Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
In an attempt to get a grip, I pour bath gel on my hands and start to wash a pink little body while Jordan continues with ducky duty.
“I have an event this weekend,” he says quietly, gaze trained on Maisie. “It’s a charity thing in the Hamptons.”
This is good. This is exactly what we need to get this business relationship back on track. A little distance. Because the truth is I’m in grave danger of falling for this man.
“So you’ll be gone all weekend or just the one day?”
“I want you and Mais to come with me.”
This is not good. Not good at all. In fact this is a major bummer.
“Me? Why me?” I’m genuinely curious. Why would he want a baby and the nanny at a fancy Hamptons party?
“Because I want you there.”
I don’t know what to make of that statement and I won’t even try. I’m exhausted from the mental gymnastics, from fending off his mother’s insults, from life in general.
While he takes Maisie’s hands, I sit back down on the floor, push the hair falling out of my top knot off my face. “I’m exhausted. Mind if I stay here tonight?”
“Stay here every night,” he murmurs.
“Ducky! Peepee! Rie. Peepee,” Maisie screams and giggles.
Maisie’s finally learned my name. As tired as I am, I can’t stop smiling. She’s been using it a lot lately and it kills me softly every time I hear it.
Jordan starts to lift her out of the bathtub.
“Watch out,” I tell him. Apparently he missed the pee pee part. “She just warned you.”
Not heeding me, he pulls her out of the water too early. Maisie’s not quite done peeing yet and lets it rip down his chest. The look of utter shock on his face makes me explode with laughter.
“She warned you!”
Maisie kicks her legs and giggles, proud of her handiwork, while I grab the nearest hand towel and start to dry him off.
It’s a reflex, a nothing gesture, until I realize the only thing separating my hand and his abs is the thin piece of Egyptian terry cloth I’m holding. In the exact moment we both realize what’s happening, the air suddenly shifts, the silence thick with meaning. I can’t be the only one feeling it.
Maisie dangles in the air from his safe and secure grip while I finish drying him off. If I stop now, it will only get more awkward for me and there’s only so much of it I can handle tonight.
Once done, I glance up into his face, doing my best to pretend that I’m completely unaffected, that I’m not insanely attracted to him. But the problem is that, according to what I find there, neither of us are unaffected.
There’s so much naked heat and longing and desire in his eyes I’m surprised I don’t go up in flames. This is a man that barely has a pulse most of the time, and yet the level of intensity I’m witnessing is almost a little scary. Not by a mile.
That’s when it comes to me––what am I doing? Fantasies are fun and all but reality has consequences. I am way out of my league here. I don’t think I would survive having sex with this man. He would wreck me.
“All done,” I murmur.
“All done!” Maisie echoes back. Jordan breaks eye contact first.
Most definitely done.
11
Chapter Eleven
Riley
The traffic on the road to the Hamptons is brutal. Basically it’s hell on wheels. Four hours and counting and we’re barely moving. At least Maisie hasn’t noticed. I put on a video at the start of the trip and she nodded off halfway through.
It’s been five days since the bathroom incident and neither of us has spoken a word about it. We just go about life as if it didn’t happen, as if nothing ever happens, ignoring this growing thing between us. This is totally in character for Jordan, no surprise. Me? I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I call us the unfamily. We’ve been going through the motions of life for close to two months now, sharing space, sharing household and parenting duties, but we’re not the real thing. Like today, for instance, here we are, attending an event as a family when in truth, we’re not, not even close. We’re the unfamily unit.
Next to me, the driver seems on edge, one hand on the steering wheel, thumb tapping impatiently, mouth pursed. He keeps checking the rearview mirror like he’s on the run from the mob.
“Do you owe somebody money?” I murmur. We’ve both adopted this low voice talking without ever having discussed it. Typical unfamily stuff.
His brow furrows in confusion, his focus shifting between me and the road ahead. Not that we’re going anywhere––traffic is at a standstill.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Today is another uninspired wardrobe choice. He has on a white linen shirt and jeans. Though, to his credit, it’s an improvement over the all black widow’s weeds he usually wears.