6. Chapter 6
Naomi watched in shock as her charges obediently trudged off to the swing set.
Mark sat while Jacob dutifully pushed him, neither raising their voices nor bothering the other kids.
The behavior change was so abrupt, so foreign, it made her heart ache with longing.
They could be sweet. They really could. Why couldn’t their father see it?
A moment later, the big man returned, folding his massive arms across his chest as he observed the boys.
“What did you say to them?” she whispered under her breath, unable to contain her curiosity.
He didn’t look down at her right away, just kept his dark gaze on the swings. “I gave them a few truths.”
“Truths?” Naomi’s voice pitched in disbelief. “Did you…threaten them?”
He turned his head then, those sharp eyes locking on her. “Don’t you deny them dessert when they misbehave?”
She blinked. “Of course, but…?”
“Then you threaten them too.” His gaze shifted back to the boys. They glanced over at him, and he gave the barest nod of approval. The boys returned to their play.
Naomi opened her mouth, then closed it, frustrated by his logic. “Who are you?” she asked finally, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
He glanced down at her, his face giving nothing away. “Tony.”
That was it. One word. No last name. No explanation.
Naomi stared up at him, trying to read him, and got absolutely nothing. “What do you do, Tony?” she pressed, partly because she wanted to know and partly because she just wanted him to keep talking, to stay with her a little longer.
He held her gaze for a long moment, his silence stretching until she thought he wasn’t going to respond. Then, finally, he said, “I’m in security.”
Naomi almost laughed. That was so vague it could mean anything from installing alarms to guarding diplomats. “Security? For who? Are you a bodyguard for someone in the neighborhood?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, a shadow of amusement flickering across his face. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You could say that.”
She frowned, huffing out a sigh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “That’s not much of an answer.”
“But, I did give you an answer,” he pointed out, not unkindly, but with a finality that made it clear she wouldn’t get more.
Naomi studied him, tilting her head, her ponytail slipping forward over her shoulder.
He was so…solid. So unmovable. He stood like a wall between her and everything else, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt unexpectedly safer with him there—even if she didn’t know who or what he really was.
She tried again, her voice lighter, almost conversational. “Do you have kids?”
His expression didn’t change. “No.”
“Brothers? Sisters?”
“Yeah.” One word. Nothing more.
She bit back a sigh. “Do you always give answers in single syllables?”
That almost-smile returned, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”
Naomi crossed her arms, mirroring his pose. “And what if I keep asking?”
“Then I keep answering.” He glanced down at her again, and Naomi could have sworn he was laughing. Not at her. But not exactly with her, either.
Challenged, she tried again. Her mouth opened, then shut, catching the gleam in his eyes. Half-annoyed, half…thrilled, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel this alive with nothing more than a handful of words.
“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Of course it is,” she muttered under her breath. “Where were you born?”
“Chicago.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-six.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t look thirty-six.”
He shrugged, unbothered.
Naomi pressed on. “Favorite food?”
“Steak.”
She gave a little laugh, shaking her head. “So predictable.”
His eyes flicked to her then, dark and unreadable, but something about the tilt of his mouth said he didn’t mind her teasing.
“All right then, Mr. Security. You’re thirty-six, you like steak, you were born in Chicago, and black is your favorite color. I’m practically writing your biography.”
Still, he said nothing.
Naomi narrowed her eyes. “Favorite season?”
“Winter.”
She frowned, surprised. “Really? Not summer?”
“No.”
Another tiny thrill darted through her chest. He was still playing along. “Okay. Favorite sport?”
“Basketball.”
Her lips curved. “Now, that one makes sense. Favorite drink?”
“Whiskey.”
“Favorite movie?”
“Heat.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “You would pick that one.”
He said nothing, only watched her, but she swore there was the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth again.
“Favorite animal?” she pushed.
“Wolf.”
She shivered. She didn’t even know why that answer got to her, but it did.
One more. She leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with the challenge. “Favorite…music?”
“Classic rock.”
Her mouth parted, caught off guard, because she hadn’t expected that. Somehow, that last one made him more complicated, more human, and more dangerous all at once.
Naomi exhaled, her heart hammering in her chest. Every clipped answer felt like a small victory, a prize she hadn’t known she wanted. And she wasn’t sure if she was more rattled by the brevity of his words—or by how much she craved the next one.
Naomi hesitated, chewing thoughtfully on her lip as if debating one more question, but she finally let out a soft laugh. “All right. That’s enough. I think I’ve milked about as many one-word answers out of you as humanly possible.”
Her pulse was still racing, but she tried to cover it with humor. He gave her almost nothing, yet she couldn’t seem to stop asking, couldn’t stop wanting more. Every answer felt like a secret reward, and she found herself craving the next one, and the next.
She turned slightly, glancing toward the swings where Jacob was pushing Mark back and forth.
Not high, gentle enough that the younger boy laughed instead of squealed.
It was the quietest the two of them had played in weeks.
A flicker of relief warmed her chest. Maybe today wouldn’t end in chaos after all.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound casual, “thank you for your help. The boys are behav—”
“Stay,” he ordered.
Naomi blinked, startled, as his large hand closed gently around her arm, stopping her before she could take a step.
Not rough, not threatening—just…firm. She froze, her eyes darting up to his.
He’d pulled her closer, so close she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, the sheer size of him making the air feel thinner.
Her breath caught, her instinct warring with something else entirely. She knew she should move, should pull away and put distance between them. But her body betrayed her, locked in place under his gaze.
“Why should I stay?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.
“Because I want to get to know you.”
Naomi’s mouth parted in shock. What? That didn’t make sense. Men like him didn’t notice women like her. Not really. She was just a nanny with scuffed shoes and a tote bag stuffed with fruit slices and wet wipes. He was…well, him.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” she blurted, a little louder than she meant to, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
He turned slightly toward her, though his chest remained angled toward the playground. Even in this moment, even while talking to her, he was still watching the boys. Still warning them without a word that their behavior was being tracked. That intensity made something low in her belly tighten.
“What doesn’t make sense?” His question was calm, but his dark eyes glinted as though he enjoyed her confusion.
Naomi’s mind scrambled, desperate for something sharp to say, something to put him in his place. She needed control back. Needed to shove this strange, suffocating attraction away. She opened her mouth—ready to deliver a scathing remark that might make him feel small, or at least distract herself.
But then she spotted her.
The woman from the other day.
Melissa Peterson sat on a bench a little ways off.
She wasn’t approaching. She wasn’t even watching directly.
Instead, her gaze kept drifting toward the Peterson house, her shoulders slumped forward, everything about her posture radiating defeat.
Occasionally her eyes flickered toward the playground, but mostly they lingered on the home that should have been hers.
“That’s Ms. Peterson,” Naomi blurted, lowering her voice. “I should… I should tell my employer that she’s here.” She paused for a moment, that response not feeling right. “I don’t know—”
“Don’t.” His interruption was sharp but not unkind, his deep voice brooking no argument.
Naomi blinked, tilting her face up to him. “Don’t?”
His lips pressed together briefly and he looked like he was contemplating something. Then he spoke again, his gaze steady on hers. “Your employer is a bastard.”
Naomi’s breath stalled. No one ever said that out loud. She’d thought it. Several times, in fact. And she’d seen the horrible impact Tom Peterson had on his sons’ behavior. But she’d never actually dared to speak that judgment out loud.
He nodded toward Melissa. “He divorced her because she caught him sleeping with hookers. In retribution, he took her kids, ruined her career, and made sure she could never get another teaching job. She works at one of those big box stores now, cashiering to survive, because he had her blacklisted from every school in the county. She’s not a threat.
She just wants to see her kids.” His tone shifted, dark and certain. “But her ex won’t allow it.”
Naomi’s stomach twisted. Her eyes returned to Melissa, slumped on the bench, looking so small, so beaten down. She thought of her boys under her care, of Mark and Jacob turning crueler with every passing day, and suddenly the pieces fit together in a way that made her chest ache.
“That’s…horrible,” she gasped, her voice thick with emotion. “Would you do that to your wife?”
“I’m not married.”
The flatness of his voice made her huff a sharp laugh, rolling her eyes despite herself. “If you were married, would you do that to your wife?”