Page 59 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Okay,” the boy answered through a yawn. Thank Christ he hadn’t crawled into the tent!
The door banged shut, and the sound ricocheted through his body as a searing bitterness torched his soul. He was an idiot! A damned idiot! He had his son and his shit career to contend with. The last thing he should be doing was getting googly-eyed over a woman—any woman.
“Mitch,” Charlotte whispered, and he could hear it in the syllable. That one word, his name, held such hope and such sweetness he could barely stand it.
Another woman had spoken his name with the same warmth blanketed around the syllable. And what he thought was the start of something good—something really good—had burned him hard. Hard enough to make him the angry ass of a hothead he was today. And no matter how much his stupid heart wanted Charlotte, he couldn’t make that mistake again.
“Go inside, Charlotte,” he said, his voice void of tenderness.
“I…I can help you with the tent,” she offered, touching his arm.
There was no use in drawing this out, in having her think that anything could come of what they’d done. She needed a job that paid well, and he needed a nanny. That’s how it had to be, period. He ignored the sap inside him who would have killed for another kiss and let the jerk take over.
“No, go inside and check on Oscar,” he bit out. She gasped at his stern tone. But he had to be harsh. He had to play the part of the hothead. He didn’t know any other way.
“What do you need from me, Mitch?” she asked with near-palpable concern in her tone.
He hardened his features, holding his emotions at bay.
He had to make this hurt.
Shrugging off her hand, he lowered his voice. “The only thing I need you to do for me, Charlotte, is your job.”
Ten
Charlotte
DENVER 7 MILES
The RV cruised past the sign, and Charlotte released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. They were almost back. She checked on Oscar. The boy had nestled himself into the sea of pillows where he’d slept last night. He’d slid on a pair of headphones and was tapping away on a handheld gaming device.
And then she chanced a look at Mitch and damn her treacherous heart for skipping a stupid beat. She was only eight feet away from him. But they might as well have been separated by the Grand Canyon. While the guy hadn’t exactly been rude or his gruff hothead self today, the man had barely said a word to her since…
A rush of heat burned her cheeks.
He’d hardly said a word to her since they’d had crazy amazing tent sex.
She’d never even slept in a tent—not that they’d done any sleeping.
She still couldn’t believe what had happened. But holy hot sex, they’d done it! That was for sure. The excruciatingly delicious soreness between her thighs wasn’t from some pony ride. Oh no! The sweet ache came from none other than the hothead chef, who she’d learned was as focused and obsessive in the sack as he was in the kitchen.
No, that wasn’t it.
She’d sampled his food plenty of times. It was truly out of this world. The guy was a pain in the ass to waitress for, but the man could cook. There was no doubting that. But somehow, he was even better in thegetting-down-and-dirtydepartment.
She exhaled a slow breath as her nipples hardened into tight peaks at the very thought of Mitch Elliott flipping her onto her back and lacing their fingers together. He’d worked her body like he’d been born to do it. They hadn’t even undressed. The sex was gloriously frantic and uncontrollably urgent. It was theI-can’t-fight-this-feelingkind of lovemaking that she’d never experienced.
It was like something out of a dream—or perhaps a nightmare.
The hothead’s silent treatment seemed to indicate the latter. Everything had come crashing down the moment Oscar called out to them. And instantly, while it had felt so right to let this man ravage her body, hearing the boy’s voice had jolted her back to reality. It was like walking into a glass door or falling off a cliff into an icy sea ofwhat-the-hell-did-you-just do! A reality where, despite the man’s crooked, beautiful smile that could melt the panties right off of her, sleeping with her boss was about the dumbest thing she could do. But the events of the last two days had turned her life upside down.
If someone had asked her a week ago if she thought there was the teensy-tiniest chance she’d end up beneath the growly Mitch Elliott, she would have laughed her butt off. But in her case, reality was stranger than fiction. With her skirt bunched around her waist, she’d writhed in utter ecstasy as the man rocked her world with his perfect cock, strong hands, and a mouth—that mouth! He’d kissed her with such dogged intensity the heat they’d generated could have powered this gargantuan RV for the next ten zillion years. Her lips tingled at the very thought of him smiling as he pressed kiss after kiss against her neck, her cheeks, and the shell of her ear.
And then there was the titillating power that sent a current of confidence through her body. She’d made the grump of a chef grin. It was for her. It happened because of her.
Or maybe not.
Maybe he smiled at every woman he’d slept with.
