Page 39 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“You have?” she threw back and—Oh, crap!—he recognized her tone.
It held the same indignation as her reply when he’d tried to explain that he wasn’t the only entity tracking her movements. Luckily, they’d reached his place, and thank Christ, geography saved the day.
“We’re here,” he said, not answering her question as he entered the code to the gate, and they headed up the private drive.
“Wow,” she breathed as they came around the bend. Outdoor lighting illuminated a thick blanket of evergreens and manicured junipers peppering the property. “It’s enormous.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s lovely. I never expected to live somewhere like this.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. She’d let the orange blossom comment go by—at least for now. And he’d be wise to never bring it up again. But it was hard when she smelled so damned good!
Jesus, Rowen! Stop!
He needed to get himself under control—and fast. He formulated a response without any mention of the scent. “As someone who’s spent a good part of the evening in the residence you’ve been living in, I can understand your reaction to my home,” he replied, not kidding in the least. But Penelope chuckled—a sweet sparkling sound he wished he could record and fall asleep to each night.
Shit! He had to lay off the creepy-ass notions.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
She relaxed into the seat. “You—calling my old house a residence might be giving it more credit than it’s due.”
“I agree. It’s a shithole, but I didn’t want to come off as a snob,” he replied and instantly wanted to superglue his lips together.
She cocked her head to the side and grinned in response to his boneheaded statement. No matter! She wasn’t poking him in the chest—not that he minded.
Focus!
He blew out a tight breath, then pressed a button on the console, triggering a large set of doors leading to the underground garage to peel open. This was a pretty cool feature and one of the reasons he purchased the home. The entire sub-level consisted of a climate-controlled garage that offered ample room for his cars. He pulled into the spot for the Rover and cut the ignition.
“We’re here,” Penelope whispered as if she wasn’t sure this whole situation was real.
“Yes, where were you expecting me to take you?” he asked.
She laughed, and her sweet giggle floated in the air around him.
He frowned. “I didn’t mean to be funny.”
“I know,” she answered, holding his gaze.
Neither of them said a word. It was as if they’d fallen into a crack in the time-space continuum and found themselves in a place where nothing else existed.
He liked this place—a lot.
He could stare at her all day. He leaned in, drinking in the curve of her cheek. One by one, he cataloged the tiny freckles below her earlobe before meeting her gaze. His pulse quickened. “Your eyes aren’t really brown,” he said, making a comment just as idiotic as the orange blossom outburst. But Penelope didn’t frown or look at him as if he’d sprouted another set of ears. No, her expression remained earnest.
“They aren’t?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
What was going on with him? First her perfume and now her eyes! But he couldn’t stop.
“They’re sable,” he answered, completely entranced.
She swallowed hard. “I have the same color eyes as my dad. He died a few years ago.”
“That would make sense if you’re biologically related because it’s determined by variants in your genes which come from your birth parents,” he replied, not expecting to give a lecture on genetics. But his brain and mouth didn’t seem to be under his control.
“We are biologically related,” she answered, then moistened her lips.
Discussing genetics and eye color selection had never been so hot!
Penelope leaned in. “Your eyes aren’t really green.” She removed his glasses, and the tips of her fingers brushed past his temples, damn near scrambling his brain. “Now, I can see your eyes,” she said softly. “They’re more like seafoam. No, sea glass, laying along the beach waiting to be found.”
