Chemistry simmers between us, and obviously I’m not the only one bothered by it. I’m his employee, and he’s grieving the death of his wife. My attraction to Brody is a complication I wasn’t prepared for. Ignoring the brooding man on the bench, I focus my attention on Lily as she encourages me to push her higher.
In just one short week, this little girl has stolen my heart. She’s fearless and resilient. Of course, she has moments of sadness, and I’ve dried plenty of tears this week, but this is what I’ve trained for. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love at a young age. If not healed right, that loss will leave a void that can never be filled. Maybe that’s why I chose this career. The void in me has created a compulsive need to save others.
“Daddy, look at me!” she cries, swinging high into the air.
Brody’s gaze shifts from me to his daughter. He smiles at her, and that flash of straight white teeth, bracketed by a set of dimples, is just…wow.
“Be careful,” he cautions. “Hold on tight.”
“Come push me.”
Brody rises from the park bench and walks over. The fluidity with which he moves is pure, masculine grace. He’s lithe, and powerful.
And maybe stop staring at him.
I step back as he comes behind Lily and gives her a push. The muscular outline of his back flexes, and his cotton T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders like a second skin.
“Can we get ice cream?” Lily asks on the upswing. “Mia always takes me for ice cream after we play at the park.”
“I’ve only been gone a week, and you talk like it’s been forever,” he teases her.
“To her it has been. Children her age have a poor perception of time,” I tell him without considering whether I should. And he gives me a look that says I definitely shouldn’t have.
“I’m doing the best I can, Amelia.”
“I know you are,” I quickly add. “That isn’t what I meant, and I’m not judging you. Believe me.” Anyone with eyes can see Brody’s a great father who loves his daughter dearly.
“Well, you’d be the only one who isn’t,” he grumbles under his breath.
I wonder if others are judging him, or whether he’s the one judging himself—and far too harshly, I might add.
A few pushes later, he breaks the silence. “So, a master’s in child psych, huh?”
“You read my resume.” This pleases me more than it probably should. I want to impress him and considering my less than stellar first impression, I assumed that ship had sailed.
“I did. And Julia told me. She speaks very highly of you.”
“So then, does that mean you want me?” I blurt out. Okay. Wow. That sounded a lot better in my head. Brody’s head whips around, and he gives me a weird look. “To work for you,” I quickly add. “You want me to work for you.”
His top lip twitches, fighting a smile as he observes my obvious discomfort. “Yeah,” he tells me after a minute, then surprises me by adding, “I want you.” It takes a moment to realize he’s teasing me, mocking my slip-up. He doesn’t really want me.
But I’m not going to lie—hearing him utter those words in that deep throaty voice of his made my heart stutter. He grabs Lily’s swing and gently brings her to a stop. She hops down and takes her dad’s hand, then reaches out to me with the other, impatiently wiggling her little fingers. I walk over and the three of us head across the park. On the way to the ice cream stand, she buckles her knees, and we each reflexively pull up to keep her from hitting the ground. The motion swings her into the air, and she squeals with laughter, turning it into a game.
Lily has an infectious giggle. It’s one of the many things I adore about her. I admire her unwillingness to let tragedy rob her of joy. I’m glad I can be here for her in a way I couldn’t be for my brother, the way I wish someone had been there for me. But that’s all behind me now, and this is my fresh start—a new beginning.
And in the middle of the night, when I wake in a cold sweat from nightmares my subconscious refuses to surrender, I remind myself that I’m free now. No one knows I’m here, and I never have to go back.
Chapter Three
Brody
My day starts at five a.m., and I don’t get home until almost seven at night. Just enough time for a quick shower, supper, and a story for Lily as I tuck her into bed before lights out. And the next day, it starts all over again.
This is my first game of the season, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stepping back on the field with a shit-ton of baggage. There’s a lot riding on my shoulders. People say I’m to blame for the Browns not making it to the Super Bowl last year. We were nearly undefeated until Stella died, and I walked away mid-season to take care of my daughter. I don’t regret my decision, but the pressure from Coach and the fans, plus the expectations of my teammates to deliver another great season, are overwhelming at times. My mind runs on an endless loop, replaying the night that life as I knew it had ended.
The police report said an SUV impacted the side of Stella’s car at fifty-miles per hour. She never should have been in that car, at that intersection… The coroner assured me she died quickly, that she didn’t suffer. Well, that makes one of us, because I’ve suffered, and Lily’s suffered more than any little girl should. I’ve learned to live with Stella’s betrayal, but it’s Lily’s pain that still breaks my heart every day. I’d give anything to take it away, and God knows I’ve tried, but nothing will bring her mother back or fill the void of her absence.
It’s not great inside my head right now, and the less time I spend in there, the better. Abandoning my quest for sleep, I toss back the covers and head to the kitchen. I don’t usually drink in season, but I’m making an exception tonight. Anything to dull the thoughts ruminating in my mind. I shuffle into the kitchen; the full moon is filtering in just enough ambient glow that I’m not in total darkness. Heading for the cupboards, I pull out a glass and the bottle of whiskey. I pour a finger. What the hell, might as well make it two. Grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge, I pop the top. The sharp, hissing snick fills the room, and I dump a splash into my glass to cut the whiskey’s bite.
“Can’t sleep, either, huh?”
I jump and spill Coke over my hand. “You scared the shit out of me.” I crane my neck to the side, just barely making out Amelia’s shadow at the kitchen table.
“Sorry. Bad dreams.”
I grab my glass and head to the table, surprised to find myself asking, “Want to talk about it?” It’s not that I care as much as I could use the distraction. Talking about someone else’s problems might be better than agonizing over my own. Nonetheless, she seems surprised by my offer, but I’m more caught off guard by her response.
“Nope. Want to talk about why you’re up in the middle of the night drinking whiskey?”
“Nope,” I reply without hesitation, and take a long pull from the glass. The warmth coats my throat and settles in my stomach. It’s with great anticipation that I await the dullness to hit my brain.
My eyes rest on her and from where I’m sitting, the moonlight illuminates her. She’s dressed in the same tank top and pajama shorts get-up she was wearing the day I met her. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun I find ridiculously sexy. She’s got this head of thick jet-black, wavy hair that seems to have a mind of its own. I occasionally catch her attempting to wrestle it into submission. Most days she loses the battle and lets it hang wild and free, accentuating her soft feminine features and those expressive dark brown eyes a man could get lost in.
“I should let you be alone, then.”
Her chair scrapes against the tile as she stands, giving me a full-frontal shot of her barely contained breasts straining against her tank top and those sexy turtle-print shorts. Her waist is tiny, her hips femininely flared.
Against my will, my cock stirs. She has no idea what she does to me, and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not thrilled I’m getting hard for my daughter’s nanny. I don’t need my life getting any more complica
ted than it already is, and the thought of revenge fucking Amelia to get back at my dead wife is just messed up on so many levels.
“Yeah, you probably should.” My response comes out gruffer than I’d intended, but I drown my guilt by tipping back my glass and draining it. She says nothing else and neither do I as she turns and walks away.
…
Amelia
I don’t need to be a psychologist to know that Brody’s hurting, and I completely understand why, but his curt dismissal stings. He’s caught me off guard, which is something I can’t be when I’m around him.
I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been having lewd fantasies starring my boss, and guilt twists like a sharp blade. He’s in a vulnerable place right now.
“Can I ask you a question?”
His husky voice calls out, and my feet grind to a halt. “Sure,” I answer in the darkness, not trusting myself to turn around.
“Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?” I look back and find Brody studying me as if I’m a complex puzzle he’s trying to solve. He refuses to take me at face value, and I don’t understand why he’s having such a hard time trusting me.
“You have a master’s degree in child psychology, and you’re working as a nanny. Why?”
“Because Lily needs me.” The answer is simple and automatic.
“That’s not why you took the job. Lots of kids need you.”
He’s smart, and he’s right. That’s not why I took this job, but I’m not telling him the real reason I’m here. I don’t want him to know the dysfunctional life I came from, or to find out that my brother had followed our parents’ path of addiction and was so in debt that a loan shark put him in the hospital with a broken leg and ruptured spleen.
He almost died, and while I sat vigil at his bedside, I took a call from a man who promised to finish the job if my brother’s debts weren’t paid in full. So, I did it. I paid them off with the money I’d scrimped and saved during college. Now I’m broke and buried in student loans.
Not exactly the story I want to tell my boss, so I give him just enough of the truth to—I hope—assuage his curiosity.
“You’re paying me very well, more than I’d make starting out as a psychologist, and I have a lot of student loans. I’m interested in working with children who have PTSD. This job gives me an opportunity to help Lily and do what I went to school for.”
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I don’t give him the chance to ask another question.
Chapter Four
Brody
I’ve hardly seen Amelia this week. She’s spoken a handful of words to me since the night I eye-fucked her across the table then acted like it was her fault that I’m attracted to her. I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. To test my theory, I head into the living room where she’s curled up on the couch watching an episode of Survivor. I sit on the other end and before I get the chance to start a conversation, she tosses the remote to my side and stands to leave. Yep. She’s pissed. I knew it.
“I’m sorry.” What else can I say? I know enough about women that when in doubt, that’s never a bad lead.
My apology halts her retreat, and she looks over her shoulder. “For what?”
Fuck, isn’t that always the trap? She’s going to make me spell it out. When I don’t respond, she studies me a moment longer, then releases a breath I didn’t realize she was holding. Coming back, she sits on the opposite end of the couch, tucking one leg under her as she turns and faces me. After carefully folding her hands in her lap, she levels me with those mocha-colored eyes. I never noticed the small flecks of gold in them before. Perhaps that’s what makes them shine.
“Brody, I understand you’re grieving, and you have a ton of pressure on you right now. You must miss your wife terribly and with Lily still struggling with the loss of her mom—”
Wait a minute. Where is this coming from?
“—It can’t be easy sharing your home with a stranger. I’m just trying to give you some space.”
What the actual fuck? Amelia’s not avoiding me because she’s mad at me, she’s avoiding me because she feels sorry for me. That’s so much worse. But she’s right. I am hurting, just not for the reason she thinks.
There are no words to adequately describe what it’s like to be betrayed by someone you love. And to not be able to confront them about it? To be denied the opportunity to tell Stella how furious I am? I’m not sure I’m ever going to get closure and I don’t know how to heal from this. Yet these are all thoughts I can’t put voice to, because I’m afraid that once I do, I’ll break, and I can’t risk that. Not right now.
Clearing my throat, I take this conversation to safer ground. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.” And that’s the truth. “You’re good for Lily. And I don’t worry about her as much when you’re taking care of her.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
Shrugging, I tell her, “It’s the truth,” and change the subject, nodding toward the television. “Survivor, huh? Never would have taken you for a reality TV fan.”
“I’m not. Just a Survivor fan. I’d love to go on the show someday.”
“Huh—” I study her, trying to picture Amelia stranded on an island with seventeen other people. “I don’t see it.”
“You don’t think I could outwit, outplay, and outlast?” she teases me in mock offense.
I shake my head. “You’re too sweet. They’d eat you alive.”
She shrugs and shoots me a cagey grin. “You say that because you’ve never seen my temper.”
Chuckling, I try to imagine it. Nope. She’s too adorable.
“Well, I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
She seems genuinely disappointed by that. “Why not?” I ask. “If it’s important to you, why don’t you audition? After my season is over and your contract ends, of course.” That reminds me this all has an end date. And why does the thought settle in my gut like a lead weight?
Because of Lily, of course. She’s grown attached to Amelia. It’s going to be hard on my daughter to lose her.
“Maybe I will audition. And when I get on the show, next to my name it’ll say, NFL Player’s Nanny.” She holds her hands up like she can already see it. “How badass does that sound?”
I laugh and agree, “It’ll strike fear in the hearts of your opponents for sure.” She’s got a great sense of humor. I like it.
“They’re definitely going to want me,” she decides, as if her spot on the show is already a foregone conclusion.
I definitely want her… The thought hits me out of nowhere. Where the hell did that come from? I’m not dumb enough to think, for even a minute, this is a good idea. For one, I’m her boss—she’s my daughter’s nanny for fuck’s sake.
Secondly, the only thing I could ever give her is a one-night stand, and anyone can see that Amelia isn’t that kind of woman. She’s the real deal—long-term material. Problem is, I’m too fucked-up to ever drag someone I care about into my emotional mess. My ability to love a woman died with my wife’s affair.
“You want to watch the next episode?”
I glance at the clock and calculate the hours before I need to be up. I haven’t watched TV in months, and the lure of doing something as ordinary as enjoying a television show is too appealing to resist. I tell myself it’s that, and not the desire to spend more time with Amelia, that has me agreeing.
“Sure. Start one up, and I’ll go make some popcorn.”
Chapter Five
Brody
My gaze locks on number 36 as he jogs across the field and follows him to the offensive line. Rage simmers in my veins as I come face-to-face with the man who was fucking my wife behind my back for six months before she died. Coach has sidelined Williams since medical cleared him, but all that changed when a failed pass protection took out our starting tight-end.
My muscles lock down in restraint to keep from punting that fucker into the endzone. I wonder
how many points that would be worth. Coach signals he wants us to go for the two-point conversion. There’s thirty seconds left in the game and the PAT will give us the win.
I drag my attention back to the line of scrimmage, and that’s when I notice a stunt in the B-gap. Yeah, the defense is gunning for me. I decide to audibilize—change the play—but it’s only going to work if the tight-end can hold back the defense.
The ball is hiked, I fake a pass, and run with it. I’m almost to the endzone when someone breaks through the tight-end and slams into me from behind. The ball flies into the air, and I hit the ground hard, my shoulder taking the brunt of the fall. I see nothing but Astroturf and pain explodes in my shoulder, but the screaming and cheering of fans tells me the ball was recovered and we won the game.
I roll onto my back, squinting against the sun as a hand is thrust toward me. My shoulder bitches as I reach up and grasp it. Penner hikes me to my feet and the team converges on us. Everyone but 36.
…
Amelia
I’ve been distracted all day, my thoughts wandering to Brody. He left Saturday for another away game. After getting settled in the hotel, he called to check on Lily and tell her good night. Even with his grueling schedule, he always makes her his priority. I admire and respect him for that because I’ve experienced first-hand what it’s like to have a negligent father.
Because of a storm, their flight couldn’t leave until today, but last night he Skyped with Lily and read her a bedtime story. I smile every time I imagine him pulling Guess How Much I Love You out of his duffel bag. Admittedly, I eavesdropped, loitering in Lily’s room, picking up toys and folding laundry while listening to the whiskey-smooth cadence of his voice.
I might have spent a little too much time picking out what I was going to wear today, and maybe added a touch of eyeliner and a swipe of mascara to my lashes. My hair is hopeless, though. After trying to tame the wild curls, I finally gave up and let it hang loose.
The Nanny Rules Page 2
