Page 43 of Catching Trouble

She walked over, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. I tensed under her touch.

With a teasing smirk, she studied my face. “Your pores look extraordinarily tight for someone who spends so much timeoutside. Maybe it’s the salt water. I think we should try to work on your wrinkles instead.”

“Papa doesn’t have wrinkles,” Sophie said, leaning in and examining my face like she was about to perform an operation.

Chloe inched closer, and I held my breath.

“Oh, but he does. Your papa has a lot on his mind. And then, you know, he has to deal with his crazy daughter and the nanny from hell.”

Sophie scoffed. “What would you suggest, then?”

“Let me see.” Chloe returned to the counter, rifling through a small bag decorated with sequins. After a pause, she turned,brandishing a tube of pink face mask and a unicorn headband.

“Nurse,” she said to Sophie, “prepare the patient.”

Her grin was maniacal, and I shifted on the chair.

She stepped forward, handed the tube to Sophie, then placed the headband over my head, smoothing back my hair. The summery scent of her perfume curled around me, and my chest tightened.

“We can’t have those natural waves getting mucky,” she whispered.

“Absolutely not,” Sophie agreed. “Would you mind if I applied the mask? I think I should be the one to torture Papa.”

At the look of pure delight on her face, I couldn’t stop my smile.

“Absolutely,” Chloe said, stepping away. “I’ll prepare the instruments.”

She turned and pulled out a drawer, removing a pastry brush as if it was Excalibur. She handed it to Sophie, who squirted pink glitter gel into the bristles. At least Chloe and I would match.

Safety in numbers.

Sophie drew closer and painted my face, taking care to catch every corner. When she finished my nose and cheeks, shestopped, a frown on her face. “I got it in your hair.” With a sigh, she reached to clean my temple, accidentally dragging the pastry brush over my eyelid.

I flinched. “I thought I’d signed up for beauty school, not painting class.”

She sucked in a breath. “Pardon, Papa. I’m sorry.” She wiped the goop from my eye with the back of her hand, then turned to Chloe, a furrow forming between her brows. “Can you finish it? I need to get the cakes out of the oven. And I want to take my mask off. It’s drying really tight.”

Chloe tipped her head to one side. “Only if that’s okay with you, Maxime.” She said my name in a thick, exaggerated French accent, her voice low and gravelly. I assumed she was laughing at me, but the sound made my toes curl. I nodded. The second she stepped forward, though, I regretted my decision.

The sparkle in her eyes sent my pulse soaring. She looked like a torturer ready to extract a confession. “Then I’ll gladly take over,” she said, taking the pastry brush.

Sophie gave a dramatic little bow, clearly relieved to hand over the job. She popped on an oven glove from the counter before opening the oven door. As she did, a delicious smell of butter and sugar ballooned into the air. With a grin, she pulled out the tin and set it on the side. The kitten licked his lips, watching closely.

Removing the glove, Sophie looked back at me. “Okay Papa, be good for the doctor.I’ll be right back.”

The moment she left the room, Chloe stepped closer, and all my senses stood at attention.

“Alone at last,” she murmured, her lips curved in a lopsided smirk. “And it looks like you’re at my mercy. Any last-minute pleas for sympathy? Any last words? I’ve never experimented, but I’m sure I could do some serious damage with this.” Shewiggled the brush in my face. “You should see what I can do with a whisk.”

She dragged her gaze over my bare chest, and my cheeks heated. Thank goodness she couldn’t see through the mask.

I swallowed. She was too close. Blood pulsed hard in my veins, heat firing through me like a furnace. What was it about this woman that threw me off my game every single time?

I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a finger. “As a talented fisherman once told me…” She didn’t finish. Instead, she mimicked my earlier gesture, bringing a finger to her lips.

Something fizzed in my stomach as she leaned closer, the heat of her body meeting mine.

“I need you to stay very still,” she whispered. “One false move and I could hit an artery.” She ran her focus to the top of my head and the unicorn hairband. “At least you don’t have a floppy horn.”