Chapter 11 #2
I smiled. Ozzie was sounding more and more like me every day.
Clara gave Ozzie a strained smile. “Um, well, Oz. Your dad’s home now, so I should probably get going. You won’t want me hanging around.”
“Clara,” I said in a soft but firm tone that got her attention immediately. Both Clara and Ozzie turned to me. “I believe that I am paying you until seven this evening. That’s not for two hours.”
She blinked. “Uh… okay, well, you can maybe just, uh… dock my wages? I don’t want to intrude on you and Ozzie and—”
“Clara,” I interrupted her stuttering. “You’re staying.” There could be no confusion about my tone. This was a command, not a request.
She snapped her mouth shut. Her gaze flicked to the exit and then back to me.
I could tell that she wanted to run. I could tell that she wanted to tell me where to shove the two hours I was insisting on.
But, disappointingly, that fire in her eyes settled into defeat, and she swallowed before she spoke again.
“Right,” she said in a small voice, and I frowned.
Ugh, tell me I’m a bossy prick, why don’t you? Tell me to fuck off. Don’t just give in without a fight. I opened my mouth to speak again, maybe even to take back my words and let her go home, but just then the pasta boiled over, the lid clattering on the metal.
“Crap,” Clara squeaked before she jogged over to the stove, giving me a wide berth on her way there.
Clearly flustered and not quite thinking properly, once she’d taken the saucepan over to the sink, her hand closed over the lid handle, and she jerked back, wincing in pain.
“Shit,” she said under her breath and then gave me a worried look.
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t usually swear in front of Ozzie, I promise. ”
I shook my head. Why was she worried about swear words when she’d burnt her hand?
She started backing away from the sink, and I’d had enough.
Did this woman have no common sense? How was she in charge of children?
Before she could back away any further, I strode over to her, covering the distance in only a few long strides and took her hand in both of mine.
She sucked in a shocked breath as I stared down at the red burn marks forming on her fingers.
Her hand looked tiny in mine. Without wasting time, I crowded her back over to the sink, turned on the cold water and then held her hand underneath the spray, both my arms around her and her back to my front, my body completely enclosing hers.
She stiffened in fear and stopped breathing altogether.
“Breathe, Clara,” I murmured low, just above her ear. I didn’t want her nearly passing out again. At my instruction, she took a deep shuddering breath in and let it out slowly.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she said, attempting to pull her hand away from mine and away from the cold water.
“Keep still,” I told her, my voice hoarse now as her small body moved against mine.
Fucking hell, I needed to get a hold of myself and not get hard for my son’s goddamn nanny.
This close, I could smell the lavender and citrus scent of her hair, and a wave of desire stronger than I’d felt in a long time shot through me.
Why couldn’t I have felt this way on my date last weekend? Ever since I’d met this small, shy, weirdly nervous woman, I didn’t seem to work properly in the libido department. Being close to other females felt strangely incorrect.
“I-I-I can do it,” she whispered.
“You don’t have the best track record of self-care, Clara,” I told her. A small blister was forming on the skin of her hand now. “This has to stay under running cold water for at least ten minutes.”
“Yes, listen to Daddy,” Ozzie said from beside us. He was peering around me, trying to see Clara’s hand. “He always knows what to do when I get hurt.”
“Everyone should always listen to me, Oz,” I said. Clara huffed, and I smiled. That little huff was the most backbone she’d shown me in a while.
“The p-pasta needs draining,” she said, attempting to pull her hand from mine again.
“Can I trust you to keep your hand under the water?” I asked.
She nodded, and I moved back, taking the pasta to the other sink to drain.
So that was how Clara was stuck by the tap whilst Ozzie and I got the rest of the meal ready. I retrieved the meatballs from the oven; Ozzie grated the cheese.
“Oh, I can sort that now,” Clara said when I started to get the plates out. I gave her a pointed look when she took her hand out from under the cold water, and she was sensible enough to put it back again. I only let her come away after a full ten minutes.
“Okay, let’s see,” I told her when she backed away from the sink.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, flexing her fingers and then hiding her hand behind her back. I gave her a narrow look but let it go and ushered her to the table.
“I can wait in the other room while you eat,” Clara said, darting me a nervous glance as I pulled out a chair for her.
I tilted my head to the side in confusion. “Why would you wait in the other room?”
“Yeah, that’s weird, Miss Clara,” said Ozzie. “Anyway, Granny says I’m not allowed to eat in the living room, not after the chocolate pudding incident.”
Clara smiled at Ozzie. “Uh, right, okay, it’s just I…” She looked to the side and then back at me.
“Clara,” I called in a soft but firm voice, “You will be staying here until your designated work hours are finished. That is not for another one hour and forty minutes. Have I made myself clear?”
She frowned and pressed her lips together but gave a sharp nod. Oh, there was that little spark of anger again. I smiled to myself. If behaving like a condescending bastard was going to bring out a tiny bit of fire in her, then that was what I was going to do.
“Daddy, you’ll never guess what,” said Ozzie once we all started eating. Clara winced in pain when she grasped her fork but covered it when I looked over at her. “Margot Harding slit my throat today. It. Was. Amazing.”
I had just taken a sip of water when he made this pronouncement, and I choked when it went down the wrong way. When I’d managed to clear my throat, I put my fork down and looked straight at Ozzie.
“What was that, Oz?” I said in a hoarse voice.
“Margot, she slit my throat. It was awesome.” Ozzie paused for a moment and frowned. “There needs to be waaaaay more blood, though. But Miss Summerfield pinky-promised that in the real thing there’ll be a ton of blood. Maybe even some guts and gore and stuff.”
Clara cleared her throat, and I glanced over at her.
Her lips were pressed together with just the corners turned up as she suppressed a smile, and her eyes were twinkling behind her glasses.
It was the first time I’d seen her genuinely amused, and she looked so uncommonly pretty that I almost started choking again.
“What Oz is trying to say is that they’re rehearsing for Sweeney Todd at school,” she said in a soft voice. My eyebrows went up in surprise.
“Sweeney Todd? As in, The Demon Barber of Fleet Street?” I said in genuine disbelief. “They’re performing that at my son’s prep school?”
Clara gave a helpless shrug. “Lily’s a bit… alternative. To be honest, it was that or Chicago and I’m not quite sure that Molton Prep was ready for those themes just yet.”
“And yet they’re ready for cannibalism?” I asked.
“They bake people into pies, Daddy. It’s bloody brilliant,” Ozzie put in. “Margot’s Sweeney Todd, and I’m like her very first victim.”
“Well, there’s typecasting for you,” I muttered into my pasta. “Margot must be the most bloodthirsty child I’ve ever encountered.”
“She’s actually really gentle and empathic, but––” Clara broke off at my raised eyebrow.
“Last month, Margot Harding beat up no fewer than three other children,” I told her something she already knew.
“Those boys were bullies!” shouted Ozzie. “They had it coming.”
“Ozzie, love,” said Clara quietly. “Nobody has it coming.” She paused. “But those boys were twice Margot’s size, and they were bullying Henry Moretti, so…”
“Ahh, right,” I said slowly. “Henry...” I chuckled. “I wonder what Felix thought about his son being defended by a tiny little girl in the year below him.”
“I think Mr Moretti is glad that those little sh...” Clara broke off and her face went pink. “I mean, those little scallywags were dealt with.”
I tilted my head to the side as I looked at her.
“Is that so? You seem to feel quite strongly on the subject, Clara.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Clara’s face went even redder.
“I just don’t like bullies,” she whispered.
There was silence for a moment as the heaviness of her words seemed to take up physical space in the room. I cleared my throat.
“So, when am I going to be watching this violent extravaganza of, hopefully, fake blood and cannibalism?”
The atmosphere lightened, and Clara smiled again. This time, there were actual teeth showing. Her eyes were sparkling, and she went from just pretty to almost breathtakingly beautiful as she explained the bizarre theatrical plans at Molton Prep.
I decided then and there that I was coming home early much more often from then on – and making Clara smile would be my new favourite pastime.