Page 34 of Never Bargain with the Boss
He huffs, not exactly laughing at my ‘joke’ but not telling me I’m overreacting, either. “Me too. I don’t know where that’s coming from. They’ve been such good friends, so hopefully, it’s just a slip of the tongue.”
“Yeah, hope so,” I say, not agreeing but not wanting to push it.
It’s not that I’m assuming the worst of a child I’ve never met. But experience tells me that her comment was a calculated attack on one of Grace’s best features. It reeks of jealousy, but I’ll hold that opinion for now until I get a bit more information, which I’ll definitely be pumping Grace for during our after-school chats from now on.
“Thank you for trying to teach me how to braid, but I will never be able to do whatever you just did. I’ve tried, even watched YouTube videos, but I get tangled in knots every time.” He moves his fingers around a little, bumping them into one another to demonstrate how awful he is at braiding, and I can’t help but laugh. He lowers his voice like he’s confessing a crime. “One time, I got it so twisted at the bottom that we had to cut the knot out. I think it traumatized me more than Grace, but I don’t want to do that again. Ever.”
I’m not surprised he can’t braid, but I am surprised he admitted there’s something he’s not good at. As a rule, men like Cameron don’t go around highlighting their weaknesses. But he’s exposing one to me without hesitation.
“Alright, I’ll make it a mission to teach Grace, then, so she can do it on her own after I’m gone.”
It slips out, the reminder that this is a temporary gig, and it sits heavily in the air between us.
“I’m not interviewing other nannies,” Cameron blurts out, and I get the sense he didn’t mean to tell me that. Like he’s got words flying off his tongue too, which is an interesting development for the ‘think first, speak later, or maybe never’ man.
“Well, I’m not looking for other jobs. Or possible vacations,” I reply, because a share deserves a share.
A smile slowly steals across Cameron’s lips, and it’s downright dazzling. I think the one on my face matches it.
“Want some tea? Ooh, with the new honey?” I ask, stepping past him to go to the kitchen. And when I glance back for his answer, I find him openly staring at my ass.
Before he catches me catching him, I whip my head around. The grin on my face now is entirely different. And much more daring.
Because I just realized that Cameron Harrington isn’t immune to my charms. Not the literal ones on my bracelets—still pretty sure he hates those—nor my physical ones. And maybe not my personality ones either since he’s not looking to throw me out the front door for getting overly involved with Grace.
At the cabinet, I stretch up on my tippy toes to grab my favorite mugs from the second shelf and unexpectedly feel him come up behind me. “Here, let me,” he says, his long arm reaching over my shoulder.
I drop to my feet, my back grazing against the hard planes of his chest and my ass skimming over the bulge in his slacks. He’s not erect, but there’s no denying that he’s large, even in a soft state.
A familiar wave of heat rushes through me as my core clenches, reminding me that it’s been a long time. A very long time.
He sets the mugs on the counter, and then his hands find the edge of the white stone, gripping it tightly as I’m surrounded bythe cage of his arms. My breath catches as I freeze in place, and I swear I hear him inhale deeply. Like he’s sniffing me.
Slowly, I turn in the circle he’s created around me to find that his pupils are dilated, but his expression is hard and unreadable as he scowls at me.
He looks… angry.
No, that’s not it. The intensity is the same, but the heat in his eyes is different and the scowl doesn’t seem directed at me, even though his gaze drifts from my eyes over my cheeks to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
Is he going to pin me to the counter and take my mouth? Or pick me up and fuck me against the counter, right here in the kitchen?
Do I want him to do either of those things? Both?
Not wanting to examine the answers to my own questions, I stammer, “Thanks. For the mugs.”
The moment stretches, neither of us moving. We’re so close that a kiss seems inevitable, except he’s a few inches taller than me, so one of us will have to adjust for that. The only problem is… it won’t be him. He’s got an ironfisted grip on his restraint and won’t release it for anything, not even his own desires. And it won’t be me. He’s everything I secretly desire—stable and reliable—but I won’t cross that line with my boss, not even for him. In a twisted Schrodinger’s cat way, if he did respond to my advances, it’d ruin the very thing I do like about him—his predictability.
“I think I’ll do whiskey tonight instead of tea,” he says, stepping away sharply. “You want one?”
I feel floaty, like his gravitational pull was the only thing holding me in place, and now that he’s gone, I could simply drift away into the ether.
But as his words process, I laugh internally. Could he be hoping for a bit of whiskey dick? With what I just felt against my ass, I don’t think he’s gonna be that lucky.
But given the look in his eyes, neither am I. “Sure.”
CAMERON
On the back patio, I flip the switch to turn on the gas fireplace and take what’s become my usual seat in the corner of the couch sectional. It’s odd to think of it as ‘my spot’ when a bare few weeks ago, I rarely even sat out here. Usually, my evenings were spent with Grace and, too often, sneaking in a few more hours of work after she went to bed.