Page 23 of Fiery Romance

He smirks again. Not a full smile but the impression of one. Like a real smile is hiding just behind his stony facade, but he hasn’t used those muscles in so long that he’s forgotten how.

“Yes, I suppose you’d believe that,” he says.

My temper spikes. I shove him with both hands. My palms flatten over his T-shirt. I feel the softness of fabric and the hardness of his pecs.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

“You’re a psycho.”

He grabs my wrists when I push him again. His paws are so big, he only needs one hand to shackle both of my arms.

The moment his fingers close around my skin, he stops. His mouth flattens and his eyes take on a dark, curious sheen.

I exhale shakily and lower my gaze to that single point of connection. His hands are rough, but his grip isn’t painful. I feel something slick from where he’s pressing into me. It takes me a moment to realize what it is. The sweet juices from the apple made his fingers sticky and they smear against my knuckles where his thumb is softly caressing.

Bolton seems to realize what he’s doing. He abruptly releases me and I don’t waste any time reaching for my phone. Any man who’d break into my salon so brazenly must have a few screws loose.

I start dialling. “I’m calling the cops.”

He speaks right over me. “I need a nanny and Regan doesn’t want anyone but you.”

I freeze. My pulse roars in my ears.

Regan?

I turn away from him again. There’s no way I’m letting this blue-eyed, burglarizing brute see me melt over his daughter.

“What are you talking about?” My voice is strong, but there’s a tremor at the edge that betrays my shaken state.

“You reported her former nanny, and we haven’t been able to find anyone since then.”

“Is that a thank you?”

“That’s a statement of fact.”

“You need a nanny.”

“I do.”

I let out a breath. “And your solution was to break in—”

“Walk in.” His voice is low and dark and a shiver of foreboding slides down my spine.

“… Steal my apple…”

“What kind of salon offers fruits in their vending machine anyway?”

“… And then ask me to be your nanny?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Nods. “I’m not asking.”

“Telling then?” I whip around. “Ordering? Demanding?”

“Negotiating.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

He maintains eye contact. I see in his gaze the glint of determination. The confidence of a man used to barking an order and seeing it done without question. “I will say yes to almost anything you request.”

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