Single Dad Read online

  The clock on the wall tells me it’s now past midnight, but she’s here. I can’t help the swell of grudging admiration which comes up when I consider her dedication. She wasn’t just shooting her mouth off when she claimed to be working hard on this issue. Once again, I feel like I was more than a bit unfair to her. She’s doing her best with a problem that got dropped in her lap, unceremoniously too.

  She smiles when she catches sight of Maddie and her eyes soften somewhat. “Beautiful,” she whispers.

  “Thank you.” I look around, now doubtful. “I had hoped to make a little bed up for her down here so she can sleep, but—”

  Sam gets up, waving her hands. “I’ll help you out. Here. Give me those.”

  I loosen my grip a bit, enough for her to work the blankets out from between my arms and Maddie’s body, and she shakes them out before arranging them in a far corner of the lab, behind filing cabinets and tucked away from the rest of the workspace. I crouch beside her, placing my daughter on the makeshift bed while Sam turns out the nearby lights to give her a bit more darkness.

  “Thanks,” I whisper as I stand. I look down at my daughter once more. She is fast asleep. At least, her presence will keep the two of us from killing each other. I hope. I turn away to get down to business.

  “What are you still doing here with her?” she whispers once we’re out of earshot.

  Just like that, her way with words brings my blood to a simmer. “What exactly do you think I should do? Leave her at home by herself? Or maybe I should let her sleep in the car, out in the garage. I’ll crack the windows in case it gets too hot in there.”

  She flushes a deep red, but holds my gaze with a defiant lift of her chin. “I didn’t mean to insinuate any wrongdoing. I was only asking. It’s so late.”

  “No kidding. I thought it was midday.”

  Her eyes flash with temper. “Wow. The later the night gets, the worse your temper is.”

  “I could say the same for you.” Then, I look down at the work she’s been doing and instantly regret my lapse into bitterness. Once again, my mouth has run away from me before I had the chance to think twice. The girl is here well after everyone has gone home for the night, but all I can do is take her semi-innocent questions and turn them into something negative.

  “I’m happy to go home, if that’s what you want,” she says in a fierce whisper, though I get the impression from the way she’s planted her feet that she has no intention of going anywhere.

  I jerk my chin in the direction of her work. “What’s happening here?”

  “The usual thrills and chills,” she replies. “I had an idea tonight while I was on my way from dinner and wanted to try it out.”

  “Dinner?” Does she have a boyfriend? She’s dressed pretty nicely, I now notice. A slim-fitting skirt, a silk blouse which simultaneously covers up and promises so much from her full, firm breasts. Patent leather heels make her legs look longer. I don’t want to come across as a perv, but I have to keep from licking my lips at the sight of them. She’s too damn tempting. Every inch of her smooth skin calls to me. I frown. It’s not right, thinking about her this way. Maybe it’s because she gets my blood up and then my mind goes in directions it shouldn’t.

  My attention snaps back to her face, and I’m glad she’s focused on the components spread over the table rather than on the assessment, I just performed on her body. She has me all mixed up. An uncomfortable feeling.

  “Yes,” she murmurs, shaking her head, still focused on the components she’s piecing together. “Dinner with the family. A monthly torture ritual.”

  I snort softly, and out of more than a little relief. It’s none of my business whether this girl has a boyfriend or not and I know it, but I still prefer the thought of a tense family meal to a romantic night out. I don’t know why. “Family’s rarely ever easy,” I commiserate.

  “Mine more than most,” she says.

  I catch the real sadness behind the glib comment. I stare at her intrigued.

  “What about you?” she asks quickly.

  “What about me?”

  “Tense dinners? Or do you have that perfect family where everybody gets together and lobs jokes across the table before drinking cocoa by the fire?”

  Her image makes me wince, since it’s so close to the way things used to be. “Not so much anymore,” I murmur, remembering Mom’s dinners and the holidays we spent together. Even though it was just the three of us, the house couldn’t have been fuller with love if we’d tried. It’s enough to bring a lump to my throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “That was insensitive.”

  I glance across to find her stricken expression. “It’s all right. Really. And no dinners, tense or otherwise here.”

  “Well. You aren’t missing much,” she murmurs with a wry smile. “Honestly, after what I went through, I had to come here to work out some of my frustration.”

  “Most people would go to a gym to work their frustration out,” I say, watching her long, slim and sure fingers work. She’s intimately aware of the hardware she is handling, operating without hesitation. As if the bits and pieces are extensions of her. There’s something seductive about watching a person so completely in-tune with what they’re doing—especially when it’s something I designed. I know instinctively that she’d slap my hand away if I dared encroach on what she sees as her territory.”

  “Working out is okay, especially if I’m punching something,” she admits. “But I find this even more stimulating. Exhilarating too, when I manage to work out the solution to a problem.”

  “I’ve been there.”

  She lifts her head and looks at me. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Sure. You focus all attention on making something work. You put your heart and soul into it, trying everything you can think of. Calling on all your skill. And when it works and you were right?” I smile. “It’s an unbelievable high. You feel ten feet tall.”

  She smiles back. Her whole face transforming. “I can’t think of anything better,” she says softly.

  God, she’s beautiful. “I can think of one or two things,” I mutter under my breath, but obviously audible if the way color floods her cheeks is any indication. I have to stop this, and now. All I need is for her to call me up on charges of sexual harassment and I’m in hot water. The last thing I need with my daughter in my charge. “What did you tweak?” I ask, desperate to get off the subject of sex or innuendo.

  She snaps the last piece into place. Before me on the table, is a fully-assembled drone. “I added a thin insulation blanket around the battery casing and an extra layer of heat paste behind the motherboard,” she explains. “It might keep the heat from frying anything out.”

  My mind drops into design mood. “You think that’ll do it, huh?”

  “It can’t hurt, can it? Nothing I’ve done so far has made much of a difference. Good luck, Barry,” she says.

  “You called the drone, Barry?”

  She avoids my eyes as she hits the timer. “It’s just for ease of reference.”

  I try not smile. We sit in silence for six-and-a-half minutes as the drone makes its circular flight over our heads. Both of us hoping against hope that something will change and the drone will stay in flight. When it keeps running, we look at each other with wide, hopeful eyes. This could be it. This could be the breakthrough.

  It isn’t.

  Once we reach the seventh minute mark, the sickeningly familiar sequence of events begins, with the temperature readout spiking. The engine sputters out and I land the drone before it can crash.

  “Damn!” Her head sinks into her arms, crossed on the table.

  “I’m sorry.” And I am, and for more than just me or the company. Her passion is evident, as is her dedication. The girl drove in after dinner, when she could’ve gone home like a normal person and living a normal life, but she came here, instead. And she’s devastated by her lack of progress.

  “You’re sorry?” she asks, dismayed. “This is your ba
by, and I’m still screwing it up.”

  “This isn’t my baby,” I point out, then jerk a thumb in the direction of my sleeping daughter. “That is. This is just work.”

  She raises an eyebrow, smirking ever so slightly. “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you weren’t as crazy devoted to this as I am, you wouldn’t still be here. You’re just as invested in that baby,” she jerks her thumb in the direction the drone. “As any of us in development.”

  “Of course. But even so, I know you’re working hard and I know you’re frustrated. I’m just glad you haven’t given up yet. I’m not sure where we would be if you did.”

  “I can tell you where we’d be.” She chuckles mirthlessly. “We’d be in the same spot we were in when this was dumped in my lap, because I haven’t gotten anywhere.”

  “That’s not true,” I point out, indicating her notes. “We know what doesn’t work. All we have to do is find what does. You’ve made tremendous progress.”

  She eyes me suspiciously, like an animal unsure whether it should trust the man with the gun who says he’s not a hunter.

  I make an effort to keep my expression neutral in order to convince her I mean what I say.

  “Thanks,” she finally murmurs, tucking her hair back.

  It must be a nervous gesture when she is unsure what to do with those crafty hands of hers. I can’t help but wonder what else they’re capable of…“Wait a second. What about the fan casing?”

  “What about it?” she asks, watching as I turn the drone upside down.

  I point to the semi-circular cutouts in the drone’s exterior, which allow hot air to flow from inside the body the way a computer’s fan does. “What if these were wider and that piece there was moved here? Not by much, but enough to draw out more heat at a time? That might make a big enough difference.”

  She purses her generous mouth, eyes narrowing, as she processes the idea in her mind. “That could help. We’ve already improved flight time. If we keep going in this direction, it could be enough.”

  I immediately begin to disassemble the drone, leaving replacing the circuitry to her while I use an awl to widen the openings. There’s something nice about working alongside someone for once. A camaraderie I’ve missed out on for a long time. I find myself smiling, even as the night rolls on and sleep becomes a distant concept. I’ll be a mess come morning, but it’ll be worth it if we can score a win.

  “All right. I think this will do it. Any larger, and the integrity of the case will be lost.” I hand the last piece over.

  Sam works it into place, completing the drone once again. She grins at me. A real smile.

  I’m almost transfixed by it.

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.” She starts the drone and keeps it hovering just inches from the table surface.

  We both study the readouts from the internal systems as the minutes pass—minutes which seem to stretch out into eternity. So much hangs in the balance I don’t even want to think about it.

  “It’s already better at three minutes than it’s ever been,” she whispers, a thread of excitement evident as she jabs a finger at the screen. “See?”

  “I see,” I whisper, willing myself not to allow excitement to enter into this. I can’t get ahead of myself. I can’t allow that. Even so, I can’t help but feel hopeful when four, then five, then six minutes pass with little change in the temperature of the processor.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathes, chewing her thumbnail, barely blinking as she continues to monitor the numbers.

  I don’t say anything, just stare at the monitor. The temperature holds steady.

  “Seven minutes. I think we’ve done it. I really do. This is it! I know it.”

  “Let’s wait and see,” I caution, though I feel anything but cautious myself. Seven minutes. Eight. Nine. By the time we hit ten and the temperature still hangs well within the acceptable range, my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest.

  “We did it,” she cries, clasping her hands together and jumping up and down like a child.

  “I think you’re right,” I’m finally ready to admit. I turn my eyes to her with a big grin on my face. “Fucking hell, Sam. I think you’re right, I think we did it.”

  She flaps her hands in front of her face like she’s trying to hold back her emotion, and I see now just how much this has meant to her. She’s spent so many hours devoting all of her skill and intelligence to this single project, and to see it come to fruition is too much for her to handle. I’ve been there. I’m there right now, myself.

  I do the only thing that feels good and right, and that’s pulling her to me for a tight hug. She throws her arms around my neck, trembling with delirious relief and probably more than a little exhaustion, seeing as how it’s now after three in the morning and we’re both half-dead—but elated. Elated in the way people are who haven’t worked together on something for a long, long time and have finally achieved success will never understand. The taste of victory is like heady wine. So potent it wipes out everything but that moment. Nothing else exists. Just that moment in time.

  It gets the better of me.

  Or maybe I can blame the way her neck moves and the intoxicating smell of her perfume floods my nostrils, seducing me, making me press my lips against her warm, inviting mouth at this late hour. And she can blame the way she kisses me back—hard, desperately hard, breathless and crushing her lips to mine—on her … elation.

  Samantha

  Wait. What are we doing?

  I jerk my head back. “But I don’t even like you,” I gasp.

  “No, I don’t like you much either, but what the hell,” he mutters, and his mouth crashes down on mine again.

  Yup, I don’t like him, but I sure do like the way his lips move over mine, the way he holds me tight enough to take my breath away. His arms are as strong as they look and firm with bulging muscle. The sort of arms I could lose myself in and never come up for air and be perfectly fine with it because oh, my God, he’s the best kisser I’ve ever known.

  My toes curl and my arms break out in goosebumps as the sensations from his probing, demanding tongue race through my body, leaving me trembling—eager for more.

  But this is wrong. It’s so wrong.

  He’s my boss, for Christ’s sake. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this, much less doing it. But here we are, and I want this. I want it so much. I can’t think about it, or else the magic will dissolve.

  Anyway, it feels right, my body pressed against his, my hands running up and down his arms, shoulders and back. God, he’s perfect, the most perfect body I’ve ever touched. I can’t get enough of him. He pushes me against the wall and I have no choice, but to succumb. Not that I want to do anything else.

  I pull my mouth from his for a split second, though, remembering the little one. She’s hidden from view, only the edges of her blankets visible from behind the file cabinets. Even so, when I cut my eyes in that direction, he nods.

  “Shh…” Then his mouth is plundering mine again, and the kiss is deeper, more passionate this time. Actually, all-consuming. I feel myself melting, turning to nothing but a puddle of sheer ecstatic pleasure as he kisses away every last inhibition I harbor.

  We sink to the floor, wrapped up in each other. He stretches his tall frame out over mine while one hand slides up my leg from ankle to thigh. Only the knowledge of the sleeping child on the other side of the lab keeps me from crying out my pleasure. From begging him for more. His fingers dance at the hem of my panties, teasing both of us, while his mouth kisses a trail from my lips to my chin, down my throat, to the bit of skin revealed above the buttons of my blouse. I work at them with trembling fingers, ready to burst with need.

  He chuckles against my skin, sending pleasurable little vibrations through me as he moves lower and lower with each new open button. He works my shirt out of my skirt, opening it fully, one of his hands cupping my breast through my bra and squeezing gently, his tong
ue sliding beneath the lace. I hold his head close, my fingers tangling in his hair, arching my back in an attempt to give myself to him, to present myself for him to feast on. He rolls his hips in response, driving his bulge against my thigh, and we both groan softly.

  “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “I don’t have any condoms.”

  I sit up halfway, shedding the blouse and unhooking my bra. “I do.” I reach up to the tabletop and pull my purse down. I extract a flat packet out and tear the silver wrapper away.

  He’s on me in an instant, sucking at my nipples until the ache between my legs is almost painful. He works my skirt up to my hips and slides my panties off, tossing them aside and spreading my thighs wide to reveal my wet, tender slit.

  The growl, low and deep in his throat, precedes the dipping of his fingers into my folds.

  I grip his shoulders tight, wishing I could scream as my hips buck against his hand. He works my clit, breathing hard against my neck, both of us struggling to give into our passion while staying as quiet as possible.

  If anything, that only makes this even more forbidden. And hotter, so much hotter.

  It’s inappropriate. Actually, it’s not inappropriate—it’s wrong for me to have sex with the boss! It’s against every rule. Everything about this is just downright wrong. The way he strokes my clit, the way his fingers slide inside me. The way my muscles clench around the thick digits. The way he pumps them in and out until I’m unable to stop myself as my mouth opens in a cry of pleasure. His hand clamps down over my mouth, and my eyes go wide with surprise, but I don’t pull away. In fact, I jerk my hips toward him, thrusting right back. Until I dissolve in a frenzy of furious spasms, biting on the side of his fist to quiet my scream of ecstasy.

  I’m still panting when I hear his zipper. He sheaths himself and I feel the heavy weight of his erect dick against my thigh. I glance down. My eyes open with surprise and lustful hunger as I note the length and girth. I want to draw him into me, hold him fast, take every last bit of pleasure I can.

  He spreads my legs wider. Grabbing one of my tits, he takes it into his mouth. He bites down on it as he thrusts the massive head of his cock into me. “You’re so hot and wet,” he grunts, as my nipple pops out of his mouth.