Page 72 of The Nanny and the Hothead
She looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m saving your hothead ass,” she whispered back with a thread of apprehension in her tone.
She was trying to hide it, trying to disappear behind those blazing emerald eyes, but she was completely bullshitting her way through this. He’d bet half his net worth she’d pulled this idea out of thin air!
The real question was why—why was she trying to save his hothead ass?
After what had happened in the tent and what he’d said after Oscar had called out to them, he figured she hated him. But he knew she needed the job—knew she wouldn’t leave. A pang of disgust rippled through him. He was truly an ass! But she was a good person. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Case in point, she’d connected more with Oscar in three minutes than he had in three years! That was it—her blinding aura of compassion and the trustworthiness she emanated. Try as he may, he couldn’t quash the reckless yearning in his heart to feel the sense of truly belonging to another. That’s why he wasn’t able to resist her in the tent.
The tent.
He stared at her lips, and he couldn’t stop the barrage of images from assaulting his brain. The memory of this breathtakingly beautiful woman brushing her lips across his and smiling against his mouth bloomed sweetly in his thoughts. God, it had felt good to let go of the pain and disappear into her. But it was more than just disappearing.
Charlotte Ames was no distraction. He glanced at the key pressed to the hollow of her neck.
If he wasn’t careful, she could be his very undoing.
With each touch, each kiss, and every glorious thrust of his cock, she’d made him feel an emotion that had long been dormant.
The freedom to open himself up to pure bliss.
The kind of feeling he used to have in spades.
But that feeling came with a price.
The joy he’d felt had earned him the title of the world’s biggest sucker. That feeling couldn’t last—not for him. In fact, it had blown up his world like a grenade, pulverizing everything in its path. He had to stop fooling himself. Whatever drew him to her had to be ignored.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, keeping his voice low as a bitter edge sliced through the statement.
“Do what? Suggest an idea?” she answered, incredulity coating the words.
He hardened his features. “You don’t have to twist yourself into a pretzel to try to be what you think I need.”
The pink hue of her cheeks deepened. He’d hit a nerve.
“Excuse me?” she bit out.
“I saw you do it over and over again at the bullshit speed date event,” he added, deleting the fact that, at the very same bullshit speed date event, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. He’d damn near twisted himself into a pretzel to get close to her. But she didn’t need to know that.
She gasped at his harsh words, her mouth opening and closing like a pissed-off flounder, but nothing came out. He was ready to claim victory when she pressed her lips into a hard line and sharpened her expression. And holy shit! Thank God there were no tomato, cucumber, and avocado salads in the vicinity. She looked ready to hurl one at him.
“I’m not twisting myself into anything, Mitch. It was you who told me that you were in trouble with this book project. The back to the beginning idea came to me. And Oscar…” she trailed off, then glanced at the boy. He was still perched in the front seat of the truck with the spatula in his hand.
That spatula.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “What about Oscar?” he growled, needing to hold it together. He could not show an ounce of sentiment.
Charlotte’s expression softened. “When Oscar pulled the tarp off the truck, he lit up. You could share this with him, Mitch. The food truck book project could be a way to bond with him and keep him connected to his mother.”
At the mention of Holly, that red haze of anger returned as his every defense went on high alert. “You don’t know anything about her,” he growled, his words coming out rough and jagged.
He expected his harsh reply to elicit an equally severe response from her. But she didn’t join him on the angry train. Instead, she drank him in with that warm green gaze. And Christ, what he wouldn’t have given to spend the rest of his life in a damned stupor, falling deeper and deeper under her spell. She touched his chest, pressing her hand against his hammering heart. “I know that Holly was Oscar’s mother. I know she made him hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches. And while I never met her, I think it’s safe to say that she loved her son.”
He should have known better. Charlotte’s true power wasn’t her ability to throw salads at people. No, her gift was what she could do with gentle kindness. He inhaled a shaky breath. He should step back and get himself the hell out of Charlotte Ames’s orbit. Her touch brought him a comfort he could not allow himself to crave. But he didn’t move—not an inch.
“Mitch! Charlotte! Join us! We’ve got great news,” Ines called, cutting short their nanny and hothead huddle. He shoved his hands into his pockets. His fingertips brushed past the heart-shaped lock and every muscle in his body tensed.
Jesus, get a grip, man!
Charlotte dropped her hand from his chest, and instantly, he mourned the loss of their connection.
