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“I punched Ross yesterday. I don’t wanna push my luck any more than I already have.”
“You punched Ross?”
He nods, the crease between his dark brows deepening. “Fucker had it coming. I’m damn sure he’s the one behind those messages.”
“You shouldn’t swear around the kids,” I whisper, because today’s too much for my mind to process.
He glances at his kids.
Mary gives him a toothy grin and goes back to drawing something in her drawing book.
“They don’t seem to notice.”
“Trust me, they do.”
He nods. “Anyway. I should get going. Cole is okay. You’re here.” He stops, a shadow passing over his gaze. “Are you staying?”
I shouldn’t. This is what I came to tell him, right?
But instead I find myself nodding. “For today. I’ll stay today.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, tugs on his beard. He looks back at his kids, hiding his eyes from me. “That’s… great.”
“I love your kids,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “You have to find them a good nanny.”
“They already have the best nanny,” he says, and abruptly gets up to go.
Leaving me speechless and confused.
Then again, when it comes to this guy and me, what else is new?
It’s oddly soothing, being back here, in his house, playing with his kids, preparing them something to eat. The pantry and fridge need stocking, and I should tell Matt that we need to go shopping.
And stop that thought in its tracks.
Just today, I told him. Just because of the drama of Cole missing. I didn’t have the heart to abandon him, and the kids, like that.
Listen to yourself, Octavia. Abandon. You’re just his nanny. Nothing more.
He showed you last night exactly what he thinks of you. Screwed you hard, and left you without another word. This is who Matt Hansen really is.
Gigi is right. Was always right. You’re blinded by his good looks, his affection for his kids, that sexy dark vibe.
But his lack of manners and impenetrable gaze aren’t hiding a vulnerable soul, are they? That’s who he is. He won’t change.
He has changed, that annoying inner voice insists as I prepare some quick lunch. He did start to open up. There was too much crap dumped on his shoulders—nightmares, brawling with Ross, threatening messages on his door. Anyone would break.
But instead he broke you.
Oh, shut up.
Irritably I set the table. He didn’t break me. I’m not broken. Sure, I still ache between my legs, but it was good. More than good, the sex was frigging awesome, and if he doesn’t want to do it again, that’s fine with me.
Can I put it behind me? Only keep the good parts, the good memories, and erase the bad?
The shock in his eyes when he realized I’d never done it with anyone before.
The cold in his voice when he told me to go home.
