Page 23 of Lucky Strike

I folded my arms as he came closer. “But maybe I should call you Romeo.”

“You can call me whatever you want.” He stopped right in front of me. “Hero.”

My stomach flipped, both at his closeness and the realization that he did, in fact, know who I was. “You do recognize me.”

“Of course.” He skimmed his hand over the surface of the water, creating a small wave between us. “You’re pretty hard to forget.”

I rolled my eyes. Hot or not, I knew flattery when I heard it. “Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Why did you kiss me at the party?” I blurted.

“Pretty girls always get kissed.” The distance between us was closing, and his voice had dropped a couple of octaves.

The tingly, nervous feeling in my stomach soured into disappointment. “So, it was just a game?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Kind of.”

I frowned at the droplets of water clinging to his collarbone. “You’re an asshole.”

His hand fell to my hip. Same move as last time, but so different in swimsuits. “Sometimes, but not this time.” I scooted away, but he closed in, gripping the wall on both sides of me. “I kissed you because I liked you.”

What a charmer.“Gimme a break. You barely knew me. You still don’t.”

“So? I knew enough.” He drifted closer, staring at my mouth. “Can I kiss you again?”

And then, dipping down, he did just that. I probably should’ve smacked him or at the very least made him work for it, but my brain had been hijacked by hormones. I kissed him back tentatively, a warm rush of desire flooding my body when his tongue licked inside my mouth, dominating it with slow, sexy strokes.

I ran my hands over his arms and chest as the water lapped gently around us. Conlan’s breath caught, and he shifted closer, pressing his whole body against me. These kisses were nothing like the playful ones on the yacht. They were deeper. More suggestive. He tasted of mint this time, like he’d been chewing gum. "I’ve been thinking about you since the party," he said after a while, peppering my neck with little kisses. I shivered at his words. Conlan looked, felt, and tasted like trouble. But I couldn't help myself, couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him. “Do you know how surprised I was when I saw you last night?”

“Not as surprised as me.”

Reaching down, he hoisted me up and wrapped my thighs around his hips. “Is this okay?”

I clasped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer, answering him with another kiss.

7.Bria

Now

In the morning, after agonizing longer than necessary over what to wear, I settle on jeans, Keds, and a white, short-sleeved blouse. Pulling my hair into a messy topknot, I dab on a moisturizing BB cream and swipe on lip gloss. Because while I’d love to say I don’t care, beyond looking appropriate for this job, I do. More than I’d like to.

The microwave clock reads 9:43. Shoving a granola bar into my bag, I lock the door and jog downstairs. A beefy man in a shirt and tie, leaning against an idling, black SUV, smiles pleasantly as I step outside. “Ms. Grant?”

“Yes, hi.” I grip my bag’s strap like a life preserver, wondering how he knows what I look like.

“I’m Christoph.” He opens the back door, gesturing for me to get in. “I’ll be driving you today.”

“Thanks.” It’s warm out, and the air conditioning feels fantastic, as do the cool, leather seats. Closing my eyes, I take a slow, deep breath. I want to enjoy this. I haven’t had the personal driver treatment since, well, the last time I associated with the Kellys, back in high school. Go figure.

Christoph leaves me to myself, keeping the classical station on low. I’ve had the jitters all morning. It isn’t the job—I’m a great nanny, qualified and experienced, and Maeve and Nola are rooting for me. It’s Conlan. He seems to have reservations about me, and that makes me feel like I’m starting on the back foot.

Before long we’re in Beacon Hill. I recognize the vibrant stretches of green that make up Boston Common, and then Christoph’s pulling into a hidden driveway around the back of the townhouse. He’s at my door before I’ve even gotten my seat belt off. “Here we are, Ms. Grant.”

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