by Sami Lee
‘Please give me some credit, Bryce. I’m not the kind of woman who gets taken advantage of. I knew what I was doing just now.’
He turned to her and smiled grimly. ‘Still…’
‘And don’t you dare say we should forget it ever happened, because that’s ridiculous. I won’t be able to.’
‘Meg, I don’t want to lose you,’ Bryce said so earnestly that Meg’s gaze shot to his. He looked so concerned, so full of regret that she wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him there was nothing to worry about. Then he added, ‘You seem to have a way with Phillipa. She’s responding to you.’
It was a good nanny he didn’t want to lose. Not her, not the way it had sounded. She could only nod in reply because she was afraid her voice would sound choked and tearful.
‘My daughter is the most important thing in my life. I can’t risk hurting her with something like this.’ Something like this. Meg blanched at the terminology and she was sure her reaction showed on her face when Bryce’s tone gentled. ‘This can’t happen again Meg.’
He’d said everything exactly as she’d expected him to, had all the regrets she knew he’d have. Yet his words still lanced her, took away her breath as though she were suffering a kind of shock.
But what could she say? She knew he was right, even as a little piece of her died at the knowledge. He was her employer, she had taken on a responsibility to his daughter that she couldn’t flout by jumping into bed with him. She’d meant every word she’d said about wanting to gain Mrs Dunkirk’s respect and Phillipa’s trust. Some private part of her knew that girl needed her, that this house needed her. That Bryce needed her, and not just in the way that his passionate kisses had communicated.
For that reason she knew she had to agree with Bryce’s assessment, even as her tingling flesh wanted to press back up against his. ‘You’re right.’ She swallowed. ‘It can’t.’
She hurried past Bryce and down the stairs before he could say anything further, before her urge to cry overcame her.
***
‘I thought I’d drive to a hardware store and look at paint samples,’ Meg announced the following morning, as she stood in the door of Bryce’s office.
Bryce looked up from the papers on his desk, his dark eyes landing on her. For an instant the raw need she saw there made her heart stop beating, and her chest ache as though it were being pried apart. But then he frowned and the emotion she’d thought she’d seen turned into annoyance. ‘And then what?’
‘I’ll bring them back here and you can make your selection,’ Meg said stiffly, her hackles rising at his unexpectedly curt tone. ‘Then I can go back to the store and buy the paint.’
‘It doesn’t make sense to do it that way when I could just come with you.’
Meg frowned. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t assume you know how I feel without asking.’
As if he could talk! He hadn’t asked her what she wanted last night before he’d decided what was best for everyone. He’d left her feeling confused and so deprived she’d lain awake half the night reliving his kiss and torturing herself with what might have happened if the phone hadn’t rung. Consequently, she was tired and irritable and horribly frustrated this morning.
Apparently, so was Bryce.
Meg bit down on the rude curse that wanted to leap off her tongue. She took a deep breath and forced herself to offer a solicitous query. ‘Would you like to come to the paint store and pick a colour for the dining room?’
He glanced from her to the papers on his desk and back again. The frown never left his face. ‘Does this have to be done today?’
Oh for Pete’s sake! ‘No time like the present. I have nothing else planned for the weekend.’
Something flared in his eyes, an awareness that told Meg he was as conscious as she of the fact that they had forty-eight hours alone stretching out in front of them. After last night, his hot kisses, his determination for them to never be repeated and Meg’s ensuing sleeplessness, two days promised to last forever.
Suddenly he dropped his gold pen on the desk. ‘You’re right. Best to keep busy.’
He didn’t add so I won’t be tempted to touch you but Meg’s brain filled in the romantic fancy anyway.
Bryce insisted on driving so they travelled to the nearest Bunnings Warehouse in his sleek silver Mercedes, in a trip utterly devoid of conversation. By the time they arrived at their destination and located the paint aisle, the tension between them was growing so unbearable Meg wished Bryce hadn’t come along at all.
That’s not true. Even cranky and giving her the silent treatment, Bryce’s presence energized Meg and she couldn’t quite wish him away. As she stared sullenly at the paint charts, she decided there must be something wrong with her brain.
‘How about this?’
Bryce selected a colour card from the rack and showed it to her. Meg glanced at it, then at Bryce. ‘You want to redo the room in white?’
‘Is there something wrong with white?’
‘Not really. But I thought this would be an opportunity to go for something a little warmer. Like this.’ Meg selected a different colour card and showed it to him.
Bryce stared at it. ‘That’s white too.’
‘No. This is Whipped Cream. It has subtle buttery undertones.’
Bryce examined both cards together. After a few seconds he shook his head. ‘I don’t see the difference, but if you want the Whipped Cream, let’s get it.’
‘This isn’t about what I want,’ Meg retorted. ‘It’s your house, your decision.’
‘Then I say we get the first one.’
‘You can’t just pick up the first colour card you find and say that’ll do. You need to make an informed choice.’
‘Then by all means, inform me.’ Bryce ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. ‘What would you pick?’
Meg scanned the cards briefly, before selecting one called Creamed Honey and shoving it at Bryce. ‘This one. It would lend the room an instant warmth without detracting from the kind of bold colour accents I think would work in that room — red, chocolate brown, that sort of thing.’
Bryce took the card from her and stared at it. His brows drew together as he thought it over. At length he said, ‘I can imagine that working.’
He turned to her then, snagging her gaze with his. There was a hint of admiration in his eyes, and an even larger hint of apology. He offered her a slanted smile. ‘You have good ideas, Meg.’
Meg’s face grew hot under the unexpected compliment. ‘Thanks. I’m trying.’
‘And I’m being trying. I get it.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I said you could do the decorating, so I should be taking your advice. You pick the colours and I’ll lug the paint cans to the counter.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ he smiled. ‘I trust you.’
The tension seeped out of her and her blood rushed with an excited zing through her veins. All because Bryce smiled at her and showed her that rare, cute dimple. Because he’d said he trusted her. She was such a goner.
Meg worked out the colour combination she wanted and together they found the corresponding paint cans. Bryce collected a trolley and they loaded it up with the paint, some brushes and rollers and several drop cloths to cover the furniture with. They took it all to the counter where Bryce paid for it with his platinum card.
The trip home was a lot more pleasant than the trip to the store. Bryce asked her to share more of her ideas with him and Meg did so, unable to hide her enthusiasm for the project he’d given her. Bryce didn’t seem to mind. He agreed with a lot of what she said and smiled across the car at her several times, making her heart beat erratically. Once back in Rose Bay, they worked together to cart the items they’d purchased into the dining room.
‘Well, if you’re sure you’re happy with the colours, I’ll get started.’ Meg glanced around at the room. ‘You can go back to your paperwork.’
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‘And leave you here to do all this?’ Bryce shook his head. ‘I’ll help.’
Of all the things she’d expected, this was the last. ‘You don’t have to do that. We agreed I’d do it.’
‘That was when I thought we’d hire a painter to deal with this part. But since you’re so keen to get started this weekend, I haven’t had time for that. You’ll need help.’
‘But you’re…’ she scanned her eyes over his quality jeans and designer polo shirt, ‘… not really dressed for it.’
He trailed his gaze over her black skirt and blue blouse, his perusal making heat flush through her. ‘Neither are you.’
‘I was about to change.’
Bryce’s eyes widened. ‘There’s an idea. Why didn’t I think of that?’
Meg huffed out a breath. ‘Okay, you’re not an idiot. Point taken.’
‘I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.’
Meg raced downstairs and replaced her skirt and blouse with a pair of worn drawstring shorts and her oldest Daffy Duck shirt. When she returned to the dining room Bryce was already moving the furniture into the middle of the room so they could get to the walls.
Her first glimpse was of his backside because he had bent over in order to shift the sideboard. It was encased in faded denim that sported a threadbare patch just below the back pocket. It was a world class derriere and it just about made Meg’s jaw drop. When he stood once more and turned toward her, she was faced with the sight of his broad chest outlined by a plain white T-shirt that displayed his strength to maximum advantage.
‘So, you approve?’
He was looking at her, a lock of hair falling over his forehead, teasing her powerful urge to brush it back. From the twinkle of amusement in his warm eyes Meg figured he must have noticed the way she struggled to drag her attention away from his body. She locked eyes with him and tried to forcibly tamp down her blush. ‘Perfect. I’m just surprised you own anything that’s not a designer brand.’
‘Oh, the jeans are designer, but I’ve had them for about twelve years.’
His grin slipped and Meg had the terrible feeling he was calculating how old she must have been when he’d bought them. Yes, Bryce, your jeans are half my age. The moment of teasing awareness vanished as Bryce turned his back and morphed once more into the boss from the land of Crankyville. ‘Let’s get moving, shall we? Better to get this over with.’
‘Of course,’ Meg muttered, depressed at Bryce’s mood du jour, which seemed to swing between angry and sullen. If only there weren’t the rare moments of sweetness and charm in between to remind her how head over heels in love with him she was, Meg might be having a better time of it.
Live with it, Meg. You’re too young, you’re his employee and you’re a virgin. It’s never going to happen.
Feeling dejected, Meg set to work unfolding the drop cloths.
***
She’s young. She’s inexperienced. She’s your daughter’s nanny, for Christ’s sake!
Bryce lost count of the number of times he’d had to remind himself of those three simple facts over the course of Saturday afternoon. Yet no matter how many times he did, his licentious body didn’t care a whit about any of it, and that was playing havoc with his concentration.
Fortunately painting was laborious, repetitive work and gave him something to focus his physical energy on – instead of tumbling Meg into the paint-splattered drop cloths and having his way with her. By the time the room was bathed in the long shadows of late afternoon, every wall in the dining room sported a new coat of paint.
So did Meg’s cheek, a detail Bryce noticed when the completion of the job forced him to look at her again. She came to stand beside him, huffing out a breath as she gazed around her. ‘Wow. I can’t believe we got it all finished today.’
‘I was motivated.’
Sexually frustrated more like it, but he was hardly going to admit that. Every time Meg had bent over to stick her roller in the paint tray, he’d been afforded a bird’s-eye view of her taut behind where her grey running shorts stretched over it. And every time she stretched to reach a high spot on the wall, the sight of her flat midriff had greeted him. Her Daffy Duck T-shirt was far too short. And tight. And sexy. So achingly sexy Bryce was going insane from wanting to strip it off her.
‘Well, thanks for helping me. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
Her gratitude only made him feel terrible for snapping at her all day. Remorse swirled in his stomach, a sensation reminiscent of salmonella poisoning. That, with the persistent throbbing in his jeans, made for a disconcerting combination.
Easing a breath out of his lungs, Bryce picked up the nearest paint rag and found a corner of it that was relatively clean. He lifted it toward Meg’s face and used it to wipe off the smear of paint. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a bear today.’
‘It’s okay. Your prerogative.’
His prerogative as her boss, he supposed she meant. Bryce rejected that idea out of hand. ‘Just because I pay your wages doesn’t give me the right to bite your head off. I mean it. You don’t deserve that, Meg.’
‘I appreciate you saying so.’
No sooner was her cheek clean than Bryce discovered she had another splotch of paint on her neck, on the pale flesh just below her earlobe. He moved the rag to that spot, wiping it over her skin in slow motions until that mark was gone too.
‘You’re being very generous with me,’ Bryce mumbled distractedly as he moved the cloth further down. There was a tiny speck of Creamed Honey on her collarbone. Discarding the rag, Bryce worked it off with his thumb, his fingers slipping inside the round neckline of her shirt. He encountered a thin bra strap and froze.
‘I’m sorry you had to paint,’ Meg said, her voice breathy in the meagre space between them. How had he ended up standing so close to her? ‘I know you had other plans today.’
No matter how sternly he told himself to do it, Bryce couldn’t remove his hand from the spot at her shoulder where it rested. Her flesh was warm and smooth, her bra strap an irresistible temptation. His fingers began to toy with it, obviously having developed a mind of their own. When he spoke his voice sounded foreign to him, the voice of a stranger, of a man who completely lacked the civility and refinement he’d spent his life acquiring. ‘Is that why you think I’ve been in such a foul mood?’
Her head moved, an almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes were wide round pools of blue-grey confusion and — Lord help him — desire. The knowledge that she wanted him as much as he did her pushed Bryce’s limits further than they’d ever been pushed. He moved his free hand to her hip and drew her inexorably toward him, until her stomach acted as a soft cradle for his obstinate, aggravating hardness.
She gasped and clung to his shoulders, her eyelids fluttering to half-mast as she stared up at him. That sexy, slumberous look undid Bryce, and he dipped his head to kiss her, the act feeling as inevitable and necessary as taking his next breath. Her lips were pliant, eager and open beneath his and he let himself fall into the luxury of exploring her warm, wet mouth. In the first moments it was all he wanted, but his initial satisfaction ebbed as the fierce bite of need sank its teeth into his being and shredded his control.
Meg kissed him so openly, so guilelessly. She offered so much and he was going to take it if he didn’t stop himself. Somehow he had to stop himself. He pulled back, desperate for air, for a shred of common sense. ‘Meg…’
‘Don’t. Please don’t.’ She placed a finger against his lips. It was all she had to do to silence the protest he knew he had to utter. Nothing more than the soft touch of her finger to his mouth and he fell silent, his heart pounding out a wild rhythm in his chest. ‘Don’t stop this time.’
His voice was hoarse, a raw scrape against his throat. ‘This isn’t right.’
‘I don’t care. It feels right.’ Her conviction shone in her eyes, blinding him to all that was wrong about touching her. Meg leaned forward again, nuzzling his neck with the warm softness
of her lips, the touch so exquisite Bryce screwed his eyes shut and gathered her against him. He was drowning in sensation and he didn’t even want air.
‘What if I said that it didn’t matter?’ Meg asked, her query a sultry whisper against the pulse that thumped at his throat. ‘That I know it could never be more than one night between us, but that I still want it? That I still want it to be you? I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, Bryce. Not the first time. I’ve never wanted anyone else like —’
Her remaining words were stifled when he sealed his mouth over hers once more. Took her mouth, with a commanding ferocity he was quite sure he’d never displayed with anyone. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, the act so natural, so right that all the reasons this was wrong flew right out of Bryce’s head.
And they didn’t return for many, many hours.
Chapter Ten
Meg awoke on Sunday morning with a grin splitting her cheeks so much they hurt. Other places hurt too, but in a wholly pleasant, unfamiliar way. She yawned and stretched, the glide of the sheets over her bare flesh reminding her she was naked beneath them. Naked! She never slept naked. A giddy laugh escaped her, irrepressible happiness pushing it out her mouth.
She rolled over in bed to be confronted by the sight of the empty pillow beside her. Reaching out a hand, she found it cool to the touch. When had Bryce gotten up? A glance at the bedside alarm clock told her it had probably been ages ago. Not only had she slept sans pyjamas, she’d slept in until well after eight o’clock.
Her happiness started to disintegrate, little by little, as realisations hit one after another. She was in Bryce’s bed, without him, which meant he’d left her. Perhaps he wasn’t a snuggler, she reassured herself. No, his behaviour last night didn’t support that theory, not with the way he’d held her so close to his body after he’d made love to her, the way he’d touched her face and kissed every inch of it until the passion had returned and he’d begun to make love to her all over again.
His hunger had been a thrill like she’d never known, his gentle care a touching counterpoint that made her heart soften until it was about as weak and wispy as cotton wool. He’d been so concerned about hurting her, but he hadn’t. It had been glorious, all of it. Exhilarating and heartstopping and romantic.