Page 123 of Sweet Distraction

I sit up, tuck my knees under me, and meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just . . . I’m not used to this. Chartering boats. Private security. Headlines about what I’m wearing. It’s a world I’ve never understood and am now suddenly a part of.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be like that,” he says and reaches for me, thumb brushing over my cheek like he’s trying to decide something.

I feel the shift in him again. The depth scares me a little because it’s real.

And then he kisses me.

Not the way he usually does—full of swagger and hunger and heat.

This one is slow. Deliberate. The kind of kiss that says I see you. Even if I don’t know what the hell that means yet.

His hands slide down my sides, over my hips, anchoring me to him.

And I stop thinking altogether.

Because when he touches me like this, I forget every logical reason why this could never work.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Willow

It’s strange being back in a house that doesn’t move. No lost room keys and going to the wrong room number. No late-night crew laughing as they load our luggage so we can move on to the next city. No opening another suitcase in yet another hotel room and forgetting what city we’re in. No working to make the new hotel room yet another adventure so that Poppy was comfortable and happy.

Just stillness.

And quiet.

And the soft snores of Poppy sleeping in the room next to mine.

I stand at the window in an oversized T-shirt and panties, and stare out at the darkness beyond.

It feels good to be home. Even though it isn’t mine, per se, it feels good to be able to let Poppy wander freely and not worry about her getting lost or someone taking her. And I think she feels it too because she was so adamant that she play on her own this evening in her chair by the window.

It feels great to be able to take a shower and not wonder what weird things other guests have done in them. And don’t even get me started on the comforter situation.

I hear footsteps, prepare to see Poppy standing there, but when I look up, it’s Rocket. He’s standing in the doorway, no shirt, hands shoved in a pair of well-worn jeans, and a look on his face I can’t decipher.

Every part of my body has a visceral reaction to the sight of him standing there—including my heart. It feels like that sucker breaks out of my rib cage and lands squarely at his feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He leans a shoulder on the frame. “You’re in my shirt.”

I look down and blush. “I am. It smells like you.” I smile sheepishly. “I like that.”

“And I like seeing you in it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “What serious thought was I interrupting?”

“Nothing. Everything.” I shake my head. “Just how I need to decide whether I’m going to jump headfirst back into this master’s program or consider going on this interview I got for that position at the elementary school.”

“The one on the far side of town?”

I nod. It’s a position. Far from here. One that would make it too hard to be a nanny and work at the same time. One that would change everything.

“I vote for staying the nanny and finishing your master’s. But that’s because I’m a selfish bastard and can’t quite imagine this house without you in it anymore.”

Our eyes meet. Hold. His words take root and warm me. Who doesn’t like to feel needed? Who doesn’t like to hear that you are?

But his words say more than that. They say live here with me. Stay here with me. I want to do this with you.