Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,173

While nanny did not mean cleaner in Nate’s mind, Hannah seemed to love this task above all else. Her cheeks got all bright and shiny, and she smiled more, and sang when she thought no-one could hear. Her voice was terrible. He loved it.

So he went into the living room, hoping to catch her in the act. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find her right by the door, balanced precariously on the back of an armchair.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” he demanded, which turned out to be a bad idea. Because apparently, she hadn’t noticed he was there—so when he spoke, she yelped, and wobbled, and fell.

Of course, he caught her.

She fell hard, and she certainly wasn’t as light as Josh or Beth, so Nate ended up stumbling back against the wall. But, since he stumbled with Hannah safely in his grasp, that was alright. Then he registered the softness of her body in his arms, and the fact that he was basically grabbing her arse, his other hand grazing the underside of her breast. Fuck. Ever since he’d messed up the other day, he’d been trying so hard not to touch her. Because whenever he did, a flash-flood of attraction struck him without mercy, and he was left dazed and confused.

Kind of like right now, in fact.

His skin tingled in that electrifying way it had whenever they came into contact. For one tense, yearning moment, he imagined holding her the way he wanted to, close and intimate. He pictured her clinging to him just as desperately, then fantasised about throwing her down into the chair she’d fallen off and licking his way into that lush, taunting mouth.

Then he crushed the image ruthlessly and with no little self-disgust. He was back in the real world, where his utterly untouchable nanny was staring at him as though his head had fallen off of his shoulders. He wondered if she was about to ask him why the fuck he was still holding her. Hopefully not, because he didn’t think his answer—“Sorry, you just feel really good”—would cut it.

So, before she could speak, he asked, “You okay?”

She nodded slowly, her eyes still pinned to his, that baffled surprise still written all over her face. When she said, “Thank you,” her voice seemed lower and huskier than usual, the sound intoxicating.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Doesn’t matter. You saved me.” The words were teasing, her slow smile electrifying. Most of the time, when she smiled, she kept her lips together—like she didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic, or maybe because she didn’t like her teeth. He liked her teeth. So when she gave him a rare, full grin, the sight did something to him that was almost violent. It was like taking a shot of pure joy.

And then she made it a thousand times worse by reaching up and running a hand through his hair. “You’re covered in pollen, you know.” Her fingers ghosted over his skull, the pressure sweet and barely there. He wanted to close his eyes and lean into her touch. He wanted to carry her with him everywhere he went, like his own personal sunshine. She showed him her yellow-stained fingertips and gave him a smile that seemed to say, What are you like?

“I took the back way home. By the rapeseed.”

“Poor planning,” she murmured.

“But I like the colour.” He liked holding on to her, too. And Nate believed in doing things he enjoyed. She seemed comfortable enough, cradled in his arms, and her nearness—her warmth, the perfume of her skin—made him reckless. So he didn’t put her down yet. Five more minutes.

“That’s one thing I admire about you,” she said, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You do what you want to do. I mean, you don’t deny yourself without good reason.”

He didn’t, did he? “You shouldn’t deny yourself either.”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered.

Nate knew that. It was what she needed him for, after all. To push.

But right now, with his mind swimming in heady lust and his cock swelling uncomfortably in his jeans, he couldn’t be trusted to push responsibly. So, reluctantly, he finally put her down. The action forced her body to slide against his, and he wondered if she could feel his pounding heart. He hoped she couldn’t feel his rigid dick—but when her hands tightened on his shoulders and she gave the softest, smallest gasp, he suspected that she had.

Fuck.

Their eyes met, hers wide and fathomless,