I forced my arms against my sides as Palmer rose, steadying herself with one hand on the arm of the couch. The throw slipped completely to the floor, pooling at her feet.
For a heartbeat, she stood in the quiet room, the lamplight soft on her hair and the delicate line of her jaw. Her tremors were subsiding, but her shoulders stayed a touch too tight.
She glanced at the stairs, then back at me. “Goodnight, Roman.”
I dipped my chin once. “Goodnight.”
Her lips curved up, but the smile was hollow. She hugged the edges of her robe around herself, as if suddenly aware of how thin it was and how close she stood to me.
For a moment, I thought she might say something more. But then, she turned toward the stairs.
Part of me was glad, because if she lingered any longer, I might do something stupid. I might step closer. I might rest my hand on the small of her back. I might walk her up those stairs like I had some claim to her comfort.
I watched her go, rooted where I was, hands curled at my sides. She took slow, careful steps, one hand sliding along the banister.
She kept climbing until the curve of the staircase swallowed her from view.
Releasing a breath, I scrubbed a hand down my face. I told myself that I was glad she hadn’t lingered, that I simply wasn’t used to having women in the house who I wasn’t related to.
Ignoring the restlessness in my hands, and the memory of her skin beneath my palms, I finally climbed the stairs myself.
Sleep was hard to come by that night, despite my exhaustion.
When it eventually pulled me under, my dreams were filled with soft lamplight, trembling breaths, and warm hazel eyes looking up at me in the dark—the same eyes I had no business thinking about at all.
14
Palmer
Isatinthekitchen,sipping my morning tea.
It was so early the sun was barely up, but I hadn’t slept well. When I set my mug down, I tugged at the sleeves of my sweater, making sure the scars on my forearms stayed hidden beneath the fabric.
I’d had a nightmare about the fire last night.
I hadn’t had one in a long time, but worrying about Roman running toward a fire himself probably brought it out. My fingers drifted to the buttons of my cardigan, fidgeting with them as I fought back the onslaught of memories threatening to resurface.
I closed my eyes, grimacing.
Don’t.
I tried to redirect my thoughts to Roman instead.
There had been something about him when he’d woken me from my nightmare. Something in his voice, in his touch, that tugged at an old memory I couldn’t quite place.
When I recalled the way he’d looked at me last night, my stomach flipped. Maybe I’d imagined it, I’d been half asleep, but I could’ve sworn there’d been something heated in his gaze.
I gritted my teeth, chastising myself for letting my thoughts drift there at all. Roman was my boss. He was Hailey’s father. Even if that wasn’t reason enough to shut down any soft, dangerous feelings trying to take root, there was no way he’d ever be interested in me.
He was thirteen years older. He had a life. A family.
I was a temporary nanny. Someone here to help him with his daughter and nothing more.
I raised my tea to my lips, but before I could take a sip, the back door burst open. I jumped so violently that the hot liquid sloshed onto the table.
I gasped as Roman froze in the doorway.
His dark hair was damp, and by the way his black T-shirt clung to his body, it was also wet. He breathed heavily, as if he’d been running. We stared at each other for a long, silent beat.
