Longing?
Okay, I’m definitely losing my mind. Daisy being here isn’t just affecting him, it’s messing with me, too. No way would Jonah look at me with longing, right? This is my brother’s best friend. The NHL’s Body Checker. A different girl in his bed every night.
“Until we get a nanny. Someone we’re both comfortable with,” I say, then exit the room. I hurry down the stairs, and Jonah is on my heels.
Daisy is wailing by the time we reach her, and Jonah stands over her, panic on his face once again. My heart softens, and while I’d like to just go ahead and take care of Daisy, Jonah has to learn.
“Hey there, little one,” I say, having heard Jonah call her that earlier. “Do you need a diaper change?” I remove the blankets and tuck one underneath her. The changing table is still in a box so we’ll have to make due.
“Grab me the baby wipes and a diaper from the bag,” I say, and Jonah obliges. He plunks himself down on the coffee table to watch, and I show him how it’s done. “It’s easy,” I say. “You just unpeel the tape here, lift her legs to pull it out, the roll it up and re-tape.” I pull a couple wipes from the bag, clean her up, and slide a new diaper under her. “The tape goes around the back,” I explain. I finish changing her and take her into my arms.
Jonah has a sweat going on when I stand and head to the kitchen for her bottle.
“Okay, that doesn’t seem so hard.”
I hand the baby over to him and wash my hands before I get her bottle from the fridge, and when I turn back, catching the way he’s looking at his daughter, my heart melts. They might not have had any bonding time before now, but I give it a few days before the two fall totally in love.
A yawn pulls at me as we walk into the living room, and I hand Jonah the bottle. He sits, and feeds her the way I taught him. I flick on the TV, find some old rerun and half watch it. The washer beeps, and I rush upstairs and switch the sheets.
When I come back down again, I find Jonah with his head back, his eyes closed, and Daisy in his arms. I’m pretty sure both are sound asleep. I smile at that and lower the volume on the TV. But sleep pulls at me too. I flick through the stations, wasting time until the bedding is done. When the dryer finally finishes, I make Daisy’s bed and head back downstairs.
“Jonah,” I say quietly, and his eyes open. Dark brown eyes lock with mine, and for a moment he looks confused. “We need to put Daisy to bed.”
He nods and cradles the baby in his arms. “Right.”
“Here, let me take her.” I reach for the bundle as he stands. He stretches out.
“What time is it anyway?”
“It’s just a little after eight. But I think we can both use a good night’s sleep.”
We head upstairs, and I give Daisy a kiss on the cheek before I place her in her crib. She makes a little gurgling sound, and Jonah steps up to me and covers her. His hands so big next to his daughter’s, but so soft and gentle as he touches her. My poor ovaries are going to explode before I can get a nanny in here.
We leave her door cracked so we can hear her and I head to my room, expecting Jonah to go to his.
“I think I’m going to put a few more things together.”
“Okay, don’t be up too late. I suspect that little girl is an early riser.”
I make a quick trip to the bathroom, then go to bed, but don’t close my door all the way, just in case Daisy or Jonah need me through the night.
Even though I’m tired, sleep doesn’t come, partly because of the craziness of the day, and partly because Jonah is still up assembling the small dresser and changing table that matches Daisy’s new bed.
A long while later, Jonah’s footsteps sound in the hall. They pause outside my door, and I suck in a quick breath. With my door cracked, he can see me. Should I let him know I’m awake?
Before I can make that decision, he walks into his
bedroom, and I peek over the covers, see him move around in his room. He peels off his shirt, and I cover my mouth to stop the moan rising in my throat. My God, the man has one gorgeous body.
He reaches for the button on his jeans, and I pinch my eyes shut. It’s wrong to look, right?
I inch one eye open just as he peels his pants from his legs and tosses them over a chair.
Look away, Quinn. Look away.
I don’t look away.
No, instead, I watch him strip and disappear into his master suite bathroom for a shower. I resist the urge to sneak in, watch him soap his gorgeous body. Jesus, I’m turning into a regular old voyeur. But when it comes right down to it, there is no denying I want to feel that man’s touch, and in turn put my hands on his rock-hard body.