Page 25 of The Pucking Arrangement

She crosses her arms, tilting her head. “Bossy much?”

I meet her stare, unflinching. “You’re just noticing now?”

Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, but she doesn’t argue. Good. Because I need something—anything—to keep me in control right now. And the way she looks at me? The heat in those eyes? That is dangerous.

“You will drive the SUV with Ris,” I continue, trying to push past the thought.

“But won’t I need my car to get to the city?—”

“The Range Rover is yours while you’re with us,” I cut in, my tone clipped. “For nanny duties. I have a BMW for myself.”

She blinks, clearly thrown.

“It’s practical,” I say firmly, securing her cello in the back. “Much safer ride for a kid. You will drive this. No discussion. I need to know my daughter is safe.”

That you’re safe, my mind adds, unbidden. The thought is swift and possessive, tightening in my chest before I can shove it down.

She presses her lips together, nodding once. The warmth in her eyes dims as I shut the hatch, sealing more than just her belongings inside.

Solnyshko, my chest tightens, even as my brain orders me to keep my distance.

It’s for her own good, I tell myself, watching the tension in her shoulders, the way she stiffens every time I give a clipped direction. Better she thinks I’m controlling than…

Than what?

Than letting her see how badly I want her? How much I crave the heat of her laugh, the glow of her presence? How fucking terrified I am of what she does to me?

We move back and forth in silence, loading the last of her things. The air between us crackles, charged and volatile. And with every short, gruff command I issue, her bright energy dims a little more.

By the time we’re done, the space between us is cold. Professional. Exactly the way I wanted it.

So why does it feel like I’m already losing something?

Chapter6

Welcome to the Cold Shoulder

Erin

Iknew this wouldn’t be easy.

Moving in with an insanely hot, brooding single dad who also happens to be my brother’s teammate? While maintaining professional boundaries despite the fact that hisvoice alonedoes unspeakable things to my nervous system?

Yeah. No problem. Piece of cake.

But I wasn’t expectingthis.

Gone is the almost-playful man from last night—the one who softened when his daughter smiled, who let his guard slip for just a second. In his place is a walking ice wall, exudingdo not engageenergy like it’s his job.

Every attempt I make to lighten the mood gets shut down with a clipped command about schedules or timing.

And okay, maybe I wasn’t completely ready when he showed up. But in my defense, I was practicing. Some of us have graduation recitals coming up.

Also, who the hell looksthatgood in just a henley and jeans?

“Grab that box,” he orders, nodding toward one with a stack of my music books.

I bite my tongue to keep from suggesting full sentences,grab the box, and remind myself that I, too, can be professional. Mature and unaffected.

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