Chapter 22

BRIGGS

I glanced up at Layla’s bedroom window. ~What the fuck was taking her so long?~

“Briggs,” Veronica whispered, running her finger over my forearm.

“Sorry. My mind wandered there for a minute.” I moved toward the pool, putting some distance between us. “What were you saying?”

“I suggested going out for coffee after I’m finished with your daughter’s lesson.”

“I can’t today,” I said. “I’ve got a conference call that’s probably going to last a couple of hours.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” she purred, stalking toward me.

The patio door opened, and Layla stepped outside. She trotted across the terrace, shaking her behind like a woman who knew she was smokin’ hot and owned it.

My jaw dropped when she slipped out of her coverup.

~What the fuck was she wearing? Not much. That’s for fucking sure.~

I stared at the tiny triangles of white fabric covering her tits, her large nipples visible through the thin material. And where was the bottom?

Flimsy ties were the only thing keeping the little scrap of material over her pussy. She turned around, her booty completely on display with nothing but a string wedged between her cheeks.

“Oh dear,” Veronica chuckled. “You’ve got your hands full with this one, Briggs. Teenage rebellion at its finest.”

“I need to go inside and get ready for my call,” I stuttered, making a beeline for the house before Veronica noticed the raging erection in my shorts.

I locked myself in my office and settled at my desk. My balls ached with need. I had ten minutes before my conference call started. Plenty of time to take care of the problem in my shorts.

All I had to do was picture Layla in that fucking bikini, and I’d go off like a geyser.

***

My conference call lasted thirty minutes. Even though I had competent people managing my restaurants, I liked to stay in the loop and offer my input on any issues.

After I hung up, I went over some financial reports and answered emails.

I glanced at the time on my computer. Layla’s swimming lesson was only an hour. It would’ve ended thirty minutes ago.

My office was at the front of the house, but I couldn’t see the entire driveway. I didn’t want to leave until I was positive Veronica was gone.

When did I become such a fucking coward? Hiding in my office to avoid a woman who wanted my cock.

~C’mon, man. You’ve had years of experience in puck bunny rejection.~ ~You can handle a horny swimming teacher.~

I wasn’t surprised to find Veronica sitting in the living room. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, pasting a phony smile on my face when she rose from the sofa.

There was a time I would’ve taken a woman like her upstairs and fucked her into oblivion before sending her on her way.

But overconfident, easy women no longer did it for me. They hadn’t for quite some time. I was happy leading a celibate existence until Layla came into my life.

“How did the lesson go?” I asked, noticing she had changed into a tight denim skirt and a white tank top, her breasts spilling out the top.

“Can I be completely honest?”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Your daughter is very uncultured. It’s quite obvious that she didn’t have a proper upbringing. Layla was rude and uncooperative. She’d never been in a swimming pool prior to today.”

“That’s why you’re here,” I nodded.

“She never swam in a lake or ocean either. I’m not sure I can teach her how to swim unless she has a serious attitude adjustment before her next lesson.”

I smothered a smile. Layla was jealous. So that’s why she came out to the pool half-naked! And that was definitely the reason behind her behavior.

“I’ll talk to her. She has to learn to swim.”

“It’s after twelve now,” Veronica said, her eyes roaming down my body. She stared unabashedly at my crotch, licking her lips as she stalked toward me. “What do you say we go out for a drink?”

“Look,” I said, backing away. “I’m flattered, but I can’t go out with you.”

“Why not?” she whispered, reaching out to run her long red nails up my chest.

I captured her wrist, removing her hand from my body. The woman couldn’t take a hint. “I’m seeing someone.”

“So?”

“So, it’s serious. And I have no desire to cheat on her.”

“C’mon,” she purred. “She’ll never know. And since when does Briggs Westinghouse do commitment? You’re one of the biggest players in the NHL. And I’m not talking about hockey.”

“I think you should leave now Veronica.”

“Seriously?” she hissed. “You’re turning me down?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” she huffed, scowling as she grabbed her bag and marched to the front door. “You need to find another swimming teacher for your vagabond daughter.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face, releasing a frustrated sigh when she slammed the door. It wasn’t easy to find a private swimming instructor up north. It didn’t matter who you were, or how much money you were willing to pay.

I was in my office answering emails when I heard Layla and Mary talking. They were getting ready to take the boys for a walk down to the lake.

Mary brought bear spray, promising Layla she knew how to use it. I had no doubt she was telling the truth. Mary Poppins could handle anything that came her way. My boys were safe with her.

Not that I didn’t trust them with Layla. They were her flesh and blood. And I knew she would never let anything happen to them either.

I closed my laptop and went out into the foyer. They were buckling the boys into the strollers.

I had bought a triple stroller, but neither of the nannies liked it. They claimed it was too heavy and awkward. So I got a single and a double instead.

I had no idea how that was going to work when the boys were old enough to realize that somebody had to ride alone.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” I said. “Heading out for a walk?”

“We most certainly are,” Mary replied. “Children need fresh air and sunshine.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Westinghouse?”

“I think I would. I’ve been cooped up in my office all morning.”

“Did you hear that, boys?” Mary whispered. “Daddy is going to come along today.”

“Did Harrison just fart?” I chuckled.

“Pass flatus,” Mary corrected.

“How can you be sure it’s just ~flatus~?”

“You can’t without checking his diaper. I didn’t hear him though. And I don’t detect any fecal odors.”

“Oh, I definitely smell shit,” I declared.

“Mr. Westinghouse, do I need to remind you about the swear jar?”

“No.”

“I’ll take him up and check his diaper,” Layla offered.

“Why doesn’t Mary do it?” I suggested, handing her a dollar bill. “That way she can put this in her swear jar.”

Mary unbuckled Harrison and lifted him from his car seat before snatching the dollar from my fingers. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” I said.

As soon as she had climbed the stairs and disappeared from sight, I pounced on Layla, backing her into the wall while I devoured her mouth.

“Briggs,” she hissed, glancing nervously up the stairs. “She’s going to be back any second.”

“Do you have any idea how badly I want you?” I growled, insinuating my hands under her shirt to fondle her tits. I twiddled my thumbs on her nipples while I rubbed my cock between her legs.

“I don’t, ~Dad~,” she snapped, ducking under my arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“Harrison didn’t have a bowel movement,” Mary said, appearing at the top of the stairs with the baby. “Maybe we should check the other two.”

“They’re clean,” Layla said, glaring at me with a smug grin. “I checked while you were upstairs.”

“Wonderful!”

“I can push Jerome,” I said, taking the wheel of the single stroller.

Mary and Layla walked ahead with Harris and George as we headed down the path to the lake.

“I’m in the doghouse, Jerome,” I whispered.

My son studied me with an intense stare as if he understood what I was saying. “How do I fix it, buddy?”

He smiled and kicked his feet. ~Very helpful.~

I pulled my phone from my pocket.

Briggs

I’m sorry.

I watched Layla retrieve her phone from her back pocket, my cock twitching at the sight of her sexy fanny. ~Fuck~, she was hot. And I wanted her.

Layla

Okay, Dad.

Briggs

Can you please stop calling me that?

Layla

Sure.

Briggs

That was quite the bikini.

Layla

It was uncomfortable. I don’t enjoy having a string wedged up my ass.

Briggs

I’m sorry to hear that. I’m a big fan of thongs.

Layla

I’m a big fan of going commando.

I stopped in the middle of the path, thankful I could hide my erection behind the stroller. At least she wasn’t mad anymore. Or maybe she was, and this was her way of punishing me.

Briggs

You really shouldn’t tease me, baby.

Layla

Why? What are you gonna do about it?

Briggs

Spank your sexy ass.

I started walking again, hustling to catch up, my eyes firmly planted on Layla’s derrière.

Briggs

Are you wearing any panties right now?

Layla

Maybe.

She glanced over her shoulder, a playful grin on her sexy mouth. Oh, the things I was gonna do with that mouth.

Briggs

I can see your panty line. What color are they?

Layal

Why are you looking at my ass?

Briggs

Because I enjoy walking around with a hard-on.

Layla

Then stop looking.

Briggs

I can’t stop.

Layla

White.

Briggs

What?

Layla

My panties. They’re white.

Briggs

Cotton?

Layla

Yep. Nothing fancy. Just plain old white cotton underwear.

Briggs

I don’t believe you.

Layla

Suit yourself.

Briggs

I happen to know for a fact, that you have a drawer full of sexy, lacy panties.

Layla

That’s kind of creepy. Was it my boss or my dad who snooped in my underwear drawer?

Briggs

Neither. It was your boyfriend. And I didn’t snoop. I saw the bill for the lingerie store.

She glanced back at me again just as we reached the gazebo by the lake. The playful smile was gone, her teeth worrying her bottom lip even as our eyes clashed.

Briggs

Problem?

Mary pushed the stroller inside the gazebo and settled on the bench. I followed her, parking Jerome next to his brothers. Layla had walked over to the railing and was gazing out at the lake with her back to us.

I wanted to join her, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her neck. But I didn’t want to make Mary uncomfortable.

Layla never answered my last text. She tucked her phone into her pocket and busied herself with my sons. They loved her.

I watched her holding Harris, talking to him about the great blue heron gliding by, and the family of loons on the lake. She was a natural with kids.

I imagined her standing there, gazing out at the lake, a diamond ring sparkling on her left hand while she rubbed her swollen belly.

~Seriously, man. You have four kids. You’re thirty-eight. Get a grip. Isn’t a set of triplets with no mother enough? Now you wanna saddle yourself with a wife? And more kids?~

I recalled a conversation we had the first night at the house.

Layla had revealed that she had polycystic ovarian syndrome and might never have any children of her own. I told her about my teammate’s wife who had that problem and ended up having three kids through in vitro fertilization.

I had also told her there was a rich man out there somewhere, just waiting to spend his millions on a deserving girl like her.

Was I that man?