Chapter 1

One

Jude

I swallow the shot of whiskey in my mouth and try to cope with two facts: the nanny's barely legal breasts bounce beautifully in that Baywatch wannabe bathing suit she's teased me with this summer. And two, there's not enough liquor on this planet to erase the luscious, all-too-fuckable dream of a creature from my fantasies.

Despite what my daughter thinks of me, at thirty-six, I'm too damn old for an innocent woman like Peyton. I work out and judging from all the panties that get thrown on stage when I'm performing with my band Crush , women find me attractive. But that doesn't close the sixteen year age gap between me and the nanny.

For that matter, nor does it change that I am, however, seriously lusting after the one woman that I can't have. It's such a cliché especially in the glittery town of Los Angeles. Many of the men I know have no problem fucking their family's live-in nannies. Several names come to mind for those who passed on having a sweet, delectable treat like Peyton under their roofs for that very reason. She's a walking temptation any man would find hard to resist…and my control can't take that much more either.

Until I hired Peyton, I didn't understand why it was hard to stay away from a nanny. After all, they were stodgy, buttoned-up and boring.

Not Peyton.

Now I understand what all the hell-raising was about. Sure she's young and has the body made for sex, but she's also the most genuine person I've come across in a long damn time. When she smiles any room she's in becomes an extension of heaven on earth.

And seeing how she's a cock tease without even trying, it could be said I learned the hard way.

As a newly minted twenty-year-old, my little girl's nanny got it into her head LA would be better for her than the Midwest. Maybe all the snow convinced her the grass is greener across the Rockies. If so, I can't say I blame her. My parents were sunshine and sand people so it's no surprise I ended up that way too. I've been all over the world and I still spend every Christmas and every other vacation in my childhood home in the Bahamas.

I pour another shot of whiskey and grit past the tight burn down the back of my throat. Peyton's velvety honey eyes and freshly sun-kissed California skin has my cock ready to pound nails. She's flashing a sweet smile at some asshole walking down the beach who doesn't deserve to know her beauty. Seeing her face light up in the fading sunlight reminds me of her delicate laugh that has me wanting to write love ballads or something.

Peyton starts up the long stairs leading from my rear balcony to the beach, her curvy body swaying with each step. She has some kind of gloss on her lips that catches like bubble gum stars in the fading sunlight.

"Damn." I groan. The juicy look of those plump lips pulls drops of pre-cum from the crown of my dick and I'm reminded once again—the nanny might be sweet as sugar, but underneath all that innocence is a sexy streak that I'm dying to possess. I want to take my time and pull all her inner passion to the surface, devour her and claim that delectable body as mine. I want to know her screams of passion when I feed her every inch of my big cock.

Right now, she has stopped midway to the house, looking back at the white caps churning a short distance from shore. From this angle I can see her face pulled into a frown and her shoulders pressed inward like a woman about to crumble under the weight of the world—and I want to pick up those pieces.

It's a private moment and I should turn away, yet here I am up in my master suite, spying on her like a foolish teenager who has never seen a woman before.

It's safer that way. From up here, I see how she makes my cock suffer. The only way to relieve the pressure is to take cold showers and stroke one off. In these close quarters, it's a multiple times a day occurrence because I'm in a near-constant state of arousal from her sweet ass and creamy tits I crave to lick and suck. That damn bathing suit does nothing to control the sexy sway of her breasts, either. I've daydreamed all day about pulling from her sweet pussy and spilling my cream all over those tight little buds of her nipples—mark her as mine. Only mine. What can I say, I'm a selfish bastard who doesn't like to share.

I slam my eyes closed. I'm wary of acting on any of my desires, though. To be honest, my cock has gotten me into trouble before. Back when I first came to LA, there was a staggering amount of pussy surrounding me. Looking back, it's no surprise I hooked up with a model and aspiring actress. Inevitable, really when you think about it. I was young and stupid. At the time, I didn't think anything about it, neither of us was serious about the other. We were both single looking for a good time. Our daughter Lila resulted from that fling, and life changed after her arrival. Lila will be six next month, and looking back, I admit becoming a father at the age of thirty forced me to mature fast for her sake.

It didn't take long to realize how little my ex, Amber, and I had in common besides our beautiful daughter. Nowadays Lila is the center of my world, and because of her I need to be smarter about my relationships.

Caution has brought me back to my Bahamas childhood home this weekend while Amber marries some A-list actor with a nasally voice and a pathetic beard on a nearby island. My band members and I just wrapped up a world tour that has me longing for some quiet time and not another soul in sight for a few days outside my inner circle.

Less than twelve hours after landing back in LA, I gathered up Lila and Peyton and we arrived in the Bahamas via my private jet last night. I can already feel my tense muscles relax. Coming here was a good move. So was hiring Peyton. Despite Amber's bitching about needing an older nanny, Lila has never looked happier than when she's with Peyton.

Because of that fact, I situate my dick to where the teeth of my zipper can't dig into the sensitive flesh and tell myself one more time I have to keep my fucking hands off the nanny.

For the last time, I cannot mess this up. Not only for Lila's sake but because I made a promise to Peyton's brother when I signed her on to work for me.

Oliver is a true friend, and in LA it's not like you can pick up a friendship like ours on a street corner. He got his start with Amber as an extra then turned personal assistant when the gigs stopped rolling in. Since he helped plan the monstrosity of a wedding Amber calls it the event of the century, Oliver will be at the wedding, too. I plan on using the man as my eyes and ears to help me watch over Lila since her mother will be busy being the center of attention.

On the way here I was hesitant to let Lila go to the wedding without Peyton or me accompanying her, but Amber picked Lila up and whisked her off to the celebrations while I was off settling a few bills that lapsed in my absence.

I know my ex is trying to use our daughter to impress her new husband with her maternal instincts. I don't know which is worse, that I thought Amber would discover those same instincts naturally after finding out Lila was on the way, or the fact the poor sap she's marrying now will discover the ugly truth the way I did...after the fact.

Experience has shown me Amber doesn't have any maternal instincts to speak of. Because of that, I made sure I'm only a few islands away in case Lila comes back early, which is fine with me.

In fact, I'd prefer it.

It'd help distract me from Peyton's sensual, cock-teasing curves.

"I'm leaving now, Mr. Hawkins." The housekeeper's voice travels up the large winding stairs. Her words pull me back from the window, and I let the curtain fall as I walk away. Peyton should be back inside soon. She needs to be careful. A Midwesterner like her is not used to how fast the weather changes here. And out in California, it's all varying degrees of sunshine.

This close to sunset, the July wind has picked up as it always does in the Bahamas. Multiple shades of pinks and purples swallow the sky with a coming storm. I smirk at how pissy the turn of weather will make Amber. Low of me, yeah, but still. She never did plan. Liked to live life by the seat of her three-hundred dollar silk designer panties.

Every islander knows there won't be a photo-op worthy sunset tonight because that front is moving fast, judging by the wind's easterly direction. It is going to be a bitch of a gale when it hits land and we're directly positioned to catch one helluva show in the downstairs observatory.

I hurry down the steps to the front hallway. My childhood home is all cream paint walls and exposed distressed wood. I updated with new furniture and a dishwasher a couple of years back but not much else. I like that it feels familiar, unlike my Malibu beach house which is built to look like a rockstar lives there.

Mrs. Hazel stands in the front hall with her weathered hands folded neatly over the short strap of her black leather purse. In the thirty-plus years, I've known the gently aging woman, I've never seen her without this purse or one like it. She is a stout woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Her gnarled fingers speak of a lifetime of work, but her spirit sings of a happy life. I've known her long enough to say that with certainty. Looking at my own life, I don't think there's a single soul who could say that about me. Not even Oliver.

In a glittery backstabbing industry I'm neck-deep in, I've earned to keep my cards close and that includes emotions, dreams and ideas of a perfect life. It's the price of fame no one bothered to tell me about. Knowing how stubborn I can get, I probably wouldn't have listened anyway.

"Let me give you a ride home; it's about to pour out there and I'd be an ass to let my favorite person in the world walk home in this." I snatch my keys off the front hall table and give them a quick toss in the air, flashing her a quick smile.

"My Felix is outside, Mr. Hawkins. I left a chicken warming in the oven, and the salad needs dressing. I'll be back after church tomorrow to clean up. Now enjoy your evening, sweetie."

I never knew how old Mrs. Hazel was. She is one of those figures who has always been in my life. Her faded flower print dress, sensible black shoes, and a gentle smile are the same as always.

I bend to kiss her on the cheek and give her a hug while I'm at it. If my fans could see me now they would strip me of my hardcore rocker status in a heartbeat. Truth be told, I'm nowhere near the same person in real life to my stage persona. "I can handle a few dishes. Take tomorrow off. I insist." The last thing I want is the woman to worry about washing my dishes. That gives me another thought. "Why don't you take the whole week off? More if you want. You've been taking care of this place every day of the year for too long. I got it from here."

I make a mental note to make a big deposit in her account as a summer bonus.

She tightens her lips into a fine line and for a minute I think she's going to fight me on it. But her eyes crinkle at the edges. "Thank you, sweet boy. You were always kind." She pats my cheek gently, and a sudden nostalgia for my childhood slams home.

Easier days, easier times before fame grabbed my life by the balls.

A reflection of car headlights flickers in the hallway mirror, pulling me out of the past.

I open the door for us and follow her out into the gaining winds.

"Evening, Mr. Hazel, how ya doin'?" I duck down to greet the driver as I hold the car door open for my former nanny. Although I've known Felix since I was a small boy, I pay the older man the respect of his age. If they were remembered for nothing else, my parents were very big on manners.

"Good to see you, Jude." The older man's face is wreathed in wrinkles, but his smile is bright. He pats the steering wheel. "Thanks again for the truck. It sure does come in handy."

I smile. "Glad to hear it, Mr. Hazel."

The Hazels' are very active in their church and outreach on the island. I wanted to get them in a newer and safer vehicle for years, but they pridefully kept refusing until I hit on the idea of a truck to help with their community efforts. Now we are all happy. That doesn't happen enough in life. "Drive safe, Mr. and Mrs. Hazel. Looks like a wet one coming up."

I watch them head back down the driveway until their taillights disappear. Besides my little girl, they are the closest thing I have to family and I cherish them as such.

Raindrops the size of quarters fall from the now dark sky. Night comes quickly in the tropics, add a storm of this magnitude to it and it's like someone tossed a blanket over a birdcage. One minute the setting sun fills the sky with pinks and oranges, then two minutes later you can't see your hand before your face.

I run up the steps and let the heavy door take care of itself behind me.

Rain splatters the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sea. Lush greenery hanging overtop the windows from the second-floor balcony slaps against glass. It is like being in a massive car wash only, come morning, I'll be the one picking up palm fronds from the yard.

"Peyton!" My voice booms throughout the house, but there is no delicate sweet voice there to answer me back.

Damn it. She should be inside by now. Winds are thrashing the palm trees and I've already seen someone's beach umbrella sail by.

The overhead lights dim once then flicker until they settle on total blackout.

Losing power is part of the charm of life in the islands. Usually.

Doesn't the girl know a tropical storm is not the time for a beach walk? There are a million things that could harm her—flying debris being the most dangerous.

Where the fuck is that woman?

An image of her lifeless body lying on the beach tangled around that damn umbrella some careless person left unattended sends me out the door. I take a left and head toward the beach where I last saw her before realizing I need a flashlight.

I turn on my heel and get an arm full of a sweet-smelling, delicate woman. I tighten my arms around her center and pull her smaller frame into my larger body before we both tumble onto our asses in the rain. She must have just come in because water drips from the tip of her nose and her long dark hair is plastered against her breasts.

I pull her back into me without a second thought, relief flooding through me.

Peyton is safe. Breathe.

I hold her to me for a few seconds as the storm rages around us.

Then my relief is rapidly replaced by fury. I release her reluctantly and march her inside the house.

I work to keep my voice level so I don't scare her with the amount of fear raging through me. "What the hell were you doing out here? Something could've happened to you, sweetheart and rogue waves are common in storms like these." I reach behind her, pulling the door closed.

Standing this close I get tunnel vision and I can't force myself to move. Hints of coconut sunscreen cling to her and when she moves even the slightest of inches, I get a hit of it. It's like the sweetest aphrodisiac to my system. Blood pumps into my cock and I'm hard before I can think up another line to keep her this close a little longer.

I place my hands on either side of her head, caging her against the door.

She bites her lower lip and that's when I notice the tremble run through her body. Fuck. My eyes drop to her full, pouty lower lip. She has naturally full lips, and that lower one begs me to nibble on it. Tears well in her light brown eyes and a few cling to her thick, black eyelashes.

My whole body tenses. "Fuck," I swear softly. I draw her in and take a few seconds to enjoy the way her hands curl around my lower back and settle just above my belt line. Her fingers cling to my shirt. I have a million questions in that one move, but I suppress the need to ask them. Along with the need to confess I've never wanted someone as badly as I do her. She's had me restless and on edge for the better part of what? Six weeks now? Since she signed on as Lila's nanny.

I knew from the moment she put her name on the papers I shouldn't, but like a lot of bad ideas in my life, I went with it anyway.

Grabbing a beach towel from the clean pile by the door, I drape one around her shoulders but not before noticing her tight, puckered nipples pushing against her swimsuit. Even looking vaguely like a drowned cat, she is stunningly gorgeous.

"I'm ss-sorry, Mr. Hawkins. Damn, it happened so fast. The weather was gorgeous one minute and then I thought I saw Dorothy's house fly by in the next."

I smile at her spunk. Her soft lips now have a blueish tinge from the cold, but the way she says my name has me at a disadvantage. Blood shoots straight to my cock like it always does, and I need a minute to gain my control before I move away. One step back and there's no way she'll miss the massive hard-on fighting to get out of my jeans.

I need some space between us. The image of her in this suit is seared in my brain, and my cock isn't going to forget it anytime soon.

"You need something to warm you up," I say, low and with more husk than needed. With a hand on her lower back, I direct her to a kitchen chair but not before handing her a few more towels. The more of her that is covered, the better.

Hell, the imprint of her damp body clings to my clothes. Feeling her skin, even damp, felt supple, just like that little ass was. I want to rip that damn wet bathing suit off her and warm her up—with my tongue.

But I push that thought into a tiny black box in my head and slam the lid shut.

I'll savor the fantasy of her naked tonight while I'm alone in my room.

The house is as dark inside as out with the power failure. The generator hasn't kicked on, which isn't a total surprise either. It only works a fraction of the time. Island life means living without these conveniences. I don't usually mind, but now I want hot water for Peyton and that is not going to happen. I guess one silver lining is that Lila isn't here. She's at a hotel where they have generators for these occurrences.

Several ways to warm her up cloud my brain, all of them involve both of us naked and her riding me like the storm is riding the island—wild and with abandon.

Since I'm not a complete asshole, I stride to the bar pushed up to the back end of the living room, pick my poison and keep my thoughts to myself. I don't need light, and I am familiar with the contents of my bar. I pour a splash of whiskey in one glass for her, but I am much more generous for myself. Carrying the drinks back into the kitchen, I notice Peyton has finished drying her hair, leaving all but one of the other towels to the side. She wraps a dry towel around her waist.

I hand her the glass while I take a sip of my drink, and dip my eyes to the beautiful curve of her breasts. Tight peaks press against the thin fabric. She is still chilled, and her full breasts strain the resistance of her bathing suit. I imagine her spread naked before me on the kitchen table. Despite the whiskey, my throat feels dry. She awakens a rawness inside me. It's dark, possessive and hungry. I was foolish to bring her here.

Reluctantly, I pull my eyes back up to her face.

My gaze roams over a delicate neck free of any jewelry to find her gazing at me. A fierce blush creeps into her cheeks. She caught me admiring her beauty, but fuck it. At least she hasn't walked in on me in the shower when I fantasize about her deep-throating my cock.

I sigh inwardly. Now she knows her boss is a perv. Not surprisingly, her blush suits her.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper. I don't want anything to happen to you. Lila is so fond of you." I frown through the half-truth I just uttered. "So am I," I offer with a tight smile. Two half-truths don't make a whole though.

Peyton ducks her head.

My eyes drift down over her shapely calves.

Keep your eyes above her neck, asshole.

"I'm sorry, Jude." Her voice is soft but I hear my name fall from her lips. It is hard to hear her whisper above the wind and rain.

But I do. And my cock responds.

Despite the lack of electricity in the house, an arc of current sizzles between us.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She never uses my given name. It is always "Mr. Hawkins" despite all my requests for her to call me by my first name. I'm older than her, sure, but I don't get off on the whole mister routine.

I have enough trouble not thinking of all the ways I'd like to fuck Peyton but her lips forming my name makes that impossible.

I remain silent for a couple of beats. My eyes lock onto the way her lower lip is caught between her teeth. She's punishing the flesh, making it plump up and through it all, I feel every inch of my cock throb.

Peyton raises her head, meets my eyes briefly, then looks down. She takes a sip of her drink.

Holy fuck. She's a submissive.

Images of those sweet lips sliding over the crown of my cock and down my length make me dizzy. Pleasure rushes through my body, setting all my nerve endings on fire.

Long locks of hair tangle around her almost completely bare shoulders and drops down to tease over her taut nipples. Instead of covering the hard tips, the bouncing ends of her hair draw my attention to them more.

"You should stay at a hotel until Lila comes back." My voice sounds hoarse. "There isn't much for you here, especially without power." I hear my words, but I don't put strong enough conviction behind them from the way her eyes fly to mine and narrow.

Her staying in town is the right thing to do. I need to have this temptation removed from me. I promised Oliver I wouldn't touch her. I always keep my promises. In a sleazy business like entertainment, respect is such a rare commodity and I'll be damned if I lose mine.

Peyton's eyes change from narrowed slits to wide-eyed when she sees I'm not budging.

"Oh. You're serious. Umm..." Her lips peel apart, giving me a glimpse of the tip of her pink tongue. I am sure she'd taste sweeter than any honey and would be impossible to forget.

"It's just that, well, it's so peaceful here. I love it." A frown forms between her perfect brows. "Though this is your home, Sir. After all the traveling I'm sure I'm the last person you want around right now."

Her voice is sultry, low and like an angel's.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"

She nods, and my cock twitches at the way she pulls the ends of her. A delicious agony washes over me. I don't want her to go. God only knows what kind of drunken ape-men assholes are at the hotel. I can't protect her if she isn't with me.

Mine.

A voice in my head is already screaming at me to claim her already. Show her all the different ways I can make her scream with pleasure.

I clench my fists at my sides in frustration. Wanting to fuck the nanny is the most tired cliché out there. Sure, I haven't been planning to spend my vacation beating it off to avoid temptation, but adulthood is full of disaster and disappointments.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. There's plenty of room here for both of us if that's what you'd like. You are more than welcome to stay." I force myself to give her a friendly smile, although relief and terror alternately rip the hell out of my insides.

The devil in me is thrilled. Having her close lets me protect her. The adult part of me—believe me, there is no inner angel at my age—knows that is going to cost me some serious heartache and sleep.

"Thank you, Mr. Hawkins." Joy floods her face. "I'll get us some dinner." She slides off the stool, and I can't help but notice her breasts jiggle with the movement.

"There's some dinner almost ready; I'll set the plates. Why don't you stay put, maybe put another towel on and warm up?" I light the candles and hurricane lamps that we kept on the kitchen table. Out on the islands, these aren't just decorations, and we depend on them. Besides, I always prefer the soft glow of candlelight.

"Consider me warmed. Besides, I love being in a kitchen, especially one as beautiful as this one."

My heart stops when she unwraps the towel from her waist and tosses it over the back of a chair back. Blood roars through my veins and it's like the first song of a concert. The second I strum my fingers over the strings of my guitar and belt out the first line to a song a surge of power fills me.

Only now, it's not power—it's ball-gripping lust.

Peyton leans over and opens the oven, pushing her perfectly round ass into the air. The sides of her suit have ridden high on her ass and if I were less of a man, I'd have broken down by now and confessed. Looking at her almost makes my resolve not to take her in the middle of the kitchen nearly crack.

She twists her long damp hair into a knot while she busies herself with the final touches of food prep. To keep busy, I gather the plates.

But I'm left with enough time and plenty of opportunities to admire the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. She chats about what she's seen along the beach. Perhaps she is as nervous about spending time alone with me as I am with her.

I set the table for two for the first time with her. In LA, Peyton is much more at ease with Lila, but with me, she keeps things professional. More so than me, that is for damn sure.

Oliver no doubt warned her about men like me. Rock stars aren't known for treating women well. Most have a string of baby-mamas. But having a baby with my ex cured me of that.

Being rich and famous, a lot of women approach me, seeing dollar signs. After Lila's birth, I wanted to be married and have a family outside this business. That means no more industry types which rules out actresses, models, and musicians. Or most of Los Angeles. Naturally, these are the kinds of women I most often meet, so that has brought some serious challenges to my social life.

That's what I love about being back on Smuggler's Bay. I can just be me for a while and not the lead singer of Crush . Here I can shop in the small town market or take a walk without being under siege for selfies or the random panties being shoved in my hand.

My week of refuge has taken a change of direction with Peyton here though.

When Peyton drops her gaze or bites her lip, I want to take her away with me and lock out the rest of the world and keep her all to myself.

And fuck me if that isn't in direct conflict with what I promised her brother.