by Lizzie Shane
CHAPTER TEN
She’d been reading too many romance novels. Watching too much Scandal. That was the only explanation.
Samira paused on the second floor landing on Saturday morning, looking not to the left where the girls’ suite was, but to the right. Toward the master.
She should talk to him. She needed to talk to him.
Last night had been surreal. She barely remembered what either of them had said. Something about being good people? But also having urges? The words hadn’t mattered. Not in that strange double talk conversation where she felt like she didn’t understand anything that was humming beneath the words. But she had felt like she understood him. Like she saw him and he saw her and the connection was tangible, this living, physical force filling the air between them. Drawing them together like magnets. Electromagnetic force. That was what it was. And now she needed to wipe that memory away. To bleach it from her mind.
She had feelings for him and she’d let her stupid crush get away from her. She needed to fix this.
Her position was precarious. He could get another nanny. If he thought she’d crossed some line, he could fire her on the spot. And then what would she do? Where would she go? What would happen to the girls? They were her life now and even if they weren’t her children, they were still hers.
Right before she’d come downstairs last night she’d just read a scene with insanely hot chemistry. She’d been primed to think of him as a hero when really he was her boss and they needed to keep that line in place.
Samira hovered on the landing, straining her ears for some sign of him stirring in his room. It was early. The girls wouldn’t even be up yet. She could clear the air right now. She needed to diffuse this before either of them could blow it out of proportion in their minds—though on second thought it was already too late for her.
The most cowardly part of her told her to wait. To let him make the first move. To pretend nothing had happened—because really, what had happened? A little drink between friends? If she even brought it up, wouldn’t she be making it into more than it was? She could wait and see how he reacted over breakfast…
She would, if he wasn’t awake. She’d take it as a sign.
She knocked softly—almost inaudibly—on the door to the master suite. “Mr. Raines?” Much safer to call him Mr. Raines or sir. No more of this Aiden nonsense.
A moment passed and she almost started to turn away when a deep voice growled, “Come in!”
Okay. She could do this. She was going to take the bull by the horns and clear the air. Nothing had happened and that nothing was never going to happen again. End of story.
Samira took a deep breath and entered the room in a rush. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Raines—” She was five feet into the room when the scene in front of her registered and the words choked off.
He had an open concept master suite. She’d thought it was one of the strangest ideas imaginable when Chloe had first shown it to her. The bedroom flowed straight into the master bath with only a couple of glass partitions dividing the space. Samira couldn’t imagine wanting to be on display while she bathed, but Chloe had winked at her wickedly the first time Samira had gawked at the shower stall that was clearly visible from the rest of the room.
Now she gawked for an entirely different reason.
The rainshower poured down on Aiden as he stood beneath it, water flowing over every contour of his body. His chest and arms were sculpted in a way that gave evidence to the fact that he spent many of his lunch hours in the company gym, working out as he mentally worked through problems. One arm braced against the glass wall in front of him, his head bent forward, the tendons in his neck straining as he groaned, “Come on,” and his other arm—
Realization took a fraction of a second and Samira spun away, yelping, “I’m sorry!”
Her face flaming, she squeezed her eyes closed, but it was no use. She’d seen him.
In all his glory.
He hadn’t even said come in. He’d said come on as he was trying to…
“Samira?”
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t—I thought—” Words failing her, Samira ran from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Didn’t he have a lock?
He probably thought she was some kind of predator. Or just a desperate female who would do anything to get a glimpse of a naked man. Last night she’d almost kissed him and this morning she’d barged in on him while he was—
She was going to die. Just die. She’d wanted to make it better, but this was so. Much. Worse. He was going to fire her. She’d walked in on him…doing that. In his own shower, which he clearly had every right to do. She’d just never thought of him doing it—and now she couldn’t stop thinking of him doing it. And the most shameless part of her wasn’t sorry she’d seen it at all.
His body was flawless.
She ran down the stairs, making it all the way to the kitchen before she skidded to a halt at the sight that greeted her there.
“We’re making breakfast!” Maddie and Stella, apparently awake after all, sat on top of the counter and beamed at her as they brandished flour and sugar—and Samira had never been so relieved to see a kitchen catastrophe.
“Great!”
Now if only she could find some way to avoid ever seeing Aiden again. Or stop seeing vivid flashbacks of him in her brain.
*
Aiden stood in the goddamn open concept master suite that Chloe had loved and wondered how long he could realistically hide up here. It was a Saturday. Samira’s day off. Maybe she would already be gone by the time he came downstairs—it certainly seemed likely after the way she’d run from the room.
How long had she been there? He hadn’t heard her come in—obviously. He’d woken up hard as a fucking rock this morning after a night of dreams starring his nanny—whom he would never let himself touch. So he’d turned on the shower and taken matters into his own hands. He’d been so fucking close, right on the fucking verge, closing in on his orgasm with visions of her mouth, her hands, those near-black eyes looking up at him—
And then he’d heard a squeak of feminine horror and looked up in time to see her face a millisecond before she whirled around, shouting apologies, that mouth from his fantasies gaping in shock.
Fuck.
Why had she come into his room this morning to begin with? Did it have something to do with last night? Not that it mattered now. Whatever fragile, nascent connection had been building between them had been incinerated by five seconds and an unlocked door.
Aiden groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Scott would probably laugh his ass off if he heard about this, but maybe he would stop calling him Saint Aiden. Not that Aiden was going to tell him. No, this one was going with him to his grave.
He glanced at the bedside clock. He’d need to get the girls up and ready to go flower girl dress shopping soon. Was Samira downstairs in the kitchen? Or had she retreated to her room? He could only hope it was the latter.
He needed more time to figure out what he was going to say other than, Sorry you walked in on me while I was thinking about you and jerking off.
He stepped out of the bedroom—and immediately heard voices downstairs, both the girls and Samira’s. Shit. The universe really didn’t like him very much today.
He forced himself to walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Good morning, my angels,” he said in a too-cheerful voice, his attention locked on the girls, grateful for the buffer they provided. “I have a surprise for you. We’re going shopping for fancy dresses today with Nana and Aunt Charlotte.”
The girls squealed with delight and Aiden chanced a glance at Samira—who was avoiding his gaze as diligently as he’d avoided hers.
“You’d better run get dressed if we’re going to make it there on time,” he told the girls, tempted to go upstairs with them just so he wouldn’t have to face Samira.
As soon as the girls were out of the room, awkwardness stretched between them, palpable and thick.
>
“About earlier—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, refusing to meet his gaze. Not surprising, since he’d certainly given her an eyeful earlier. “I thought you said come in. Can we please forget it ever happened?”
Relief that she didn’t want to talk about it mixed with mortification at what she’d seen, frustration that his balls were still blue as hell after her very inconvenient interruption, and another layer of irritation at the loss of whatever kind of tentative friendship they’d been building.
And anger at the entire fucking situation. He couldn’t catch a break. He’d been a freaking monk for the last few years—not dating anyone since Chloe, taking care of his own needs, focusing on work and parenting and putting his own needs last and then he took one freaking shower and it imploded his domestic tranquility. How was that fair? How was that just?
“Samira…”
“We really don’t have to discuss it. Ever. I should go… uh…” She didn’t bother coming up with an excuse, but stalled when she couldn’t leave the kitchen without coming closer to him. “Don’t worry about cleaning this up. I’ll get it later.”
The countertop was covered with flour and he should have said something about how it was her day off and she didn’t have to clean up after the girls on Saturdays, but he just sidestepped out of the way and watched her bolt up the stairs.
He had a feeling he was in for a lot more cold showers.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If she thought things were awkward before The Shower Incident that was nothing compared to after.
For the next week, Aiden’s politeness was flawless, but Samira couldn’t look at him without seeing him in vivid, living color—and he didn’t seem any more eager to meet her eyes than she was to meet his. The distance between them was a gaping chasm that seemed to grow every day.
So much for thinking they might be able to be friends. Or more than friends, as her stupid infatuation had suggested. She’d screwed that up royally. Now there was only a constant awkwardness between them like a living thing.
Even the girls seemed to notice that something was up. They still behaved perfectly normally, except when both she and Aiden were in the room with them. Then they would get inexplicably quiet. With Stella that was nothing to be alarmed by, but Maddie didn’t do quiet. It wasn’t in her nature.
Samira didn’t know how much longer they could go on like this with the tension infecting every moment of her life. She couldn’t even relax at night hiding in her room, too busy imagining him below her…in the shower…
She desperately needed advice, but she was not going to mention The Shower Incident to Jackie. Her friend already looked at her strangely every time she mentioned Aiden’s name.
The fact that she had literally no one to talk to forced her to acknowledge how isolated she’d become over the last two years. She’d needed to retreat and lick her wounds after her divorce, but she hadn’t intended to narrow her social circle down to a pair of four-year-olds and one overworked attorney.
She’d never really liked big social gatherings before her marriage, never confident that she was saying the right thing. But even if she had loved them, two years acting as hostess for the world’s most critical man to help advance his career would have cured her of any fondness for playing the socialite.
Most days she loved her quiet, contained little life. Trevor had gotten most of their friends in the divorce—they were really more his friends anyway—and she’d never been bitter about that. No, the part that stung had been her parents. Even now, two years later, she still couldn’t quite bring herself to forgive her father for some of the things he’d said during the divorce, no matter how much she missed the closeness they’d once had. Her weekly phone conversations with her mother were guarded and distant now—and she tended to call when her father was in class.
Not that she would ever have told them about walking in on Aiden in the shower. The story wasn’t exactly ideal for Father’s Day, even if they’d been on good terms.
“Sammie!”
Maddie’s shout snapped her out of her distraction. She looked up from the vegetables she’d been chopping to go into stew for dinner as Maddie skidded into the kitchen—with a panicked expression and without her shadow.
Stella.
The knife fell from numb fingers to thud onto the cutting board as Samira’s heart seized on a flash of terror. “What’s wrong? Where’s your sister?”
“Benji’s sick!” Maddie’s face twisted, fighting tears and Samira felt a near-violent slam of relief that Stella was okay—until it was swallowed by concern for Benjamin Franklin. She told herself he was probably fine—he had a tendency to get into things he shouldn’t and throw them up on the carpet, somehow always managing to find the most expensive rug in the room before he yacked up his latest treasure—but Maddie had seen the dog puke more times than Samira could count and she’d never looked so scared.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said, the words instinctive even though she had no idea what the situation was. “Where is he?”
Maddie pointed up and the two of them rushed for the stairs. Samira scooped up Maddie when she stumbled on the steps, putting her on her hip even though the added weight slowed her own headlong rush up the stairs. When had Maddie gotten so big?
She heard the heaving noise even before she got to the playroom—and part of her was comforted by the sound. How many times had she heard Benjamin Franklin tossing up his breakfast just like that when he’d managed to rip apart and eat the stuffing out of one of his dog toys? He was fine. He had to be fine.
But as soon as she stepped into the playroom, her heart, which had dared to lift, plummeted again.
Benjamin Franklin lay on his side, wheezing between heaves, his sides bellowing with the effort of retching, as if he’d worn himself out heaving. There was a puddle of bile near his head and a few others nearby, but Samira didn’t see any telltale signs of what he must have eaten in them. Stella stood back as if afraid to approach him, eyes wet and lower lip trembling.
Samira set Maddie on her feet and moved quickly to kneel beside the dog. Aiden’s dog. Chloe’s dog. Please let Benjamin Franklin be okay. “Hey, buddy,” she murmured, her voice as soothing as she could make it as she gently stroked his furry face and he rolled his eyes to look at her piteously, giving a soft whine as he thumped his tail in half-hearted greeting without lifting his head. “Do you know what he ate?” she asked the girls without changing her tone or taking her attention from the dog.
When only silence answered her, she looked up to see Maddie had wrapped her arm around Stella and the two of them stood back, staring wide-eyed. “It’s okay,” she assured them, trying to inject confidence into her voice she didn’t feel. “We’re going to take Benjamin Franklin to the vet and they’re going to help him, but we can help them help him if we know what he ate. Did you see?”
Maddie said, “No,” while Stella mutely shook her head.
“It’s okay. We’ll take him to the vet and they’ll find out.”
Knowing Benjamin Franklin, it could be anything. He had a tendency to eat everything that wasn’t nailed down. The girls knew that. They knew they were supposed to watch him when he was allowed in the playroom with them—which was why Samira usually kept him downstairs with her when the girls were playing unsupervised. But she’d been distracted today. Preoccupied about Aiden.
If something happened to Benjamin Franklin because she’d been mooning over Aiden, she’d never forgive herself.
She looked at the dog and silently wondered why he always got sick in the least convenient places—she wasn’t looking forward to getting him down the stairs. “I need you two to be big girls and help me, okay? Get your own coats and shoes on so I can carry Benjamin Franklin. Can you do that?”
Maddie nodded, visibly relieved to have instructions, and bolted out of the room, dragging Stella by the hand when her twin would have stayed paralyzed and staring at the dog. Samira would make sure Stella w
as okay just as soon as she got Benjamin Franklin taken care of.
She looked down at the dog, slipped her arms under him, and lifted him as gently as she could, struggling under his weight. He’d always been a solid mass—a mutt about the size of a large spaniel or small pit bull—and he groaned when she shifted him. “I know, buddy. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good, but I’d really appreciate it if you could try not to throw up on me right now.”
He licked her neck—all he could reach of her in the awkward hold—and she decided to take that as agreement. She managed to stagger off the floor with him in her arms and made careful progress down the stairs, step by slow step, trying not to jostle him and fighting the urge to rush that would probably send them both tumbling.
She recognized her mistake when she got to the kitchen and realized she couldn’t open the door to the garage with him in her arms, but Stella and Maddie were there, shoes velcroed and coats zipped. “Good girls,” Samira praised. “Let’s go.”
They opened the garage door and the car door for her, tiny faces wreathed with concern as they hovered and watched. She settled Benjamin Franklin into the passenger seat so she could keep an eye on him as she drove and told the girls to load themselves into their carseats while she bolted back into the house—her bare feet reminding her that she needed her own shoes and coat, not to mention her keys, purse, and cell phone.
A quick, automatic jerk of the girls’ safety belts to make sure they’d buckled themselves properly and they were peeling out of the garage while Samira told Siri to call the vet to warn them they were coming.
“He’s going to be okay,” she told the girls, one hand on Benjamin Franklin as he heaved again, praying she wasn’t lying.
*
Guilt and worry chased Aiden all the way to the vet’s office. He’d been in a meeting when Samira’s call had come in, his phone silenced, and it had taken him nearly an hour to get the message—the vet needed his permission for the surgery. He’d called back instantly, giving consent, and he’d been able to hear Maddie and Stella crying in the background though Samira had urged him not to worry and told him there was nothing he could do.