I know firsthand just how damaging it is when someone is not enough. When a person gets let down, over and over. Especially someone as needy and impressionable as a child. That’s my family legacy. And now here I am, repeating the cycle. I need to balance my responsibilities to my job, one I have an ironclad contract to complete, with the needs of this little girl whose life is now in my hands.
I know something needs to change. I can’t cut out all the hours on set, and I can’t quit, but maybe I can shorten the days by having my stunt double take on more of the work. I vow to talk to the director about it.
I don’t say any of that to Poppy, though. It’s my problem to manage.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, wishing I could have something stronger than water tonight. Sitting by myself is the last thing I want right now, which is odd. I prefer silence to voices. Except I crave her company.
It’s as if Belle carved open my heart, and in the crack she made, Poppy wandered through.
Her gaze meets mine, then slips away. At first, I think she’s going to refuse and I’m more disappointed than I should be. But then she lets out a breath and nods.
“Okay. Yes, thank you,” she says.
“Great.” I feel like I won the lottery. “What do you want?” The house has a long mahogany bar with a row of cabinets and a large wine fridge. “I’m not even sure what we have. Emma had the house stocked when we moved in.”
“Oh, you have enough alcohol to keep a college fraternity happy for a very long time,” Poppy says. “I’ve already dipped into the white wine. I hope you don’t mind. You said everything was fair game.”
“Of course.” I open the large wine fridge to investigate. “What the hell?”
“I told you.” She laughs. Bottle after bottle of wine and champagne fill the fridge. “I guess someone thinks that Hollywood stars need to be set for a party at any moment. And you don’t even drink.” Poppy’s eyes twinkle up at me.
“I do occasionally,” I say, distracted. “Just not during training.” I open a cabinet, looking for a wineglass.
“Here.” Poppy moves behind the bar.
Her arm brushes mine as she leans down, and an electric current runs through me. I try not to let my gaze linger like a creeper where her robe parts. I can see the soft material of her nightshirt clinging to her petite curves and valleys.
She opens a different cabinet and pulls out a glass. “The red wine is over here if you feel like going wild.” She stands, and her cheeks turn pink. Is she as affected as I am by that brief touch?
“When I do drink, it’s hard and clear, like vodka.”
“More yummy wine for me, then. You make me want to corrupt you,” she says innocently.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about more than just the alcohol. My mind turns to all the ways she could corrupt me, with her coppery curls, full lips, and ever-changing eyes.
I pour her a generous glass of white wine. Then, after a moment’s deliberation, pour myself a vodka from the row of liquors lining the bar.
She smiles. “You’re walking on the wild side tonight. But I can’t believe you drink that stuff straight.”
“Not with just any vodka. But this is smooth. Try it.” I hold out the glass, wanting her lips to be where I’d just had mine.
She sniffs and then wrinkles her nose.
I think she’s going to refuse, but my breath catches as she licks her lips. She takes a sip.
When she’s done, she steps back, and I feel the loss. She breathes out shakily. A hand goes up to the loose V-neck of her nightshirt.
“It’s better than I imagined,” she says.
She grabs her glass and I follow her into the living room, trying, and failing, not to notice the way her waist curves in and her ass curves out, the way her wild hair tumbles over her shoulders.
The room’s wooden walls take on a warm tone with the glow of the fire. And so does her hair. With the fire going, it’s hot in here, almost over-warm. But maybe that’s just me.
She stands awkwardly, as if waiting to see where I’ll sit, but I don’t move. Our choices are leather club chairs next to the fire or a long cream sofa in a velvety soft material. I’ve had fantasies about taking her in both spaces.
But I can’t. I’m not in a place where I want a relationship, I remind myself. And I don’t need more complications. So getting involved with the nanny would only lead to heartbreak. If it were just my heart on the line, it would be one thing. But it’s Belle’s heart that’s at risk, if her favorite new nanny left us because I messed up and couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.
Which is why I shouldn’t be doing this.
