‘Good job it’ll never happen again then,’ Caelon says gruffly.
‘Good job.’ My mouth agrees, but my lady parts scream otherwise.
Of all the men in the world, why does the hottest guy to lay his hands on me have to be my new boss and my brother’s best friend? And if that wasn’t enough, he also happens to have more issues than Playboy magazine.
The coffee machine stops. Caelon picks up the espresso and hands it to me. My fingers graze his. The heat of the cup has nothing on the hot, prickling sensation of our skin touching. He jumps back like he’s been scalded. Good to know I’m not the only one suffering.
He turns his back to me, studying the coffee capsules like they’re the morse code. ‘You’re good with them, you know.’
‘Orla yes. Owen’s still making his mind up.’
‘He’s never warmed to any woman other than his mother,’ Caelon admits.
I pause for a second, unsure whether to comment or not. As usual, my mouth wins the battle against my brain. ‘I’m so sorry about your wife. And I’m sorry I was so fucking insensitive in the bar the first night.’
‘Don’t be. I don’t need your pity.’ His shoulders go rigid as he shoves another capsule into the machine and slams the lid down hard.
I flinch. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
He sighs and his back relaxes slightly. ‘Look, it is what it is. We do the best we can without her.’
‘Want to join me on the patio for a few minutes?’ I gesture towards the sun streaming through the window. I’m dying to get to know him a bit better. It might be overstepping, given that he’s my boss, but considering we live together, and we’re already sort of intimately acquainted, maybe it’s okay?
His jaw sets in a fine line. Shit. Ididoverstep. My fucking mouth again. I’m his employee, not his friend.
‘Sorry, Tranquil, no can do.’ He shakes his head.
‘Tranquil?’ I squeak.
He’s given me a nickname. Surprise rises in my chest.
‘You nicknamed me Tortured, so I nicknamed you Tranquil. You brought the kids tranquillity. I see you teaching them yoga. You’re a good influence on them. There have been fewer meltdowns. They’re more Zen or whatever.’
He’s teasing me. ‘Zen? You think I’m some sort of hippy or something? Yoga reduces cortisol levels, therefore reduces anxiety.’
‘Relax, I didn’t mean to insult you. If anything, I’m grateful.’ He pats my arm in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but in reality, it sets my skin on fire. ‘I’d better clean up the orange juice before Liz comes in and kicks my ass into next week.’
‘Okay.’ I take my coffee outside and sit on one of the plush wicker armchairs overlooking the pool. The cool air does nothing to help the fire blazing over my skin.
Tranquil. Huh. I suppose I’ve been called worse.
Chapter Eleven
IVY
The following evening, Caelon swans into the dining room with a bottle of red wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He places them on the table between us. Things are looking up. I haven’t had a drink since that night at the bar and the prospect of one tonight, amongst other things, has me salivating.
Given that it’s Friday, I gather he’s going to put the kids to bed, which means I have the night off and I have every intention of using my free time wisely.
I’ve had an itch brewing for weeks. And living with Mr Tortured is doing nothing to take the edge off. In fact, it’s exacerbating it. Smelling his cologne wafting through the corridors, watching the strong but gentle way he interacts with his kids. And don’t get me started on that pornographic tattoo I glimpsed in the kitchen yesterday.
I need to get out, let off some steam, get sexually sated, and then maybe I won’t ruin my panties every time he walks into the room.
‘Daddy!’ Owen and Orla both jump from their seats andrun to Caelon, whose biceps flex as he pulls them into his arms.
What is it about single dads that is so freaking hot?
‘Hi guys, did you have a good day?’ He kisses their foreheads, then ushers them back into their seats and uncorks the bottle.
