Page 96 of The Nanny and the Hothead
One thing was for certain. She was stronger than he was. He could barely go a minute without aching for her touch. But she was right. Today, of all days, he needed to keep his mind sharp.
“Think of it like my camera,” she said, glancing at the Nikon in her lap.
The light changed, and he stepped on the gas. “I don’t get it. How are we like your camera?”
She held it up and peered at him through the viewfinder. “It’s a new frame. A fresh start. The past is the past. From here on out, it’s Mitch and Charlotte, the boss and the employee. The nanny and the hothead,” she added, trying to lighten the mood. But as much as he knew she was right, it didn’t stop him from remembering when, not even an hour ago, Oscar had deemed her his everything.
“The past that you’re describing is barely ten hours ago, Charlotte,” he conceded.
She returned her camera to its bag, then slumped into the seat. He glanced over and caught her twisting the key between her fingers. “I know. But every hour with you feels more like a week,” she mused.
He understood the sentiment. He’d lived a thousand lives since he caught sight of her dressed as a mermaid at that speed date event.
“It’s hard to remember what life was like before…” she trailed off.
“Before what?” he asked, his heart thumping in his chest. His emotions see-sawed so wildly that he barely registered their arrival at the food truck stop. He shifted the truck into park, cut the ignition, then met her gaze.
“Before waking up hungover in an RV in the middle of nowhere. Before there was an us,” she finished with the sweetest curve to her lips.
He stared into her eyes as the raw honesty of her words sliced through him.
He never pictured being part of anusagain. He’d written it off. It had to be that way. But it didn’t stop him from unbuckling his seat belt and sliding across the bench seat toward her. He studied the glinting key at her neck.
“The professional version of anus, of course,” she added on a shaky breath.
“Completely professional,” he agreed as the air inside the truck’s cab pulsed and crackled with the heat of their attraction. It was undeniable. Her strawberry sunshine scent was everywhere. It called to him as it erased every rational thought from his mind. He drew his fingertips across the hollow of her neck and touched the delicate key. They were back to this place. Back to this secret land of heavenly escape, where the pain that chafed and grated within him dissolved into the beat of his pounding heart. Charlotte trembled beneath his touch, leaning in toward him. Unable to stop himself, he unbuckled her seat belt. She moved closer as if the pull of their magnetism was too much to resist. Her breasts rose and fell with her every breath as she rested her hand on his knee, then tightened her grip, anchoring herself to him. Or maybe it was the reverse, and he was the one desperate for the promise of her safe harbor. And with one smile, this woman demolished his defenses.
“Or we could delay the professionalism—briefly,” she offered, her breathy words caressing his lips.
“Yeah,” he agreed in a tight rasp. “A postponement before the official professionalism begins.”
He didn’t know what the hellofficial professionalismwas or how it differed fromunofficialprofessionalism. He was ninety-nine percent sure he sounded like an absolute imbecile. But the blood in his brain had migrated south thanks to her palm on his thigh and her fingertips digging into his muscled leg. And he sure wasn’t firing on all cylinders in the thinking-clearly department while thegetting-down-and-dirtydepartment had taken the reins.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered. “I couldn’t stand you a week ago.”
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. This was her charm—her magic, her raw, unfiltered honesty.
Honesty.
The word floated through his mind like the sun breaking through a bank of storm clouds.
Was she truly someone he could trust with his heart? Was that even possible?
“What about now?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. He rested his hand on top of hers and laced their fingers together. “Do you still want to throw a plate of vegetables at me?”
She studied his face as if she was assessing the composition of a photograph—seeing him, seeing through him, seeing every facet of his being. He drew a tight breath as a delicious tingle worked its way down his spine. There, in the cab of Say Cheese, Louise, she had him, body and soul. And he was powerless against her exquisite allure.
He cupped her face in his hand, breathless as he waited for her reply.
She melted into his touch. “No, I don’t want to throw a salad at you, Mitch. All I want now is to—”
“Tonotloiter in front of my building! Perfect, that’s what I want, too!” came the prickly voice of a woman he could never forget.
Seventeen
Mitch
“Holy shit!”he exclaimed.
