Several days passed after the breakthrough in the kitchen, and each day, Stan awoke with a new sense of real bonding with his son. He spent most of his days with Louis by his side, playing games or building more model ships. He even let Louis into his workshop to watch him while he worked, though Remy watched from the doorway, biting her lip anxiously the entire time. If Louis would be living there full-time, he needed to understand what was in the workshop and why he couldn’t be in there without Stan.

Theresa came for her first visit and left after only an hour, more than satisfied with their progress. Stan wanted to be happy. Even the pain in his legs grew less noticeable with Louis to keep him distracted, but the nagging in Stan’s gut grew worse.

Remy’s smile wasn’t as bright as it had been a few days before, and she seemed to keep her distance from Stan. He understood her wanting to give him time with his son, but she didn’t join him later in the evening for a glass of wine and casual conversation. Even their coffee together in the morning before Louis woke up was limited to a few polite words before she made breakfast and started her list of duties for the day. Stan asked her several times what was bothering her, but she remained tight-lipped.

But two could play at this game. She pushed him and it was his turn to push back.

He checked on Louis, who was tuckered out from their morning visit to the park, another one of Remy’s ideas. Stan hadn’t been able to do much, but he could still toss a ball around. Remy was more than willing to run around with Louis while Stan watched on, laughing at their antics. She really was great with kids. For a second, he pictured her with her own children and what type of mom she would be. His hands froze on the wheels of his chair, and he frowned as he imagined those future kids having the same eyes as Louis.

Shaking his head to clear the impossible image, he rolled outside to the patio and squinted in the late afternoon sun, searching for Remy. He listened close and heard grunting along with several loud curses coming from around the other side of the house. Following the stone path, he wheeled his chair towards her, being sure to announce himself this time.

“Remy!”

“Oh… hey,” she said, pausing in her raking to wipe her arm across her forehead. “Dinner time already?”

“No, not yet, and Louis is passed out on the couch inside. I hoped we could talk.”

She leaned on the rake and her eyes darted past him towards the house. “Can I shower first?”

“No, because you’ll find something else to keep you busy, and then something else,” he argued sternly. “Something is bothering you, and I would like to know what it is and if it’s something I did.”

Her eye twitched and she pinched her tongue between her teeth. “Are you asking as my employer?”

“I’m asking as a friend,” he said softly. “Remy, what’s going on?”

She leaned the rake against the side of the house and tugged at her ear. “It’s not a big deal, really, and I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re good at not answering questions,” he muttered.

“A trait I learned from my mom. I’m frustrated about a few things and I don’t exactly have my usual…outlet to work through such problems,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Is that why you spend so much time in the gardens?” he asked.

“Pretty much. That and I couldn’t stand looking at them anymore. My mom would have a heart attack if she saw flower beds this sad and neglected.”

Stan blew out a breath of relief. At least he wasn’t the reason for the change in her, though she did say she was frustrated about a few things. He took his time studying her face and the way her jeans hugged her thighs and hips, how her damp, sweat-soaked tank showed off her curves and dipped low enough to give him a nice view of the tanned mounds of flesh his hands curled into fists wanting to touch. A sudden, burning hot longing erupted inside him, and he angled his chair so she hopefully wouldn’t catch the instant reaction his body had to his thoughts of peeling those sweaty clothes from her body.

“Uh, what is your outlet, anyway?” he asked, the words hoarse.

She tilted her head as she tapped her fingers on the rake handle. “I’m a bit of an artist. Painting, mostly, but I’m branching out into a few other projects. My studio is at my parents’ house because I wasn’t sure if you had room here.”

“Please, pick any room you want and it’s yours. You’ll be here for a while, and I’d prefer my nanny to be a happy nanny since she’s also my housekeeper and my cook,” he added, meaning it to be playful but also the truth. His words had a different effect. Remy’s eyes darkened.

“Thanks, I guess I’ll do that then. Do you think you can hold down the fort tomorrow while I go fetch everything I need?”

“We’ll manage for a few hours without you.” His hands slipped to the wheels to leave her be, but he wanted to keep talking to her, see her smile again, hear that deep-throated laugh he never heard enough of. “Want some help?”

“You want to get messy?” she asked, laughing.

He shrugged. “It is my yard and here you are, doing all the hard work.” He moved his chair to the edge of the patio and locked the wheels. His arms trembling as he lifted himself up, he almost made it to standing, but his legs shook when he tried to put any weight on them. Two arms closed around his middle and he leaned on Remy as she helped him stand up straight, walk the few steps into the flower bed, and sink down to his knees. She sat with him and her arms stayed closed around his torso for another moment before she drew back with a nervous cough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a look of surprise. “Nice to see you being a little more open to help and not biting my head off.”

He cringed as she handed him the small trowel. “I am sorry about that. It seems you’re changing quite a few things about me, including my mood.” He dug at the roots of a dead shrub, working to get the plant out of the ground. Sweat beaded his brow and dripped down his back, but the labor felt good. Working side-by-side with Remy helped. When half the shrub was out, he paused, sitting back on his heels. He bit his cheek, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he wanted to know. “You said you were frustrated about a few things.”

“Huh?” she asked, pausing with the hand rake as she worked the soil around the salvaged plants. “Oh, that… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Her eyes darkened even more as her gaze lingered on his face, shifting lower over his muscled shoulders and arms. When her gaze dipped even lower than that, his cheeks burned hot, and she shook her head, sending her hair flying out of its ponytail. Her face was flushed, but whether it was from the work or checking him out, Stan was unsure. She busied herself with the soil again, pointedly not speaking about the subject.

“You know, I think you’re more stubborn than I am,” he grunted, pulling at the roots of the shrub until they came free. He gave a triumphant yell and tossed the dead plant into the pile with the others.

“That’s not possible.” She panted as she worked at replanting one of the small shrubs she’d pulled up from the other end of the flowerbed. “You’re the most stubborn, pain-in-the-ass man I’ve ever met in my life.”

“You know you like it,” he teased, but her hands stilled and she blinked rapidly, keeping her gaze focused on the dirt beneath her hands.

The tension between them ratcheted up several notches until it was hard to breathe. Stan had found her attractive the second she stepped into his life. Everything she’d done since then only made him like her more and admire her for her strong personality and take-charge attitude. For the first time since the accident, too, arousal needled its way into his body—arousal and a longing for this woman to fall into bed with him and spend the rest of the afternoon there, twisted up in the sheets and each other’s arms. He straightened on his knees and reached carefully for her hands. Her breath caught in her chest as her whole body trembled from his touch. They were so close already, all Stan needed to do was slip his hand to the nape of her neck and lower his mouth to hers. A kiss, a sweet kiss to show her this attraction he hoped to God he felt was mutual.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and his gut twisted in raw desire to lick those lips. His hand was moving to the back of her neck when Louis called out to them.

“What are you guys doing?”

Stan immediately let go of Remy’s hands, and she returned to her work as he turned with a grin to see Louis running to the edge of the patio. His smirk said he knew exactly what they’d been about to do, and Stan narrowed his eyes at his son.

“Gardening. Want to help, or are you going to sleep for another ten hours?” he said jokingly and tossed the trowel to Louis.

They worked side by side for the next two hours, and it was the most natural time of Stan’s life. Remy relaxed, and they were laughing before long, turning the horrid, overgrown flowerbed into something resembling beauty.

“You know,” Remy said when they called it quits as the sun set behind them, “I could probably get my mom to deliver some plants for you. They would really bring this place back to life. It’s not too late in the season for some new colors.”

“Tell her I will pay her handsomely for them. I think we could use some colors.”

Remy and Louis helped him find his feet and land back in his chair. Anger spiked through him for a split second at how he was still trapped in the damn chair, but he quickly stamped it out as his usual guilty conscience slipped back into place. The smile remained plastered on his face, but all his joy from the afternoon was gone.

“Louis, why don’t you get washed up and we’ll get dinner going?” Remy suggested.

“Burgers and fries?” he asked hopefully.

Remy’s hands rested on her hips as she shrugged. “Sure, why not? Unless boss man here wants something else.”

“Hmm? No, no, that’s fine. I have to take care of a few things.”

He pushed his chair towards the workshop as Louis darted back inside the house. “Don’t you dare go hide in there and brood,” Remy called after him.

“I’m not.”

“Right, sure you’re not. Just make sure you’re in that happy mood when you come back out.”

Stan spun his chair back around, but the words stuck in his throat. Remy scowled at him, daring him to argue with her. He let out a deep breath and headed for the house instead. “Fine, fine. Happy?”

“No, I’d be happy if you’d stop brooding all the time when you think I’m not looking.”

“Says the woman who’s clearly hiding something herself,” he pointed out.

Remy’s face blanched and she nibbled her lip. “It’s different. I don’t have a son I have to take care of.”

“It’s not different. You’re hiding something, just like I am.” He rolled closer, unsure what he planned on doing when he reached her. She turned around with a muttered curse, but he was faster and reached out for her waist, drawing her back with a surprised “Oh!” into his lap.

“Stan, what are you doing?” she asked, trying to get up, but he held on tighter. The ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “Really, this is not… this is not appropriate,” she added in a whisper.

“Neither is this,” he murmured and grabbed the nape of her neck, turned her face, and captured her lips in a steamy kiss. He was worried he was too clumsy, but her hands slithered around his body and she drew him closer as the kiss stretched on. His legs throbbed in pain from her weight, but he didn’t want her to leave his lap. His tongue reached out tentatively, seeking the warmth of her mouth, and her lips parted on a sigh. He ravished her mouth, her quiet moans sending his desire spiraling out of control. If he wasn’t stuck in this damn chair and his son wasn’t inside, he’d have her right there on the damn patio, covered in sweat and dirty from the day’s work.

“Stan,” she whispered against his lips, her need evident in the hoarseness of that one word. Then she shifted on his lap and pulled back, her eyes wide as she stared down at his groin. “Oh, God… oh shit, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he grumbled as she pulled away even more.

She gave him an exasperated look. “You know what. Damn it, I didn’t want this to happen. I’m sorry, I should…uh, I should get inside and work on dinner.”

She slipped out of his hands before he could catch her and rushed inside the house, leaving him out on the patio wondering what the hell went wrong.

She’s the nanny, you idiot, he scolded himself as he wheeled himself inside. She’s probably worried she’ll mess up her job if she gets involved with you. Or mess up this chance with your son, and you just had to go and push her.

His throbbing erection took a while to go away as he showered and dressed for dinner. He imagined burying himself in Remy and hearing her whisper his name again or cry it out loudly so it echoed through the house.

The house where his son lived, too. He hung his head, cursing his difficult circumstances. He would have to find a way to control his longing for her, at least until he had a plan for how to successfully woo her without Louis being around to see or hear anything. As he made his way back to the kitchen and heard Remy laughing with Louis, he put on his best relaxed, happy face and pretended he wasn’t itching to start that kiss all over again and show her he was falling for her.