Page 24 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire
Chapter Seven
Rhys shut down his computer and pushed his chair away from his desk. Enough was enough, even for a workaholic like him. When the words started swimming on the screen, it was time to call it quits.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the stillness of the summer night. Late nights and early mornings were his favorite times of day. When the sun was starting to break over the horizon or ending its slow creep downward. When the heat of the day had yet to make an appearance or already abated. When the house was silent, and he could be alone with his thoughts.
In the past, they’d run straight to Beth. Without any danger of discovery, he was free to indulge in his fair share of self-pity and sadness.
But in the last few weeks, another woman had been invading his brain. A petite, amber-eyed blonde with a smart mouth, a quick mind, and a body that would make a monk walk through a sliding glass door.
Yesterday’s picnic had only made things ten times worse. He wasn’t the only one who had felt the ripple of electricity between them. And then he’d opened up and spilled his guts like a damn piñata, talking about Beth for the first time in ages, and they’d shared an emotional connection that went beyond the physical. The heightened awareness had them on edge for the rest of their outing.
His stomach rumbled, cutting through the quiet and reminding him the only thing he’d eaten since breakfast was a handful of PEZ from today’s Super Mario dispenser. Time to get off his ass and raid the refrigerator. With any luck, a few leftover pieces of Mallory’s fried chicken were tucked away on the top shelf behind the orange juice.
He stood, stretched, and made his way to the kitchen. His steps slowed as he got closer. A faint circle of light spilled out into the hallway.
Seemed he wasn’t the only one craving a late-night snack.
Rhys checked his watch. Almost eleven. He debated waiting until the coast was clear. But hunger won out over solitude.
When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he stopped short. A shapely, spandex-clad behind stuck out from the refrigerator, swaying softly from side to side as its owner rummaged through the contents, muttering something about Collins and a missing lemon meringue pie.
Don’t stand there and stare at her like an oversexed teenager. Eating is overrated, anyway.
He willed his feet to move.
One step.
She bent lower to reach something on the bottom shelf.
Two steps.
She straightened, balancing a plastic bowl of strawberries against her hip, swung the refrigerator door shut, and turned.
Three.
As if in slow motion, her eyes landed on him and she screamed. The bowl slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor and sending berries everywhere.
“Sorry.” He scrambled to help her pick them up.
She put a hand to her heart and took a ragged breath. “You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing in here so late?”
“The same thing you are.” He gestured to the bowl. “Looking for something to eat.”
She rescued the last of the strawberries from under the table, dropped them into the bowl, and stood, taking it with her to the sink. “That’s what you get for skipping dinner. Again.”
He followed her to his feet, pulled the refrigerator open, and peered inside. “Any of that chicken left?”
“Nope.” She poured the berries into a colander and turned on the tap, letting the water pour over them. “Your son finished it off at lunch.”
“Damn.” He sighed and closed the door. “I’m starving.”
“Sit.” She motioned to the table. “I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I’m a chef. I can’t stand to see anyone go hungry. Even someone who couldn’t bother to show up for dinner.” She shut the water off and popped a strawberry between her plump pink lips.
All the moisture in his mouth seemed to migrate to his palms. He pulled out a chair and sat, if only to hide his reaction to the way her mouth closed over the strawberry, her tongue stealing out to swipe the juice from her lips when she was done. “Go for it.”
