Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(17)

Because my dad just acts like Luke is hilarious all the time—which is fine. In fact, that’s why I don’t want him to be Luke’s full-time caretaker. I don’t want to ruin their friendship. I also don’t want Luke to turn into Mowgli. A little wild boy raised by a pack of wild men all living together on a ranch.

It’s fucking weird if I think about it too much.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Luke says carefully.

“I know you are, buddy.”

“I just wanted to have some fun. It sounded so fun! It really was fun!”

“We’re ranchers—farmers, Luke. It’s a waste of good food.”

“I know,” he replies, defeated. And then he brightens as he glances up at me. “Next time you cover the Jansen’s tractor in toilet paper, can I do it too?”

How the fuck does he know about that prank?

I see Willa’s lips twitch, but she keeps her focus fixed on her plate. And then she goes for another green bean, and I have to look away.

This kid is going to be the death of me.

And so is his goddamn nanny.





Putting Luke to bed is my favorite part of the night. The cuddles. The stories. The things he tells me in the safety of his dark, peaceful room. He goes all soft and sweet, and we talk about things that don’t come up throughout the day. It’s why I’ll never give up that part of his schedule.

My second favorite part of the night? A hot tub to soothe away the aches of the day. A quiet moment in my most frivolous purchase. Time alone to stare up at the stars and enjoy a little solitude.

Which is what I’m doing, head tipped back, arms draped over the outer edges, when I hear the back door click shut. My lids pop open, and I see Willa’s silhouette through the rising steam around me.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll leave,” she whispers, turning to go, towel wrapped around her tall frame.

A smart man would say, Yes, please leave. That’s an excellent idea.

I am not a smart man.

Instead, I blurt out, “It’s fine.” After all, I told her to make herself at home and use whatever she wanted. Truthfully, I can’t blame a person for wanting to soak out here after chasing a five-year-old all day.

“You sure? I thought you were in bed.” It’s hard to hear her because, for once, she sounds a little uncertain. It’s hard to see her too through the heated haze rising off the bubbling water. The shape of her is only highlighted by the glow from within the house, seeping through the sliding glass doors.

I should stop using the rising steam as an excuse to stare at her this hard. It’s rude. She’s in her twenties and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.

I tip my head back again and let my eyes flutter shut. “Wouldn’t say it was fine if it wasn’t, Red.”

I hear shuffling and a quiet chuckle. “Yeah, you’d tell me to beat it.”

Fuck.

She’s not trying to be forward. But the words beat it out of her mouth in that slightly hoarse voice has the air around me feeling altogether too thin.

Fabric rasps and gentle steps move toward the tub. I squeeze my eyes tighter, refusing to give in to the voice inside my head telling me to peek. To watch her climb over the edge. To see what type of bathing suit she’s wearing and if her skin is as creamy as it looked from that glimpse I could see beyond her shirt yesterday.

I ignore the flipping sensation in my stomach.

The gentle sound of water sloshing tells me she’s crawling in. Hot water laps at my chest as she settles, and suddenly sharing a hot tub with this woman who I barely know and can’t stop eye-fucking feels entirely inappropriate.

Altogether too personal.

“Ah,” she hums in pleasure.

I give in and glance across at her. Willa’s positioning mirrors mine almost perfectly. Her slender arms drape across the frame, and her face is tipped up to the navy-blue sky. My gaze snags on the exposed column of her throat. The elegant length of it. The way it’s positioned, open for the taking. The way it moves when she swallows.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs without moving her head to address me.

“For what?” I rasp back, a little confused as to what she’s talking about. “I already told you it was fine for you to come in.” Even though I’m not so sure that’s true.

Tiny, flimsy straps lay across her collarbones and wrap around her shoulders. So easily ripped away.

“For doing the hillbilly lettuce thing.” She shakes her head, and another melodic laugh bubbles out of her, like she just can’t quite believe it. “I can’t believe I got duped by a five-year-old.”

My lips almost tug up at that. Hillbilly lettuce. “Well, you’ve worked with kids. I’m sure you know how to handle it.” I’m mentally patting myself on the back for complimenting her—sort of—when she drops a bomb I didn’t see coming.

“I haven’t worked with kids at all.”

I go deathly still before pulling my arms down into the water and sitting up tall. “Pardon me?”

She must hear the bite in my voice because her head tips in my direction and her eyes narrow as she sits up too, the water droplets trailing down over her full chest, right into the valley between her breasts. I grind my teeth at letting my eyes follow and snap them back up to hers when she replies with, “Watch your step, Eaton.”