His face is set, and I can tell just by looking at him that his guard is up, and for a damn good reason. Takes one to know one, I guess.
“Scarlet Cooper?” he asks, looking me over. His gaze slowly wanders over my body, but he’s not checking me out. He’s inspecting me, looking for flaws in the system and signs of obvious damage.
It’s there, hiding in plain sight, but all he sees is a pretty blonde woman in a white skirt and a stupid fuzzy pink sweater.
“Yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson.” I plaster a pleasant smile on my face, freaking out on the inside but otherwise appearing level-headed and cool as a cucumber. With practiced grace, I ascend the porch steps and shake Mr. Dawson’s hand. His grip is strong and firm, and the skin on his palm is just rough enough to make me think he must work with his hands.
That thick skin would feel so good slowly making its way up my—stop. Get it together so you can get the fuck out of here, Scarlet.
His furrowed brows give away to a more friendly expression as he grips my hand for a moment before releasing it. He lets out a breath and his whole body relaxes. There are pounds of muscle under his black T-shirt and it makes my body react purely on its own accord.
“Weston. But call me Wes,” he says and steps aside. “Come in.”
Suddenly, I can’t move. This guy—Wes Dawson—isn’t the surgeon I assumed I’d be working for. Is the con artist getting conned? Is the universe finally catching up to me, and this is its way of giving me the middle finger while laughing out a big fuck you? I have no idea what is going on or what I’m going to do, but I know one thing for sure. If I go into that house, there’s no going back.4WestonScarlet stands on the front porch, vivid blue eyes wide. Her blonde hair falls in waves around her face, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is. Everything about her is soft and delicate, but there’s a hardness to her I immediately recognize. Blinking, I sweep my hand up and over my hair, pushing it out of my face.
I don’t know what I expected—Mrs. Doubtfire perhaps?—but I certainly didn’t expect a blonde bombshell. Though really, Owen got the final say in who Quinn interviewed after she narrowed it down to her top five choices. Still…this woman before me belongs on the pages of a magazine, not living in someone else’s house looking after strangers’ children.
She freezes, looking around as if she has no idea what the fuck is going on, and then recovers fast. She blinks, puts on a smile, and comes up the porch steps. Scarlet is the definition of a hot nanny, even in that stupid fuzzy sweater. Perky round tits bounce underneath it as she walks, and it doesn’t look like she’s wearing a bra.
My dick jumps and I turn away. She’s been here all of a minute and I’m already reacting to her. Dammit. I don’t even want her here, let alone want to find her attractive. She’s here for Jackson, and he’s all that matters.
He’ll always be all that matters.
I don’t move, and we stand there in a weird stare-off. My face is set, and my mind is made. Letting her into my house means I can’t do it all and that’s not something I’ve admitted to myself. When Daisy left, I swore I didn’t need her. That I didn’t need anyone. Jackson was more than enough, and I have to be enough for him.
Knowing I can’t stand here staring at Scarlet forever, I take a step forward. She smells amazing, like fresh flowers and clean laundry and sunshine. Impossible, right? I fucking wish it were. She sweeps her eyes over me, inhaling quickly. Her lips part and we both reach for the same suitcase at the same time.
Her nails catch on my skin and she jerks back.
“Sorry.” She makes a move to grab my hand but stops, holding hers awkwardly out in front of her. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say gruffly, fully aware how easily a woman like her could hurt me. She shuffles back, and I grab her two big suitcases with one hand, pinching my fingers between the handles, but wanting to get them inside so we can move off the porch. I’m suddenly sweating, and I’m blaming it on the hot sun.
Hah.
Once inside, she leans over to unzip her boots and I get a clear view of her tits behind that sweater. She’s definitely not wearing a bra. She’s well-endowed and I can’t help but imagine what those gorgeous tits would feel like in my hands.
Obviously, I’m still attracted to women. Very attracted. But being married due to a technicality complicates the shit out of things, and even more pressing is not wanting to get Jackson’s hopes up.