Page 13 of Stealing Forever

Thank God I’m still holding Sailor, because if it wasn’t, I’m not sure I could stop myself from taking her face in my hands and crushing our mouths together.

What the fuck?

I need to get a grip—I cannot be attracted to Sailor’s nanny.

“Are you sure?” Hailey questions. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

I grunt. “Never an imposition. You’ll be tired after your test. Might as well come back for a hot meal.”

Hailey has been in our lives for the last two and a half months, and the only meals she’s eaten with us have been meals she’s cooked—which have been delicious, by the way. I’m not too shabby of a cook myself, and I’m even better with a smoker, which is why I add, “I’ll throw the rib-eyes on the smoker. They’ll be ready when you get back.”

“That sounds great.” She grins. “I’ll see you both later then.”

Setting Sailor down, I move to the front door and watch Hailey as she gracefully canters down the few steps of my porch and heads toward her car. She drives a gold sedan that looks like it’s seen better days, and I have half a mind to offer for her to take my truck which is much safer, but that’d be overstepping. Definitely too much. If she was taking Sailor somewhere then sure, but she’s not, so I shut my mouth and silently watch her go.

Hailey gives me a small wave as she pulls away from the curb, and I find myself lifting my hand in return, watching until her car is out of view.

Immediately I want her back in my sights, and that’s not a fucking good thing.

As I go back inside, I realize how my house has dimmed without her presence. Even though she leaves and goes homeevery night, having her leave during the day feels like she’s sucked the light and warmth from the bones of my house.

She’s only gone to Ridgewood to take a damn test. She’ll be back for dinner.

And even though Sailor’s happily playing with her play kitchen in the living room, she’s quieter than she normally is when Hailey is home.

Home.What am I saying?

This isn’therhome.

But it feels like itshouldbe?

I don’t know if I’m asking myself a rhetorical question or making a statement.

Dammit. I’msofucked.

CHAPTER FOUR

I’ve been sitting in my car in front of the Lane house for the last few minutes, giving myself a pep talk before going inside.

Throughout my entire exam, my thoughts strayed to Declan and his abrupt dinner invitation. It had come out of left field, baseball pun onlysemiintended, and even though I knew Ishouldsay no, I found myself sayingyesinstead.

There was something etched into Declan’s expression that had me intrigued. Maybe it was the slight furrow of his brow, or the nervousness that flashed through his chestnut-colored irises. He looked like he was toeing the line between employer andfriend, which is a title I’m not sure applies to us. We aren’t friends… At least, I don't think we are. It made me wonder what was going on inside of that handsome head of his.

Throughout the duration of the exam, I had to keep trying to persuade myself that I said yes so easily because of Sailor, but deep down, I know I said it for myself.

My dumb ass is attracted to my boss, even though I’ve tried to deny it since the moment he hired me.

Even though I have full confidence in myself to remain professional, I still can’t help but want to know him better.I fantasize about theprocessof getting to know him better… frequently.

Truth be told, Declan is a very busy man, and even though I work long hours in his home, our interactions have been minimal, reduced to a quick conversation after he comes through the door, or a series of short messages throughout the day with updates, or questions, regarding his daughter or the schedule.

Aside from the information I’ve gathered simply by being in his house, I really don’tknowhim. But I want to—and therein lies the problem.

Because he’s. My. Boss.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I push my car door open and step outside, admiring the late dusk sky. The sun slopes low on the horizon, its rays hardly visible as the last remaining hues of orange and pink fade into the inky backdrop of twinkling stars.

A shiver runs through me as I look up at the house. The season is changing—what was a comfortable warmth earlier in the day has transformed into a sharp crisp air that bites at the apples of my cheeks. Pulling my sweater tighter around my body, I take the stairs two at a time up the porch, and rap my knuckles against the door.

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