Did he decompress behind that door?
And if so, what did decompressing involve when it came to a man like Gabriel Chase?
I could think of a few suggestions that didn’t involve him wearing either the suit or the jeans. In fact, esteemed decompress-ologist Doctor Autumn Lumen suggested a shower for two and kissing the nanny for optimal relaxation.
“We should have a talk about Gabriel,” Hollie said, her tone shifting when she realized I wasn’t taking her trying-to-be-subtle bait. She was using her Sensible Sister voice—the same one she’d used when we’d talked about me dating Darren from Eagle Creek and Stuart from Portland. “He’s a father and a very serious lawyer. And he’s—”
“You know that we’re not dating, right?”
“I know. But I also know that you just moved into his house and you’re going to be around each other and—”
“You’re worried that I’m going to seduce him and take advantage?” I wasn’t quite sure what her problem was. I got it with Darren and Stuart. Back home, she’d been trying to protect me. She didn’t want me ending up pregnant by some guy who would never amount to anything, which would lead to me dropping out of college and ruining my life. But I was different now. Gabriel was different. He’d already amounted to something. We were in London, not Oregon. And I was pretty sure I’d have to be having sex with him to get pregnant.
“Hardly. I’m not sure Gabriel ever does anything that he doesn’t want to do.”
Interesting. I hadn’t seen that side of him yet, but I hadn’t known him that long. I liked the idea that he had steel-like resolve.
“I’m just concerned because he’s . . . you know . . . He’s handsome.” Putting it mildly, sis. “I’m concerned you might develop a crush.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I can remove any ambiguity for you. My crush is fully developed. But that just means I’m human. I’m sure every woman in London has a crush on Gabriel Chase.”
Hollie laughed. “Okay, well that’s probably true. I just don’t want you to get into a situation you might regret.”
I sighed. “Look, Gabriel’s not going to be interested in some chick from the wrong side of the tracks who’s looking after his kid. I’m well aware of that.” I may have resisted changing into my favorite flannel pajamas, and lately my messy bun came with a side of mascara and blush, but I wasn’t kidding myself. I wasn’t a sophisticated woman of the world who wore five-inch pencil heels, smelled of expensive fragrance even when she wasn’t wearing any, and had a weekly manicure at her favorite spa, like most of the women Gabriel was sure to encounter at his law firm. His gaze might light a fire in me that I needed a trip to the arctic to douse, but I wasn’t stupid. I was the hired help. My crush was, and would remain, a one-sided fantasy.
Down the hall, the clunk of the three front door locks caught my attention.
My crush was home.
Two
Autumn
The air shifted when Gabriel came through the door at night. He seemed to carry with him the grey drizzle of the April weather. The constant frown across his brow and the tense line of his mouth suggested a storm constantly raged inside him.
“Hello,” I called out. Last night and tonight, I’d spent the hours after Bethany had gone to bed unpacking, getting to know the layout of the house, and studying maps of London’s public transportation system.
“Good evening.” His voice was almost a growl, and it sent a sensuous shiver up my spine.
I spun around from where I was standing in the kitchen and came face-to-face with my deliciously handsome employer. I didn’t know how it was possible but every time I saw him, I wasn’t expecting him to be so tall. Or his jaw to be quite so sharp. Or his glossy, black curls quite so touchable. It was as if my memory couldn’t handle someone so attractive, so dialed it down until I was faced with reality again. Tonight his glare was a little more intense than usual. “What’s this noise?” he barked, shaking the ever-present London rain from his hair and then toeing off his shoes, which I found to be an adorable habit. Who couldn’t appreciate a man in a hand-made suit who didn’t like to wear shoes?
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by noise and then I realized he must be referring to my phone. I grabbed it and turned down the volume. “A musicals mash-up,” I said, wiggling my cell at him. “Sometimes I like to deep dive into the entire soundtrack but sometimes you just want to hear the greats. Am I right?”
He tilted his head as if he was looking at an animal he didn’t recognize in a zoo.
“Musicals,” I repeated. “You know, like Showboat. West Side Story. The King and I.” He still looked blank. There was only one thing for it. I had to sing. “‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’.” Surely that was the one musical everyone in the northern hemisphere had heard of?
He winced. “You’re singing.”
“Of course I’m singing. Everyone should sing. ‘I feel pretty. Oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and bright’.” I stopped partly because he didn’t look amused but mainly because I couldn’t sing a West Side Story song without dancing, and I’d learned from experience that I couldn’t dance in socks on this floor without falling flat on my face. I shrugged. “I don’t know what it is about that song, but I can’t be anything but happy when I sing it. Musicals have that effect on people. You should try it.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, moving toward the fridge. “And honestly, with your voice, I’m not sure you should be singing either.” He peered inside and then pulled out a beer.
“Well, that was rude. Granted, I’m no Idina Menzel, but few of us are.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said and set his beer onto the kitchen table while he shrugged off his jacket.
“Never mind,” I said, determined not to take offense at his terse manner and his less-than-favorable assessment of my singing ability. “Have you eaten? I was going to make myself an omelet. Can I fix you something?”
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
I glanced toward the locked door at the back of the kitchen. What was behind that door? A dungeon? A man-spa? Perhaps he was an amateur taxidermist. But why did he have to lock it? Was it to keep what was in there from getting out, or anyone else from getting in?
“So, Bethany had a wonderful day. We went to a sing-a-long, as it happens. Presumably, it’s okay for your daughter to sing?”
“Well, yes, she’s four. And she has rather a good voice, I think. For her age.” His eyes widened as if he was waiting for me to agree. The only time his manner lightened was when it came to Bethany. Just talking about her seemed to lift him out of his brooding darkness for a few minutes.
“I love her singing voice. It’s delightful. And she has excellent rhythm. She’s been invited for a play date with one of the kids from the class. Would that be okay with you?” I asked.
“You’ll be there with her?”
“Of course. I’d never leave her.”
“Then yes, if you think she would enjoy it.”