She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she drove toward Josh’s condo, she thought about her cousin’s parting remark. While it was true that no one would ever apply the “pretty” label to Josh Slater, there were several others that came to mind. At six feet two inches, with dark blond hair, smoky gray eyes and a mouth that promised all kinds of wicked pleasure, he was tempting. Tantalizing. Hot.
Oh, yes, he was very definitely hot.
And she’d already been burned.
* * *
Josh Slater stared at the disaster zone that used to be his kitchen and tried to decide if he should wade into the mess or call a hazmat team. In addition to the pile of dishes from breakfast and lunch, there was a long drip of dried pancake batter on the oven door, toast crumbs on the counter, Cheerios on the floor and a pot with the congealed remnants of mac and cheese stuck to the bottom. He waded into the mess and had just filled the sink with soapy water when a knock sounded at the door.
He wasn’t expecting any more visitors—he’d already had more than he’d anticipated this weekend and wasn’t eager to add to the number. He decided to ignore the summons and pretend he wasn’t home.
The knock sounded again, louder and more insistent this time. He frowned, thinking that if a knock could exhibit personality traits, this one was brisk and impatient, very much like...Tristyn Garrett.
Because she was on his mind, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear her voice come through the door. “If you’re in there, Josh, you better open this door before I call 911 and have the fire department break it down.”
Since she didn’t usually issue idle threats, he wiped his hands on a towel and opened the door. “What are you doing here, Tristyn?”
“Nice greeting.” Her deep green eyes narrowed as they skimmed over him, silently assessing. “You look like hell.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, felt the rasp of stubble on his jaw. Apparently he’d forgotten to shave this morning. But at least he’d showered. He was pretty sure he’d showered.
Tristyn, by contrast, looked stunning. With her slender build, deep green eyes and perfectly shaped mouth, she could easily have made a fortune in front of a camera. Of course, as a Garrett, she was already heir to a fortune. Still, she worked as hard as anyone else at GSR, often exceeding even his expectations—as she’d done again by showing up at his door.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he finally responded to her comment.
He saw the cool derision in her eyes fade. “Are you sick?” She took a step forward and lifted her hand as if to check his temperature.
He stepped back, forcing her to drop her hand. Since she’d been enticed by her cousin Daniel to work for Garrett/Slater Racing two years earlier, he’d been forced to acknowledge that his best friend’s little cousin was all grown up. But she was still his best friend’s cousin, which meant that even if she looked like every man’s fantasy, she was off-limits to him.
That knowledge hadn’t stopped him from dreaming of her hands on him—frequent and explicit dreams. But he didn’t want her touching him because she felt sorry for him. It was much better if they both respected the walls she’d built between them.
“No, I’m not sick,” he told her. “I’m just exhausted from trying to keep up with three very demanding females.”
As he’d expected, the casual—and yes, deliberately provocative—words erased any hint of sympathy from her pretty green eyes. Now they glittered like emeralds—hard and sharp. “Seriously? You blew off a scheduled meeting with a sponsor because you’re recovering from a weekend orgy?”
Before he could respond, a tiny voice piped up to ask, “Whatsa orgy?”
Ah, hell.
Josh cringed at the sound of the adult word coming out of the little girl’s mouth as he turned to face his five-year-old niece. “I thought you were watching a movie in the bedroom,” he said.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t like the movie—it’s scary.”
“It’s a princess movie,” he pointed out. “How scary can it be?” Although he’d never seen it himself, he’d found it in one of the half dozen suitcases his sister had dumped in his foyer along with her three daughters, so he’d assumed it was suitable for the kids.
“It’s scary,” she insisted.
“This is my niece Emily,” Josh said. “Emily, this is Tristyn.”
“Hi,” the little girl said shyly.
Tristyn crouched down so that she was at eye level with the little girl—inadvertently providing him with a perfect view down the open vee of her blouse. And the view was perfect: sweetly rounded curves peeking over the edge of delicate white lace. He didn’t look away until the lower part of his anatomy began to stir with appreciation.
“What movie are you watching?” Tristyn asked.
“The Princess and the Frog.”
“Are you at the part where the prince goes to see the witch doctor?” she asked.
Emily nodded solemnly, her big blue eyes wide and worried.
“That is a scary part,” Tristyn admitted. “But I watched the movie just a couple of weeks ago with my niece, so I can tell you that the scary part will be over soon, then there are some funny parts and the movie has a happy ending.”
Emily chewed on her lower lip. “For real?”
“For real,” Tristyn promised.
“You wanna watch the movie?” the little girl asked.
“I would love to watch the movie,” she said. “But I need to talk to your uncle for a little bit first, okay?”
“Okay,” Emily agreed, and reluctantly headed back to the bedroom where the “scary” movie was playing.
Tristyn stood up again, tugging down the hem of the short skirt that had ridden up her thighs. She had spectacular legs to go with her tempting feminine curves—an almost irresistible package.
“Is she one of the females who kept you up all night?” she asked him now.
“Yeah,” he admitted, with obvious reluctance. “Emily is my sister’s middle daughter. She has two sisters, Charlotte, who is a couple years older, and Hanna, who is younger.”
Tristyn curled her hand into a fist and punched him in the arm. She put some force behind the motion, but her effort glanced off his biceps.
He lifted a brow. “What was that for?”
“Because you’re an idiot.” She opened her hand, flexed her fingers. “Jeez—your arm is as hard as your head.”
“You’ve often accused me of being an idiot,” he pointed out, ignoring her latter comment. “But it’s never driven
