“I can do that.” My voice shook, and panic settled in my gut.
Only then did his eyes meet mine, a deep chestnut brown to my green ones. “It’s fine. I’m used to this. Mary is a stunt devil but also the biggest baby. I have to bandage her small paper cuts.” He lifted the bottom of my pajama pants, and his eyes flashed to mine.
I pulled my foot back, my knee to my chest.
“What happened to your ankle?” His voice heightened.
I swallowed hard and couldn’t meet his gaze. “I was a daredevil in my younger years. Bicycle accident.” The lie came out naturally, flowing from my lips, as I’d repeated the story a million times before.
I lifted my head and offered a small smile. He didn’t return it.
Once again, he gently lifted my ankle and met my eyes. “May I?”
I bit at my thumbnail, feeling sheepish all of a sudden. “Sure.”
When he swiped at my toe with the alcohol wipe, I held my breath. The action was slow and deliberate. His strong hands were tender against my skin, and everywhere he touched felt intimate in a way. I bit my bottom lip, watching him as warmth spread throughout my body.
After he tore open a bandage and wrapped it around my toe, he stood.
In front of me, between my legs.
My heart lurched madly at his close proximity.
His chest was a massive wall, his shoulders big as boulders, and he was stunning, his hair a disheveled mess, understandably so since—I assumed—he’d rolled out of bed. But his attractiveness wasn’t in the darkness of his hair or the strength of his body in front of me. It was in the gentleness in his demeanor, in his touch.
He was a walking anomaly. His body was built like a football player, his persona as big as a god, but he was warm, kind, quiet.
His eyes flashed to my mouth, and I swore it was as though the air had been vacuumed out of the room. My heart was in my throat. I hadn’t been this close to a man in years.
Without warning, my nipples pebbled under my shirt. Shit! And of course, I wasn’t wearing a bra.
His eyes flickered down to my breasts, and he let out a shaky breath. Stepping back, he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, and then he turned around and walked straight to the fridge, as though he was embarrassed that I’d caught him staring when I should be the one embarrassed.
“Let me get you a glass of water, and then I’ll clean up this floor.”
I hopped off the table. “I can get it.”
“No.” He turned to face me, clenching his jaw. His stern tone had me stilling in my spot.
“Please … just sit down, Becky. I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”
I stood there, still and stoic, blinking at him. I had a feeling this man hardly used the word please. So, I sat down. Like a child being told. And for some reason, even though I’d fended for myself for most of my life, I obeyed. And for another reason completely unknown to me … I liked it.
Charles
One thing that I knew about myself was that I wasn’t a liar. I didn’t lie to others, and I most definitely did not lie to myself. When Natalie had died, I hadn’t told myself that everything was going to be fine. I had known in my gut that things would never be fine, but I’d straightened my shoulders and told myself I had two girls to raise and had people who depended on me.
I’d decided life was shit, but the truth was, I had the business and little lives to take care of.
So, now, I wasn’t about to lie and tell myself that I wasn’t attracted to Becky—because I was. She was breathtakingly beautiful but in a quiet way. She didn’t want to be noticed, but I noticed. I noticed everything about her.
When I handed her the glass of water, my eyes betrayed me and flickered to her well-endowed chest. Again. Fuck, I was a terrible human being. The absolute worst cliché that a man could ever be—attracted to his nanny.
I tore my gaze away, grunted, and headed to get the mop.
“I can do it, Charles.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I just want this taken care of because the girls will be down here in the morning, and I don’t want little pieces of glass everywhere.”