Following, I stopped at the bottom of the staircase and watched her go in helpless astonishment.
Whathad I been thinking?
Where had that even come from? I hadn’t planned to provoke her. The last thing I wanted was for sweet Angelina to be mad at me.
I craved her smiles, her approving glances whenever I happened to stumble upon a rare moment of competent parenting, her laughter when one of my dumb jokes managed to tickle her funny bone.
But her rejection of my gift had hurt my feelings, and like a little kid, I’d lashed out without thinking.
I was ashamed of myself and more than a little afraid I’d alienated her for good.
My gut roiled with an intense nausea I’d only felt after being on the wrong end of a kidney shot, an illegal boxing move fighters sometimes tried and occasionally got away with.
I heard the padding of tiny bare feet, and little fingers wrapped themselves around mine. I looked down to see Claire’s big hazel eyes trained on the top of the staircase.
“Is Angelina still going to swim with us, Daddy?”
And now my stomach hurt for another reason. What if I’d offended Angelina so much she no longer wanted to work as my children’s nanny? What if my stupid mouth had ruined the best thing that had ever happened to my girls?
“I don’t know, baby,” I said. “I wouldn’t count on it. Angelina might need a little time to… rest. Come on, Daddy will take you swimming.”
Lifting her, I walked back toward the kitchen to collect Skyla and all our towels and pool toys. We stepped out the back door, and oblivious—thankfully—to the grave mistake their father had made, the girls whooped and cartwheeled all the way across the yard.
It was a perfect day for swimming, with clear skies and bright sunshine that made the pool’s glossy surface sparkle like glass. But a cloud hung over my heart, blotting out my enjoyment of family fun day.
All I could think of was the coming storm, the possibility Angelina might walk out of our lives forever.
I made a vow to myself then and there that if she’d stay and give me another chance, I wouldn’t put a single toe out of line.
I’d stop trying to impress Angelina, cease my pathetic attempts to woo her.
I’d be the perfect employer—respectful, professional, and above all, self-controlled.
Chapter Twelve
Frumpy Old Lady
Angelina
What a horse’s ass.
I stared at the array of fine clothing spread out across the king-sized bed in my room. It must have cost a fortune.
Well, Sully was going to get his money back. I wasn’t going to wear a stitch of it. I’d insist he return the whole lot, and if he refused, I’d give the unworn items to charity.
Grabbing one of the empty shopping bags, I began filling it with the beautiful clothes.
When I reached for the red dress, I felt a prick of regret. It was so pretty, and it had felt so good on. I remembered how Sully had reacted to seeing me in it, the way his eyes had widened and traveled over my figure, and a tingly heat spread through my abdomen.
I knew he was only trying to be nice, buying me all this stuff. I’d witnessed many examples of his extreme generosity in the past month. It was part of his nature.
But I couldn’t keep the dress. I couldn’t keep any of it. It was too personal, too intimate to allow him to buy clothing for me.
The lines were already too blurry with my attraction to him growing stronger every day.
Besides, I was still furious at him for the things he’d said. A “frumpy old lady?” I had half a mind to open the second-floor window and dump the whole collection of haute couture out on the front drive.
And the thing he’d said about my hair?
