19. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Brynn
Passing by the console table littered with framed photographs of wide baby smiles and Leo kicking balls, I shuffle my bare feet down the hallway and pull my robe tighter around my body, led by the scent of hot food.
January is approaching its end, the bitter winter air slipping into the apartment even through the several layers of glazing on the windows. I've never done well with the cold. It seeps into my bones and lingers there from the beginning of fall until spring finally lifts back into summer.
That said, aside from the pure silk robe hanging around my shoulders that I was gifted from La Perla last month, I'm only wearing a thin tank and pink striped satin shorts. Leo can turn the heat up. God knows the man makes enough money not to worry about his energy bill.
A week has passed since I started this nanny gig, and I still find Leo’s apartment to be disconcertingly homey, despite the needless chill in the air this morning. Disconcerting, because I can’t seem to marry the cantankerous personality of the man with the warmth of his home. I also can’t marry the man I thought I knew with the one who held me through my nightmare, but I’m trying not to think about that right now.
When I turn into the kitchen, my feet squeak to a stop on the tumbled limestone tiles.
At the island, Leo scrambles eggs in a pan on the stove. He stirs with one hand, sipping from a cup of steaming coffee with the other. It wouldn't be a particularly shocking sight if it wasn't for the fact that he's wearing nothing but loose gray sweatpants and a backward baseball cap.
God help me, my mouth waters.
His chest is sculpted to a divine degree, his abs flexing with every movement. Those ridges—all fucking eight of them—are cut like someone sculpted him from marble. And under them, a sharp V points down to whatever he's hiding underneath his sweats.
My libido lifts a fist and curses the counter for interrupting our line of sight. The harlot is desperate to see the outline of his dick through the thin material—so much so she's salivating. Though, frankly, it's probably better for my sanity that we can't. The last thing I need right now is to know the exact number of inches Leo Sullivan is packing down there.
When I woke from my nightmare the other night and found myself in his lap, with his arms around me and that gloriously naked chest directly in my line of sight, I swear, I nearly passed out. And that was when I couldn't see the cords in his arms, and the veins in his hands, and the very slight peek of dark hair beneath the waistband of his sweats that I have a completely unobstructed view of now.
Honestly, I think I'm panting.
Pulling out a stool at the island in front of him, I look at him pointedly. "You look like a slut."
His gaze flies to mine, shock and amusement glittering in his dark eyes. "Excuse me?"
"Where are your clothes?" I gesture at his nakedness, my face a mask of apathy despite how flustered I am.
He snorts. "That's rich coming from you."
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean forward on the counter with narrowed eyes. "I don't know what you mean."
"You don't seem to know what a bra is either."
His eyes flicker down to my breasts that are thrust up over my arms. I've practically presented them to him, given the position I've put myself in, and though it wasn't a conscious decision, I'm entirely certain my traitorous libido has something to do with it.
"I know what a bra is just fine." I scowl, uncrossing my arms and feeling my breasts drop back into place. "I just find them restrictive."
"I can understand that." He nods to himself. "I've always found them an unnecessary barrier anyway." He says it so casually, like he didn’t just release a million butterflies inside of me.
His suggestiveness catches me off guard. Until now, he's always seemed sort of sexless to me. Not because he isn't hot—the man is more than hot—he just doesn't seem interested in sex. Especially considering how offended he was when one of his former nanny prospects suggested sucking him off in exchange for the position. And that's not even mentioning how quickly he dropped me back onto the bed the other night when I realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt.
Although, I'm almost sure he winked at me before he left the room. But it was dark, and I was still recovering from the trauma of being attacked with a vegetable in my unconscious, so I probably imagined it.
Anyway, apparently, the man does know what sex is. And he's had it. Well, obviously he has, because he has a daughter. But right now, my brain is malfunctioning because Leo likes sex, and he doesn't like bras because they're an "unnecessary barrier," which means he has removed a bra from a woman in his life at some point. And can he unclasp them with one hand? Because he seems like a man who could unclasp a bra with one hand. And this obviously means he likes boobs, but does he like boobs more than he likes butts? Because men usually make it seem like you have to prefer one over the other, but maybe Leo likes both?
And why am I hoping that he's more of an ass man because my butt is significantly larger than my breasts?
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Leo smirks in response, his eyes locked on mine as he stirs the eggs mindlessly with one hand.
And though everything inside me is screaming at me not to, I hold his gaze. There's something in his eyes that makes me shift in my seat—a flare of heat, a flicker of something dangerous. When he slides his teeth over his bottom lip, my heart rate soars to the skies.
It's too much.
The way he's looking at me right now is disarming, like he wants to lay me down on the island and eat me for breakfast. Crossing my legs in a vain attempt to relieve some of the ache that has started to pulse between them, I rub my clammy palms together in my lap.
Leo's smirk grows wider.
He knows what he's doing.
The asshole is playing with me.
Aggravated, I lean forward and snatch the cap from his head, placing it onto my own with a victorious grin.
He sighs but doesn't make an attempt to get it back. Turning the stove off and shoveling some eggs onto a plate, he mutters, "Stop stealing my hats."
"They're my hats now." I take the plate from him and hold out my hand for a fork, which he places in my palm with a raised brow.
And maybe I'm imagining things again, but I'm sure there's a whisper of a smile on his lips.
"Where's my little ladybug, anyway?" I ask, looking around at the great room, not seeing her.
Leo dumps the pan in the sink, rinsing it off with water before taking a seat beside me at the island. "She's having a nap."
"Already? It's still early morning."
"It's eleven a.m."
My brow furrows in confusion. "But you're making breakfast."
He laughs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I knew the smell of food would finally raise you from the dead."
I falter. "Wait. You made this just for me?"
His eyes flick to his lap, just for a moment but long enough for me to see the flash of self-consciousness on his face before raising his gaze back to mine. Wordlessly, he nods.
"Oh." Strangely touched by the gesture, I reach across and lay my hand on his arm. "Thank you."
We both look down to the point of contact at the same time, my breath hitching and his freezing in his lungs. There isn't a crackle of electricity or a sudden jolt of overpowering lust—probably because I'm already experiencing it, and adding any more would be a health hazard—but there is a warmth that spreads from his skin into mine. A glow of something I can't quite explain.
It doesn't feel wrong to be touching him, like it should.
It feels...natural.
Like I've done it a thousand times before.
"No problem." He clears his throat, and I snatch my hand away, nursing it in my lap like he burned me. "I actually need to talk to you about something."
Spooning some eggs into my mouth, I nod and wait.
"We have an away match in Chicago next week, and I need you and Say to come with me."
"But the season hasn't started yet."
"It's just a friendly, but it'll help us get our heads back in the game before the major league begins in a few weeks."
I don't know why this news comes as such a surprise.
It shouldn't, since my brother has been playing soccer all his life and I know well and good how these things work. I guess we just hadn't explicitly discussed what would happen if he had to travel for a game, and the thought hadn't crossed my mind.
I've been slowly getting the hang of caring for a one-year-old, but traveling with one is a different ball game.
And truthfully, it's not like I've had to do much. This week, my nanny responsibilities have been minimal. I care for her while Leo is at practice, but he takes over as soon as he's home, and that's when I’m done for the day. He hasn't asked me to help during the evenings or nights, doing it all himself and leaving me to my own devices in my bedroom, where I'm usually catching up on social media work.
Honestly, I don't even know why he wanted a live-in nanny.
I'm basically a babysitter, just with a better salary.
"Okay." I swallow and nod slowly. "So, how is this gonna go?"
"You'll fly with us on the team plane, and I've already spoken to Coach Carter about us having adjoining rooms so you can help me with Say if she fusses during the night before the game."
"And when do we leave?"
"Monday."
"Well, okay, then."
“Yep.” He nods sharply, the awkwardness of the aftermath from me touching him still lingering like smoke between us.
“Is there anything else you need from me today?”
“No. I’m taking Say out this afternoon, so you’re all good.”
I hate the way my stomach sinks in disappointment because I wasn’t extended an invite. Not that I would have accepted. I have someplace I need to be today, but the thought would have been nice.
During the hours that we’re both in the house, we avoid each other like we’re self-isolating, which, until now, has suited me just fine.
But my hormones are fickle little things, and apparently, they don’t hate Leo as much right now as they did before.
We don’t even eat together, with the exception of the eggs I’m eating now. It says a lot that this is the first meal Leo and I have shared since I moved in a week ago, and he’s not even eating it. I don’t know why I’m only now starting to care.
Maybe I’m starting to tire of feeling like I’m not wanted. Or maybe I’m PMSing.
“Right, well, thank you for breakfast,” I say, standing quickly and loading my plate into the dishwasher at record speed. “Frankly, I’m surprised it wasn’t poisoned, but I’m going out now, so I guess I’ll just see you later?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Later, Brynn.”
He looks up at his cap that I’m still wearing but doesn’t ask for it back. And I don’t offer it back to him either, despite knowing I should. I just leave it on my head and walk back to my room to get ready.
I’m still wearing it even as I catch a cab downtown to my destination, the heady scent of him following me the whole way there.