Maddy refused to let him off the hook. “What’s the problem? You hired me to help you
care for Maddy, not take
over
care for her. She needs you.”
Patience, Maddy.
It was impossible to be around him and not know the kind of pain he was dealing with
— the loss of his sister, Ella’s meltdowns, nightmares and always, always asking for
her mom. He lived here; he had a level of awareness. She’d thought at first he might
be depressed. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe this was just who he was.
She focused on his eyes. Panic. Doubt. They skittered away from hers.
“I’ve been busy, catching up … ”
She waited.
He put down the mug and rested his head in his hands.
She reached across the table.
He took her hand.
Hers tightened in a comforting squeeze. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you are
going through. Justin tells me what Dee meant to you, to all of you … It’s just
that, you know, if you
want
Ella, you have to deal with her. Help her. A lot more than you have been.”
His breathing was ragged and he withdrew his hand. “I know. I know. It’s just …
God! I feel so sorry for her. It rips my heart out to hear her cry and when she asks
for Dee, I feel completely helpless.”
“If you’re grieving, it’s that much harder to comfort her.”
He flicked his hand impatiently. “I’m fine. But I have no experience with children.
None. And it doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“Just give her love and attention. That’s all she needs from you right now. That and
discipline.”
He gave a short laugh. “Oh,
that’s
all.” He took his hand back and ran his hands over his face. “I’ll get her from school,
take her out after. We’ll bring takeout home for dinner, okay?”
“Sure.”
Asher rose with his coffee, refilled it and left the kitchen.
• • •
Maddy was making breakfast an hour later when her cell rang. She glanced at it, annoyed.
Asher. She hadn’t heard him leave, but that was nothing new, this house was so damn
big.
“Maddy? Can you come pick me up, please? Justin’s out of town.”
“Sure. Where are you?”
“Stunt Road.”
“Okay, where on Stunt Road?”
“You can’t miss me.”
“Did you break down?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I’ll be there in … ”
“About an hour, and Maddy?”
“Yes?”
“Drive carefully.”
By eleven-thirty Maddy was creeping along in her old Honda on the most winding road
she’d ever driven, with hundred foot drops on either side, and only a guardrail between
her and death by ravine. Finally, she saw him. Or at least she saw the lights of the
patrol car.
Standing on the side of the road was Asher, his Aston Martin wrecked and at a significant
rate of speed by the looks of things. A California Highway Patrol vehicle and a tow
truck flanked the damaged automobile. She stared in disbelief out her front windscreen
at the scene. Maddy pulled over, put the car in park and raced over to him.
“Asher!”
“I’m fine, Maddy.”
She searched his face, taut with pain.
“God-damn it, Asher, no you aren’t,” she gritted. “Officer, if you don’t need him
for anything, I’m taking him to the closest hospital to get checked out.”
The officer’s eyebrows arched. “He said he was fine.”
She scowled at the two men.
Asher took in her car. “Maddy, this is what you drive?” He was clearly horrified.
“It’s a deathtrap.”
She pointed to his cherry-red sports car, which had mated with the guardrail. “My
car is a deathtrap?
My car
? Get in, Asher.”
With the help of the CHP officer he seated himself, leaning to close the door with
a wince.
“Where’s the closest hospital?” she asked.
“Don’t need the hospital,” Asher said.
“Want me to call an ambulance?” the officer asked.