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“You’re a stubborn, hard-headed man who treats his son like a soldier. You’d hold a total stranger’s business for ransom just to get a nanny for your daughter.” She raises her chin. Fearless. Foolish. “You love your kids with an iron fist. It’s none of my business, but when I see B.S. I call it out. It doesn’t matter who it is.”
I flinch. She knows how to push my buttons just as I do hers. We are a dangerous, explosive combination. Even more reason to let her go.
Instead, I twist her arm and bring her wrist to my mouth. There’s perfume there, right above her delicate green veins. I inhale.
She makes no effort to pull her hand or her eyes away from my lips. Her body is vibrating with obvious desire.
It takes strength not to push her onto the desk and give into the pull between us. However, I think of Regan in the next room and it curbs my aching pulse.
This can never happen.
It will not.
I throw her arm down and take a big step back. My body protests the distance and I know that I will relive this moment in a thousand different ways tonight.
My phone buzzes.
It’s Andre.
I have something.
Time to get back to work.
“You can leave, Miss Hayes.”
“We’re not finished talking yet.” Her heels stab the ground angrily as she stalks behind me.
“Wearefinished. And it won’t be long until we’re finished completely.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve already begun looking for a replacement.” I cut Island with a sharp gaze. “Your services will not be needed for much longer.”
She comes to an abrupt stop. Shock eases across her stunning face.
I push the knife in deeper. “So you can put your meddling instincts away and stick to your duties. Nothing more and nothing less.”
* * *
Abe shootspast me and slams the car door shut the next morning. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since his suspension.
For some reason, the silent treatment has become even frostier since Island’s visit to the warehouse yesterday.
I can’t say he’s the only one who’s all torn up from that particular event.
Island’s face and body played on a constant loop in my mind. No matter what I did, the image of her pressed against my office desk, head tilted back, eyes on me, was tattooed behind my eyelids.
I stayed up late working. I took another cold shower. I did an hour on the treadmill in the downstairs gym. And still, she was there. In my head. Smiling. Sighing. Doing more than just throwing verbal darts at my parenting.
Anya. Anya. Why can’t I remember your face?
I love my wife.
I do not want another.
But Island…
Whatever control I thought I had over myself isn’t merely slipping. It’s halfway down the mountain.