Hot Single Dad Page 7

  Okay, let’s just get this over with.

  Her hair hangs down her back, so I move it aside. It feels like silk between my fingers. I unfasten the clasps and her bra comes loose. I open it so the straps slip down her shoulders. All I can think about is how much I want to run my hands all over her skin and reach around to cup those magnificent tits. My heart pounds too hard, the blood rushing in my ears. She shrugs out of one strap, letting it slide off her arm while still holding her shirt up against her chest. I help her get the other one off, guiding the strap down her arm so her bra doesn’t fall on the floor.

  “You can just hang onto that for her,” Dex says, totally nonchalant, as if the woman with the most amazing boobs in the history of breasts isn’t standing there almost topless. “Or you can hang it up.”

  Somehow holding her bra sounds like a better option than hanging it on a hook where anyone can see it. Although anyone can see her right now, which is freaking me the hell out. I glance around, but no one is paying attention.

  What can I do about it, anyway? And why do I even care? Dex certainly doesn’t seem to think this is a big deal. I suppose he tattoos beautiful women with amazing boobs all the time, and Linnea is just another client.

  Dex has Linnea hold up her arm while he places the stencil along her rib cage, just behind the side of her left boob. She clutches her shirt to her chest with her other hand and I’m not sure whether I should look or avert my eyes. God, why didn’t she tell me where she was getting this damn tattoo?

  “Take a look in the mirror,” Dex says. “Let me know if that looks right. I can still make changes.”

  Linnea steps in front of the full-length mirror and turns to the side, lifting her arm out of the way. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

  “Great.” Dex works the hydraulics on the chair, turning it into a flat table. “I’m going to have you lie down, facing Caleb. Just relax for now. It’ll take me a minute to finish setting up.”

  She gets on the table and lies on her side, holding her shirt over her chest. Her eyes meet mine for a split second, but we both look away. I’m probably not helping her feel less nervous, considering I’m the furthest thing from relaxed I can imagine.

  I take a deep breath. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

  “My parents will kill me if they find out,” she says.

  There’s just enough concern in her voice that I can tell she isn’t kidding. “Is it their business? It’s not like you’re still a kid.”

  She meets my eyes. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  Dex gets to work on her and I’m amazed at how tough she is. She’s being stabbed with a tiny needle, but she barely flinches. I chat with her to help keep her mind off any pain she might be feeling. We start talking about Charlotte and the time seems to fly. A little over an hour later, Dex sits back and declares that he’s finished.

  She gets up and checks her new tattoo in the mirror. The lines are delicate and flowing. It’s gorgeous. And it looks sexy as fuck on her. I’m back to swallowing hard and trying to keep my eyes elsewhere.

  Dex puts a bandage over the tattoo and gives her a sheet with care instructions. She puts her shirt back on, but tucks her bra in her purse.

  Nothing about that is helping.

  She pays and thanks Dex. He gives her a gentle hug and we both say goodbye.

  “So, was it as bad as you thought?” I ask as we walk back to my car.

  “Not at all,” she says. “It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. Now it just feels warm, kind of like a sunburn.”

  “You did great,” I say. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “And thanks for coming with me. Sorry if it was, um… uncomfortable.”

  “Nah, it was fine,” I say. That’s almost true. I handled it at least. “I’m glad I could come.”

  “I’m glad too.” She bites her lip. “I kind of can’t believe I just did that. A tattoo is so unlike me.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say. “I think it’s perfect for you.”

  She smiles again and her eyes sparkle. God, this woman is going to be the death of me.

  10

  Linnea

  Charlotte slips into my lap and leans her head against my shoulder. “Can I sit with you?”

  “Of course.” I adjust so she can get comfortable and put my arms gently around her.

  We spent the afternoon at her grandad’s house and just finished up dinner. Kendra cooked—it was amazing, as usual—and now Caleb and Alex are in the kitchen cleaning up. I offered to help, but they insisted they had it handled. Kendra and Weston had to leave right after dinner. Weston has a conference in Reno and Kendra’s going with him; their flight is early, so they didn’t want to stay too late.

  I can tell we shouldn’t stay much longer either. Charlotte’s eyes are droopy, and although she’s not the type of kid who is always running around, curling up with me on the couch definitely means she’s tired.

  Charlotte’s grandad, Ken, smiles at me from his recliner. “She wore herself out.”

  “She sure did. I think her uncles had something to do with it.” Alex and Weston played with her out in the backyard before dinner.

  “True,” he says. “How’s school going for the little miss?”

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “She talk much when she’s there?” he asks.

  I glance down; her eyes are closed and her breathing even, but I lower my voice anyway. “Some days. We’ve been having playdates with a little boy in her class. They have fun together, and I think it’s helping a little.”

  He nods. “She’ll come out of her shell. We just need to be patient with her.”

  That makes me smile. “I think so too. She’s so comfortable here, and Caleb said she wasn’t at first. Maybe that will happen with school too.”

  “Well, she should be comfortable here,” he says. “It’s her family.”

  Charlotte’s lucky in that respect. I don’t remember ever feeling comfortable with my family. Not even in my own home.

  “I’m glad she does,” I say.

  “How’s life here treating you?” he asks.

  “I love it here,” I say.

  “Piano lessons going well for everyone?”

  “Very well,” I say with another smile. I’m glad it’s worked out for me to continue teaching. I love sharing my passion for music with kids. “I have a great group of students. And I’ve been teaching Charlotte at home. She’s a natural.”

  “Of course she is,” he says with a proud smile.

  It’s strange, but I don’t remember Melanie ever talking about her in-laws. Ken is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. He has his gruff moments, but he’s never unkind. He always asks me how I’m doing—and not just in a generic way. Like he’s genuinely interested. He’s wonderful with Charlotte, and I can see why she’s so at ease here. Maybe Melanie didn’t spend much time with him. She and Caleb didn’t live here, although I know they visited. But I was taken with him the first time we met. If he was my father-in-law, I’d be gushing about how great he is.

  “Do I remember you saying you’re planning to audition with a symphony?” he asks.

  I resist the urge to let out a heavy sigh. I talked to my mother earlier and she wouldn’t stop drilling me about how much I’ve been practicing. I had to remind her that sending me to be Charlotte’s nanny was her idea. I can’t spend eight hours a day practicing and do my job. Somehow that hadn’t been an acceptable excuse.

  “That’s the idea,” I say.

  He nods slowly, watching me like he’s figuring something out. “Well, if that’s what you really want, I’m sure the right opportunity will come along.”

  “Yeah, it will,” I say.

  He tips his head to one side. “Although sometimes the right thing surprises us.”

  I’m not sure what he means, and I’m just about to ask when Caleb walks in. He looks at Charlotte, sleeping soundly in my lap, and puts a hand to his chest. The look on his face m
akes me all melty.

  “Sweet girl. We should get her home.”

  “Yeah.”

  He scoops her up and takes her to the car while I gather our things and say goodbye. She wakes up when he straps her in, but falls asleep again once we’re moving. I notice Caleb glancing back at her in the rear-view mirror, a little smile playing on his lips. It makes my heart squeeze and I have to force myself to stop staring at him.

  When we get home, Caleb carries her upstairs. Her eyes flutter open and I blow her a kiss.

  Since Caleb’s getting her to bed, I settle in on the couch. I’m hoping he’ll come down and join me once she’s settled. He usually does. If he’s home, and not so exhausted he falls asleep shortly after Charlotte does, we spend our evenings hanging out together.

  Nights with him are such a contradiction for me. In some ways, it’s my favorite time. Charlotte is sleeping peacefully and the house is quiet, so it’s just the two of us. We watch TV or just sit and talk, and it’s so easy. So comfortable.

  But it’s also a little bit like torture. I’ve lived here for months now, and my stupid crush is not going away. I feel such a deep ache when I’m with him—so much longing.

  It’s ridiculous, but no matter how often I tell myself he’s just a friend—not to mention, my boss—there’s something inside me that refuses to listen. That wants him anyway.

  Wants him so badly.

  He comes downstairs and I train my face to stillness. I think I’m doing a good job of hiding how I feel. I certainly can’t let him see. It would be so humiliating if he found out—especially if he rejected me. And of course he would. Just because we get along doesn’t mean he’s interested in me.

  Remember Linnea, he’s older. He’s your boss. He was married to your sister. Calm your hormones.

  My hormones don’t generally listen to me. Especially where Caleb is concerned.

  “Hey.” He smiles and sits on the other side of the couch. God, that smile.

  “Hey,” I say, hoping he can’t hear how hard my heart is beating. He’s way over there, but it’s possible. “She asleep?”

  “Yeah, she’s out.” He rubs his jaw and I wonder what that stubble would feel like against my skin.

  Damn it, I’m still doing it.

  I should suggest we watch TV so I have something else to hold my attention. But all I do is cast glances at him from the corner of my eyes. He has his phone out and he’s flicking through what might be his email. Even sitting there in a t-shirt and flannel pants, he looks perfect. Despite his busy schedule, he keeps himself in great shape; his body is gorgeous. He’s muscular and lean, with well-defined arms and a broad chest. I’ve seen him shirtless a few times and it’s just not fair. I want to lick my way up those abs, and I’ve never had that thought about a man before. Not even my last boyfriend.

  He looks up at me and one corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. “You know, I don’t think I’ve thanked you lately.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything,” he says. “You’ve gone above and beyond what any of Charlotte’s nannies have ever done.”

  I smile to cover the little dip in my tummy at the reminder of the reality of our relationship. I’m just the nanny. “You’re welcome. It’s why I’m here.”

  “It’s just been such a load off my shoulders,” he says. “I don’t know if I realized how stressed I was before.”

  The sincere relief in his voice stirs up my stupid feelings all over again. “I’m glad I can help. I’m sure being on your own hasn’t been easy.”

  “No, it’s tough.” He puts his phone down. “I figured it would be, but it’s one of those things you don’t realize until you live it. And I feel like there are so many things I miss. No matter how hard I try to be everything she needs, I know I’m not enough.”

  “Caleb, you’re the most incredible father I’ve ever met,” I say. “I mean that. I’ve been around kids a lot and I’ve seen all sorts of parents. Some are sweet and attentive, some seem more interested in their phones than their kids. I don’t always know what’s going on behind the scenes, but you can tell when a parent has a good relationship with their child. It shows. And I’ve never seen a relationship that’s as wonderful as the one you have with Charlotte.”

  He stares at me for a long moment, his lips parted. Finally, he clears his throat. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “It’s true.”

  He shifts in his seat. “There are still things I’m not good at, though. Even just little things.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Like doing her hair,” he says. “If it isn’t a ponytail, I’m out of my league. Lately she’s been asking me to do a ballet bun, but I don’t even know what that means.”

  “That’s not hard. You just need a hair donut.”

  “I’m assuming that’s not a sugar-glazed pastry that somehow goes on your head,” he says.

  “No, dork,” I say with a smile. “I have one, I’ll show you.”

  I run upstairs and grab my hair donut along with a couple hair ties and some bobby pins. “This is a hair donut,” I say when I get back, holding up the round spongy accessory that does look a lot like a donut. I put the rest of the stuff on the coffee table.

  “I have no idea what you do with that.”

  “Well, you start with a ponytail. You know how to do that. Then the ponytail goes through the center of the donut, and you wrap the hair around it to make a bun.”

  He looks worried.

  “Come on, you can practice on me,” I say. Oh god, I shouldn’t have said that. He’s going to say it’s not appropriate. I can already feel a blush creeping up my neck.

  “Actually, that would be great, if you don’t mind.”

  Deep breath, Linnea. You’re fine. “Not at all. I’ll just sit there, I guess.” I gesture to the floor in front of him and lower myself so I’m sitting with his legs on either side of me. He scoots forward to the edge of the couch. God, he’s so close I can smell him—clean and warm, with a hint of something spicy.

  “Okay, so what do I do?” he asks.

  “Well, start with a high ponytail,” I say. “I can do that if you want.”

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  I swallow hard as he runs his fingers through my hair. He begins at the bottom, sliding his hands up my neck, gently pulling my hair up as he goes. He keeps it in one hand and uses the other to brush the hair from the top of my head backward. His fingers run along my scalp, sending sparks through my whole body. Even after he has my hair all gathered in one hand, he keeps sliding his fingers through it, softly pulling out the tangles.

  Since he can’t see my face, I let my eyes drift closed. It feels so good, I bite my lower lip to keep from moaning. My body relaxes, and he continues. I’m turning to water at his touch, melting into a pool on the floor. I don’t know why he’s still pulling his fingers through my hair; he has it where it needs to be for a ponytail. But I don’t care.

  Finally, he loops the hair tie around and tightens it. I blink my eyes open, trying to get my brain to work again.

  “So, um…” he says, his voice so soft. “What’s next?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Right. My ponytail goes through the center of the donut and then you pull my hair around it so it’s covered. The ends get wound around the bottom, and you pin everything in place.”

  “Okay.”

  I feel the gentle tugs as he finishes the bun. My heart feels fluttery and I’m desperately hoping my face isn’t bright red—even as I wonder if I can teach him more hairstyles just to feel his hands in my hair again.

  Bad idea, Linnea.

  He slides in another bobby pin. “There. Did I do it right?”

  I touch my hair, and it feels like a perfect bun. “Yeah, I think so. Nice job.” I twist around so I’m facing him. “How does it look?”

  “It’s really pretty on you.”

  Now I know I’m blushing. Did he just call me pretty? “Thanks.”

  His eyes ho
ld mine and I start to feel like I can’t quite breathe. There’s something in the air—tiny pings of tension that make my skin prickle. My heart races. All kinds of things below the waist start tingling. And he still doesn’t look away.

  “Daddy?” Charlotte’s voice carries from upstairs. She sounds like she’s crying.

  The spell is instantly broken. Caleb is up and rushing to her bedroom before I can blink twice.

  With my hand on my chest, I take a trembling breath. I don’t know what just happened there. Was he looking at me like… like I was looking at him? He couldn’t have been. Because I’m certain I forgot myself just now, and looked at him with all my feelings plain on my face, my silly crush right there for him to see.

  I should go upstairs and see if he needs help with Charlotte—she probably had a bad dream. After all, I’m the nanny. That’s why I’m here.

  11

  Linnea

  Glancing at the clock in the kitchen—again—I drum my fingers on the table. Charlotte is having a snack, and I’m going to be late.

  It’s my day to teach piano lessons. So far, we haven’t had any problems making it work, even with Caleb’s hectic schedule. But he was supposed to be home half an hour ago. He hasn’t called or texted to say he’ll be late, or that someone else is coming over to watch Charlotte for the afternoon. I check the calendar on the fridge again—Caleb and I keep it updated with our schedules—but it doesn’t say I’m supposed to take her to her grandad’s house or over to Kendra’s. Little jolts of nervousness ping through me. I’m worried I forgot something.

  I’ll give him five more minutes. Then I’m either going to have to call my first student and cancel, or pack up Charlotte and bring her with me.

  “You haven’t told me how your day was,” I say to Charlotte.

  She twists her little mouth and looks pensive. “I don’t know.”

  “Hmm.” I smooth a piece of hair back from her forehead. “What kind of stuff did you do today?”