Perhaps he ought to start ordering breakfast at the office.
The last few days he’d noticed the change in her wardrobe, too. In apparent response to his crazed invective about her attire, she’d gone out and purchased an array of ordinary-looking shift dresses in a range of colours that didn’t make her look ordinary at all. Today her dress was pink, which she’d teamed with a soft chocolate brown cardigan and open-toed sandals.
The outfit was as roomy and sensible as Bryce had requested, yet it did nothing to diminish her appeal. If anything the sight of her bare legs was more distracting than her tight jeans and Disney T-shirts had been. She wore her hair in a ponytail, but a few strands had escaped the band to curl against the back of her neck. Bryce was mesmerised by the way the morning sunlight played through the tendrils.
Why couldn’t he stop staring at her?
‘Good morning, Bryce.’ Meg trilled the greeting when she turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway. She gestured to the teapot resting on a ceramic coaster on the bench. ‘English Breakfast?’
‘Not today. I have an early meeting.’ He frowned at the lie, at his unintentionally gruff tone. Meg was being nothing but solicitous and he sounded like a riled bear. Because he was so blinded by her that he couldn’t get his bearings, which wasn’t her fault.
He felt even worse for taking his anger at himself out on her when some of the liveliness went out of her expression. ‘Would you like me to pack you something to take?’
‘Take where?’ Phillipa asked as she flounced in behind him, carrying her school bag.
Meg explained. ‘Your father has to leave for the city early today.’
‘But I want you to look at my maths homework.’ Phillipa directed wide, disappointed eyes up at him. ‘Please Daddy. Mrs Thompson gave me extra because she says I haven’t mastered multiplication yet. I don’t know if I did it right.’
Great. Not only was he barking at Meg, but his need to avoid the woman was now affecting his daughter. Fortunately, pretend meetings were much easier to reschedule than real ones. ‘I suppose I could spare some time after all.’
Phillipa beamed. Meg said jovially, ‘I’ll bring some tea and toast into the dining room.’
Twenty minutes later he leaned down and kissed his daughter on the forehead as she packed her maths book back in her bag. ‘I think I can safely say you are mastering multiplication peanut, and I dare Mrs Thompson to contradict me.’
Phillipa giggled at his praise. ‘Meg said so too, so I must be getting it right.’
‘Meg already checked your homework?’ He turned and caught sight of Meg. She ducked her head to avoid his scrutiny as she cleared his teacup and plate.
‘She said I should double check with you because you’re so smart.’
The compliment passed on by his daughter shouldn’t have had the power to affect him. He already knew he had a head for figures, after all. But he could swear his chest puffed out a little. ‘That was very nice of Meg to say.’
Yes, Meg had been nice all week, while he’d been a veritable ogre.
‘I wasn’t being nice — merely truthful.’ She glanced at him then and their gazes held for a moment that had Bryce wondering if the thermostat had been turned up a few degrees. Meg’s cheeks darkened to a shade of pink not dissimilar to the fabric of her dress and she busied herself once again with the dishes. ‘I hope we haven’t made you too late for your meeting.’
Bryce made a noncommittal noise as Meg dashed from the room and Phillipa went to clean her teeth. He felt like a lowlife, when all he’d been trying to do all week was the right thing. Keeping his distance from Meg, asking her to dress more conservatively so he wouldn’t be tempted to do something hideously inappropriate, like slip his fingers beneath one of those T-shirts of hers and touch bare, smooth skin.
But nothing felt right about the results. Meg’s new clothes were as alluring as her old ones, and he still thought of that near kiss by the piano last week with a fierce longing that scared him.
What right did he have anyway, to expect her to change because he was having difficulty controlling himself? Those casual jeans and ridiculous tops suited Meg, they were a part of what separated her from every woman he’d ever met, part of what made her unique. How could he want her to change when she seemed so damned perfect the way she was? If anyone should be making a few changes here, it was him.
The thought made his brows draw together.
Did
he need to make changes?
Meg’s comments about the need for him to spend more time with Phillipa had been niggling at him all week. Could doing simple things together, like playing the piano and going over maths homework, really bring them closer?
He glanced around the room. As he took in the heavy cedar dining setting and sideboard, the red damask curtains, he recalled Meg’s sketchbook and the pictures she’d drawn inside.
Furniture too heavy. Atmosphere oppressive.
She was right about that too, and the realisation stirred in his gut. It was a beautiful sunny morning and this room managed to wipe the sparkle off it by dampening the natural light.
His parents had bought this house when he was a boy and his mother had decorated it. He hadn’t changed anything about it in the time he’d been living here without them, not even when Isabelle had begged him to let her make the place over. He hadn’t wanted to let go of all he had left of his parents, of the family they had been before that tragic plane crash. Had he been holding too tight to the past?
He didn’t like this room. It wasn’t his style — but what was? He had no idea, but maybe it was past time to find out.
Before he fully realised what he was about to do, Bryce pushed back from the table and strode into the kitchen. Meg was washing the breakfast dishes. When he shoved the swinging door aside it slapped against the wall, causing her to turn her startled gaze toward him.
He opened his mouth to apologise. The words that came out instead were terse with impatience. ‘I looked in your sketchbook.’
Not surprisingly, she appeared stunned. ‘You did?’
‘I saw the pictures you’d drawn of the house. The improvements you thought it needed.’
Her expression shuttered. She drew herself upright and turned from the sink. ‘I didn’t mean any offence. It’s something I do, the sketches. I don’t know why. I don’t know where this yen to pull down everyone’s curtains comes from. I promise the habit hasn’t been interfering with my work.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting —’
‘Haven’t I been the model employee lately? I’ve been trying so hard. I know I’ve messed up before…’
‘No, you haven’t…’
‘…but I’ve been making improvements. See how I’m dressed?’ She spread her arms wide and glanced down to indicate her appearance. ‘Not a single cartoon character or any faded denim in sight.’
Bryce’s jaw set against the urge to sweep his gaze over her body in an assessment more thorough than would be acceptable. ‘I’ve noticed.’
‘I don’t know what else to do. I haven’t said anything impertinent in days.’
He’d noticed that, as well. In fact he’d missed her occasionally brutal disingenuousness so much that the deferential silence that replaced it seemed deafening to his ears. ‘I didn’t come in here to reprimand you.’
One hand parked on her hip as Meg returned his stare with a baffled look. ‘Then what are you trying to say?’
What indeed? He could face down a room full of shareholders without having to buy a vowel but one willowy blonde somehow rendered him inarticulate. He pushed out the words. ‘I want you to redecorate my house.’
He did?
Meg appeared as bewildered as he felt. ‘You want me to what?’
‘Redecorate. Not my entire house.’ He reminded himself she wasn’t a qualified decorator. ‘I thought perhaps you could start in the dining room. Give me a few ideas about how I might make better use of the space. Make it more inviting.’
She brought a hand to her chest. ‘And you want me?’
Oh, a loaded question if ever he’d heard one. Bryce forced himself to ignore the way her breathy inquiry shot fire into his blood. ‘You have done some study in interior design. If you want to pursue a career in that field this would be a good opportunity for you to increase your base of experience.’
She blinked her huge blue-grey eyes at him, speechless, as he continued. ‘Occasionally I have colleagues over for dinner. The place could do with a more modern look. It might even be tax deductible.’ His argument was sounding more rational the longer he spoke, and less like the deranged proposition of a befuddled lunatic. If Meg gained some hands-on experience she could start a portfolio. He could give her a reference and she could get a job somewhere else, where she wouldn’t provide a constant temptation for him. ‘You’ve indicated you’d like to do more with your time during the day, so this makes sense all round.’
The expression on Meg’s face began to change. Confusion was slowly replaced by a tentative anticipation that curved her mouth and made her eyes twinkle. ‘You mean it? You want me to redecorate?’
‘You’d have to run everything by me first, of course.’ He couldn’t believe he hadn’t mentioned that up front. ‘Draw some sketches for me, perhaps show me some samples before anything went ahead.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Her hands fluttered that detail away. ‘I’ll do anything you want. I have so many ideas Bryce. I know I can come up with something you’ll like.’
Bryce didn’t doubt it. He’d probably agree to paint the room purple if it would put that gleeful expression on her face. He forced some semblance of professionalism into his voice. ‘We’ll soon see.’
‘Oh, you’ll see all right. You’ll see how great this place can look with a few minor tweaks. I can’t believe you’re trusting me with this.’ As she walked toward him she looked at him as though he’d offered her the key to the city. When she stood before him she placed a hand on his arm, and her touch coupled with the grateful, downright adoring look in her eye, sent his heart into a wild rhythm. ‘I can’t tell you what this means to me.’
Suddenly she leaned forward and Bryce was enveloped, entranced, by her sweet scent. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, her fingers burning through his suit jacket. Then she was close, too close, and her lips were blazing across his cheek, her silky hair tickling his temple as her arms wound around his neck.
She pulled back almost immediately, and Bryce knew she had meant the gesture to convey nothing more than gratitude. But he couldn’t control the way his hands fell to her waist, the tautness of his grasp. Nor could he seem to remove his touch when he knew he should. He held her there against him for an overlong moment, their bodies barely brushing up against each other, but firing heat into the fissure. What had started as an innocent peck took on a new life.
Meg’s gaze shot to his, surprise in her eyes. Beneath the shock Bryce detected a hint of something more, something that acted as a siren’s call to the rage of heat in his blood. It surged through his veins and his head swam. Good sense and propriety seemed distant concerns compared to the powerful urges coursing through him.
Just once,
he told himself.
Just this time so I’ll know the taste of her.
It took only a slight dip of his head and his lips brushed over hers. A shiver ripped through her body at the contact and her lips parted, her breath drifting over his jaw. Intentional or not, it was a blatant invitation. Bryce tightened his hold on her waist and pulled her softness against him as he settled his mouth fully over hers.
The small sound that came from her throat encouraged him. He tilted his head, obtaining better access to her mouth. She opened willingly, with a complete absence of caution that scattered his to the four winds. He dared to delve inside the sweet caverns beyond her lips. In response, the slender arms around his neck cinched tighter and Meg kissed him back with thrilling vigour, robbing him of breath.
Now he knew. She tasted like the finest, sweetest dessert from the best of restaurants. Something that, once sampled, would never be forgotten.
He would want this again. Bryce knew it without a doubt, the knowledge laying waste to the stolen joy of this moment. One kiss would never be enough, yet he had already gone too far.
With a muffled groan he wrenched his mouth from hers. Meg uttered a nonsensical syllable wreathed in disappointment that only made it more difficult to turn from her. Impossible, but necessary. Bryce used the hands that were still grasping her waist to set her away from him.
Her lips formed a stunned O in her flushed face. Lashes fluttered over luminous eyes. She was so beautiful, too much a temptation. Bryce stepped back with an abruptness that made her stumble. Feeling like a cad, he stalked to the opposite side of the breakfast bench, unable to trust himself to offer a steadying hand. When he looked over at her she was clutching the granite countertop with a white-knuckle grip.
Silence screamed for agonising moments.
They began at the same time.
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Bryce frowned at her words. ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’
‘I didn’t mean —’
‘I’m ready!’
Phillipa’s announcement made them both turn, guiltily abrupt, toward the kitchen door. His daughter walked into the room, her attention fixed on zipping her back pack. Bryce’s stomach plummeted. What if she’d walked in two minutes ago?
She glanced up and saw them both staring at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Bryce lied.
‘Nothing,’ Meg supported his deception. Her voice seemed falsely bright. ‘I’m ready too. Let’s go, Phillipa. We don’t want to be late do we?’
Bryce saw the way Meg’s fingers fumbled on the car keys, the small stagger in her walk as she shooed Phillipa out the door like wild animals were on their trail, all without meeting his eyes. The feeling of remorse intensified.
He was a terrible boss, and as a father he wasn’t much better. He wasn’t unaware of the bond that was gradually forming between his daughter and her nanny. How could he have been so selfish as to risk scaring Meg away? She had left her last job because her employer had been inappropriate with her. Would she leave this one too?