Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Our gazes snag again and all I’m aware of is heat. Everywhere. All over me.
Shit.
Dax settles himself into one of the kitchen chairs and gives Guinevere her bottle.
“Right, that’s tomatoes and sausages in. Baked beans are heating. Eira’s on the eggs. What else?” John looks around as if searching for clues about what he might have forgotten.
I smile and sneak a look at Dax. He’s smiling too and then he rolls his eyes. “Mushrooms.”
“Oh yes. A little fungus. And black pudding. How could I have forgotten black pudding?”
“And you’re not doing bacon?” I ask.
Dax chuckles. “Don’t mention the bacon.”
“We don’t do bacon,” John says, a serious expression on his face.
I smile, but don’t ask any questions.
“Is that some beautiful unsmoked back bacon I can smell?” I hear Zach before he appears at the kitchen door.
Ellie dips under his arm. “Don’t start. Seriously. It’s not even funny anymore.”
“You’re right,” he says, following Ellie over to the kitchen table. “It’s not funny. I don’t see why we can’t have bacon just because we can’t agree which bacon is the best.”
“Because it causes too many arguments.”
Everyone gets to work setting the table and getting drinks. More and more people flood the kitchen.
I glance over at Guinevere. She’s taking it all in her stride.
I transfer the cooked eggs into a warmed dish and put them on the table, just as Guinevere finishes her bottle.
“Why don’t I put her down while you have breakfast,” I say to Dax.
He shakes his head. “It will only take a second.” He stands and heads out of the kitchen.
Is it wrong to feel kinda proud of him? I don’t know if he regrets what he said last night, or whether he’s had a change of heart. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who puts on a show for his family or me. Maybe he’s starting to feel that tug of love I’m convinced is already growing.
We take our seats at the dining table, but this morning, I’m sitting next to Vincent and not Carole. Everyone has changed seats. I don’t try and slink off or suggest I take a plate somewhere else. My intention is always to make the minimal amount of fuss. I know now, sitting down with everyone is the fuss-free option.
Vincent hands me a dish of tomatoes and I’m just setting it down when Dax comes up beside me. My heart begins to race and I scan the table.
There’s one free seat.
The one next to me.
Heat floods my chest and I try to catch my breath.
As he slides his chair in, his leg brushes mine, but I don’t dare look at him. The last thing I want his family to see is some pathetic nanny with hearts in her eyes for her boss.
Because that’s not who I am.
I’m just adjusting to having a hot, single dad as my boss.
Once I’ve gotten used to him—used to sharing a small space and accidental brushing hands, used to the dip and curve of his muscular arms and the intensity of his stare—this heated feeling suffusing my chest will ease. I know it will.
I’m just not quite there yet.
I lower my voice. “Is she okay? Do you want me to check on her?”
His hand touches my back, and I have to stop myself from pushing harder against him. “She’s fine,” he whispers. “Sleeping peacefully.” I feel his breath on my cheek like a caress.
What is the matter with me? I need this phase to pass quickly or I’m going to say or do something inappropriate. I was so close last night. I thought it would have passed this morning, but I think it might have gotten worse.
“Is she a good sleeper?” Kate asks.
She looks at me, but I turn to Dax to let him answer the question. He’s not shaved this morning and the stubble on his face dares me to run my finger along it. My body starts to throb as I imagine the drag of it between my thighs. I clench, trying to reset myself, but it just makes it worse.
What’s happening to me? It’s like I can’t cope with him sitting this close. I mentally high-five the past version of myself that was smart enough to sit in the backseat with Guinevere on the ride up. I’m not sure I would have survived five hours of close proximity.
I’m a grown woman, and I can’t lose this job. I need to get myself together. I need to erase him from my mind somehow. Put some kind of shield between us.
I focus on my plate, tuning out everything other than the scrambled eggs, the tomato, the mushrooms, the toast. I count the number of pips on the tomato. I estimate the number of mouthfuls of egg left on my plate. I contemplate how I’d arrange the food if I were photographing it for a magazine.