One Sexy Daddy (7 page)

“That's a good girl,” Nancy said, mollified. “Now when are you moving in with Marion? This house is too big for a woman alone.”

“Soon, Nancy, soon.”

And with a goodbye that was a tad quicker than Deerhorn's good-neighbor policy or even internationally recognized etiquette rules would prescribe, Stacy closed the door. She turned around to find herself inches from Adam's chest. He took the platter of coffee cake and dumped it on the hall console.

“I can't take advantage of you,” he said. “I'm not that kind of man. I might have been around the world, but I'm not a cad.”

“There's only one way I could be taken advantage of,” Stacy said. “And that's if I expected something more than you have to offer.”

“Do you want what I have to offer?” he asked huskily, dropping his chin so his mouth was inches from her own.

“Are we talking about dancing lessons?”

“More than dancing lessons.”

“How much more?”

“Let's find out.”

Her open-mouthed hesitation invited him, lured him close.

And so he kissed her, tasting the flesh of her lower lip. He was surprised and charmed when a poignant moan escaped from her throat. She pressed against him, her breasts taut and hard. She tasted like vanilla and honey. He wanted her.

When he opened his eyes he wasn't seeing the same woman. He wasn't seeing a baby-sitter. Or a housekeeper. Or even a young neighbor on a mission to become a non-virgin.

And then he got a grip on himself.

Adam, this is a woman who is younger than springtime and doesn't even know it
.

“I want you in…” he sighed, letting his head drop backwards.

“In where?” Stacy asked.

He whispered in her ear, his words so soft and seductive, his breath raising goose bumps on her flesh.

She wasn't certain that she had heard him correctly.

“Where do you want me?”

“Chicago?”

“Hey! A weekend in Chicago was one of the items on your list.”

“Yeah, but—”

“We can drive to Oshkosh airfield…”

“Yeah, but—”

“And the Lasser & Thomas jet will pick us up and fly us directly into Meigs. It's the airport right on the lake.”

“Yeah, but—”

“We'll be right downtown.”

“Yeah, but—”

He wagged his finger. “Yeah, but. Yeah, but. Yabbit the rabbit,” he said. “You have no excuses. Here's a day in Chicago—at least an overnight—and it's part of your job.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. And, besides, the three of us will have a great time.”

She was mildly relieved that it would be a chaperoned trip.

“Lasser sent me a fax this morning. I have a meeting with him to talk about why I'm behind schedule,” Adam explained. “And you'll be going as my daughter's baby-sitter. I can hardly imagine what could be wrong with that. Unless there's things you want to do in Chicago that can't be shared with a child?”

“Oh, no, I was thinking of shopping, museums, a nice restaurant…”

“Pack,” he ordered. “We'll leave as soon as Karen gets out of school.”

“But what will I tell people?”

“If you have to tell anybody, say you have a business trip,” he said, strolling out the front door. “I'll pick you up in two hours.”

Stacy gaped, thought of saying no, and then the delicious, delightful feeling of yes swept over her.

She was doing something different, something she couldn't have done two months ago. But she was single, had no children, and her father—she thought guiltily about him, but she knew in her heart that she would trade all the trips to Chicago for him to be back with her, back the way he was before he became an invalid.

She looked at the wheelchair in the dining room, the one he had used until six months before his death, when even that much movement and freedom was taken from him.

She picked up the phone.

“A job?” Marion asked. “What the heck kind of job is this?”

“I'm his daughter's baby-sitter. He's got some meetings in Chicago over the weekend and I'll take care of her.”

“Why doesn't he just leave her here with you?”

“Marion, I don't think it's my place to second guess the man,” Stacy said. “Besides, I think it would be nice to spend some time in Chicago.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe go shopping, sightseeing, museums, the zoo. You went there for your honeymoon.”

“Yeah, but that's different,” Marion opined.

“Why?”

“I don't know. It seems weird for you to just run off to Chicago.”

“I'm going to get paid. Real money.”

“You could spend the time packing to move in here.”

“Maybe we need to talk about my moving in with you.”

“Stacy! I thought we agreed it was the best thing.”

“I might be changing my mind.”

“Don't change it too much,” Marion grumbled. “Stacy, I'm depending on you.”

“Do you think Dad would want me to stay here?”

“Yes. Definitely. No, he wouldn't. I don't know. I'm not much help, am I?”

“I'll call you when I get back.”

“Make sure there's separate rooms!” Marion shouted just as Stacy hung up.

 

K
AREN WAS THRILLED
Stacy was going, and not just because Stacy's overnight bag was so lightly packed that she had room for all of Karen's Barbie and Ken dolls plus their respective wardrobes. On the half-hour drive to Oshkosh airfield, Karen chattered gaily about the things her dolls would do in the city. Adam glanced over his shoulder occasionally, but spent most of his time on the cell phone with his boss.

The Lasser & Thomas six-seater jet was waiting on the tarmac and flew them over sparkling Lake Michigan into Meigs airport in less than an hour. Stacy used the time to show Karen how to play solitaire and once the little girl got it, Stacy stared out at the shoreline. Her eyes met Adam's once, as he looked up from paperwork.

A black-capped driver called out Adam's name as they walked into the Meigs terminal and, after a high-five with Adam, picked up their suitcases and walked them out to the limousine.

“Where to?” he said when the trio were settled in the back.

“I'm going to the office,” Adam said. “Take the ladies anywhere they want to go.”

They stopped at a busy street corner and Adam told them he'd meet them at the hotel around dinnertime. As he climbed out, Stacy scrambled to follow him.

“I have a question.”

“Oh, don't worry,” he said. “Separate rooms.”

“How did you know?”

“I know how your mind operates. You've been trying to figure out a way to ask since we left Deerhorn. Maybe ever since you talked to your sister.”

“How'd you know I talked to my sister?”

“Because I got a call on my cell phone from the mayor, who was told by Betty Carbol who was called in a panic by your sister. He said he wanted to know what hotel we were staying at in case something came up with the project. I told him the Drake and said there'd be two separate rooms. Which is all he really wanted to know. Thing is, Stacy, I really mean it. I need a baby-sitter. The fact that you wanted to go to Chicago is just lucky.”

And he waved goodbye to Karen and strode into the glass-and-steel skyscraper.

“Where to, lady?” The driver said, stepping out to open the door for her.

She looked up at the tall, magnificently sparkling buildings. She looked around at the crowded sidewalks where everyone, it seemed, had someplace important to be—five minutes ago. It wasn't like her to give in to impulse. A trip to Chicago
Stacy Poplar-style would take six months to plan and would require several exchanges of correspondence with local museums and chambers of commerce. And if Marion needed her help, the trip would be canceled.

Now she was in Chicago and she didn't have the slightest clue where to go.

“My daddy's secretary always takes me to the same place,” Karen said, poking her head out the window. “Wanna go?”

“Sure,” Stacy said, thinking that a toy shop, ice-cream parlor or a children's park would be just perfect.

 

T
HAT AFTERNOON
, Adam ordered a beer at the Drake's downstairs Oak Room. He was in a mood as dark as the mahogany bar. Lasser didn't understand “soft,” “inviting” or “not so institutional” any more than he did.

“Just get it done,” Lasser had said sourly. “I thought it was going to be a monument to how I've overcome my humble beginnings in Deerhorn. Now it looks like it's going to lose me money.”

Adam snagged a bowl of peanuts from the end of the bar.

“How'd the Cubs do today?” he asked the bartender. “Excuse me. I asked…”

He waved his hands in front of the bartender's face, but the young man stared hungrily beyond his shoulder.

“Va, va, va, va,” the bartender chanted. “Va, va, va…”

Adam turned around.

“Voom,” the two men said in unison.

Swivel-headed customers and waiters with double-jointed necks stared at the smooth-as-silk redhead at the door. Her hair was stacked in a Cinderella 'do, her lipstick was Chinese silk red, and the black linen strapless minidress showed off miles of milky white skin.

The redhead bore only a passing resemblance to the freckle-faced Wisconsin girl with barely there curves and a no-nonsense attitude. This was a goddess and as she walked across the room, there were a half-dozen men praying.

“I'm a convert,” said the bartender. “I could worship at that dame's temple forever.”

“Hey! You're talking about my…” Adam protested.

“Your what? Wife? If so, you've been blessed.”

“She's not my wife.”

“Girlfriend?”

Adam shook his head.

“Hi, Adam,” Stacy said, slipping into the booth beside him. She glanced at the bartender, who had put both elbows on the bar and was looking. Just looking. And looking. “Hi, I'm Adam's babysitter.”

“I need a baby-sitter,” the bartender said dreamily.

“Do you have kids?”

“No. I'm thinking of myself.”

Puzzled more than flattered by the attention, Stacy looked to Adam.

“Karen's in the manager's office. I didn't think bringing her into the bar was a good idea—especially the way she looks right now. By the way, did you know where your secretary takes her whenever you're in town?”

“No, but I'm getting the idea it doesn't have anything to do with cultural enrichment.”

“Bingo. First stop—the Charles Ifergan salon. Her nails are the same shade as mine,” Stacy said, holding up long, slim red-lacquered nails. “And her hair is done just like mine. She's a regular. Mr. Ifergan calls her by her first name and sends his assistant out for cherry colas. Second stop, Bloomingdale's, and the personal shopper for the evening-wear department said to say hi. I splurged.”

“Eight bucks an hour goes pretty far.”

“I haven't gone shopping in more than a year,” Stacy said.

“I'm not complaining.”

“Hey, there's two of you?” the bartender asked. “Can I meet the other one?”

“That's enough,” Adam said, feeling unaccountably territorial. He threw several bills down on the bar. “This woman is old enough to be your…” He glanced at the bartender and back at Stacy. The makeover had put an exclamation point
on her beauty. “She's old enough to be your younger sister.”

He put his hand under her elbow and guided her out of the bar, shooting a warning glance at a man who rose from his seat looking like he wanted to say hi.

“Adam, Adam, I'm not used to high heels,” Stacy said. “Don't go so fast.”

“Gotta get Karen,” he muttered.

“Sure, but if I twist my ankle we're not getting there any faster.”

He stopped so swiftly she nearly fell over him.

“It's dangerous for you in there,” he warned.

“Dangerous? How?”

“There are men in there who would have liked to…well, you know.”

A slow smile spread over her face. “No, I don't know,” she said and that smile was starting to look awfully sly. “What would they have liked to do?”

“Liked to buy you a drink and, well, you know.”

“No, I don't know. Remember, I'm inexperienced.”

“Pick you up. There, I've said it. There are a lot of men in there who would buy you a drink and try to pick you up.”

“They would?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Would you?” she challenged.

“Sure would.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, shrugging her shoulders so that her voluptuous flesh strained at the linen bodice.

“Then you'd better buy me a drink or I'm going to walk right back in there and let somebody else buy me a drink.”

He stared, shocked.

“Jack, I've never had a man buy me a drink because I'm pretty. I'm not going to let any man ‘pick me up' but a drink, that sounds…well, exciting.”

“You have to baby-sit Karen.”

“Where do you have to go?” And then, when he sputtered uselessly, “I think she can stay with you.”

“I'm going to be working on stuff,” he said indignantly, remembering he had gotten yet another lecture from his secretary about not finishing his time sheets. “Yeah, stuff. Important stuff. Paperwork stuff.”

“The hotel manager would be happy to take care of her for a few hours if she doesn't want to watch television in the room.”

“All right, listen up,” he said, clearing his throat. “We'll try it this way. I'd like to buy you a drink. Because you're pretty. Because I'm intrigued by you. Because when you walked into the bar, I felt my heart go flip-flop like a trout on the bottom of a fishing boat. And frankly, the idea of you walking back in there and letting another man
buy you a drink makes me jealous. There, I've said it. Jealous. Now, do you want a drink?”

“I'd be honored,” she said. And relieved. Because she couldn't have gone back in there all by herself. She turned towards the bar. He grabbed her elbow.

“No, redhead, we're getting a drink someplace else.”

 

“W
ANT ANOTHER ROOT BEER
?” Adam asked.

“No thanks,” Karen said, and she loudly slurped the last bit of ice cream out from the bottom of her black cow.

“I'm not asking you. Stacy?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“This isn't quite what you had in mind.”

“Adam, please, it's exactly what I had in mind,” Stacy said, looking around the ice-cream parlor. Its red-and-white striped decor gave it a circus-like appearance. Not the sort of place that a glamorous woman in a glamorous 'do and a glamorous dress would frequent.

But Stacy liked it. She hadn't wanted a drink in the bar—she wasn't much for alcohol. Nor did she want to have a man use a pickup line on her. She just wanted to know it could happen—didn't want to miss out on being with Adam and Karen. And she admitted to getting plenty of satisfaction from the look on Adam's face when she had turned to go back in the bar.

“Are you ever going to take off your nail polish?” Karen asked, studying her own nails.

“Sometime,” Stacy said. “Probably when its upkeep gets in the way of gardening.”

“Are you going to keep your hair like this?”

“I don't think I can do it without Mr. Ifergan and two cans of hair spray.”

“What about your dress?” Karen said, smoothing her own organdy slipdress, the one the personal shopper had picked out.

It'll stay in my closet forever
, Stacy thought.

“I'll wear it for special occasions.”

“I wish it could stay exactly like this forever,” Karen said. “Everything.”