I swallowed thickly. “I need to, um…” I rounded the counter, walking toward him. As I neared, his entire body stilled. Preparing. As if he were expecting me to … what? Rush him? Climb him like a tree?
Oh, I wanted to. This thing between us, this tension was mostly cold and mean. But then there were moments when it was an inferno, when I wanted to hate fuck him into infinity.
But I wasn’t that brazen. Not that confident. Because most likely, this was all in my head. I was probably being overly romantic, imagining that a man like Beau would want me. That all of his meanness was a front to cover something else, that need I thought I saw from time to time.
The more realistic explanation was that he simply didn’t like me. Not everyone was going to like me, that I knew. I wasn’t special.
I held my breath, giving him as wide of a berth as was physically possible to get my book. It wasn’t wide enough, though. I smelled him, leathery, oaky, a little of that trademark restaurant smell that didn’t seem to be greasy or gross. Just … pleasant.
I snatched my book from the coffee table, promising myself I wasn’t going to do this again before quickly looking at Beau through my lashes.
“Good night, Mr. Shaw,” I whispered.
His body jerked. Jerked like I’d hit him. “It’s Beau, you fucking know that.” His gaze shrouded me, cloaked me in something heavy, hot. His eyes went to my throat, dropping to my rapidly rising and falling chest. The book I was clutching. “Good night,” he growled. Then he stomped off.
I was left panting in the living room.
Why did I address him like that? What possessed me?
I’d only called him that a handful of times, garnering a similarly pissed-off reaction. I was big on manners. Had been since elementary school when a lot of teachers and students assumed I was trailer trash on account of my mother’s and brother’s reputations. I’d been determined to wipe the filth from my skin. By reading everything I could at the library, scrubbing my clothes for traces of stains and repairing what was torn, since I rarely got new clothes. I tried to present myself as well as I could and spoke with impeccable manners.
I called BeauMr. Shawwhen I was immensely nervous.
Andmaybeit turned me on.
Just a little.
My life of always having to take care of myself, no one looking out for me, meant I had a little bit of a kink about power plays. About being the one ordered around. Taken care of.
My fantasies involved me calling Beau Mr. Shaw and him ordering me to do various things.
Naked.
I thought Beau hadn’t liked it because it made him feel old, overly formal. Or just because Beau was a prickly asshole who didn’t like anything I said or did.
Could it be that it turnedBeauon?
I toyed with the spine of my book.
No. Certainly not.
It pissed him off.
It was that simple.
I pissed him off because he didn’t like me. That was the truth. No more imagining. No more fantasies. Do my job then leave. Ten more months of this. I could do it.
Even if it simultaneously felt like an eternity and a moment.
BEAU
It took a cold shower to get my shit together. It took me jacking off in that shower just to release the pressure I felt in my fucking balls from her calling me “Mr. Shaw.”
Even after the cold shower and a shot of whisky, I couldn’t shake the shy smile. The scent of vanilla. Her soft voice. Her dry joke. Her playing with my daughter’s hair at the breakfast bar, looking at her like she was sunshine. Everything about her.
It infuriated me.
For the thousandth fucking time, I told myself I would fire her. Tomorrow. And then I thought of Clara. The way she snuggled up to Hannah when they were reading on the sofa. The way she sat patiently while Hannah braided her hair in elaborate styles I’d never be able to reproduce. I thought about the fairy garden. Next-door fucking nanas.
