Irresistible (Cloverleigh Farms #1)(16)

“I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” I told her.

“Really?” She looked up and smiled softly, making my heart skip a few beats.

“Really.”

“I guess I could talk to my dad,” she said with a sigh. “But my mother would have a problem with it.”

“Why?”

She straightened up and leaned back against the island, rolling her eyes a little. “It’s not a big deal, really, but I was born with a heart defect that puts me at a slightly higher risk for a heart attack, believe it or not, so she’s always worried about stress.”

“I never knew that,” I said, realizing there were probably a lot of things about her I didn’t know, and wanted to. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I had surgeries to correct the problem when I was younger, but my mother has always been overly protective—both my parents, actually. Even though the doctors say I’m fine, I feel like my parents look at me and see a sick kid.”

Placing my spoon in the empty bowl, I carried it to the sink. “As a father, I can understand that. We can’t help seeing our kids as innocent, helpless babies who need our protection.”

“Well, I’m not a baby,” she snapped. “And I don’t want to be treated like one.”

I turned around and looked at her in surprise. I’d never heard her speak angrily. “I’m sorry, Frannie. I didn’t mean you’re a baby. I meant that it’s hard for a dad to let go. Mentally, we know our kids need us to, so they can make their own way in the world, but in our hearts, we can’t stop trying to prevent them from making mistakes. We never want to see them get hurt.”

She took a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I had an argument with my mother earlier, and … I just get a little tired of being seen as a kid all the time. I want to be seen as an adult capable of making my own decisions. You know?”

What I knew right then was how good she looked standing in my kitchen, feisty and worked up, a little color in her cheeks, a little skin showing where her top had slipped off that shoulder. I wanted to bite it.

I leaned back against the sink, gripping the edge of the counter. “I hear you.”

“I mean, I’m twenty-seven years old.” She took a step closer. “Don’t you think I should be allowed to make a few mistakes?”

Talk about mistakes. In two strides I could have covered the distance between us. Taken her in my arms. Crushed my lips to hers and felt her chest pressing against mine.

But I wouldn’t do it.

Maybe she wasn’t a baby, but she was only twenty-seven—ten whole years younger than I was. She was the boss’s daughter. She was the nanny. She was here doing me a favor.

And she trusted me.

There was no way.





Frannie





I was holding my breath.

I wasn’t even sure why, but it was something about the way Mack was looking at me. And the tension in his body—the taut muscles in his neck. The grip of his fingers on the edge of the counter. The set of his jaw. It gave the impression of restraint. Like he was holding himself back.

Something unfamiliar hummed in the air between us. I could feel it—he wanted me the way I wanted him.

No wonder I couldn’t breathe.

Then he cleared his throat and turned away from me, cutting off the current. “Sure. Everybody needs to make mistakes now and then.”

I’d forgotten I’d even asked the question.

He turned the sink on, rinsed his dishes, and placed them in the dishwasher. I stood there staring at his muscular back, at the width of his shoulders, at the snug fit of his jeans on his butt. If I were his and he was mine, I’d go over and wrap my arms around his waist, press my cheek to his back. Then he’d turn around, winding his arms around me. He’d lower his lips to mine, and—

“I should get you home,” he said, interrupting my fantasy. “Want to grab your coat?”

“Sure.” But I didn’t really want to leave. I wanted to stay in this warm, chaotic house with him and the girls. Pretend I belonged here. Pretend I belonged to him.

“Want me to put the chili in the fridge?” I asked.

“I can do it when I get back.”

“Okay. I’ll say goodnight to the girls.”

“Actually, they should probably come with us. It’s late.” He went over to the back door and pulled on his boots, leaving them unlaced. “Can you tell them to put on their stuff? I’ll warm up the car.”

“Yes.” I went into the front room and rounded up the kids, and we were zipping up our coats when Mack came in the back door again, a frown on his face. “Of course, my fucking car won’t start.”

One of the girls clucked her tongue. “That’s a dollar, Daddy.”

He glared at them. “I should get a freebie for car trouble.”

“Is it the battery?” I asked, pausing with one glove on.

“Maybe. But the way it’s parked in the garage, we wouldn’t even be able to get your car close enough to jump it.”

“What about using my car to drive me home? You can drop me off and borrow it for tomorrow. Or for as long as you need. I can always use my mom’s SUV if I need to go somewhere.”