Page 44 of Sweet Distraction

He raises a brow and slowly lowers himself onto the couch opposite me, stretching out his legs with a groan.

“You close with her?”

“Yeah. With both of my parents.”

He grunts like he doesn’t know what that feels like. I study him for a moment, the flicker of emotion behind those eyes that always seem too guarded for their own good.

“I take it by that response that you’re not with yours?” I lead and wonder if he’ll shed some light on the few things he’s said over the past week I’ve been here.

He sighs. “There’s a reason I loved music. It allowed me to drown everything out when it got too loud at home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “I could say I turned out just fine, but from where you stand, I’m sure you think that’s debatable.”

“That’s a setup if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Not a setup when it’s the truth.”

“I’m still not taking the bait,” I say playfully.

“No smart-mouthed comment? No underhanded slight?”

I slide a glance his way and meet him smile for smile. “I’m working on taming them.”

“No. Never. And especially not on my account.” He crosses an ankle onto his other knee. “No one ever had fun walking the straight and narrow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, although I do have a feeling my knack for both of those things might be why I got laid off from my teaching job.”

“Teaching job?” He sounds surprised.

“Yes. Before this.” I explain about being a nanny in college. About my teaching position being eliminated due to budgetary cuts. About the opportunity to help Poppy coming along at the perfect time.

“I’m sorry for you, but their loss is my gain.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly and force myself to look out over the valley than where I want to—at him.

“So, Miss Willow Adams, tell me about you.”

I start to laugh, thinking that he’s joking. Why would a man of his stature—one who’s met kings and presidents—be interested in anything about me? But when I give into the pull, into his silence, and look his way, he’s staring intently at me and waiting patiently.

I’m not used to this side of him, and for some reason I hesitate. Maybe I know that letting him in could be a huge mistake for me.

“Clearly, you come from a good home, have a career path that you love, but what makes you, you? What is it that you desire?”

I quirk my eyebrows. “Desire is a loaded word.”

“So was that bathing suit you had on earlier,” he says without missing a beat, “but I managed to cope just fine, now didn’t I?”

My eyes flash over to his and hold.

Oh.

He noticed.

And now that I know he did, I can’t help but wonder if that’s why I picked it this morning. Why I reached past two perfectly respectable one-pieces and chose the one that tied behind my neck and dipped low in the back. The one that made me feel a little more . . . seen.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do I.