Chapter 4 #2
There was plenty of snark in my voice. I was still pissed at Beau.
Not just about tonight, but about how he was as a person.
I’d intended to only let out a drop of anger, but the dam was currently in danger of bursting.
If he replied with one more insult, one more reprimand, I’d unleash on him.
I ached to. Even though it had only been a couple of months of enduring his torture, everything had been heightened due to our close quarters.
But instead of meeting me for battle, Beau’s head slowly swung up and down, his jaw loosening. “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving mine. “The cake is perfect.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor at the soft note in his voice, unable to process that it was being directed at me. My skin erupted in goose bumps, limbs relaxing. My body wanted to melt.
Pathetic. He was giving me the bare minimum. This man spoke to me softly for one sentence, and I was a puddle at his feet.
“You made it?” He arched a brow, looking from me to the cake.
I nodded slowly, not sure how to go from defense to … whatever this was.
Beau stepped forward, closer. It was the first time he’d voluntarily stepped closer to me. My skin prickled in awareness. The man had an energy about him that my body responded to. Viscerally.
I watched his eyes move over my cake.
“You made a cake. And did all this.” His eyes moved around the room, centering on the presents on the kitchen table. “And bought Clara gifts.”
It was nowhere near a thank you, and it wasn’t even him simply observing the environment. It was an accusation. Like buying his daughter gifts on her birthday were akin to giving her nuclear codes then telling her to go nuts.
I stared into his cloudy gray eyes, not willing to lower my gaze. Not this time. Not when it came to Clara. I’d look down for myself, take the hits, but not for Clara. “It’s her birthday. A pivotal birthday. It requires gifts. Sugar. Fairy wings.”
“Fairy wings?” Beau parroted, still not meeting the sharp note to my voice, no glower to be seen.
I nodded tightly. “Every little girl needs at least one pair, and a princess dress of some kind. Though you’ve got her covered with a kickass tutu selection.”
It struck me that this was probably the longest conversation we’d had without him being mean. It was the closest we’d stood. While alone. Our three-foot buffer was sleeping soundly in her bedroom.
When my heart started hammering, I fought to remain normal. What was normal? How did I usually stand? How did I breathe?
“This is…” Beau’s voice had softened further. No more accusation, which I sensed was a mask for some other feeling he was uncomfortable with. Anything that wasn’t brooding anger. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“I wanted to,” I replied firmly. Though I was only the nanny, I had a right to do this for Clara. Our time together had been brief but intense, the powerful feelings I had for that little girl strong and everlasting.
His eyes found mine. “Thank you.”
My heart caught in my throat. Had Beau ever thanked me? Probably not. Definitely not in this soft, soulful tone.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I was somehow able to keep my voice even, not betraying the reaction those two words had on the inside of my body. “I did it for Clara.”
“I know.” Beau’s reply came in a half whisper. “Which is what makes it mean the fuckin’ world.”
The silence thrummed between us. My heart was in my throat, my palms starting to sweat.
I could scarcely comprehend that this was reality, that this version of Beau existed for anyone other than Clara.
“It’s hard for me.” He drove a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow. I spent a long time preparing for my daughter to be forever four.” He sucked in a ragged breath so full of pain that it took my breath away.
This was nothing like my grumpy, borderline—okay, not borderline at all—cruel employer.
This was a person. A father. A tortured one. So full of love for his daughter that the pain at the thought of losing her had whittled him down to a shell of a person, only capable of wrangling humanity, smiles, and love for the little girl who had been dancing with death the past two years.
“I thought I would bury her before this day,” he rasped. “In my mind, all my hopes, my dreams, my imaginings for what she would be were half buried too.”
At that point, I smelled the faint scent of whisky on his breath. Just a hint. Likely no more than a glass since his eyes were clear, not a slur to his voice.
I had some experience with gauging how drunk and therefore how unpredictable a man was just by the scent of whisky on his breath.
Furthermore, Beau was a responsible father, a responsible person. I knew he wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize Clara’s life, certainly not something like drinking and driving.
“I fucked up,” he stated plainly. “None of those things are excuses for failing my daughter. For dropping the ball.” He bore his gaze into me with an intensity that had me forgetting how to breathe.
“You caught it. All of it.” He looked around the room again. His entire body seemed to sag, he looked defeated. Devastated.
“And I fucked up,” he repeated.
I wasn’t sure what made me do what I did next. Well, that’s a lie. Basic human empathy. I was born with it. It had bitten me in the ass more times than I could count. And it would likely bite me in the ass this time too. But I couldn’t program it out of me. I didn’t want to.
That softness was what urged me forward, to put my arms around Beau, tentatively, as if I were trying to hug a tiger. Which I kind of was. I wasn’t sure whether he was going to bite or not.
But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think anyone had considered hugging Beau through all of this.
I doubted he showed his father or his brother this side of him.
The side he probably hid from even himself.
He had to be strong. Unyielding. Unmoved by emotion. He had to be steady as a mountain.
There was only so much a human could take. Even a large, seemingly capable asshole like Beau.
He needed a hug.
No one else was there to give him one.
So I did.
And to my immense surprise, he didn’t push me away, didn’t lash out. He stiffened for three seconds—I counted—then he did the unthinkable… he hugged me back.
He was warm. His body was hard, yet the nook of his chest felt like a cocoon. I was enveloped by his scent, imprinting it onto my memory. Those strong arms around me, the feeling of safety.
It had been a long time since someone other than Clara had hugged me too. And I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. How much I needed Beau Shaw’s arms around me.
Neither of us spoke. He held me tight, his chin on my head. I could’ve sworn I heard a sharp inhale as if he were smelling my hair.
I was immensely glad I’d showered.
When his hands moved, I prepared myself to be lurched back into whatever dynamic he dictated— awkwardness, menace, cold silence.
But he didn’t push me away; he pulled back only enough so our faces were inches apart, his hands on my hips, our bodies still brushing.
The intimate stance was overwhelming. This was no longer a comforting hug. If it ever had been. There was a definite energy between us.
A sexual energy.
I could not deny the hunger in Beau’s eyes. The need. That ghost of a look at the wedding was present, alive, wild. Every cell in my body responded, my skin tingling with arousal, excitement.
My mouth moistened, my stomach clenched, holding my breath as he lifted his hand to cup my chin and leaned forward.
He was going to kiss me.
Beau Shaw, my asshole boss, was going to kiss me. And I already knew it was going to be the best kiss of my motherfucking life.
Just before our lips brushed, as I was leaning forward, readying for impact, Beau stopped.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly. The hand grasping my hip tightened. Like he was anchoring himself to this earth with it.
“Hannah.” His tongue slid across his front teeth. My body seized.
My name coming out of his mouth was no longer grating, unpleasant. In his rasped voice, it sounded like it was a prayer.
“Yes?” I whispered, my voice breathy, the word almost a moan.
His gaze searched my face. When it focused on my parted lips, his eyes flared. My stomach dipped at the pure hunger, the reverence, in his gaze.
“You need to go to bed. Now.” His tone told me this wasn’t up for discussion. He lingered for only a moment more before he stepped back. Purposefully.
My body sagged, my heart deflated, and my skin was suddenly ice-cold.
I looked up to see if Beau’s mask was back in place, if he was regarding me cruelly. But he wasn’t. His entire body was stiff, but his eyes were still alight with desire.
I wanted to step forward, take charge, own that kiss that I felt in my cells. I prepared myself to do that. There was no way my body could handle this buildup of tension without release. There was no way I could survive the next few seconds unless Beau’s mouth was on mine.
“Don’t.”
The single word gave me pause. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea.
I gazed at Beau, standing there like a statue but eyes burning with a fire that I hadn’t thought he was capable of.
“Not … tonight.” He shook his head. Again. It was another plea. He was fighting. With desire. Against those emotions he’d shared with me. His sorrow. His guilt for letting his daughter down. No, tonight was not a night to make the decision to make out with the nanny.
My heartbeat stuttered. Not tonight. But not never. Was Beau Shaw insinuating that there would be a night when this kiss would happen?
Hope bloomed in my chest, even as I hated myself for it. I shouldn’t have been so readily forgiving and willing to kiss the man who had essentially made my life miserable for months. Shouldn’t have so quickly excused his behavior.
Hadn’t I learned?
My eyes roved over Beau’s form, my own body thrumming with a kind of substance that made me feel like I was rooted to the earth.
The look he gave me made me feel as if I’d been incorporeal, transparent, invisible my whole life.
Like I hadn’t been whole until Beau Shaw looked at me.
The way he looked at me made me feel like a true woman, not a lost little girl.
“Okay,” I whispered. No, I hadn’t fully learned. “Good night, Beau.”
His eyes didn’t leave my mouth. “Good night, Hannah.”
With my heart thundering in my ears, I walked away from Beau Shaw, certain my life was about to change forever.
Maybe for the better.
But I should’ve known.
Good things didn’t happen to people like me.