"There are too many reasons to go into right now." He runs his hand through his hair, mussing its natural gorgeous style.
"You're my daughter's nanny. A relationship will muddle everything up."
"But—"
"Posey needs stability right now. And what would the courts make of it?" His voice turns bitter. "A rockstar hires a nanny and sleeps with her? All I need is that kind of press."
The rejection stings more than it should. "So does that mean we'll never?—"
"Tara, I don't know what it means." His voice carries a pain that matches what I'm feeling. "Never say never. I'm just saying that for the next few weeks, we have to be careful. We can't give in to our desire."
The word “desire” hangs between us, heavy with promise and frustration. I can still taste him on my lips, still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my body.
The ache of wanting him is almost unbearable.
"I'm going to go upstairs," I manage, standing on unsteady legs. "I'll find a tour company for the arrowhead hunt. I'll text my findings."
"Sounds good," he says, but his voice is strained.
As I climb the stairs to my room, my skin still vibrating from his touch, I can't help but remember every second of that kiss. The way his hands felt in my hair, the heat of his mouth, the solid strength of his body against mine.
It was even more magical than our first kiss in that hotel lobby. I can't wait for more.
CHAPTER 29
TARA
“Daddy Cameron, look! I brought my treasure pouch!"
Posey waves a small canvas bag as Tara buckles her into the back seat of Tom’s Range Rover.
"Do you think we'll find hundreds of arrowheads?"
"We'll see what the island wants to share with us," I say, sliding into the passenger seat beside Tom.
Tara assured me that this weathered-looking man had been scouting for arrowheads and other artifacts for over thirty years. Edison jumps into the cargo area, tail wagging as he settles behind our seats.
Tara catches my eye in the rearview mirror, and the memory of last night's kiss hits me like lightning.
The way she felt in my arms, the soft moan that escaped her lips when I touched her breast. Christ, I can barely concentrate on anything else.
"The Wampanoag people lived on this island for thousands of years," Tom explains as we pull away from the mansion. "They knew every freshwater source, every sheltered camping spot."
So far, Tom is proving an excellent guide. He answers all of Posey's endless questions throughout the forty-minute trip. He also points out subtle features I never would have noticed—slightdepressions in the fields that might indicate old campsites, areas near ponds where fresh water would have been accessible.
Tara leans forward between our seats, her hair brushing my shoulder and sending heat racing through me.
"How do you tell the difference between an arrowhead and just a regular stone?" she asks.
"Flaking patterns," Tom says. "Human hands leave specific marks."
I turn to Posey. "You think you can spot the difference, little archaeologist?"
"I can spot anything!" Posey declares with absolute confidence.
We park near a field that borders a small pond.
"Remember, safety first," Tom instructs as we climb out.
