Chapter 7 #2
When we both finally look away from the view and at each other, I see a flash in his eyes of something just as primal as what I was feeling.
Or maybe he’s horrified by what my pores look like in this bright natural light.
Whatever he was feeling, he blinks and looks away, and any sign of it is gone.
He goes over to the island and picks up two printouts from the counter, along with a pen.
“I feel weird about doing this, but this is a standard NDA and the employment contract that Margo’s lawyer has all of our domestic employees sign. Sorry—I hate calling you that.”
“It’s fine. That’s totally what I am to you now.”
He clears his throat. “Right. You don’t have to sign it now. You can look it over or have your attorney look at it…”
I scoff at that. “Sure. I’ll have my legal team go over it first.” I pick up the pen and sign both pages without reading them.
“And my business manager is supposed to e-mail you about setting up payments.”
“Yes, his office has reached out to me, thank you.”
“Cool. Also, he said it would be better to buy a car and then sell it, rather than rent one for three months, so someone’s going to deliver a Volvo with car seats tomorrow morning. Hope that’s okay.”
“Are you kidding? I love Volvos.”
He manages to laugh at that.
“No, really.”
“Well, just don’t go on any joyrides and crash it.”
“I mean. I’ll try not to.”
“I’ll give your e-mail address to the kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Babcock, so you’ll get cc’d on their class updates and schedules.
Get ready for a stuffed inbox.” He winces and then shakes his head as soon as he says that, probably wishing he could erase that phrase from my memory as I simultaneously try to stop picturing this man stuffing my inbox.
“Great. And I’ve got Margo’s e-mail address now, so I’ll be sending her pictures of the kids and keeping her in the loop.”
“Oh good. She’ll like that.”
“Yup. All good. If you want to take a shower, don’t let me keep you.”
“I’ll help you bring your stuff in, get you settled first. Unless my workout stank is offensive to your highly trained nose, then I can shower first.”
“Nope. I am definitely dealing with it. Let’s get me settled.”
Shane carries my enormous duffel bag full of clothes and pulls my even more enormous hardside suitcase that contains carefully bubble-wrapped perfume supplies, while I carry my portable perfumer’s organ into the nanny room.
This room is just down the hall from the kitchen, with an adjoining bathroom.
I place the perfume organ on the floor by the desk that’s under the window.
“It’s called an organ?” he says, wrinkling his untrained nose.
“That’s what a perfumer’s workbench is traditionally called, yes.
This one’s basically a fancy folding spice rack for containers of materials that I use for creating scents.
My little fragrance lab.” I carefully open it up on the floor so he can see all of the little amber, blue, and clear bottles on the shelves.
“Cool. You’re going to set that up in here?”
“Yeah, on this desk, but I’ll have to move the desk away from the window so the sunlight doesn’t degrade the contents.”
“I don’t think this room gets a lot of direct sunlight, but I’ll help you with that.” He comes over to lift up one side of the desk.
“Oh, now? Okay.” I take hold of the edge of the other side of the desk, and we carry it to the nearby wall.
“We should tell the kids not to come in here. You want me to put a lock on the door? Or can you keep the bottles locked up in this thing when you aren’t using them? I don’t want the twins to break anything.”
“I’ve found that it’s better to just show kids exactly what’s in the bottles and let them handle them. It’s curiosity and the lure of the forbidden that tends to lead to broken things and messes.” For kids and grown-ups.
He nods, as if he’s agreeing with me, but says, “Maybe with French kids, but literally everything leads to broken things and messes around here.”
“Yeah. Your house is a disaster.”
“The housekeeper came yesterday. There should be plenty of towels in your bathroom. Consuelo made the bed. There are extra sheets in the closet and tons of hangers, I think. The laundry room is downstairs. I’ll show you later.”
I can’t help smiling. He’s very considerate for a male host. When I got to my brother’s loft, all he said was, “There’s your futon; there’s the bathroom. If you get your girly things all over the place, I’ll throw them out.”
Shane puts his hands on his hips and looks around, his gaze pausing on the bed for a second before returning to meet mine. “Anything else you need? I should probably hit the showers now.”
“No, I’ll start unpacking. Then maybe you can show me the rest of the house before we pick up the kids.” I slide the elastic hair band from my wrist and lift my hair up to put it into a ponytail so I can get to work, but a few strands seem to be caught in the clasp of my necklace. “Ow.”
I tug on my hair and struggle to untangle the mess, but all of a sudden I feel Shane’s fingers graze mine, his breath on the back of my neck as he pushes my hair to one side.
“I’ll get it. Hold your hair up.”
It’s a gruff command, and I do as he says.
He carefully unhooks the necklace and meticulously frees each strand of hair from the gold chain and clasp. I can imagine how patient he must be with his kids. But I can also imagine how thorough and focused he must be with women.
He may or may not be breathing in the scent that’s emanating from my wrists and my neck.
I may or may not be holding my breath and squeezing my inner thighs together.
“You want me to put it back on for you?”
I nod. “Yes, please. Hang on. I’ll put my hair up first.” I pull my hair up into a high pony while he holds the necklace in place around my neck.
When I lower my hands, sliding them into the front pockets of my jeans, I remain perfectly still and face forward as he fastens the clasp.
The fingertips of one hand drag down just an inch of bare skin at the base of my neck and then over my T-shirt between my shoulder blades, making my breath catch, sending a delirious shiver all through me.
I turn my head the tiniest bit.
If he doesn’t move, I will turn my whole body to face him. I have to. How can I not, in this moment?
But he’s out the door without a word.
Leaving me here with a tension between my legs that may never be resolved, a pulse that has skyrocketed, and my hand over the little gold heart pendant that I bought years ago to remind myself of how important it is to protect that vital organ from the likes of Shane Miller.