Page 20 of The Nanny and the Nerd
She cringed, and it was damned adorable. “You heard that, too?” she asked, settling herself into the passenger seat. She crossed her legs, and it took everything in him not to allow his gaze to linger.
It wasn’t entirely his fault.
She was an attractive woman. His response was chemically and biologically motivated. He glanced at her through the windshield as he made his way to his side of the car. As if on cue, he caught her doing the lip chewing thing again, and those chemical and biological responses sent one hell of a message straight to his cock.
Christ! He was in trouble!
Just drive, Gale!
He joined her in the car, and instead of glancing down at her smooth, toned legs, he forced himself to replay the coding sequences for AI-77 in his head—anything to get his mind off the nanny—as they set off for Phoebe’s school. They drove in silence for a few blissful minutes. Driving often calmed his nerves, and it gave him a moment to adjust to her scent. It was floral and light. He didn’t usually like perfumy smells. As a kid, he’d always been acutely aware of his senses. The doctors had called it sensory processing integration disorder. He called it living a life that required complete stability and minimum chaos to acquire the maximum amount of control. God knows, he’d endured enough chaos for ten lifetimes before the Gales adopted him.
A light tap on his arm pulled him out of his head. It was her. She’d touched him—again. Except, this wasn’t a jarring poke. No, this touch was tender.
“How about a do-over? We got off to a bit of a rocky start,” Penelope offered with that same warm grin she’d gifted him when she thought he was just some guy—some muscly, nerdy gamer.
A muscly, nerdy gamer who’d pictured her naked in his steam shower!
He flicked his gaze to the road. He couldn’t think of her like that. She was his employee. He cleared his throat, but it did little to get the image out of his mind. “Agreed,” he said, his voice wobbling as if he were trying to talk while attempting to swallow a watermelon.
“Why don’t you tell me a bit about Phoebe. She’s six, right? That’s first grade?” Penelope asked.
He could do this. Dispensing information and data on a known topic wasn’t a problem for him. It was the emotional-touchy feely stuff that locked him up.
He nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. She’s also quite precocious, but she’s had some issues with the transition.”
“The transition?” Penelope repeated.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Just report the facts, Gale.
“Her parents, my brother and sister-in-law, passed away in an accident when she was three. She went to live with my mother. But six months ago, my mom had a stroke, and she’s unable to care for Phoebe full-time. So…”
“So, you care for her now. I’m so sorry for your loss, Rowen. That’s a lot to deal with,” Penelope answered in a tone that made him want to rest his head in her lap and tell her everything. But it wasn’t just that. It was how she’d said his name—the gentleness, the warmth.
Jesus! Pull yourself together!
He schooled his features. “Phoebe’s tough. She’ll be fine.”
Bad things happen to kids every day. He knew that better than anyone.
“But she’s a little girl,” Penelope replied as he turned into the parking lot for Whitmore, parked, then cut the engine.
“Whitmore, wow!” she said, staring at the brick building.
“You know it?” he asked.
She tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear and met his gaze. “Sure, I grew up in Denver. But I went to public schools.”
“Me too,” he said, staring into her eyes, drowning in the warm pools of color.
“Um…” she said, not breaking their connection, but he couldn’t let this go on.
“We should go talk to the teacher,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone even.
“Yeah, of course,” she replied, retrieving her tote, then joining him on the path that led to the front of the school. She’d jammed her planner inside her bag, and a few wrinkled papers peeked out over the rim.
“How do you know where anything is in there?” he asked, glancing inside her gigantic purse, then pressing the buzzer at the school’s entrance.
