Page 32 of The Bad Girl and the Baby

Or want it, she guessed. That would be letting her in too far.

“Sorry,” he said, almost making her fall off her chair again. “That came out a little harsh. But we’re fine. I spend almost nothing. The army pays the rent on this place, and there are childcare funds I can get as a single parent. We’re doing okay.”

“So why do you need a live-in nanny?”

“We’ve never talked about my work. I’m not really allowed to.”

“Oooh, super secret?” she asked, more as a joke than anything else.

“A little.”

“Really?” She studied him some more. “I never imagined you fighting or anything. You always look so…tidy. I just can’t see you getting all messy and… Anyway, I thought you were one of those soldiers who…” She shook her head; she had no clue what she was talking about. “Stand around and look pretty.”

He gave a full-on grin then—it made him look younger and…nicer. “You think I’m pretty?”

What was she supposed to say to that?Hell, yeah.But she was trying not to think about it too much. Trying to remind herself that he looked like Steven, the man she hated most in the world. But in fact, the more she saw him, the less he reminded her of her brother-in-law. His eyes were bluer, his face thinner, all lean, hard lines. His lips were fuller. She found herself staring at that mouth as his tongue swiped across his lower lip.

Shit, get a grip.

“Yeah, total pretty boy.” She tried to make the words come out as a sneer, but it was ineffective. “Anyway, my point was—I somehow can’t see you getting in anything as messy as a fight.”

“Really?”

She shrugged. Was she getting to him? She hoped so.

His chair scraped across the tiled floor as he pushed it back. He rose to his feet. Had she upset him? Was he walking out in a flounce? She placed her palms on the table and pushed herself up so she was facing him. She wasn’t sure why—maybe she needed to be ready for a quick getaway. Or maybe to chase him down…

But he didn’t move away. Instead, he remained, feet planted, while he shrugged out of the flannel shirt then tossed it onto the back of the chair behind him.

“What…” The words dried up in her throat as his fingers gripped the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, bunching it in his hand.

Oh. My. God.

She couldn’t look away. His skin was tinted dark from the summer just gone. Golden skin, taut over the swell of hard muscle. A light smattering of hair, thickening as it disappeared into the low waistband of his jeans. And he had a tattoo. She would have sworn he wasn’t the tattoo type. But maybe it was an army thing. Some sort of dagger and wings.

What was he doing?

Maybe now was the time for that quick getaway.

As she stared, he turned slightly and pointed to his left arm. There was a mark close to his shoulder, a sort of indentation.

“Sniper bullet in Afghanistan,” he said. “Luckily, I moved just at the right moment, as I’m guessing he was aiming for my head.”

He turned around completely so his broad back was facing her. Wide shoulders tapered to lean hips and a tight ass. Though she was sure that wasn’t what she was supposed to be staring at. She took a step closer, moving around the edge of the table, and her hand reached out, of its own accord. As she trailed her finger down the scar running from his right shoulder diagonally to his spine, his skin shivered under her touch.

“Knife—also in Afghanistan.” He turned back to face her, and her hand dropped to her side. His fingers went to his belt. She could do nothing but watch, dry-mouthed, as he tugged open the buckle, then flicked open the top button of his jeans, then the next so they slipped just a little.

What the hell is he doing?

He was naked from the waist up, except for a set of dog tags on a dark green nylon cord around his throat, and they just made him look sexier. And she had no clue why.

I do not fancy soldiers.

She swallowed, considering a strategic retreat, but stood rooted to the spot.

“This one’s my favorite,” he murmured. Taking a step closer, he picked up her limp hand from her side and placed her palm against the ridged muscles of his belly. So freaking hot. With his hand on top of hers, he pushed it inside the waistband of his jeans. What the hell…? Then she felt the sudden roughness of his skin under her fingers. Of course, he was just showing off his scars. There was absolutely nothing sexual about this. Except for the fact that there was something moving down there, and it wasn’t her hand.

“Shrapnel from a road bomb in Iran.” His voice had a husky edge.

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