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“You,” he says.
It sounds like an accusation. And yet his gaze holds no heat, only surprise.
“Mr. Hansen.” I pull my shoulders back. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I’m standing so close to him.
Way too close. He’s so tall and broad-shouldered he’s like a wall.
He says nothing, just staring at me, the darkness in his eyes swallowing me whole. I’m so aware of his height, the big muscles in his arms, his long dark lashes, it’s insane.
I’m wringing my hands together, and I make myself stop. “Look, Mr. Hansen…” I have to say something sensible. “How are the kids? Have you found a nanny for them yet?”
But this was the wrong call, because his expression shutters. “Yeah.”
That one word hits me hard. “You hired someone else?”
He nods and pushes dark hair out of his eyes. He’s still looking at me. His gaze is like a laser beam, passing over my face, then moving lower, and a wave of desire hits me, knotting up my insides.
Crap.
Christ, what’s the matter with me? For some reason, Matt Hansen has my whole body clenching with need just by standing there.
Why does my body react to this bear of a man when it remains numb and cold when other guys look at me?
When he passed me over for the job, not even deigning to talk to me, and went and hired someone else the next day?
God.
“That’s a pity,” I whisper, deciding to cut my losses and go back home. I just need to rest a little, cool down, and maybe inspiration will hit, and I will magically know what to do.
Adjusting the strap of my purse on my shoulder, I turn blindly to go and promptly trip over my own feet.
Man, I just can’t catch a break these days, can I?
But I don’t hit the floor. An arm like a steel band is wrapped around my waist, and that scent of spicy male musk is everywhere.
My heart is hammering. I sag in his hold, my legs like rubber.
Without a word, he sets me down on my feet and pulls the strap of my purse back up on my shoulder, a strangely intimate, gentle gesture.
Then he bends over to gather the small bag he dropped while saving my ass from meeting the linoleum, and the reality of what just happened hits me.
Matthew Hansen caught me.
And I can’t catch my breath. My heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour.
He watches me a few moments longer, as if making sure I’m not about to topple over again, those dark eyes strangely mesmerizing.
Then he rolls one massive shoulder in a shrug and starts walking once more toward the door.
“Thank you,” I finally find the presence of mind to call after him and take a step in his direction.
But by then he’s already gone.
Trudging back home, kicking off my shoes the moment I pass through the door, I head straight for the bathroom, only to find it occupied.
“Gigi!” I bang on the door. “I need to shower.”
