I’m kissing my boss and I don’t want to stop.
Oh God, I’m definitely getting fired.
This is it. This is how my nanny career ends. Not with a butter knife incident or a broken arm or accidentally setting something on fire—with me making out with my employer in a dimly lit hallway like some kind of—Gabriel pulled back slightly, just enough to break the kiss, and I made another sound, this one definitely a whimper of protest.
Smooth, Cate. Very professional.
His forehead rested against mine, and I could feel his breath against my lips, warm and unsteady.
He’s breathing hard.
Gabriel Lyon is breathing hard.
Because of me.
Holy shit.
“Cate,” he murmured, and his voice was rough, strained, like he’d been running. Or like he’d been kissing someone and didn’t want to stop.
Oh my God.
I opened my eyes and found him watching me with an intensity that made my stomach flip. His pupils were dilated. His normally controlled expression was completely undone. His hair was slightly messed up where my fingers had apparentlymigrated at some point during the kiss, and his mouth—Don’t look at his mouth.
Don’t think about his mouth.
Too late. Thinking about his mouth. Thinking about what his mouth was just doing. Thinking about what else his mouth could—“I—” I started, but my voice came out as a croak.
Sexy. Very sexy. Definitely not the sound of a dying frog.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “I—um—”
Words, Cate. Use your words. You’re a grown-ass woman. You can form sentences.“That was—” I attempted.
That was what? Amazing? Terrifying? The best and worst decision of my entire life? All of the above?
Gabriel’s thumb stroked my cheek again, and I forgot how to breathe. “I’ve wanted to do that,” he said quietly, “since that first day when you stood up to me after I got home.”
What?
WHAT? Since the FIRST DAY? He’s wanted to kiss me since the first day?
My brain tried to process this information and immediately gave up. “You—” I squeaked. “But you were so—you were so.”
“Angry?” he supplied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Frustrated?”
“Terrifying,” I finished. “You were absolutely terrifying.”
His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but was close. “You terrified me first.”
“I—what? How? You were the one who looked like you were going to murder me!”
“You walked into my house,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “and within five minutes, you’d broken every rule, questioned every boundary, and made my daughter laugh harder than she had in months.”
Oh.
“And then,” he continued, his hand sliding from my face to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, “you stood in my house and read me the riot act. You defended my daughter and put me in my place.”
Oh, my God.
