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“Handshakes,” I lie.
Meredith lifts one eyebrow and then peers into the car’s back seat. Then, out of earshot of the little ones, she rolls up to the balls of her feet, fists the front of my shirt, and murmurs against my throat.
“Can he tell by my handshake that I’m going to demand his son drill the daylights out of me tonight when we’re done babysitting?”
ChapterSixteen
Meredith
On the outside, the Jones’ log cabin home is charming, built into the side of a hill nestled in the woods down the path from the resort’s main entrance. Inside, the place is sleek and modern, with a vast great room with enormous windows on either side of a sweeping stone fireplace that rises to the second floor.
I’ve never babysat in a place like this, that’s a fact.
I say modern, but it’s also cozy, with two substantial sectional sofas defining the corner of the room, where Julius immediately runs toward.
“Can we watch a movie, Uncle Nate?”
I smile and nudge him in the ribs, rocking the baby on my hip as I snoop through the kitchen. “Uncle Nate.”
He shoots me an adorable grin.
“Nothing Disney!”
The kid screams in protest, which makes the baby screech in delight.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nate shouts over the noise.
The four of us sprawl out on the sofas and watchMoana. We indulge Julius with microwave popcorn and lemonade. Meanwhile, I feed the baby her last bottle of the evening, and she falls asleep on me.
The older one goes to bed shortly after I lay Shiloh in her crib without too much fuss.
“So that’s babysitting,” I say, flopping down on the sofa next to Nate.
He laughs. “That was an easy night. The trick now is to stay awake until their parents come home.”
I turn toward him and cock my head. “You know, my mom always warned me to stay awake when I babysat. But the thing is, parents do sleep while their kids are sleeping, so… what’s the difference?”
Nate rubs the scruff on his chin, making me want to lean over and bite it. “Interesting observation. My main motivation for staying awake is so Dad doesn’t give me shit about drooling on his furniture,” Nate says.
I run the tip of my finger down the front of his shirt. “How does your dad feel about making out with your girlfriend on his couch?”
He laughs. “Not great. But he likes you, so maybe he’ll be okay with it.”
“And what about you?”
Nate looms over me, his eyes hooded. “More than okay.”
Our mouths meet in a series of playful kisses, tongues teasing, and teeth nipping. We both seem determined to keep things light while we’re alone with the kids just upstairs from where we are. Until Nate eases his tongue deeper into my mouth, causing my arousal to spiral higher.
I want more. The kissing is delicious but too sweet, too soft. I fist the front of his shirt while Nate massages my upper thigh.
He pulls away from the kiss, breathless. “Your mouth tastes so good. I want to rip your panties off and taste you everywhere.”
Looks like I’m not the only one resisting the desire to grope, tear at clothing, and grind.
A soft knock at the door rips us out of the moment.
With a grumble, Nate goes to the door, and a tall, older woman with a French accent enters the space, carrying paper bags.
