Page 52 of Fiery Romance

I shake my head.

“So what happened with the nanny thing? Not that I mind being the emergency caretaker for my little plum.” He glances affectionately at Regan. “But I heard you’d found someone you trusted, so I was surprised when you called.”

“You heard?”

“A little birdie told me.”

“Would that birdie be one-legged?”

He mimics zipping his lips shut. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Does Lincoln work for you or for me?” I give him the side eye. “I swear, you planted him in the company just so he could be your spy.”

“Spy or not, he’s the guy who braves the wild, wild jungle with his spear and brings home a bank for dinner.”

“What?” I scrunch my nose.

“I’m saying he makes your life easy. And that’s worth a little invasion of privacy every now and then. Besides, he never would have put up with your mean mug everyday if I didn’t coax him into it. Of course he’d be on my side.”

I sigh and stare at the tea cups. “Yeah, I found someone.”

“Someone Regan loves too. I could tell. For a while there, I thought her obsession with giraffes had turned into an obsession with islands. Took me a while to realize she was talking about a person and not land surrounded by water.”

“She does mention Island a lot, doesn’t she?”

“I’m not complaining. It feels good to see her excited again.” Cody’s head droops. “You know… after everything.”

A familiar weight settles on my chest, but it’s heavier this time. Almost enough to crush me into the ground.

Why am I thinking about a woman other than Anya?

Guilt launches on top of my emotional dog pile.

Island isn’t just affecting Regan.

She’s affecting me.

When I touched her today, I felt something. And no, not just something in my pants—although I definitely felt that too.

Inside my chest, there was something warm. Something hot. Something that I want to stay the hell away from.

It shouldn’t be this hard to resist her. Our personalities don’t mix. She has me fighting back a smile one second and gritting my teeth with annoyance the next.

And she has this uncanny way of making me drop my guard.

I haven’t told anyone about Anya.

No one.

And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from answering her question. It wasn’t just because she asked. I think I would have told her eventually. I wanted her to know. An urgency. A need to be seen by her. To show her as much of my broken, scarred pieces as possible.

Maybe it’s to scare her off.

Maybe it’s to make her stay.

I have no idea.

This morning, I was so sure about everything.

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