“Nothing. You’re just hot as hell.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “No one’s told me that in a long time.”
My hands on her thighs, I lean closer to her, inhaling her scent. I want to drink her in. “The men you’ve been around must be fucking blind.”
She moans before I even touch the tip of my tongue to her *, and it spurs me on. I lick the length of her, slowly, trailing my tongue along her until I reach her clit. When I take her clit into my mouth, sucking it, she leans against the door, watching me with hooded eyes. All I can think about is what those eyes would look like as she comes.
Her fingers run along the back of my head, and she moans my name as I lick her, her breath coming shorter and shorter as I fuck her with my tongue. She’s whispering my name over and over like it’s come kind of mantra – until she stops, this time saying it with a hint of alarm in her voice: “Luke!”
I look up at her, not stopping until she says it again. “Shit. Luke! The nanny is back early. She’s pulling in the driveway. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
And just like that, she’s pushing me away, scrambling for her jeans and grabbing the rumpled clothing from the floor. “Luke,” she says. “Shit. I have to put clothes on. You. What are we doing with you?”
“Well, a half-second ago, you were about to come on my tongue.”
Her face goes scarlet, and she looks like she’s about to break into a run, the lower half of her body naked. “Oh, shit. I mean, there’s a bathroom downstairs for you to clean up. Oh, God.”
She’s darting upstairs before I can tell her she left her torn panties in the bowl on the entryway table. I slip them into my back pocket before the door swings open.
Greta, the nanny, stands there with Olivia on her hip, her eyes going wide. “Oh! Luke… I didn’t know anyone was home. We came home early instead of going to the park because it looked like it was going to rain. Autumn is usually out in the – “
“Usually what?” Autumn’s voice comes from behind me, and she passes me without a second glance, scooping Olivia up in her arms. “Hey, my little baby. Did you have fun?”
“We sang lots of songs,” the nanny tells her.
“Mr. Saint was just giving me some ideas for the reorganization of the orchard to increase efficiency of the crop,” Autumn says quickly.
“Efficiency,” I agree, stifling the pang of irritation that runs through me. The way she avoids eye contact with me makes me feel like she’s ashamed of what happened, and for whatever reason, that annoys me.
“Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Saint?” asks the nanny.
Autumn clears her throat. “I think he probably has a lot of work to do,” she says, interrupting me before I can speak.
“Yeah.” I’m annoyed that she just interrupted me, like she’s afraid of what I’m going to say or something. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Work that I’m basically doing for her as a favor. I don’t need this job.
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed that she just brushed me off, but I am.
12
Autumn
I send Greta home early, too shaken up by what happened with Luke to even focus on work right now. I swear she knows there’s something going on. She gives me a funny look when I send her home, like our encounter is written all over my face, my personal version of the scarlet letter.
As if she can tell that I was just pressed up against the front door of my own house, in the middle of broad daylight, with Luke Saint’s face between my legs.
This is not something I do. I don’t throw caution to the wind, and I don’t have flings. Edward was my college boyfriend, and the handful of boyfriends I’ve had before him were all the same – responsible, business-oriented, and… boring.
But Luke…
His touch still lingers on my skin, his taste still on my lips.
I focus my attention on Olivia, mentally chastising myself for my attention drifting. “Is that yummy, Liv-bug?”
Olivia grins up at me, her mouth stuffed with spaghetti noodles, and then opens wide, her tongue sticking out, dropping half of the chewed food onto her highchair tray. “Eew, see-food. Gross, Liv-bug.”
She cackles hysterically, slapping the highchair tray, delighted at my reaction. I know it’s not something I should encourage, especially if I want her to develop any manners, but she’s so pleased with my faux-disgust that I can’t quite help myself.
I talk to her while she finishes her lunch, then read her favorite story, The Three Little Pigs, in a rocking chair in her bedroom until she’s rubbing her eyes. When I put her in her crib, she’s out like a light.
Which leaves me alone with my thoughts. And those thoughts inevitably return to Luke Saint.
Luke, with his grin, the one that hints of mischief.
Luke, with a body made for sin – broad shoulders, rock hard abs, and the tightest ass I’ve ever seen.