CHAPTER FOUR
Alex was sitting in his office, mechanically concluding some business on his laptop. His head swam with thoughts of her.
I need to be objective about this.
But how could he be? The look in her eyes when she confronted him. The passion in her voice. And the soft skin of her wrist, in between his strong fingers, making his body tense and stiff with longing even as his heart admired her.
She is fearless. She confronted me without a second word. She glared at me.
He wanted to smile, thinking of the fierceness in those hazel hawkish eyes. She was a fighter, and yet her heart was big. Why else had she defended the children, against him?
Am I really as bad as she said?
He swallowed hard. It was difficult to understand, difficult to know where he had gone wrong in his care for them. All these years since Ada had been here…He stopped. It was still too hard to think of her. Here, in this space, where he could almost, if he listened hard, hear her laughter on the air coming from the bedroom next door, where she lay in a satiny gown, just waiting for him.
Pull yourself together.
Alex shook his head, mind whirling. He had not felt like this for years. His cock was pulsing in his pants and his heart raced. He had thought himself devoid of desire, had thought he had long ago given up feeling this for any other woman. Until now.
Until a small, pert and lovely young au pair had confronted him.
He swallowed, thinking of her curvy form in the tight jeans, her plaid blouse loose and casual under that abundance of shiny hair. He felt his throat tighten at the memory of her pale skin, the moist pinkness of her lips, the swell of breasts pushing the buttons of her shirt.
She is here somewhere, in my house. Alone.
Alex clenched his hands into fists. He should not be thinking about her like this. She was his children's nanny. He had met her three days before in a hallway, when she ran into him. And now. He recalled the brief first meeting with a smirk. She had cannoned into him and he had, for the briefest instant, known what it felt like for those breasts to press against him, for that soft body to be pressed up close against his.
He wondered what she would do if he drew her close again. If he held her. Kissed her.
The thought sent an unfortunate excitation to his groin and he clenched his teeth, fighting it down. He would not touch her.
But he had to apologise.
What if she took it into her head to leave? He was here for two days and then he had another business-meeting to fly off to, this one longer this time. He could not imagine anyone with whom he would leave his children. And it was too late to start looking now. Besides, he trusted her. Already. If she would defend them against him, how much more so against anything else?
“Come on,” he told himself wryly. “Better go do it.”
He glanced at the clock. It was ten o’clock in the evening, past suppertime. He had eaten a little at the dining table alone. He had no idea whether or not she had even taken anything. Feeling a sudden pang of guilt for that, as well as for his earlier cruelness, he stood and walked slowly from the room.
He found himself pausing by the window, dragging fingers through his short, dark hair to make sure it was arranged properly. He blinked at himself in the window, amazed.
Alexander Carring, he told himself wryly, you are apologising to a nanny. Not presenting a million-dollar deal at a business-do. Or going on a date.
The last thought made his pulse quicken and he quickly fought it down. Walking along the hallway he reached the door to the room he had assigned Miss Blunt.
He knocked.
No answer.
He waited, listening. Somewhere, he could hear water running. And a thread of sound suggested someone sang. He listened, feeling his heart beat faster.
She was in the shower, clearly. It was not simply the thought of water cascading over that naked skin, glistening on her wet breasts and strong thighs that moved him, though. It was the strange intimacy and innocence of her voice. High and clear, it spoke to him of sweetness, of simple pleasures. Things he had lost.
He knocked again. The water was off, but he did not receive an answer and assumed she had not heard. He was leaning on the lintel, lost in pleasant daydreaming when the door suddenly shot open. He found himself looking down into a face that looked up, as surprised to see him as he was in that moment.
“Uh, Miss Emma…”
He cleared his throat, feeling deliciously confused. It had been many years, too many, since he had been so surprised, so clearly put at disadvantage. The feeling was surprisingly nice. And she was also surprising.
This close, her fresh-washed hair just curling with the warmth of her skin, smelling of roses and toothpaste, mixed, her skin clean and radiant, he had to fight not to touch her.
Her eyes were wide open, the whites showing all around from shock. Her lips had parted, too, and the space between them was a little o. Perfect, he thought, for sliding in a tongue, for deepening a kiss, for tasting those sweet lips.
He groaned. Emma stared up at him, even more confused.
“Sir?”
She was wearing a dressing gown, and the instant she had seen him, she had clutched it around herself. He could just see the soft white skin of her chest, here untouched by sunshine, but he fought the urge to look at it, following it down to the curve of her breasts, and looked into her eyes.
“Forgive me, Miss Blunt,” he said, voice oddly raw. “I meant to come to tell you…to say that…Oh, damn it! Sorry,” he added, waving a long hand in a careless gesture that he hoped conveyed confusion. “I wanted to say you should stay. You will, won't you? For the month like we agreed on earlier?”
Emma stared up at him. He could not read her thoughts, but had he been able to, he would have been surprised. She looked confused, and she was. But it was not simply because of his sudden appearance outside her bedroom when all she was wearing was a dressing gown.
It was the sudden change in manners.
I thought you hated me. She stared up at him, trying to work out in her mind what had affected this sudden transformation. He was here, being deferential, kind, shy, even. What happened?
“Mr. Carring,” Emma said, clearing her throat, feeling just the name on her lips send strange heat through her body, “I'm sorry. I was showering.” She made an embarrassed gesture with her hands, taking in the tatty bathrobe, the wet hair, the lack of makeup of any kind. “If you want to discuss our contract, perhaps I should…dress?” she gave a weak laugh and inclined her head sideways.
“Oh, um, yes. Fine. Of course,” Alexander said distractedly. Emma glanced sideways at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. I was distracted. By…um…the view. Out of the window. Isn’t it nice?” He gestured to the window that looked out over the pool. Lit with floodlights, the water bluish and inviting, Emma had to agree that it was a nice view.
He wasn't looking at the window, before. Her face flushed warmly and she bit her lip, feeling a familiar wetness between her thighs. It was the closeness, her undress, after their little confrontation. She wanted him like she had thought not to want anyone, ever again.
“I'll get decent,” Emma said decidedly, then ducked inside.
“I guess we should meet in my office, yes?” Alexander said, clearing his throat as she followed him along the corridor.
“Okay,” Emma agreed with a little frown.
A tingle spread up from his groin through his whole body. Something about the sway of her walk was so alluring he wanted to reach out and draw her towards him. Come on. You can't very well take her down there and seduce her.
He walked along the silent hallway, feet sinking into the satiny carpet. She followed. They reached the office.
“Here we are,” he said, seeming suddenly hesitant. “My private abode.”
Emma bit her lip. Alexander wondered what she was thinking. She seemed somehow nervous. He sighed. He wished he could do something to relieve her nervousness, but, then, he himself didn't exactly feel confident, what with her so close and in his private space.
They faced each other over the achingly neat desk, suddenly hesitant.
“I asked you here to…”
“I guess I should—”
They both spoke at once, then laughed.
“Sorry,” Alexander began, recovering his equilibrium first. “I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. And to ask if we could reconsider. I want you to stay here.”
Emma stared at him. “Of course,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like we tore up the contract or anything.” She chuckled weakly, looking down at the desk.
“Emma.”
The way he said her name surprised him. He cleared his throat, wanting to try again, less hoarse, but his mouth was dry. Emma looked up at him, eyes big and longing.
“What?” she asked gently.
“I—” Alexander stopped. He didn't know what to do from here. His whole body was aching for her, to touch that smooth skin, to feel her lips part under his own. She had such beautiful skin, as soft and pliable as petals, or so he imagined. He faced her and leaned in towards her slowly.
I hope she doesn't hate me.
He couldn't help it, though. He had to kiss her. Had to try. His lips met hers. She did not flinch away.
Alexander felt his loins ignite. Her mouth was soft, so much softer even than it looked. His lips were gentle and they nipped at hers, exploring hers carefully. She sighed, and her own pouting lips parted just a little. His tongue flickered over the moist patch between, and, as she made a small noise, slid inside. She let her own tongue slide along his. She tasted like mint and something sweet and sinfully nice. He felt his body catch fire.
He broke the kiss and found himself feeling suddenly weak. He leaned on the desk, eyes closed, face before hers. This is the first time I have felt anything for anyone, since Ada.
“Sorry,” he said, eyes still closed. When he opened them again, he wasn't sure what she saw on his face, but she looked worried. Her brow raised and a little frown appeared there.
“Sorry?” she said softly.
“I…It was wrong of me to…to do that,” he stuttered. “Not just because…” He left it there, then stood up straight again.
Shaking his head as if to clear it from sleep, he looked at her. Emma stared back. Her hands reached for his but fell slightly short. He stayed where he was. The sudden knowledge that he was here, in the office, kissing a woman he had only just met, here in this space where Ada's picture watched him. He gritted his teeth, turning away to look out of the window.
“Mr. Carring?”
“Alexander,” he said automatically. Then he sighed. “Sorry. This is silly. It's late. Forgive my…my lapse of manners. We are agreed you will stay the month. Yes? We will reassess then. Please forget what we just did. I apologise for it.”
Emma stared at him. His accent was brittle. It was most perfect. He seemed to be withdrawing from her by the moment, as if winter settled over him, turning the warm flesh to ice. She swallowed hard.
“I understand, Mr. Carring,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes. Now he hurt her. Chased her away. At least she would think him crazy. At worst she would hate him. But he could bear it. He had to. He had to end this now before it got any worse for either of them.
“Now go,” he said hoarsely. “It's late and I need to catch up with work.”
Emma nodded and, silent, she stood, walking across the carpet, her high-heeled shoes leaving a soft trace in the rich, soft pile of it. At the door she stopped.
He had not moved. He was staring straight ahead, looking through her. Emma reached for the door handle and very quietly opened and shut it behind her.
As she closed it, he collapsed back on to the chair.
“Ada, forgive me.”
He closed his eyes, letting the traces of the lust that had risen so suddenly slowly dissipate. He knew his body longed for the sweet curves and scented skin of this lovely woman. But his heart was not his. Ada had taken that with her when she left him.
Ada.
Her picture regarded him from the shelf and he recalled the torment of losing her, the pain that wounded his heart and wounded it, every day, when he saw that small picture, when he walked in the garden she had helped to plan. When he saw his children—Jack's gold hair, Camille’s eyes.
“Ada,” he whispered. “Help me.”
Miss Blunt was right. He had hurt his children, making them lose trust in him. What if they never regained that trust? What if they learned to fear, and then to hate. Ada would not have wished for that.
But I only want to protect them. I want to keep them safe from all harm. I could not bear to lose them.
Alexander sighed. He ran a weary hand down his face, letting his nerves settle. He looked at the clock. It was late. He should finish his correspondences and then go to bed. He had been travelling all day.
It’s my mind—it’s playing tricks. How else could he be somehow slowly and inexorably falling in love with his children’s au pair?
Alexander sighed and, opening up his sheaf of correspondences, settled down to work.