2. Daddy Wilson

One of the many things I appreciated about Larry was that he never showed up late. So as I sat alone in first class, I couldn’t help but be concerned. This weekend was the culmination of years of planning. Owning Stonehenge had been a dream of mine since before I was thirty. Back when I’d first seen it and didn’t have anywhere near the capital to buy it. Twenty years later, the anxiety of being so close to calling the painting mine had my stress level at an all-time high. And now the man who’d been working with me to broker this deal was MIA.

I’d texted him just before boarding the flight to New York and again after I’d been seated, but he’d yet to respond. Yesterday I had gotten a vague email that mentioned a small change of plans that was accompanied by a comment about how I shouldn’t worry, that everything would go off without a hitch.

Yet here I was, stewing in anxiety.

This was all totally out of character for the man I’d been working with for almost a year.

Locking my jaw, I did something I hated to do. I went over his head.

Me: What’s going on? I’m on the plane, but I’ve yet to see or even hear from Larry.

The bubbles appeared instantly, sending a strange mixture of relief and apprehension through me.

Pat: Larry’s son is in the hospital.

My stomached dropped. Damn. I wasn’t an asshole. I wouldn’t throw a fit about Larry’s absence. I couldn’t imagine the fear of having a child in the hospital. My little girl, who, at twenty-eight, wasn’t little anymore, had been my world.

My chest twisted at the thought of her. Avery was getting married next month. Her fiancé, although not what I would have picked for her if I’d had the privilege, was a good man. She’d fallen in love with one of my baseball players, which wasn’t ideal. I’d been with the Boston Revs for years, first as a pitcher and eventually working my way up the coaching chain, until ten years ago, when I was named head coach. And the biggest pain in my ass in the whole franchise? Naturally, it was my soon-to-be son-in-law.

I roughed a hand down my face and sighed. I couldn’t even be mad about it, because Christian Damiano worshipped the ground my daughter walked on.

Our lives were changing, because for years it was baseball and being Avery’s dad. That’s all I was. Now I had to figure out what else there was out there for me because she was moving on.

When my phone buzzed in my hand, I shook away the thoughts.

Pat: Don’t worry. We have our best headed your way. You’ll love her.

I winced at the her . It wasn’t that I didn’t believe a woman could do this job as well as a man. The issue was that this meant I’d be spending the night in New York with a woman. And not just in New York, but in the same two-bedroom suite. Larry and I had arranged it this way in order to keep two sets of eyes on the art. We’d planned to order room service, and from there, I was sure he’d pick my brain about the upcoming baseball season. The guy loved the Revs, and I was happy to entertain him for a few hours.

This, though, changed things. Who was the woman Pat had mentioned? If Erin Stanbright, the head of the auction house, were the one accompanying me, she would have texted me herself. She and I went way back. But any other woman had the potential to be chaos, and I liked order.

“I would love that.”

At the sound of that sultry voice, my entire being lit up.

On instinct, I turned to my left, following the sound. But when I locked on its source, I froze.

No.

My every muscle tensed, and it took conscious effort to fight the sensation that swamped me. The same sensation I’d warred with for years.

I pulled a hard breath in through my nose and took her in from beneath the brim of my cap.

She wore a tight white sweater and high-waisted black pants. The look was rounded out with silky dark hair and plush, pouty lips.

My living, breathing nightmare had appeared in front of me, just as sexy as ever as she smiled at the man who’d probably tripped over himself to help her hoist her bag into the overhead compartment. For a few beats, I got to watch her, unnoticed, as she thanked her good Samaritan.

As the man stumbled to his own seat, she turned my way, a smile at the ready. “Hi, Mr. Brown. I’m thrill…” The words trailed off, and her smile melted away as recognition flooded her deep onyx eyes. She cleared her throat, hardly missing a beat, and continued. “Thrilled to assist you this weekend. I guarantee this adventure will be painless for you.”

Holding my breath, I pressed my phone into the armrest. Painless? Nothing about being in the proximity of Wren Jacobs would be painless. The woman might be my daughter’s best friend, but I had no doubt that she had been put on this earth to torture me.

“Sit,” I gritted out .

In a very un-Wren-like move, she listened. Silently, she dropped into the seat next to me. The move sent her expensive scent wafting over me, filling my nose and haunting me as it had every time I’d seen her for the last few years.

“Mr. Brown?—”

“Wren.” I cut her off. We weren’t doing this. I would not spend the next twenty-four hours with someone I’d known for more than fifteen years pretending my name was Mr. Brown. “Cut the crap.”

She cocked her perfectly sculpted brow and leaned so close, the heat of her body radiated through me, causing my heart to pound in my ears. “Would you prefer Daddy Wilson?”

Those words rocked through me like an electric jolt. Just like they did every time they left her lips. I hated myself for the inappropriate reaction. I’d known Wren since well before she was old enough to be thought of in the way I was right this second. She had grown up with my daughter, and when Avery left for college on the West Coast, nineteen-year-old Wren left my life as well. During the six-year gap, I’d been busy with baseball, and when she returned as a twenty-five-year-old woman, breezing into my kitchen with my daughter, she was unrecognizable. Sleek, confident, gorgeous. And when the Daddy Wilson slipped from her lips like it had a million times before, my body had buzzed in a way that was absolutely inappropriate in response to a woman nineteen years my junior.

“Mr. Wilson,” I corrected through gritted teeth. Although, fucking hell, that was only slightly better. “Better yet, this weekend, I’m Tom.”

“Okay.”

Jesus, if I’d known she’d respond so reasonably to my first name, I’d have suggested it years ago. “Good.”

She shrugged, the move shifting her closer once more. “I should be shocked, but this makes so much sense. Our conversation about Stonehenge last spring should have been the only clue I needed.”

In vivid detail, my brain ran over that night. Wren seated across from me at O’Hannigan’s, her hand tucked under her chin as she talked about the swirl of each brushstroke that created the haze of gray clouds. God, I’d been hypnotized by her passion about my favorite work of art. So much so that I’d totally missed the way my colleague was flirting with my daughter two seats away.

Wren cleared her throat, pulling me back to the present. She lifted her chin a fraction, making it difficult not to focus on the smooth skin of her neck. “For the record, I understand that it’s probably hard for you to trust the kid who was always getting your daughter into trouble to be lead on this project.”

Eyes narrowed, I assessed her. Sure, Wren had been a hellion as a teenager and probably still was, but that wasn’t the issue. Erin had been very clear when we started this project that Wren was the best. The up-and-coming star who would someday be her right-hand woman. But I’d told her that I preferred not to work with her because of her personal connection to Avery. The truth of it, though, was that I didn’t trust myself to spend too much time with my daughter’s best friend. Not only would Avery be appalled if she knew the kinds of thoughts that ran through my mind, but Heath Jacobs, a longtime friend, would surely kill me if he knew that I’d been fantasizing about his daughter. If I made even a single move, I’d be buried under the tee box of the first hole at his country club before I could utter an apology.

“This weekend, I’m going to prove that you should have been working with me all this time.” She shifted away with a huff.

Part of me wanted to close the gap she’d created, but over the years, I’d perfected the art of keeping my distance. I couldn’t leave the issue of her talent hanging, though. I’d hate myself if I made her doubt abilities even a little.

“I know you’re more than capable of managing this transfer,” I muttered. “We all know you’ll handle it even better than Larry would have.”

Lips parting, she studied me, an unnamed emotion swimming in her eyes. A feeling I thought might match the flutter in my chest.

“Can I get you a preflight beverage?”

Wren took a breath and blinked, and instantly, the emotion was gone.

“Coffee, extra milk, and two sugars, please.” She gave the flight attendant a polite smile. “Mr. Brown needs a black coffee. In a ceramic mug. He won’t drink out of paper. ”

It annoyed me that she knew me well enough to order correctly, while at the same time, the idea settled warmly in my bones, relaxing me. This was a good indication that she might have this weekend locked down.

She watched the flight attendant scurry back to the galley before she shifted those onyx eyes back my way.

“I have work to do, but if you need something, don’t hesitate to ask.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled her iPad out of her bag and popped in her earbuds.

I tried to ignore the woman next to me, but ten minutes into the flight, I found myself trying to eye her tablet.

An image of my painting—or the work of art that would soon be mine—was on her screen, and she’d zoomed in on a small rip at the edge of the canvas.

“Is that bigger than a half inch?” I demanded. I was aware that there was a small imperfection caused by reframing, but in the photo, it looked bigger than the seller had claimed.

She popped one ear bud out. “I hope not, but don’t worry, I’ll check.” She shifted the screen toward me and leaned closer.

Her arm brushed my chest, causing my abs to tense. I could not react this way. She was my daughter’s best friend. Nineteen fucking years younger than me. And yet here I was, a creepy old asshole drooling over her.

“See here?” She pointed to the top right corner of the screen.

Once again I was flooded with that sweet perfume, the scent making my heart race. It took far too much effort to maintain my self-control.

Wren Jacobs would not be the woman who broke me.

“That’s the scale.”

I blinked, attempting to think about anything other than the warmth of her arm pressing against mine. The way her chest lifted with each intake of air. The way I longed to close the space between us.

“According to this…”

I had lost the entire conversation.

“Not even three-eighths of an inch. ”

She reached over and patted my thigh, the warmth of her palm ripping through me.

“It’s rare when bigger isn’t better, huh?” She laughed, the sound causing my dick to twitch.

Clearing my throat, I straightened. “The only people who say that buy cars to overcompensate for what they’re lacking.”

Wren chuckled. “Whereas you buy paintings to…?”

“To set a mood.”

My arm brushed hers on the armrest between us, and instantly, goose bumps broke out on her skin. I wasn’t blind to her reaction to me. This attraction wasn’t one-sided, not by a longshot. And that only made my vow to not act on it more difficult. “Art creates emotions and sets a tone.”

Her pulse fluttered in her neck as she regarded me. Fuck, how I’d love to press my tongue against it and feel each beat.

“A tone for what?” The breathy whisper floated around us, making it impossible not to glance down to her mouth. When her tongue snaked out to wet her bottom lip, my body reacted like it had run along my skin.

Damn. I looked away.

“For whatever I want.” I turned toward the window. Shit. I couldn’t keep engaging her. Not if I wanted to distance myself.

Once I’d averted my attention, she made no attempt to start a conversation again. Besides ordering a second cup of coffee for each of us—decaf for me, because clearly, she knew I only had two cups of regular a day—she was silent. Focused. It was strange, sitting beside her. I almost felt at ease. That was until the plane had taxied to the gate and the young asswipe in the suit across the row attempted to get her bag.

“I’ve got it.” The words were almost a snarl.

His eyes widened, and with his hands held up in front of him, he stepped away.

As I pulled her bag down and settled it on my shoulder, Wren cocked that thin brow at me. I ignored the look. What was so wrong with carrying her bag like any decent man would?

“Go.” I waved a hand toward the front of the plane .

She smirked. “If I wasn’t on my best professional behavior, I’d have to say that growl was hot AF, Daddy Wilson.”

My gut tightened, and my entire body buzzed with anticipation. Fuck. By now, my damn dick should have realized that I wasn’t going there. But the response was ingrained in me. As she spun, I couldn’t help but zero in on the perfect curve of her ass in those black pants. A groan worked its way up my throat, but I bit it back before it could escape. This was going to be a long two days.