Chapter Twelve

Weston

If there was ever a rational part of my brain, it’s now dead and buried six feet under. My cock has taken over, and right now it’s screaming at me to kiss Scarlet. To take her in my arms, feel her breasts crush against my chest, to put my lips to hers and see if she tastes as good as I think she will.

It plays out before me, and I imagine her in my lap, legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my shirt over my head. My cock jumps at the thought, and I inch in closer and closer.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is a bad idea. She’s Jackson’s nanny and hasn’t even been here that long and I’m already trying to make a move on her. But it’s not like she’s uninterested, and I can tell by the way she’s biting her bottom lip and is moving toward me that she wants this too.

We shouldn’t. We really fucking shouldn’t.

But dammit, I’m tired of holding back, of going to bed alone. I’ve spent the last four years convincing the world that I’m not lonely, but you can only lie to yourself for so long before the smoke and mirrors gives way for the bullshit it really is.

I’m going to kiss her.

I bring my hand to her face, cupping her cheek. Her skin is so soft, and her long hair tangles around my fingers. I want to take a fistful of it, pulling it gently as I kiss her hard.

Scarlet’s tongue darts out, wetting her lips. I’m officially a goner now. No logic is left, and I move forward, bringing my other hand to her waist. My fingers rest on the curve of her hip, and she tenses for a second before melting against me, bringing a hand up and resting it on my chest. She tips her head up, lips parting.

I inhale, heart beating faster and faster. I take one last second to look at her pretty face, to admire the sapphire blue of her eyes, the light freckles on her cheeks that she covered up with makeup the first time I saw her. I brush her hair back, moving it out of the way.

My heart is beating so fast I can hear it echoing in my ears, and I wonder if Scarlet can hear it. She brings her free hand up, placing it over my hand that’s cupping her cheeks. Her thumb rubs over my palm, and she leans into my touch.

My cock is hard, pulsing, begging for me to get this show on the fucking road. To kiss her, bring her close, and feel the heat of her pussy hovering over me. She pushes herself forward, and the softest whimper leaves her lips.

God, this woman. If I don’t kiss her now, I’m going to implode. I tighten my grip on her waist and pull her close. Her breasts crush against my chest, and she slides her hand up and over my shoulder.

And then I kiss her.

The moment our lips touch, desperation sparks between us, and she holds me close, pressing her body against mine. I run my hand down her waist and down to her ass, lifting her up and bringing her onto my lap. She straddles me, slowly easing herself over my cock, gasping slightly when she takes in the length, feeling it through my pajama pants. She stops kissing me for a brief moment, looking down in my lap, and the lust in her eyes paired with the shock does me in.

With an animalistic growl, I flip her over, moving on top of her. She curls her legs around my waist, rocking her hips so she rubs against my cock. Fuck, it feels so good even with clothes on I could come right now, dry humping her like a horny teenager. I haven’t been with a woman since Daisy left, and the desperation is getting to me.

Scarlet grabs the hem of my shirt, but right as she goes to pull it off, the bottom stair creaks.

“Daddy?”

Jackson’s little voice comes from behind us, and I move off Scarlet so fast I fall off the couch, hitting my shoulder on the coffee table.

“Dammit,” I mutter, rubbing the spot where the corner of the wooden table hit. Scarlet scrambles up, smoothing out her shirt.

“Hey, buddy.” She rushes around the coffee table. “What are you doing down here?”

“The Tall Man is back.”

Scarlet glances over her shoulder at me, flicking her eyes to my cock. She knows I can’t exactly stand up right now.

Sitting on the bottom stair, she pulls Jackson onto her lap and brushes his hair back. “Is he still there?”

“No. He went into Daddy’s room, and then Daddy wasn’t there. I thought the Tall Man got him.”

“We were watching a movie,” Scarlet says, wiping away a tear. I push myself up onto the couch. “No Tall Man down here. Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

“Okay,” he says and pulls out of Scarlet’s arms to run to me. “Daddy, will you tuck me in?”

“Of course, buddy.” I wrap my arm around him and kiss the top of his head. Scarlet turns on a light, and I pause the TV, knowing watching even a few seconds of this show will make him have nightmares. In the light, I look at Scarlet. She meets my eyes and then looks away.

What the fuck was I thinking?

She’s here for Jackson. Not me. We’re lucky Jackson had a nightmare and stopped us before we got in too deep. Because getting in deep was exactly what I wanted to do. This can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.

*

Scarlet’s bedroom door is closed when I get up Sunday morning. Technically, Sundays are to be her day off. Unless some big crime happens in Eastwood and I have to go in, I’m always off on Sundays. It was discussed with her before she even started, but seeing her door shut like that makes a bad feeling form in the pit of my stomach.

Not that I’m in a rush to see her either. Because…what the fuck will I say? Hey, last night almost fucking you was fun? That I want to do it again but know we shouldn’t. That my will is paper-thin at best and avoiding each other is ideal, but that won’t work because you fucking live here. God, what the fuck did I do?

She’s. Jackson’s. Nanny.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I ask Jackson, plugging in the coffee pot.

“Can you make bacon and eggs like Scarlet does?”

“Sure,” I say, internalizing my grimace. I’m no master chef, but I do try to eat healthy, and I want Jackson to grow up with good eating habits like I did. And it makes working out worthless when I eat like shit anyway, so the Pop-Tarts and cereal mornings should be over.

Jackson watches cartoons while I cook, and I’m putting his plate on the table when Scarlet comes downstairs. Her hair is messy, and she has pillow creases on her face. My mind immediately jumps to her waking up in my bed, rolling over with that bed-head in my face. I’d slip my arm around her and bring her close, not ready to get up.

“Morning,” she says with a small smile and crosses the kitchen, going right for the coffee.

“Morning.” I pull the creamer out of the fridge. Her fingers brush over mine as she takes it from me, and the small touch is enough to send a jolt through me, going right to my cock. I need to get it the fuck together.

“How’d you sleep?” she asks Jackson, looking over her shoulder as she prepares her coffee.

“I stayed with Daddy. He kept me safe,” Jackson replies between bites of bacon. “The Tall Man didn’t come back, but I did see him standing outside your door.”

Scarlet’s face blanks. “Well, I’m going to be sleeping well tonight.”

I laugh, wishing I could give her a similar offer. My bed is open to anyone scared of the dark tonight.

“Are you still coming with us to Grammy’s tonight?” Jackson asks Scarlet.

She flicks her eyes to mine, and in that half-second, the room fills with tension so thick it’s hard to breathe.

“Yeah,” she tells him with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.” Taking a sip of her coffee, she keeps her eyes focused on the floor in front of her. I pile bacon, eggs, and toast onto my own plate and take another down from the cabinet for Scarlet.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“I’m always hungry in the morning.” With a smile, she sets her coffee down and starts to walk over to the stove. Her perky tits bounce slightly under her T-shirt, and I need to turn around and stop looking for my own good.

“Want to play zombies after breakfast?” Jackson asks Scarlet.

“Today’s Scarlet’s day off,” I remind him gently. “She’s here but not really here.”

Jackson tips his head. “Huh?”

Scarlet laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t really have any plans other than showering and reading a chapter or two from my book.”

“Are there zombies in your book?” Jackson’s eyes widen.

“Actually, yes.” Scarlet fills her plate and joins us at the table. “It’s a romance set in the zombie apocalypse. It’s really good.”

“Can you read it to me?”

“When you’re older.” She smiles and then digs into her food. We eat in silence, and I’m a little jealous of the innocent way Jackson is completely oblivious to how fucking awkward things are right now.

“After breakfast, let’s go grocery shopping,” I tell Jackson, who groans in response. I’m sure Scarlet would appreciate a little time to herself, and Lord knows I need some time away. Or a cold shower.

Probably both.

Once everyone is done eating, Jackson goes back to his cartoons and Scarlet clears the table. She’s at the sink washing dishes, and I’m a few feet away from her cleaning the grease off the stovetop that splattered when I made bacon.

I need to say something. I pull the burner apart and wipe it down. I really need to say something. I put the clean burner back on and move onto the one behind it. Once that’s cleaned, I put the grates back on and start on the other side, even though it’s clean. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Has it been that long since I’ve had any sort of a connection to a woman? I can’t remember how these things go.

And I’ve also never almost slept with someone and then had to see them like this in the morning. It’s like some sort of tight-rope version of the Walk of Shame. I need to suck it up and tell her I enjoyed last night, I like her, but we have to keep things professional for Jackson’s sake.

“So, last night,” I start and at the exact same time she asks,

“Should I bring something to—sorry, what?”

I shake my head. “Go ahead.”

“Should I bring something to your parents’ tonight?”

“Nah, you don’t have to. I never do.”

She smiles and scrubs at the pan, trying to get the baked-on eggs off. “I’ve never done a family dinner like this before. I don’t know the etiquette.”

I know our family isn’t the norm. There’s seven of us, plus a few spouses and children now, and the fact that we get together once a week goes above and beyond what a lot of people do. But hearing her say she’s never done a family dinner takes me by surprise, and I know she’s not exaggerating the use of “never” like so many people do.

She really hasn’t gone to a big family dinner before.

I look away from the stove, not prepared for the sadness I see in her eyes. She forces a smile and pushes her shoulders back, a move I’ve seen her do before. It’s a move I know, one that might fool the world but starts to break down over time. You can’t lie to your own heart, after all.

“You’re not close to your brother?”

“Oh, I am. I pretty much raised him. He’s nineteen, so the nine-year age difference made me feel more like his mother than anything else, though I guess you get that. You’re the oldest.”

I nod because I don’t know what else to do. Quinn is eight years younger than me, but I never felt like a parent to her. I probably annoyed her growing up—and still to this day—by being an overprotective older brother, but that’s all I was. Her brother. I never felt like I had to raise her or step in and fill a role.

“I have a sister too,” she goes on, turning her head down to look at the dishes she’s washing. “She’s twenty. We didn’t get along growing up much either. For the same reasons.”

“What about now?”

She laughs. “Sometimes.” She rinses the pan and sets it on the counter to dry. “My mom wasn’t the best, and my dad wasn’t in the picture until I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I’m, uh, sorry.”

She waves a hand in the air. “It’s water under the bridge. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger and all shit, right?” She goes back to washing dishes, closing the conversation about her family. I know there is more to be told, and I know emotional scars when I see them.

“We can bring wine,” I suggest. “My mom likes wine.”

Scarlet looks up with a smile. “That’s something we have in common.”

I laugh. “You’re off to a good start.”