I can do this.

After all, it was my decision—all of it. Insisting to work for Matt Hansen, practically pushing my way into his house and his life, and last night… it was my decision, too. Maybe not entirely conscious at the time, but still.

I agreed to it. I accepted it.

Wanted it like few things in my life.

Matt gives me the money I spent on shopping, and asks for a list of things I need for the house, for the kids, for the kitchen. It’s a strange feeling, running a house.

Then again… not really. I’ve run our house most of the time, since Mom is out working at all times. It’s weird because it’s another house.

His house.

Makes me feel like I’m part of his family. His girlfriend, his wife… Which is a trip down the rabbit hole.

Makes me wonder how he must feel.

I cast him a glance as I get ready to go and stop buttoning up my coat.

He’s sitting on the sofa, sprawled back, powerful shoulders pressed to the cushions, watching his kids play at his feet. His arms aren’t folded over his chest, his hands not clenched into fists, instead lying by his sides.

He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in days, his eyes sleepy, shaded by his lashes.

With his dark hair and beard, with those pretty eyes, that broad chest and long legs, God… He’s so handsome my mouth dries up.

This is such a bad idea…

I know I said we should forget all about it—but how do you forget your first night? Your first sex experience with a handsome guy, who also happens to be your boss and whom you’ll see day after day? I’m still smarting from the aftermath, but the sex itself? It was so good. Just thinking about it makes me throb deep inside.

Just then he looks up, catches my gaze and his gaze sharpens, narrows.

And he smiles, a faint, soft curve of his lips that brands itself on my soul and stays with me as I take the bus home and lie in my bed in the night.

He has beautiful smile, even hesitant and uncertain like now. I’d love to see him grin. As a matter of fact, what would his laughter sound like?

So I lie in my bed and wonder… what would it take to hear it?

* * *

The next couple of days pass smoothly enough. Matt went shopping like he promised and brought back everything I could think of and then some. We stuffed the fridge and cupboards, and there’s even ice cream and cookie dough in there.

I want his kids to eat healthy, but they’re kids, and they deserve something sweet at the end of the day.

As does he, that little voice in the back of my head pipes up. He deserves some sugar.

That’s one naughty, bad little voice.

Matt can eat ice cream with his kids, and shut up about it.

Talking to myself probably isn’t a good sign for my sanity. As if I didn’t know it when I told him I was staying. We’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room, pretending it never happened. Never mentioned it again. What happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen, and it’s okay. I’m over it.

I don’t really want to talk about it, anyway, so this suits me just fine.

Really. Just fine.

And it makes no sense why, when I find Adam waiting for me outside my house and suggests we go for ice cream, I immediately say yes.

I mean, he didn’t come back after our last outing. I figured he wasn’t coming back. Not that I’d blame him. I told Matt that Adam is not my boyfriend, and I thought the message had gone through, loud and clear when I refused to kiss Adam goodnight.

You’d think he’d avoid me after that. That he’d be pissed. His masculinity wounded, or something. But he smiles at me as we walk through the quiet streets.

I stare at his smile a moment too long, still thinking of Matt’s faint smile when I told him I was staying. So different, their expressions. I still haven’t put my finger on the difference when Adam asks me how I’ve been.

“Fine,” I tell him. “Busy.”

“Still a nanny?”

“Yeah. I love those kids.”

He starts whistling a tune, his hands in his pockets as we reach the ice cream shop. He only stops when we stand in the small line. “Didn’t think you’d still be working for that guy. He’s a real piece of work.”

“Why do you say that?” I frown at him.

He doesn’t reply.

We give our orders, and I catch Jessica winking at him.

Seriously?

And should I be upset?

Shaking my head, I accept my cone and we walk back outside. I’m quiet. Not sure what to say when he’s not saying a word. Weirdly, he’s smiling again.

“So, no more threatening messages?” I finally ask as we approach the house. “I haven’t seen you around. You’ve been busy, too?”

“Been visiting my sister,” he says.

“Is she okay?”

“Not really.” He swallows his ice cream in three bites, cone and all. We stop at my front gate and this time when he smiles down at me, I think I’ve figured out what’s bothering me about this expression.

Matt’s smile may have been faint, but it was at the same time deep, full of thoughts and feeling. Full of questions and maybe promises. Or so it felt like.

Adam’s smile is steady. Fixed. A bit flat.

Disconnected from his gaze that’s so hard right now I squirm.

“My sister,” he says, “is in pain. The kind of pain I can’t take away, or else I would. She lost someone dear to her.”

I take a step back, my hand flying to my chest. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “So am I.”

The hard look fades for a brief moment from his green eyes. Pain replaces it.

Then he turns away and leaves without another word.

* * *

“Go, Tati.” Gigi giggles later on, the window casting moonlight between our beds. “Caught between two tortured men. Torn in two.”

“It’s not funny. And I’m not torn.”

“Oh yeah. Whatever.”

“His sister lost someone. Must be depressed or something. Give him a break.”

“I am. But it’s you I’m teasing, not him. Besides… you’re in love.”

I throw a pillow at her. “I’m so not.”

“Uh-huh. Question is, who are you in love with? Pretty neighbor with the tragic sister or tortured man-bear with a side of asshole?”

“Gigi!” I flop on my back to look up at the ceiling, something I’ve been doing a lot lately. Sleep evades me, thoughts of Matt crowding my mind.

Images, memories of that smile, his voice, his gentleness with his kids… his strong body covering me, his cock moving inside me.

Heat washes over me, pooling in my belly, a deep pulse starting inside me.

Oh God.

“Tati? Why are you blushing?” Suddenly Gigi has jumped out of her bed and climbed into mine. “Don’t tell me… holy crap!” Gigi’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t do it with him, did you?”

With perfect timing, Merc pokes his head through the door right then. “Did what? The ugly deed? And with whom?”

“Merc!”

“That’s my name,” he says easily.

“You’re not supposed to eavesdrop,” Gigi accuses.

“I’m not eavesdropping.” He leans against the doorframe in his Assassin’s Creed PJs and half-closes his eyes. “Have you talked to that Adam guy lately?”

“Yeah. We went for ice cream earlier today. Why?”

He shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“Wondering what, Merc?”

He’s grown so much. I still expect to see the little, gangly, freckled kid he used to be when he enters a room.

Of course his voice often ruins the impression before he even enters. It broke a couple of years ago, and now it’s deep.

Not as deep as Matt’s, though.

And there goes again my resolution to stop thinking about Matt.

Jeezus, Octavia. Get a grip.

“So what about Adam?” Gigi asks, making herself way too comfortable in my bed, grabbing my pillow and pulling it toward her. “You been investigating him, or what?”

“Or what,” Merc says flatly. “I don’t go about playing at being one of those detectives you and Mom like to watch on TV.”

“Homeland?” Gigi sighs and folds her arms behind her head. “Rupert Friend is dreamy.”

Merc sighs and tilts his head back, all but rolling his eyes. “No, Gigi. That’s not even a detective show. Sometimes…”

“Merc, what about Adam?” I press. I shouldn’t care about gossip or whatever it is Merc heard. But I can’t deny I’m curious.

“Tongues wagging about town?” Gigi drawls.

“No, it’s not that. I didn’t hear anything.” Merc looks uneasy. “I’ve heard much more about Matt Hansen than Adam. Like… nobody seems to have noticed Adam moving here, or knows anything about him.”

“Discreet,” Gigi says approvingly.

My turn to roll my eyes. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Adam is hot. I’d go out for ice cream with him anytime.”

“And what about Quinn?” Merc shakes his head. “Wait, forget I ever asked. Anyway, the thing with Adam…” He blinks, shakes his head again. “Actually, you know what? Forget about that, too. I probably made a big deal out of nothing. G’night, gals.”

“Wait!” I jump out of bed as he turns to go. “You can’t leave it like this. It’s unfair.”

I think he’ll laugh and ignore me, but he stops and chews on his lower lip.

“Listen, I may be wrong, but you said Adam lives in old Mr. Collins’s house down the street? Or did I imagine that?”

“No, that’s right.”

Merc nods. “Then why is Mr. Collins still living there with all his cats?”

* * *

I ring Mr. Collins’s doorbell the next day on my way to the bus stop, but nobody answers the door. When I try to peek through the windows, I find the curtains drawn.

There has to be an explanation. I’m pretty sure this is the house Adam showed me. But maybe I misunderstood. I must have.

Or maybe he’s renting a room. God knows that house is small, but who knows? Maybe there’s an attic. Or he’s renting the house and Mr. Collins only came by to collect the rent.

In any case, it’s none of my business, and no matter what Merc thinks, there’s nothing sinister going on here.

It makes absolutely no sense why I’m still thinking about it. Merc’s unease has probably seeped into me. Unease by osmosis, courtesy of my brother.

Hey, stranger things have happened.

Meanwhile, work is calling me, and all thoughts of Adam and the strange happenings on my street fly out of my head when I find out the kids are sick.

Matt has dark shadows under his eyes, and vomit over his white T-shirt. He manages to look both in control and way in over his head, like some powerful God with a hangover.

He insists that he should stay home to look after his kids, and it’s sweet, but I’ve got this.

I gently but firmly shove him toward the bathroom to shower and change—without peeking, honest—and afterward push him out the door with a promise to call if there’s any need.

He hesitates on the doorstep, though, his gaze straying to the staircase and up, where his kids are lying sick in bed, and my heart flips over. Nothing like a big, brooding man all torn over his children being unwell.

This is dangerous for my heart. Very dangerous.

I have to keep reminding myself Matt Hansen isn’t the man for me. No matter how handsome, how sexy, no matter how much I’d like to ease the torment in his dark eyes… lusting after him, falling for him is a bad idea all around.

You know it.

My rational brain knows it. My body has other ideas, though, getting all hot and bothered whenever he’s near.

He finally leaves, and the act of cleaning up vomit, soothing feverish kids and cooking broth for them takes my mind off all the ways my body wants Matt.

Virgin to slut in one night, I swear… this is so ridiculous. Especially with him pushing me away afterward and this uneasy truce between us.

But I won’t think about that. Not again.

Mary calls my name from upstairs, so I hurriedly fill two bowls with broth and take them to their bedroom.

Poor kids. They look like hell, tired and cranky. Ugh. I pray to God I won’t catch his bug. At least the room doesn’t stink of vomit anymore.

I set the tray down on Mary’s bed, tuck napkins over their laps and make sure the broth isn’t scalding before placing the bowls in front of them.

Not surprisingly, they aren’t very hungry. Cole wants to hear a story, so I grab one of the books from one of their still unpacked boxes and read them the story of Alexander and his Terrible, Horrible, Not good, Very bad Day.

I think it fits, even if it’s for children older than Cole. He seems to like it, small head cocked to the side, blue eyes bright. Mary stirs her spoon in the bowl, flicking me glances. I can see she likes it, too.

Getting into the rhythm of reading is easy. Acting out the story is second nature. Got lots of practice under my belt with Gigi and Merc.

The book distracts them enough to eat some of the broth and bread I put on the side.

“Another story,” Cole whines the moment I’m done. Mary makes puppy eyes at me and pouts.

Oh God… They’re so frigging cute. How can I ever say no?

Much like their terrible brute of a sexy daddy, these kids are irresistible…