Page 13 of Wild Christmas
I think about the email I got this morning from Martine, my old employer in France. The new au pair hasn’t worked out as she hoped, and she’s begging me to come back after Christmas. She offered a generous pay increase if I accepted. “Maybe.”
Nate stiffens. “You’re leaving Wild Heart Mountain?”
He seems concerned, and my heart gives a little flutter, which is stupid. He’s probably just thinking about what happens if it doesn’t work out with his sister. “I’m not sure. I might go back to France.”
“You got a boyfriend there?” His voice is harsh, and I glance at him. He’s staring at me intently, and for a crazy moment I wonder if he’s jealous. But that can’t be right. Nate is at least ten years older than me; he hates chaos and messiness, and that’s what I am.
“No.” He relaxes into the pillows. “No boyfriend.”
“Good,” he mutters, and my pulse quickens. I’m inexperienced with men, but I’m sure there’s a vibe here.
Which is bad. I can’t be crushing on my boss.
As we’ve been talking we’ve gravitated toward the center of the couch, and my thigh bumps into his. His hand is resting on his knee, and his pinky creeps out and caresses my thigh. A shimmer of heat courses up my body and makes me tingle between the legs.
Oh, this isn’t good. Nanny rule 101: Don’t get involved with the dad. But as I look into his intense eyes, I wonder if it’s too late. He’s leaning into me and I catch his scent of coffee and pine cleaning spray, which is oddly attractive on him.
My heart rate kicks up a notch, and this is really bad. I can’t kiss the hot single dad.
I lean forward, breaking the physical contact, and snatch up a photo of the girls that’s on the coffee table.
That was too close, and I can’t get distracted again. If I get involved with my employer, I’ll never get another job.
It’s something Aunt Maxine warned me about, and her words ring in my ears. “When you’re living under a man’s roof he will see you as his property, particularly a young pretty girl like you. Don’t get involved. No matter what they promise you. Remember, you’re also living with their wife. And the wife must always be respected.”
My French family was never like that. Frank, the dad, treated me like a daughter. But this situation is different. Nate makes my stomach flutter every time he’s near in a way I’ve never felt before. And Nate doesn’t have a wife.
I study the photo more carefully than I need to, trying to clear the thoughts from my head.
Dora has Nate’s dark hair and intense eyes and the same frown as her father. “She looks a lot like you.”
I dare a look at Nate and he’s sitting back on the couch sipping his coffee, as unruffled as if the thigh caress never happened. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe his finger bumped me accidentally rather than caressed me.
I stare intently at the photo again. It looks recent judging by the look of the girls. While Dora has her dad’s features, Maisie has light hair, brown eyes, a round face, and an easy smile.
“Maisie doesn’t look like you at all. Does she take after her mother?” I glance back at Nate, and he’s sitting stiff on the couch with a scowl on his face.
“She takes after her mother, looks wise.” He stands up abruptly and takes his mug to the kitchen. “Turn the lights off on your way out.”
I gape after his retreating figure as he heads down the hall and to his office.
I thought we’d made progress spending an evening together, but Nate has closed himself off. I regret bringing up the girls’ mother. I heard she died in a car accident when Maisie was only a few weeks old. He must still be torn up with grief over her.
8
NATE
The next few weeks pass in a blur. I get used to the smell of cinnamon from all the baking Freya’s doing. The Christmas songs don’t seem so bad now, and I hum along as I get to know the lyrics to her favorite.
The girls spend hours playing in the living room, rearranging the decorations on the Christmas tree and making more and more streamers. They fight less, both caught up in the excitement of Christmas.
Freya hums as she moves about the house, and I find myself smiling every time she comes into the room.
We watch another movie together and then another, making our way through Freya’s favorite Christmas movies. But I stay firmly on the far side of the couch, not wanting to throw myself at Freya again even though it’s taking everything I have not to.
I keep to my office in the evenings when we’re not watching a movie, not trusting myself to be around her.Since I nearly kissed her on the couch, I’ve kept my distance even though it’s killing me. But she’s the nanny, and I can’t take advantage of that even if she did want me.
I regret storming off that night the way I did.
