Page 19 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

When she gives me an unsettled glance, sourness coats my tongue. I may have already destroyed my chances of getting close to her. After how I treated her both yesterday and before Lola’s seizure, she has every right to doubt my sudden change of heart. The thought of her distrust being solely because the offer of help comes from me twists my insides.

Lola wriggles in my arms and grabs my collar to pull herself up. Still sitting half on the rug and half on the hard floor, I shift her until she’s upright, with her front flush against mine and her bum on my forearms. She slips her thumb into her mouth and snuggles against me only to whine and pull back.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask.

She glares at my chest. Jealousy and worry spear through me as I recall how she dove face first into Millie’s cleavage. Does she think the hard planes of my chest are no longer comfortable? Will she deny me the pleasure of holding her and now always choose her new nanny’s arms over mine?

Her soft, chubby fist closes around the top button on the front of my suit. She tugs. I scowl. No matter how expensive or stylish the buttons may be, if they’re too large or uncomfortable for my daughter, then I don’t need them. I never should have assumed the top designer of the leading clothing brand would choose comfort and practicality over fashion.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take it off,” I murmur.

Before I can shift her around on my lap, gentle hands reach between us. I lock eyes with a fallen angel.

Without a word, Millie slips my tie over my head, unbuttons the top few buttons of my white shirt, slips Lola’s hands onto my collar, and guides my daughter’s face to my exposed flesh.

Her eyes grow more distant as she works to undo the buttons of my coat. One by one, she slips my arms out of the sleeves, ensuring I never lose hold of my daughter, then drapes my suit coat over my front, fully covering Lola in my warmth and scent.

My gut clenches at the sadness in her light blue orbs. She smiles, pats Lola’s back, then rises and returns to the diaper bag.

Trapped in a mixture of raw emotions, I stare at her for much longer than is appropriate, but she avoids my gaze. After sorting the contents and making the diaper bag seem only halfway full with het impressive organizational skills, she slips the strap over her shoulder, rises, grabs her purse, and moves behind me to stand by the door.

I wonder if her quiet, unassuming act is fake. It doesn’t match the directness and competency she showed while under duress. It could be a ploy to draw me in deeper or dampen my distrust, but my instincts reject the skepticism.

Lola kicks my ribs. Guilt rips me out of my musings, and I harden my defenses against Millie’s lure.

Nothing is more important than my daughter.

After confirming she fell asleep under my coat, I shift onto my knees to rise. The skin under my sleeve prickles with awareness as Millie helps me to my feet with surprising strength. I nod my thanks and jerk my chin toward the hall in silent demand.

As Millie leads us down the hall, I pull my phone out of my pocket and text my driver. Lola’s slight weight against my chest keeps me grounded until we reach the vehicle.

After a quick glance at the setup, Millie climbs into the SUV, places the bags in the third row, leans over the car seat, and helps guide my daughter into her place. Our hands brush. My cock throbs. Millie buckles Lola in with enviable ease before tucking my suit coat around her like a blanket.

Lola grumbles and pulls my coat over her face. I reach out to pull it down, but Millie wraps her long, dainty fingers around my wrist.

“Sit here. I’ll take the back,” she says.

Before she can climb over the bench, I capture her forearm. My fist almost covers her from wrist to elbow. She’s too delicate and feminine.

I clear my throat.

“Sit beside Lola. I’ll—”

Millie pushes toward me. Not expecting the movement, I shuffle backward. She clears the bulky car seat and hops to the ground. Without a word, she skirts around me and opens the passenger door.

It shuts behind her with a solid thunk.

I fill my lungs with city air and push down the unexpected wave of hurt, disappointment, anger, and surprise.

Millie Grant is not at all what I expected. I’m not sure how to handle this.

I vow to strip away all of her defenses one tiny piece at a time.

For Lola, of course.

Even as I add the amendment, the deepest part of me cackles in amusement.

I want Millie Grant. She’s gorgeous. A gorgeous guardian angel.