“Right,” she said in a small voice, and I frowned.
Ugh, tell me I’m a bossy prick, why don’t you? Tell me to fuck off. Don’t just give in without a fight. I opened my mouth to speak again, maybe even to take back my words and let her go home, but just then the pasta boiled over, the lid clattering on the metal.
“Crap,” Clara squeaked before she jogged over to the stove, giving me a wide berth on her way there. Clearly flustered and not quite thinking properly, once she’d taken the saucepan over to the sink, her hand closed over the lid handle, and she jerked back, wincing in pain. “Shit,” she said under her breath and then gave me a worried look. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t usually swear in front of Ozzie, I promise.”
I shook my head. Why was she worried about swear words when she’d burnt her hand?
She started backing away from the sink, and I’d had enough. Did this woman have no common sense? How was she in charge of children? Before she could back away anyfurther, I strode over to her, covering the distance in only a few long strides and took her hand in both of mine. She sucked in a shocked breath as I stared down at the red burn marks forming on her fingers. Her hand looked tiny in mine. Without wasting time, I crowded her back over to the sink, turned on the cold water and then held her hand underneath the spray, both my arms around her and her back to my front, my body completely enclosing hers. She stiffened in fear and stopped breathing altogether.
“Breathe, Clara,” I murmured low, just above her ear. I didn’t want her nearly passing out again. At my instruction, she took a deep shuddering breath in and let it out slowly.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she said, attempting to pull her hand away from mine and away from the cold water.
“Keep still,” I told her, my voice hoarse now as her small body moved against mine. Fucking hell, I needed to get a hold of myself and not get hard for my son’s goddamn nanny. This close, I could smell the lavender and citrus scent of her hair, and a wave of desire stronger than I’d felt in a long time shot through me.
Why couldn’t I have felt this way on my date last weekend? Ever since I’d met this small, shy, weirdly nervous woman, I didn’t seem to work properly in the libido department. Being close to other females felt strangely incorrect.
“I-I-I can do it,” she whispered.
“You don’t have the best track record of self-care, Clara,” I told her. A small blister was forming on the skin of her hand now. “This has to stay under running cold water for at least ten minutes.”
“Yes, listen to Daddy,” Ozzie said from beside us. He was peering around me, trying to see Clara’s hand. “He always knows what to do when I get hurt.”
“Everyone should always listen to me, Oz,” I said. Clarahuffed, and I smiled. That little huff was the most backbone she’d shown me in a while.
“The p-pasta needs draining,” she said, attempting to pull her hand from mine again.
“Can I trust you to keep your hand under the water?” I asked.
She nodded, and I moved back, taking the pasta to the other sink to drain.
So that was how Clara was stuck by the tap whilst Ozzie and I got the rest of the meal ready. I retrieved the meatballs from the oven; Ozzie grated the cheese.
“Oh, I can sort that now,” Clara said when I started to get the plates out. I gave her a pointed look when she took her hand out from under the cold water, and she was sensible enough to put it back again. I only let her come away after a full ten minutes.
“Okay, let’s see,” I told her when she backed away from the sink.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, flexing her fingers and then hiding her hand behind her back. I gave her a narrow look but let it go and ushered her to the table.
“I can wait in the other room while you eat,” Clara said, darting me a nervous glance as I pulled out a chair for her.
I tilted my head to the side in confusion. “Why would you wait in the other room?”
“Yeah, that’s weird, Miss Clara,” said Ozzie. “Anyway, Granny says I’m not allowed to eat in the living room, not after thechocolate pudding incident.”
Clara smiled at Ozzie. “Uh, right, okay, it’s just I…” She looked to the side and then back at me.
“Clara,” I called in a soft but firm voice, “You will be staying here until your designated work hours are finished.That is not for another one hour and forty minutes. Have I made myself clear?”
She frowned and pressed her lips together but gave a sharp nod. Oh, there was that little spark of anger again. I smiled to myself. If behaving like a condescending bastard was going to bring out a tiny bit of fire in her, then that was what I was going to do.
“Daddy, you’ll never guess what,” said Ozzie once we all started eating. Clara winced in pain when she grasped her fork but covered it when I looked over at her. “Margot Harding slit my throat today. It. Was. Amazing.”
I had just taken a sip of water when he made this pronouncement, and I choked when it went down the wrong way. When I’d managed to clear my throat, I put my fork down and looked straight at Ozzie.
“What was that, Oz?” I said in a hoarse voice.
“Margot, she slit my throat. It was awesome.” Ozzie paused for a moment and frowned. “There needs to be waaaaay more blood, though. But Miss Summerfield pinky-promised that in the real thing there’ll be atonof blood. Maybe even some guts and gore and stuff.”
