Page 28 of Adrift

Phase one: embarrassment.

What the hell was I thinking? How could I have allowed myself to flirt–almost indecently–with my brother-in-law? God, who was I that night? Certainly not the same girl who chatters uncontrollably when met with a man of Darian’s caliber. Though I would argue–with myself–that I’ve never met a man of Darian’s caliber, but still, who the fuck was I? What the hell was all that mumbo-jumbo about me sprouting wings and flying? Was I fucking high?

Here comes the confusion phase . . ..

But then again, did I? Did I actually flirt with him? Could a staring contest with someone–a hot someone, who also happens to be your brother-in-law–be considered flirting?

You fucking licked your lips, hussy!

Okay, okay. So, I licked my damn lips. But I mean, in fairness, I lick them all the time.

And, we’re onto the denial phase. Why is wetting my dry lips considered flirting, anyway? It seems a little far-fetched to consider such an innocent act flirting.

Now, for shame.

“Gah!” I wrap my hand over my eyes and wish for the hundredth time that I could dig a hole through this beach and crawl to China. “I’m pathetic. It’s the only explanation.”

I eye-fucked my brother-in-law, purposefully licked my lips in a silent innuendo, and made him feel utterly uncomfortable. I completely misread his reaction–the almost audible groan, the nostril flaring, and sexy jaw clenching. It wasn’t because he was affected by me; it was because he was horrified, probably on the verge of firing me on the spot. And the only reason he likely refrained from firing me was because it was the middle of the night!

My cheeks flame as I think about how inappropriately I acted. Sure, I didn’t do anything per se–thank God!–but he knew. He isn’t stupid. He knew I was burning up for him. I acted as if I had zero principles, when, in fact, I live by my principles. I’m a woman who values her principles!

I’m sure he went back to his room, repulsed and in shock. Men like Darian Meyer don’t go for women–girls–like me. Men like him have a line of beautiful, undernourished, delicate women with perfect BMIs and breast-to-waist ratios waiting on the sidelines.

Maybe I should just quit, hand in my resignation after just one freaking week.

I take another bite of my sandwich, not even registering the taste. I can’t quit. I can’t do that to Arman. Darian would have to ask his mother to fill in again and rush to look for another, more permanent nanny. Karine just started going to physical therapy, and Arman and I are adjusting so well to each other. Plus, quitting would just give my mother more ammunition to berate Darian. She’d revel in my failure, especially after the way our conversation ended this morning.

No, I can’t quit. But fuck, I want to hide or disappear somewhere.

“Ugh.” I throw the rest of my sandwich back into the paper bag, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand.

Maybe the best thing to do is pretend Friday night didn’t happen and move along with just focusing on what I’m here to do. That is, unless Darian fires me before I even get a chance to redeem myself. I’ve been so worried about him confronting me that I’ve been sneaking out of the house all weekend before he’s awake. I know it’s impossible to avoid him forever, but I figure giving him time and space to rethink things can’t hurt.

He practically ordered me to leave with his last statement.

Another hour goes by before I finally find the nerve to head back. I’m hoping Darian has put Arman to bed by now and is in his study so I can creep back to my room and avoid him for another night. He’s usually rushing out of the house in the morning to get to work, so hopefully, we can just manage another week where we stay out of each other’s way.

I pull up in front of Darian’s house and note the various unfamiliar cars already parked there. Maybe Darian having company will work to my advantage. Maybe he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m even back.

Turning the key inside the lock as softly as I can, I try to tiptoe through the foyer to take the stairs up to my room. Unfamiliar laughter hits my ears as I try to keep my head down and find the steps.

I’m barely a foot from the stairs when I hear an unfamiliar voice greet me, “Hey, Rani!”

Ugh!

I plaster on a casual smile before turning toward the dining table full of men I don’t recognize, except for Darian. “Hello.”

A man with long blond hair–chopped fine on the sides but held in a bun on the top of his head–gives me a two-finger wave. He’s holding a few playing cards in his other hand. I recognize him as one of Darian’s brothers from the several framed pictures in his office. “We were wondering if we’d get a chance to meet you. I’m Dean, by the way.”

I smile in his direction. “Great to meet you.”

“Thanks for helping my brother out with Arman,” Dean adds before gesturing to his left. “This is Garrett, the man who shared a womb with me but somehow, didn’t turn out nearly as handsome.”

Garrett barks out a laugh before turning his blue eyes toward me. He has the same blond hair as his brother, but it’s cut close to his head, almost military style. “This coming from a man who can’t get laid without flashing his chest.”

“Guys,” Darian warns.

Not knowing exactly what they’re referring to, I widen my smile and work hard to avoid the coffee-colored gaze that’s currently set in my direction. “No problem. I was happy to be able to help.” My voice squeaks a little as I take a step backward toward the stairs, responding to Dean, “Good to meet you guys. I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”

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