her. “Just long enough for me to take a shower. I want to wash the stink of the jail off.”
She sighed, unable to begrudge him a shower. “Okay. You have ten minutes, then I’m out of here.”
He grinned, flashing his famous dimple, and chucked her under the chin. “You’re a peach, Ellie.”
She swatted his hand away with a glower, her bad mood made worse at her automatic response to that sexy dimple. Something about that indentation made her knees weak. “Don’t call me Ellie.”
But she was talking to his back as he loped for the stairs. Mmm. He was grace in motion.
Annoyed she’d noticed, she turned her attention to the two-year-old. “Sorry to tell you this, kid, but your dad is a jerk.”
“Jerk,” Troy echoed, making Elle cringe. Exactly what she needed, for Max, The Beast, to complain to her boss that she was teaching his kid to call him a jerk. Even if he was one.
Thinking of her boss, she moved to the living room and set Troy down next to her on the gray leather couch. A formal room done in classic shades of black, gray and silver, its shining central jewel was the large, mirror-polished black grand piano. For show, no doubt.
“Nice, but I just can’t visualize The Beast playing ‘Chopsticks.’” Not many sports stars were into classical music. Not in her experience. Which was one reason why she didn’t date sports enthusiasts, especially sports stars. To get where they were meant devoting their lives to the sport. She wanted more from life than the next win.
Digging out her phone, she texted Ray Dumond about the events of the night.
Troy slid off the couch and began flipping through a magazine on the table-size ottoman. He crumpled pages and ripped a few here and there, but it kept him occupied and he wasn’t screaming so she let him play. He looked up and grinned and she just wanted to pick him up and hug him.
Oh, no. She hardened her heart against the sweetness of his smile. No getting attached to the little beastie. Her time in his life was definitely temporary.
But she did feel for the little guy. She took such joy from her young niece and nephews that it hurt her to think of any child suffering. And neither of Troy’s parents were exactly winners in her eyes.
Her phone rang. Her boss. That was quick. She hadn’t expected to hear from him for a couple of hours. She answered and filled in the details he asked for. They worked out a strategy for the morning, then disconnected.
She yawned and blinked, really wishing she had time to get in at least an hour’s sleep before hitting the office at a run. A glance at her watch showed it had been twenty minutes since Max had trotted off to the shower. That was it. She’d done all she had time for tonight.
“Come on, kid.” She swooped up Troy and headed for the stairs. “I hope Daddy’s decent because ready or not, here you come.”
On the upper landing she listened for the shower but heard nothing. Turning left she walked down the hall, looking in doors until she found the master suite. And found Max sprawled facedown on a king-size bed.
Just wonderful. Thankfully he’d pulled on a pair of knit boxers, which saved her modesty if not his. The soft fabric clinging to his taut backside did little to disguise his assets.
Her gaze rolled over his long, muscular frame as she carried Troy to the bed. For all his sins, the man had one fine body. The problem was he knew it, and used it. Luckily, she was immune.
She’d never been attracted to Neanderthals.
Okay, that was a lie. Sometimes she just wanted to shimmy up that hard body and sink her teeth into his lower lip.
And then he’d open his mouth and save her from herself. Thank goodness.
Plus she’d learned her lesson where he was concerned.
It killed her that she found him so attractive. Especially as she’d vowed to find a man with more going on in his life than a love of sports.
She knew people thought her a tad unyielding when it came to her stance on men and sports. They didn’t understand. Not even her own family understood. She’d had a good childhood, had been, and still was, well loved. But she’d been a girlie girl in a household of athletes.
From the stroller on, she’d been dragged from one brother’s sporting event to another, often going to two games in the same day. Sure she enjoyed a good game, but she also wanted to learn how to cook, to paint, to play the drums and go to dance class. She liked to shop and get her nails done. She longed for conversation that didn’t include a play-by-play of game highlights.
She’d spent too many years sacrificing her desires to the demand of the majority to easily surrender her future to the overwhelming call of the game.
So, no jocks for her. She wanted, she deserved, a man with varied interests, a man who enjoyed the symphony or the opera, who liked to read and go to the theater, who liked to hike and wasn’t afraid of the mall.
Finding one was the problem.
Pulling her gaze from the father, she turned back the covers and tucked the son into the bed as best she could, considering Max was on the outside of the brown comforter.
Troy looked at her with big blue eyes. “Donna?”
Her heart broke a little for the tiny fellow. She smoothed the sheet over his chest.
“Donna and Mama went bye-bye. You’re going night-night with Daddy.”
“Don’t wan’ Daddy. Wan’ Donna.”
Elle didn’t blame him. Was there anyone less qualified to raise a child than Max Beasley?
Knowing nothing of the kind, she said, “I’m sure they’ll be back soon. If you go to sleep, Mama might even be here when you wake up.”
“Night-night?”
“Yes, close your eyes and everything will be better tomorrow.” At least she hoped so. The kid deserved better from both his parents.
He nodded and closed his eyes.
Elle bit her lip. Poor little guy. Because she couldn’t help herself, she kissed him lightly on the forehead before rising to her feet. She only moved two steps before he popped up.
“You stay,” Troy demanded.
“No.” She shook her head. “Daddy’s here. I have to go home now.”
“Daddy seeping.” His eyes watered and distress tightened his features. “You stay!”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she tried to soothe him, “Daddy’s here with you. I have to go to work.”
“No. You stay.” He threw himself back on the bed and started screaming.
“Fudge sticks.” Elle hurried back to the bed. “Troy, stop that now. Daddy’s sleeping.”
The boy turned his back to her and continued to screech at the top of his lungs. Goodness. She’d heard fire trucks less shrill. Elle waited for Max to wake up, but he slept on, obviously out for the count. Unbelievable.
The kid was turning red. She panicked a little; she couldn’t just let him scream himself to sleep.
“Troy, enough. Come here.” She lifted him into her arms and rocked him gently. He weighed next to nothing but he was strong. At first he fought her, but after a few minutes he relaxed against her shoulder.
When she thought he was sleeping, she tried to put him back in the bed. He woke and frantically shook his head, clinging to her. Resigned to staying until he slept peacefully, she carried him down the hall and found his nursery. As soon as she stepped inside, he began to scream.
She immediately backed out of the room and the screaming stopped.
“Okay, that’s really getting old,” she told the boy, her nerves