Page 16 of Redeem Me

She has no idea.

We both reach for the salt at the same time and our fingers meet. A sharp shock sears my skin.

‘Sorry,’ she stammers, yanking her hand back.

So am I.

Sorry that she stirs something in my trousers.

Sorry that I know how fucking sweet she tastes.

And sorry that I can never taste her again.

Chapter Eight

IVY

Caelon’s house is grander than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in. My bedroom is the size of a small apartment. Decorated in warm shades of blush pinks and magnolia, it’s luxurious and inviting. It boasts an enormous ensuite, a power shower with mood lighting, and a walk-in wardrobe that’s bigger than my bedroom at Dermot’s, and that wasn’t small by any means.

French doors open onto a balcony with two wrought-iron chairs and a small table, flanked by flowerpots overflowing with pretty pink peonies, and overlooking the stunning lawns and the pool below.

I lug my case onto the soft silk sheets and unzip it. Other than a few ”Saturday night outfits”, my clothing collection consists of comfort pieces; vests, yoga pants, denim shorts, and casual summer dresses. If I’d have known I was coming somewhere so opulent, I might have gone shopping.

But then again, I’m not here to look good. My hot new, brooding boss barely glanced at me all day, anyway. Is he repulsed that the new nanny is naughty enough to let him get her off in a bar? Or that he was naughty enough to do it in the first place? Regardless, I should be grateful he’s not lookingfor a repeat. Tall, Dark and Tortured has more baggage than a conveyor belt at Dublin Airport in August.

Mind you, I would too if I’d been widowed with two young kids.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and type Caelon Beckett into Google. My screen is flooded with articles and images about my new boss, the hotel chain he runs, his family’s billion-euro whiskey empire. I scroll down until I find what I’m looking for and tap on a news article published two years ago.

Isabella Beckett, wife of Caelon Beckett, CEO of Beckett Boutique Hotels, was tragically killed in a road traffic accident earlier today. Two cars collided head on. Two people were fatally injured at the scene. Another is reported to be seriously injured.

Fuck.

A memory of Saturday night catapults into my brain - and not a good one.

Christ, you two look like someone fucking died.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Could I have been more insensitive?

Nausea rises in my stomach. I’ve put my foot in it a million times in my life, but this is like jumping into an open wound with six-inch stilettos. No wonder the man can barely look at me. The second I get the chance to apologise, I will. Profusely.

Until then, it’s nose clean, head down.

I hang my dresses in the wardrobe, lay out my toiletries on the ivory marble bathroom countertop, and set my Kindle next to my bed, plugging it in to charge. I’m addicted to mafia romance novels. I plough through four of them mostweeks, the darker the better. The more the hero needs love, the more I fall in love with him.

What can I say? I have terrible taste in broody bad boys. Is it any wonder out of a bar filled with men, I was drawn to Tall, Dark and Tortured?

But life isn’t a book. Caelon’s issues are real, and I am not the heroine in this story.

My phone rings as I’m stowing my case away.

Dermot.

I blow out an exasperated breath and roll my eyes to the heavens. I’ve barely been out of his sight for a couple of hours.

I snatch the phone to my ear. ‘Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m mid orgy with the two hot dads who hired me to mind their kids. We’ve been at it three times already since I left your house, but you know, some guys are just insatiable.’

‘Not funny, Ivy,’ Dermot bites out. ‘Where are you?’

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