Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance
Page 1
Caveman
Taming Matt Hansen
Jo Raven
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue: Golden Promises
Thank you for reading!
If you liked Caveman…
Asher (SAMPLE)
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Candy Boys (SAMPLE)
Part 1
1. Candy
2. Joel
Zane
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part 2
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 3
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Micah
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Before you leave…
Acknowledgments
Jo Says…
Author Bio
Have you read the Inked Brotherhood series?
Blurb
Matthew Hansen is the kind of handsome that has grown women whispering behind their hands and giggling like schoolgirls.
Dark, tall and mysterious, he’s a newcomer to our little town. He’s a gritty, grease-covered mechanic, and a single daddy.
Sweet, right?
Plus, he’s looking for a nanny – and I am desperately looking for a job.
Sounds like the perfect deal.
Only he’s a jerk. An uncivilized, hulking brute. Zero manners. Zero interest in making me feel welcome in his home. Downright rude.
But oh, so sexy.
And I need the job. I can do this.
One thing is for sure: I can’t fall for the Caveman. No matter how sexy he is. How mysterious. How tortured.
That’s the only rule – and one I’m about to break.
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Jo Raven
Copyright © Jo Raven 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover art: RBA Designs | Romantic Book Affairs (http://www.rbadesigns.com)
Chapter One
Matt
There’s a bright, warm place men call home. I searched for it all my life. Thought I’d found it. Let myself roll in the warmth, believe I had reached my destination.
But it was snatched away from me.
So here I am now, standing in the early morning, staring at nothing. The house is big, the town small, a smattering of houses and trees scattered on the plain. The low porch overlooks the overgrown garden, and I gaze at it blindly, not quite sure how I got here. Maybe… through a dark, winding tunnel.
Over a deep, cold sea.
Along a long road going nowhere.
It couldn’t matter less. I’d never heard of Destiny, Missouri, in my life, and that was good enough a reason for me when I grabbed my two kids, stuffed everything I own in my truck, and drove down here.
Maybe it was the name. So fucking symbolic.
So here I am.
Nowhere.
I don’t know what I was looking for, or running from. The beginning and the end of the road are covered in mist. Everything is hazy. I feel as if I’ve been running for ages. Centuries, maybe.
I ran from my memories. I ran from the past. Then I ran from myself, and I still haven’t stopped. How can I? How do you escape what you’ve turned into?
Don’t be so fucking melodramatic, I tell myself.
But when a woman walking a small dog on the other side of the street lifts her hand in greeting, I freeze, stilling even more, until I might as well have turned to stone.
Eventually I step back, into the dimness of the house.
Might as well stop thinking useless thoughts and unpack. Settle in. Make sure the kids are all right.
I find them curled on the old sofa that came with the house, playing with Mary’s toys. Cole is solemnly imitating Mary’s actions—making the Barbie doll in his hand hop on the cushion between them.
Then he throws the doll to the floor and claps his hands.
Mary screams and shoves him.
Motherfucking hell.
I catch him before he topples over and lift him on my hip. A tremor is starting in my body, even though I’m holding him and he’s safe. I fight it, I always fight the way my body reacts to this deep fear, and it’s taking all I have not to let it show.
“He threw my toys!” she wails, pointing a grubby little finger at Cole who is sitting stiffly in my arms, his mouth downturned. “He always destroys my stuff. And I hate my bedroom. You said—”
“Mary,” I growl. “Stop.”
“But…” Her lower lip trembles, and her chocolate eyes fill with tears.
Fear mingles with guilt and anger, twisting into a heavy knot of rusty metal in my chest.
I should do something. Say something. But I don’t know what. Don’t kill your brother? Don’t wail like a mini banshee?
Don’t look at me as if I’ve shattered your world?
I set Cole down because my chest feels too tight, and my head is pounding too hard, trying to figure out a way to comfort them both. Not something I’ve had to do in years.
Taking care of others.
Not since the ground crumbled under my feet, taking me with it, into a pit so deep I couldn’t see the light.
And now you can?
Predictably, before I find the words or even move toward her, my five-year-old daughter climbs off the sofa and scampers out of the room, sniffling and sobbing.
F
ollowed closely by three-year-old Cole.
What the hell am I doing here? How can I take care of them?
Love them, I hear a familiar voice in my mind and close my eyes in pain. Love them, Matt.
Of course I love them. They’re my heart’s blood. My own. There was never any doubt about that, not for me.
I shake my head, shake her voice loose, because she isn’t here, but I am.
And I won’t let myself sink into that bottomless black hole again. Not this time. I’m here to break with the past. To escape it once and for all. Remember who I was once.
I can feel it in my bones that it’s my last fucking chance…
“Jasper wants to talk to you first, face to face,” the guy on the phone tells me in a deep bass voice, “but I’ll be straight with you: the job is as good as yours already, and Jasper will pay extra to have you. Qualified mechanics are hard to come by around here.”
I blink. Didn’t expect to find a job so soon. This is good news, but I can’t find any joy in me, no matter how hard I search.
I also don’t know if I’m supposed to say anything in the stretching silence.
“All right,” the guy says finally, giving up on getting a reaction from me. Maybe he’s used to antisocial mechanics. “The shop opens at nine. Be here half an hour earlier.”
“Fine,” I mutter, just as a crash comes from upstairs.
My heart jolts. I drop the phone.
Fuck.
I stride to the stairs and take them two at a time, my fucking heart in my throat. “Mary! Cole!”
Cole is crying, and the sound twists something inside my chest, something that’s been twisted tight for years. Mary is shouting, but I can’t make out words as I pound up the last steps and run to their room.
I burst inside and stop, panting, when I see them both sitting on the floor, the shards of a mug and a dismembered doll between them.
Shaking my head, I bend over to catch my breath for a second. Fucking hell. We’ve only just arrived, and this is my second almost heart attack of the day.
And the day is still young.
One thing becomes clear to me as I crouch down to gather the jagged pieces of ceramic before either of them gets hurt—and where did they get the mug from?—to make sure they aren’t bleeding:
I need to find a nanny.
Chapter Two
Octavia
“He won’t give you the job, Tati,” my sister says. “No way, no how.”
“You don’t know that. Also, why are you here and not at school?”
I’m leaning against the post of the bus stop across from our house, dressed in a knee-length black dress and high-heeled pumps, my hair pulled back, my lipstick a sheer gloss. Not dressed to kill, but to land a job, a job my sister Gigi has decided I won’t get.
Well, gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Little Sis.
“I’m getting a ride,” she says airily, waving a hand. Her nails are done a different color each, peeking from her black fingerless gloves, and I detect a new blue streak in her hair. Mom will have a fit.
“With whom?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She bats her lashes at me.
“Same guy as two days ago? Big nose, droopy ears, acne craters across his forehead?”
She stomps her foot, grinning. “Stop it. He’s not like that.”
Yeah, that’s true, he’s not. He’s actually quite good looking. “Quasimodo, was it? The guy’s name?”
She giggles.
Gigi has the whole Harley Quinn vibe going on. She is the prettier of the two of us, the flirty one, the funny one. The sexy one. Just one year younger than me, she’s less my sister and more my best friend. Guys tend to fall in love with her all the time.
Most of the time she doesn’t even pretend to notice them.
Then I spot someone walking our way and sigh. “What about Merc?”
“What about him?”
“Is he coming with you?”
Our brother, Mercury Tyson, aka Merc, reaches us and takes off his supersonic mega earphones that make him look like the male incarnation of Leia from Star Wars. He gives us a toothy grin.
“What are you doing here?” Gigi demands.
“Hitching a ride with you.”
“You’re so not.”
“I so am. Not letting you ride with that creepy guy alone again. He may stick his tongue in your ear or grab your boob.”
“You’re an idiot,” Gigi grumbles, and turns her back to him and her attention back to me. “Hansen.”
“Huh?” I’m checking in my bag for the address and phone number of my client, afraid I left them at home.
“Matthew Hansen? The guy you’re about to meet? That one. Do you know what you’re up against?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s just a man. He needs a babysitter. I can do this in my sleep. What else is there to know?”
“Oh, Sis, you have no clue.” Gigi leans in to whisper in my ear. “He’s hotter than a nuclear explosion, girl. Panty-melting material. Italian ancestry, lumberjack muscles, huge—”
“What are you two gossiping about?” Merc gives us the evil eye.
“He’s also a jerk,” Gigi goes on, ignoring him.
For real?
Merc huffs. “Hansen is a decent guy. Guy’s a mechanic, works down at Jasper’s Garage. Stop repeating whatever you hear.”
“Oh, shut up, Merc.” Gigi sticks her tongue out at him. “The man had two nannies leave already, in the space of a week, and nobody knows why. You know nothing about him.”
I gape at her. “Two? What happened?”
“They just walked out, said he was rude. The whole town is buzzing about it.”
But I never heard anything.
Then again, I’d been so busy between my graduation from school, sending out college applications and looking for a job that I haven’t done much else these past two months.
“I can handle rude,” I tell her, and look, my bus is arriving. “Wish me luck. And be careful with Quasimodo.”
“His name’s Quinn!” she yells at me as I board the bus. “You’ll love him.”
Merc makes a face of disgust, and I snicker as I get my ticket and find a seat in the back.
Siblings. Always exaggerating, always teasing.
Can’t live without them, can’t put them up for sale on eBay.
The house looks exactly the same as all the houses on the street, so I doublecheck the number, just in case. The garden is overgrown, the fence needs painting, and there’s no sign of life.
Frowning, I take a moment to pat my hair, making sure no stray strands are curling at my temples, and smooth down my dress.
I’m as formal-looking as I’d ever hope to be in my mom’s old dress and shoes. I think they’re vintage. The shoes seem to be from the seventies, suede with a thick heel, and the dress has pearly buttons down the front. It’s cinched tight at the waist and has small plaits fanning out. I’ve thrown a light black coat on top.
I may not be a beauty like Gigi, but I think I look okay.
And Gigi is making a big deal out of everything, I think, as I press the doorbell. She always does. Matthew Hansen can’t be that rude, or that hot.
One thing is clear in my mind: I’m not leaving from this spot until I land this job. I need that money.
Moments pass, and I shift from foot to foot, tugging on my dress sleeves. I feel as if the whole neighborhood is watching me. Was that a curtain twitching behind the window of the house next door?
Sweat trickles down my back despite the cold.
Should I ring the bell again? When I called, asking about the position, he said to come over at eight.
I decide to wait, give him five more minutes. Maybe he’s upstairs, or in the bathroom. I wait and wait, shifting on my heels, rubbing my hands over my thin coat, before ringing again.
It’s ten past eight. Surely, that’s enough time—
The lock turns, and the door swings open with a screech of rusted hinges, the sou
nd making my teeth ache, and I get a glimpse of something dark and… hairy?
A grizzly this far south?
I make out a pair of bright, dark eyes just as a growly voice says, “Hell no.”
And the door slams shut in my face.
Shit.
After a few stunned moments spent questioning first my sanity and then the address, I raise my hand and ring again. It is the right house. And I have an appointment. He can’t leave me outside in the cold.
Right?
I ring the doorbell again.
He didn’t even talk to me. And I want this job. I need it. We have debts Mom can’t ever hope to pay back, and I will be leaving town soon… My admission papers and a partial scholarship letter sit at home in the bedroom I share with Gigi, in an envelope under my mattress.
Not that it’s a secret. But I feel like I need to keep them close to me, this promise of a new life, as soon as those debts are paid off, and I can be sure to leave my family set up okay.
There aren’t many jobs in a small place like this, and the salary offered by Matthew Hansen for a nanny to babysit his brats could make all the difference between taking some of the financial stress off Mom or leeching off her for one more summer.
Not an option.
“Hey!” I bang on his door when leaning on the doorbell brings no results. “I’m not leaving! You’d better open up.”
Curtains are definitely twitching behind the windows of nearby houses, but by now I’m flushed and warm with righteous anger and desperation.
He does need a nanny, after all. He’s the one who posted the offer on the sheet of paper outside the post office. He can’t send me away without even talking to me.
“Open up!” I yell. “Please, Mr. Hansen, just give me a chance—”
The door swings wide open, and I stumble back with a yelp.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he hisses. “What the hell do you want?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out as I take my first good look at him in broad daylight.