His expression isn’t smug, though. It’s thoughtful and a bit tender. “So, still not a fan of the beard?”

Sign me up and call me a convert. “Tell the truth. Did you do all this just to get me to kiss you?”

“No.” He gives my hair—now fisted in his hand—a tug, holding me a little away so he can study my lips. “I just wanted you to touch me.”

Then he takes my mouth again. One more time in a slow, exploring kiss before letting me go.

Breathless and more than a bit befuddled, it takes me a moment to gather my wits and climb off of him. I don’t even know what to do with myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex and am not ashamed to go after it. But I don’t do this. I don’t make out with guys who aren’t remotely my type. And I certainly don’t hit on a friend of my family; that’s just asking for awkward when things go south.

“Let’s go home,” Dex says quietly.

My gaze snaps to his, and he winces.

“I’m not implying to bed. Just back to Ivy and Gray’s.” He glances at his watch—a thick, black leather one that looks more like a cuff. “It’s coming on two in the morning. Bar’s going to close down soon anyway.”

“Okay, sure.” Home sounds like a good plan. Only I want to go alone and not have to face Dex anymore. Hottest kiss of my life or not, it’s not something I can do again. Ethan Dexter could become an addiction if I take another taste of him.

Chapter Two

Dex

In the course of my life, I’ve done stupid things. Who hasn’t? But kissing Fiona Mackenzie comes close to the top of the list. Ironically, it is definitely one of the best things I’ve done in my life as well. Painfully good.

Painful now. I’ve a hard-on that won’t go away and is bent awkwardly down the leg of my jeans. I’d adjust, but I know Fiona would notice. Not much gets by her.

Then again, she’s making a valiant effort to ignore me now, her gaze set on the window at her side as we drive Gray’s old pickup back to his house.

I love Grayson. The man is worth over 25 million dollars, and he still drives his high school truck. But now I’m thinking about the fact that I had my tongue in his baby sister-in-law’s mouth, and I have to resist the urge to wince.

I shouldn’t have done it. But my brain took a vacation. I know how good I am at manipulating a situation, and I saw the curiosity in Fi’s bright green eyes. So I cajoled, enticed, all but dared her to get up close and personal with my face. Had I expected her to kiss me? Hell no.

But I’d taken one look at her in that club and wanted her to touch me, to fucking see me more than my next breath. I’ve wanted that from the moment I laid eyes on her two years ago at her sister’s Christmas party.

Even then I knew Fiona wasn’t for me. I’m quiet, like to keep to myself. Fiona is life—bouncy, bubbly, snarky life. All wrapped up in a tiny, perfect package.

I’ve often heard Ivy compare Fi to Tinker Bell. I suppose that’s accurate. Only I’ve always found the little cartoon fairy annoying, and I could watch Fi all day. Just the lilting sound of her voice entrances me. And when her nose wrinkles and she glares? Hard as a fucking pike.

Yeah, I’ve got it bad. Which is not good. I know full well she doesn’t want anything to do with professional athletes. I’d heard her say that much outright at the wedding. A girl I was interested in during college ditched me for the same reason, and I’ve no interest in getting my heart stomped on again.

Which is why I shouldn’t have touched, much less kissed, Fi. Because I can’t stop replaying it in my mind. I know what she tastes like now. And she tastes like addiction.

Gripping the wheel, I turn us into Gray and Ivy’s driveway. They bought a massive townhouse in Pacific Heights. I have to admit, I’m envious. It’s the kind of place I’d love to call home. My place is a nice but fairly empty townhouse in New Orleans. I love its high ceilings, old wood floors, and natural light. But it doesn’t feel like a home. Then again, maybe it’s because I’m the only one ever in it.

We’re silent as we pull into the garage and climb the back steps to the main floor. I’m only vaguely surprised when Gray comes shuffling out of the kitchen holding a bottle in one hand and a pot in the other. He’s a mess, his blond hair flattened on the side, his sweats inside out and backwards. Deep circles shadow his eyes.

“Hey,” he mutters. “Have fun?”

He doesn’t look as though he cares much about anything other than sleep at the moment.

“What’s the pot for, man-mountain?” Fi asks him before gently taking it from his hand.

He blinks down at it. “Right. I was going to put that in the sink.”

From a flight above comes the irate squall of a baby.

“The tiny overlord demands his due,” Gray says. But he stops to kiss Fi on the cheek. His expression lightens a bit as he pulls back. “You smell like cologne, Fi-Fi.”

Hot pink washes over Fiona’s cheeks. “I smell like a nightclub.”

“Cologne,” Gray counters as he trudges toward the stairs. His gaze lands on me. “Dex’s cologne. And don’t bother denying it. I roomed with the guy for years.”

So much for keeping things from Gray. The guy might love to joke, but he’s an outright genius, so I’m not really surprised he caught me.

He doesn’t say anything more about it, though. His shoulders slump as he starts up the stairs. “I swear to God, I’d give someone five—no ten—million dollars right now if Ivy and I could just get one solid night’s sleep.”

Fi and I exchange a sympathetic look. It might be awkward between us, but at least we can escape to our beds and sleep.

“I’m going to go earn ten million dollars,” I say to her and head for the stairs.

She follows behind. “This I have to see.”

We find Gray in a nursery that would fit right into a design catalog. I know Fi decorated it, and she’s clearly talented. Gray’s slumped in a glider trying to give his agitated son a bottle. But the little guy is screaming, his tiny fists beating against Gray’s arm.

“It’s my turn to feed him,” Gray says without looking up. “So bottled breast milk it is. He hates it. I know, little dude,” he says to the baby. “I love Mommy’s boobs too, but she needs to sleep.”

From the far room, a muffled groan rings out. “Mother guilt has killed my sleep,” says Ivy’s disembodied voice. “And don’t discuss my boobs with my son, Cupcake.”

I glance through a connecting door and see her long legs sprawled over a massive bed. Fi is short, but Ivy is a good six feet tall. At the moment, she’s totally wiped.

“Hand him over, Grayson,” I say.

Gray looks at me as if I’m nuts, then shakes his head and offers me his son. His trust is something I will never take for granted. And guilt hits me anew for touching Fi. But now I have a wiggling, screaming one month old in my hands.

Walking over to the changing table, I pull out one of the many swaddling blankets they have stacked—unused—on the shelves. Leo turns a nice shade of angry red as I wrap him up tight, tucking his arms against his body. The result is a securely swaddled baby with only his head sticking out.

Gray and Fi come to watch, clearly curious. But when I pick Little G up and loudly shush him, they both flinch.

“Dex, dude, what—”

I give Gray a quelling look and shush the crying baby again, right in his ear. Finally he hears me and abruptly quiets as I gently jiggle his little body, all the while shushing.

Ivy’s head pops around the doorway. Her dark eyes are wide with shock.

“What—”

Gray waves a frantic hand to quiet her, but I shake my head and walk back to the glider. “Don’t be afraid of noise,” I tell them. “Little man has been hearing it his entire existence. Well, until he was born and you guys started going silent on him.”