by Mia Carson
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and his gut twisted in raw desire to lick those lips. His hand was moving to the back of her neck when Louis called out to them.
“What are you guys doing?”
Stan immediately let go of Remy’s hands, and she returned to her work as he turned with a grin to see Louis running to the edge of the patio. His smirk said he knew exactly what they’d been about to do, and Stan narrowed his eyes at his son.
“Gardening. Want to help, or are you going to sleep for another ten hours?” he said jokingly and tossed the trowel to Louis.
They worked side by side for the next two hours, and it was the most natural time of Stan’s life. Remy relaxed, and they were laughing before long, turning the horrid, overgrown flowerbed into something resembling beauty.
“You know,” Remy said when they called it quits as the sun set behind them, “I could probably get my mom to deliver some plants for you. They would really bring this place back to life. It’s not too late in the season for some new colors.”
“Tell her I will pay her handsomely for them. I think we could use some colors.”
Remy and Louis helped him find his feet and land back in his chair. Anger spiked through him for a split second at how he was still trapped in the damn chair, but he quickly stamped it out as his usual guilty conscience slipped back into place. The smile remained plastered on his face, but all his joy from the afternoon was gone.
“Louis, why don’t you get washed up and we’ll get dinner going?” Remy suggested.
“Burgers and fries?” he asked hopefully.
Remy’s hands rested on her hips as she shrugged. “Sure, why not? Unless boss man here wants something else.”
“Hmm? No, no, that’s fine. I have to take care of a few things.”
He pushed his chair towards the workshop as Louis darted back inside the house. “Don’t you dare go hide in there and brood,” Remy called after him.
“I’m not.”
“Right, sure you’re not. Just make sure you’re in that happy mood when you come back out.”
Stan spun his chair back around, but the words stuck in his throat. Remy scowled at him, daring him to argue with her. He let out a deep breath and headed for the house instead. “Fine, fine. Happy?”
“No, I’d be happy if you’d stop brooding all the time when you think I’m not looking.”
“Says the woman who’s clearly hiding something herself,” he pointed out.
Remy’s face blanched and she nibbled her lip. “It’s different. I don’t have a son I have to take care of.”
“It’s not different. You’re hiding something, just like I am.” He rolled closer, unsure what he planned on doing when he reached her. She turned around with a muttered curse, but he was faster and reached out for her waist, drawing her back with a surprised “Oh!” into his lap.
“Stan, what are you doing?” she asked, trying to get up, but he held on tighter. The ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “Really, this is not… this is not appropriate,” she added in a whisper.
“Neither is this,” he murmured and grabbed the nape of her neck, turned her face, and captured her lips in a steamy kiss. He was worried he was too clumsy, but her hands slithered around his body and she drew him closer as the kiss stretched on. His legs throbbed in pain from her weight, but he didn’t want her to leave his lap. His tongue reached out tentatively, seeking the warmth of her mouth, and her lips parted on a sigh. He ravished her mouth, her quiet moans sending his desire spiraling out of control. If he wasn’t stuck in this damn chair and his son wasn’t inside, he’d have her right there on the damn patio, covered in sweat and dirty from the day’s work.
“Stan,” she whispered against his lips, her need evident in the hoarseness of that one word. Then she shifted on his lap and pulled back, her eyes wide as she stared down at his groin. “Oh, God… oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he grumbled as she pulled away even more.
She gave him an exasperated look. “You know what. Damn it, I didn’t want this to happen. I’m sorry, I should…uh, I should get inside and work on dinner.”
She slipped out of his hands before he could catch her and rushed inside the house, leaving him out on the patio wondering what the hell went wrong.
She’s the nanny, you idiot, he scolded himself as he wheeled himself inside. She’s probably worried she’ll mess up her job if she gets involved with you. Or mess up this chance with your son, and you just had to go and push her.
His throbbing erection took a while to go away as he showered and dressed for dinner. He imagined burying himself in Remy and hearing her whisper his name again or cry it out loudly so it echoed through the house.
The house where his son lived, too. He hung his head, cursing his difficult circumstances. He would have to find a way to control his longing for her, at least until he had a plan for how to successfully woo her without Louis being around to see or hear anything. As he made his way back to the kitchen and heard Remy laughing with Louis, he put on his best relaxed, happy face and pretended he wasn’t itching to start that kiss all over again and show her he was falling for her.
Chapter 8
“Remy? You all right over there? We’re supposed to pick out plants, you know, not daydream about hot men.”
Remy glared at Callie through the hanging pots between them, and her friend beamed. “I wasn’t daydreaming about hot men,” she muttered, though that was exactly what she was doing. Since that kiss yesterday, her lips tingled in remembrance of how it felt being in Stan’s lap, his arms holding her close as his mouth explored hers deliciously. Her cheeks burned, and she heard Callie cackle from the other aisle.
“You totally are. Why not just, you know, do the dirty and get it over with?”
Remy’s heart pounded painfully behind her ribs. “Sex?”
“Yes, I mean sex,” Callie said louder, ignoring the curious looks from several customers in the greenhouse. “It’s about time you had your first romp in the hay.”
“I can’t… I mean, I really shouldn’t, not with this guy.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Remy picked up a potted lily and set it in the cart next to the calla lilies and several different types of azaleas. “He’s…uh, he’s off limits.” She tried to keep walking, but Callie stopped in front of her cart. “Come on, we can’t be gone all day. It’s going to take me forever to plant everything.”
Callie’s eyes narrowed then widened as she clapped a hand over her mouth, bouncing up and down on her feet. “No way!”
“No way, what?” Abbey asked as she walked over, wiping her hands on her green apron.
“Nothing at all, Mom.”
“Callie looks like she’s going to explode, so I would say it’s something a bit more than that.”
Callie nodded her head frantically. “Oh, man, Remy, you really did it this time.”
Pursing her lips, Remy left the cart and walked around to the other end of the aisle without it, Callie and Abbey following close behind. She busied herself by picking out a few more plants and hoisting them into her arms, but when she turned, she found herself blocked in by both women.
“Remy, what’s going on?” Abbey asked seriously.
“Nothing, Mom. It’s nothing.”
“You know that doesn’t work with me. Tell me now or I’ll come with you and plant all these lovely flowers while I tell your new boss as many embarrassing stories about you as I can.”
Remy gulped. “I just… I might have a certain attraction for, uh, for my new boss,” she said quietly, cringing. “Like a bad attraction and I…uh, I think he might have one back.”
Callie laughed, dancing around in a circle as if it was the best thing ever, but Abbey appeared torn between wanting to be happy and worry for her daughter’s choice of man to fall for. “Remy, are you sure it’s not just a physical attraction?”
“No… maybe, I don’t know, Mom,” she grumbled and set the
plants down with a huff. “I don’t know. He drives me crazy half the time with his broodiness, but the days he laughs and smiles, he’s this completely different man and I…I really like him. Then yesterday, he kissed me and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing!”
Abbey sighed as she pulled her daughter into a hug. “That’s usually how it goes. That’s how it was with your dad and me,” she said, rubbing her back. “Whatever you do, please be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“That’s all? You’re not going to tell me to quit my job and stay the hell away from him?”
“For the past few weeks, all you’ve talked about is how great it is being in that house and helping their small family come together,” Abbey told her. “Why would I try to pull you away from that? They need you, so yes, all I’m going to say is be careful and take care of yourself, too.” She kissed her forehead with a grin.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, hon. Now, how about we get all these plants rung up? Your dad packed your studio and has been blowing up my phone for the past twenty minutes, wanting to know if it was safe to deliver your art stuff.”
Remy chuckled. “You should text him and say I changed my mind.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Abbey agreed, and giggling, she texted George, saying just that. The immediate response was a phone call from the man himself, asking what was going on. Remy laughed as her mom kept the prank going for a solid ten minutes before she told George they were kidding and relayed the address to him.
Remy rode with her mom and Callie back to Stan’s home, but thankfully, the two had called for a cab and were out for the day, exploring the local shops in search of new ship models. Callie pouted, saying she wanted to meet this mysterious man, but Remy told her she could not stick around by hiding in her closet until the boys returned home. The plants unloaded and laid out with Abbey’s expertise, Remy ducked inside to the room she’d picked as her studio. It was on the ground floor at the very back of the house. It looked like it used to be a storeroom of some kind, so there were plenty of shelves and old tables for her to use. George had set up most of her supplies by the time she reached it.
“Well, kid,” he said, draping his arm over her shoulders and planting a loud kiss on top of her head, “I think I’m actually going to miss seeing this stuff every day.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised.
“No, not really,” he teased, and she elbowed him in the side.
“But your mom said something about you and this fella possibly having a fling. Do I need to have a stern talk with him?”
Horrified that he was being serious, Remy begged him not to, babbling for several minutes about how traumatizing that would be when George burst out laughing.
“Gotcha.”
“Not funny, Dad, not even close,” she argued and elbowed him again.
“Hey, watch it. Old man walking here.”
“Whatever. You’re not old.”
“But seriously,” he said when he reached the front door. Abbey waited with Callie in the greenhouse truck. “If you and this Stanford guy get involved, you tell him if he hurts my little girl, I don’t care if he’s in a wheelchair. I’ll whoop his ass into next year.”
Remy rolled her eyes and shoved him out the door. “I’ll be sure not to tell him that. Bye, guys! Thanks!”
Her parents and Callie waved until they were down the drive, and Remy shut the front door. She had quite a chunk of work ahead of her so she found her work gloves, a bottle of water, and stepped out onto the back patio.
“All right, plants, let’s do this,” she said with a grin and set to work.
She dug into the work headfirst, ready for the distraction to draw her thoughts away from Stan and the kiss they’d shared, but it did the exact opposite. Every time she dug her trowel into the dirt, she sensed the ghost of his touch at the back of her neck, felt his solid thighs beneath her ass, and heard his groan when she opened her mouth for him and let his tongue explore alongside hers. By the time she was finished with one flower bed, she was beyond hot and bothered, and moved right on to wanting to jump his bones the second she saw him again.
“He has enough on his plate without you causing him more problems,” she scolded herself, digging a hole big enough for the next azalea. “Don’t make it worse.”
“You know, if you keep stabbing the ground like that, you might break your trowel.”
She shrieked and leapt up from the ground. Louis burst out laughing as Stan grinned at her, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Oh, you boys think you’re so funny, huh?”
“We have our moments. Want some help with the rest?” Stan asked.
“I’ll get the shovels!” Louis called out and raced across the grass towards the shed.
“Did you two have a good afternoon?” she asked, pulling her hair back up in a tighter bun and avoiding his gaze.
“Yeah, not too shabby. We found a few good models to build. You?”
“Great. A great day,” she said, overly cheerful, and his brows rose up into his hairline. “The studio’s all set up, and I think I managed to get enough plants for you. Mom gave you a discount, by the way, so be sure to thank her later.”
“Later? Am I going to meet Mrs. and Mr. Reagan soon?”
Remy’s mouth fell open as she realized how that sounded and worried that he would freak out at the mention of meeting her parents. Instead, he grinned wider and seemed to find the idea pleasing.
“No, not any time soon,” she corrected quickly. “Well, we have a lot of plants to still get through, so we should, you know, get back to it.” She sensed his gaze on her as she bent and worked on the azalea, but she refused to turn around and meet those charming blue eyes. Thankfully, Louis was quick to return with the shovels, and there was no chance for Stan to drag her up into his lap again.
At least not yet. She had no idea what might happen later after Louis went to bed. She secretly hoped Stan wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with her.
Stan waited until Louis was tucked in bed and he reached the lower floor again before he sought Remy. She sat in one of the back patio chairs, nursing a large glass of red wine and smiling at the newly finished flower beds.
“I think that kids going to sleep for a week,” he commented, parking his chair beside hers. “He’s definitely a hard worker.”
“Yeah. He takes after his dad in that regard,” she mused.
“Do you mind if I tour your new art studio?” he asked.
“I’m not sure you want to see my art,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s not that great.”
“That’s not what I read. I read you’ve sold a number of pieces over the last few years,” he said, holding up his cell with the article he found displayed on the screen. “Apparently, everyone wonders why you turned to a life of hospitality instead of going for an art degree.”
“You researched me?” she accused, her eyes narrowed as her lips curled into a grin.
He tucked his phone away. “I had an hour to kill while Louis tried to decide which damn model he wanted, so yes, I did. You can’t tell me you haven’t done some research on me.”
She bit her tongue and glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what I thought. Now come on, I want to see your art. There are no pictures online.”
“I did that for a reason.” She drained the rest of her glass and gave him a firm nod. “Fine, but I warned you.”
She led the way down the hall and past his bedroom—which gave Stan several ideas of what he would love to do, but he resisted. They stopped outside the closed door to a room that had been filled with crap before Louis moved in. Stephanie had made him clear it out. Remy’s hand rested on the knob, and she whispered something under her breath. Stan couldn’t hear what she said. She opened the door and stepped inside.
“Here we go, the studio of Remy Reagan.”
Stan rolled his chair inside and the smile fell from his face as he stare
d at the art work filling the room. The paintings hanging on the wall or leaning against the tables were all in dark tones of browns and reds or black and grey. There was hardly any color in the dreary landscapes of rolling hills or crumbling houses. A few showcased a degraded greenhouse with dead flowers littering the ground beneath an unseen person’s feet as they trudged through the dirt and mud. Stan pushed his chair further into the room, taking time to admire every piece before moving on to the next. He spotted what he assumed was meant to be a self-portrait and pushed his chair as close as he could. The delicate lines shaping Remy’s face were expertly painted, but the sadness in those brown eyes, the depth of dark emotion coursing through the lines on that face, was unfamiliar to him. The eyes pulled him in deeper and deeper. Each time he blinked, he saw a new layer to the face, the sadness turned to bitterness, and eventually, guilt.
“I told you, nothing spectacular to look at,” she said quietly behind him.
“You’re kidding, right? These are amazing,” he argued, forcing his gaze away from the painting of Remy to the woman standing behind him. In the dim lighting, he spotted a hint of the guilt and sadness before it was replaced immediately with the happy, bubbly Remy he knew. “Where do they come from?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets and wandered around the room, running her fingers down the canvases. “I dunno, not really. I just pick up a brush and this is what comes out.”
Stan moved around the room, wondering if she would consider selling some of these pieces to him when he saw the clay sculpture under a piece of plastic. “What’s this one?”
“A new project. I’m branching out a bit.”
“Can I see it?”
Her brows drew together and she screwed her mouth up to the side but walked across the room and removed the plastic carefully, revealing the piece beneath. “I’m still figuring out my technique, and it’s not even close to being finished. I thought of scrapping it a while ago—”
