The One Love Collection Read online

  Abby: My mouth was superglued closed last night by little green men. Guess I won’t be able to talk to His Hotness now.

  Harper: Bummer. Guess you can’t do anything else with that mouth, either. Like kiss him again. Or more.

  Abby: You’re evil.

  Harper: But you love me.

  Abby: Always and till the end of time, my cake twin.

  Setting down my phone, I open my iPad and work on my lesson for tomorrow’s Spanish class. Before it’s time to wake Hayden, I search out fencing clubs in Manhattan, since she told me today she wants to try the sport. When I call one, the head fencing instructor tells me that five is a bit young, but a trial lesson to see if Hayden can focus well enough at her age would be fine. I schedule an introductory session for her in a few days.

  Then I rouse her from bed, and once she sheds the remnants of sleep, she proceeds to crush me in a vicious game of Chutes and Ladders before I destroy her in Sorry. We head to the third floor of the building to find Madison, but she’s not home. I text Madison’s nanny, and she tells me they’re in the park, but to please return in the evening. I reply with an emoticon of a fox giving a thumbs up.

  Back upstairs, I make edamame and rice for Hayden’s dinner, and when she finishes eating, the sound of the key in the lock sends my heart soaring. As I turn to meet Simon’s gaze, my heart beats so mercilessly fast, I swear it’s going to fly out of my chest.

  I want to lock my dumb heart in a cage.

  I swallow, wave faintly, and manage a simple hello, while Hayden sets a new land-speed record, racing over to him and jumping in his arms. He gives her the biggest hug in the universe, and damn, if the sight of that—his strong, sturdy arms wrapped around the little girl who worships him—doesn’t melt me, I don’t know what will. Butterflies take off in my stomach, and I want to tell them to settle down, but the feeling is such a wonderful one that I let myself exist with it a little longer.

  “Tell me about your day,” he says, his voice bright and happy as he sets her down.

  Hayden tells him to wait just one teeny second so she can give him something, then runs to her room, presumably, to fetch the bamboo plant.

  From the kitchen, I chime in, “I scheduled a fencing lesson for her.”

  The corners of his lips curve up. “You did?”

  “She said she wanted to try it. I thought it would be okay to just go ahead and set it up. I researched the club and everything.” I share what the instructor said about her being young. “But she has good focus when she wants, so I think it’ll be great for her.”

  His smile widens. “Thank you, Abby. I really appreciate it.”

  “And I set it up for early evening, since sometimes you can get away then,” I continue from my post in the kitchen. “And I know you like to go with her the first time she tries new activities. It’s near your office.”

  His grin is supersized now. “That’s fantastic. Yes, I would love to go. Thank you again,” he says, and he takes a step into the kitchen area. For a moment, time stops when he looks at me. I want to tell him I can’t pretend, that it’s terribly hard, especially this very second, with him so damn handsome in his black slacks and dark blue shirt, the cuffs rolled up, showing off his forearms.

  God, his forearms.

  My eyes roam up his body, settling on his face, and the five o’clock shadow stubble that I now know feels fantastic against my chin when he kisses me. A hot flare bursts in my chest at the memory, swooping through me. My knees go weak, and I grip the counter to steady myself.

  But then, I remember the weirdness in the cab. How he acted. How we agreed to pretend it never happened.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  I blink and nod, fighting off every instinct that tells me to launch myself at him.

  Hayden’s footsteps crash across the living room, breaking the spell of the moment. Thank the Lord.

  “Look!”

  She thrusts the bamboo plant at her father. “It’s for luck. Good luck, Daddy. In your business deal. You’re a superstar!”

  I turn away from them. If I watch him interact with his daughter any more, my ovaries will explode. I will turn into a swoony mess of hormones. Grabbing the plates from the counter to put in the sink, I call out, “Did you want to do that French practice now?”

  “That would be great.”

  He retrieves the jungle coloring book I bought for Hayden from the living room and settles her at the little dinosaur table, while we pull up stools at the island counter in the kitchen. I put on my tutor blinders, doing my best to focus on teaching him words and phrases, rather than staring longingly at those lips I want to kiss, those arms I want to touch, or those eyes I want to get lost in.

  I slide my finger across the iPad screen, opening the language app. “Now where did we leave off?” I scroll to a section of the app that covers business terms. “Let’s see. Last time I saw you, we worked on . . .”

  I freeze as the awareness of my own running commentary slams into me.

  Well, Abby, we left off with my hands in your hair, and your lips crushed to mine, and then all the awkwardness in the world rained down, and will you please forgive me, and let me go down on you later when we’re alone? Only I have no idea if we can be alone, but this is a fantasy so, hey, we’re alone, and I’m fucking crazy about you, too.

  I turn to face him and words spill out. “I meant, in our sessions. Where did we leave off in our tutoring sessions? Not anything else,” I add quickly, each clarification tumbling onto the next, as if I’m autocorrecting what I pretended he said in my head.

  Good Lord.

  A faint smile plays on his lips. “I knew what you meant,” he says softly.

  If he knows what I meant, does he have any clue what’s going on inside me? I wonder if I’m truly as bad as Harper says I am at keeping my feelings hidden, and if he can read my mind and my heart.

  Clearly there’s only one option for me right now. Speak in tongues. I repeat what he just said, but in French. I knew what you meant. Like that, we are teacher and student, not woman and man, not nanny and single father.

  A fast learner, Simon is rattling off new phrases with alacrity at the end of the hour. Then, he shows me an email from Gabriel about the man’s business expansion plans and needs, including how they want to build out a commercial kitchen.

  I raise an eyebrow and point at the screen. “You’re not going to have to discuss all of that with him in French, are you? Cabinetry and kitchens on top of business terms?”

  It’s one thing to pick up key words and phrases; it’s entirely another skill to conduct business in a new language.

  He laughs lightly. “I just want to do a better job chatting with his business partners, like Eduardo. I want to impress them. I have a dinner with him this weekend, and I hope to get closer to sealing the deal.”

  An idea pops into my head. “Wait,” I say slowly, returning to the email and running my finger across the note. “He says here that he’s looking to hire a contractor for the kitchen.”

  Simon nods. “Yeah?”

  A smile spreads on my face. “I know someone. Harper’s fiancé’s twin brother is a carpenter. Wyatt Hammer. He specializes in kitchens. Want me to connect you two? That might really impress these guys. They might not know the Manhattan contractors and carpenters yet, and to have a recommendation . . .”

  The expression on Simon’s face tells me all I need to know. He beams. “I would love that, Abby. Thank you. Especially since Wyatt Hammer is pretty much the perfect name for a carpenter.”

  It’s my turn to laugh, and it feels good to be back to normal with Simon. “It is. And you’re learning quickly. I’m proud of you,” I say, and I give myself a mental pat on the back for a different reason. Right now I’m killing it as the super-professional nanny-slash-tutor.

  Hayden skips over to us and gives me a page with a pink giraffe and her father a bright orange hippo.

  “Am I a hippo?” he asks curiously.

  �
��Hippos are cute,” Hayden declares, then turns to me for corroboration. “Aren’t they, Abby?”

  “Hippos are awesome,” I say.

  “So are giraffes,” Simon says, flashing me a quick smile. Tingles rush over my skin. Damn if I’m not hopelessly gone for him if a comment about giraffes melts me.

  But before this jungle talk can turn into some strange sort of new innuendo, Hayden tugs on his sleeve. “Can we go see Madison? They’re supposed to be home now.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “I’ll clean up while you’re gone,” I offer. “I need to finish the dishes.”

  Simon waves me off. “You don’t have to. I can do them later.”

  “I don’t mind.” It’s my job, and I won’t let him go easy on me.

  As I clean, my mind goes blank, focusing on the simple task of washing. Five minutes later, the plates are drying in the rack, and I wipe my hands on a dishtowel. There. This whole day has proven we can do this. We can return to the time before he kissed me and flipped my world upside-down.

  When I turn around, Simon has returned.

  Alone.

  15

  Abby

  “Where’s Hayden?” My voice wobbles.

  Simon walks into the kitchen. “She’s down at Madison’s. They made a powerful case for watching an episode of some show where horses turn into fairies with magical powers like Greek gods.”

  I arch a skeptical brow.

  He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “It makes no sense to me, either, but they like it, and she doesn’t seem tired, so . . .” He drops a hand on the kitchen island. We’re maybe two or three feet apart, and already the air between us is thick with tension. With hippos and giraffes. That are awesome and cute.

  Or maybe it’s all in my mind.

  Or it’s my nerves, skating over my skin, racing through my blood.

  “I guess I should go. I’m all done cleaning up.” My voice sounds pinched, and I know it’s because I’m a jumble right now.

  “Abby,” he says, low but firm.

  I swallow. “Yes?”

  “I want to talk to you about the other day.” He sounds so serious.

  All of a sudden, the weight of my mistake crashes down. “Are you firing me?” I blurt out.

  His jaw drops. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and the wild anxieties consume me once more. “I love this job, and I love working with Hayden, and I didn’t mean to jeopardize it by . . .”

  By making out with you? By touching you? By murmuring your name when you kissed me senseless in the cab, and would you please just do it again?

  He steps closer. My stomach makes like a skydiver.

  “You did not jeopardize a thing. I’m not firing you. I promise.” His blue eyes are locked to mine. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. And I hope I didn’t lose you, either. You’re so good at what you do, and I value your skills so much. You’re great with Hayden, and I don’t want to mess that up. I’m sorry for crossing the line.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I crossed it, too.”

  He licks his lips. “And I really appreciated you inviting me out with your friends. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to mess up your night. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  A grin threatens to take over my face because my heart soars. I thought he was turning me down. Instead, he was thinking of me. “You wouldn’t have messed it up.”

  “I wouldn’t have?”

  “No.” I latch onto Harper’s advice. Talk to him. “I wanted you there.”

  My breath comes fast, and the hairs on my arms stand on end. We’re so near to each other—our words, our voices, our bodies. Everything in me reaches for him.

  “I’m glad,” he whispers.

  “And you don’t make me uncomfortable. I promise.”

  He doesn’t say anything in response. Just nods. I press my teeth into my lips. My back is against the sink, and he’s standing so close I can smell him. The faint scent of his soap intoxicates me. He must have gone to the gym after work and taken a shower, and oh God, now I’m imagining him naked in the shower, soaping up his strong body. I go up in flames.

  “What happened in the cab was”—he pauses, as if he’s searching for the right word—“crazy.” But the way he says it in a voice full of longing doesn’t sound like crazy-bad. It sounds like . . .

  “Crazy-good,” I supply.

  He nods. “So good,” he whispers, and inches closer.

  “It was so good,” I echo, my voice breathy, full of this potent need for him.

  He stares at me, his eyes brimming with heat. I exhale, and my lips part slightly. He’s looking at my mouth now, and I’m burning all over.

  We collide.

  His hands are in my hair, and his lips crush mine. My fingers race up his shirt and around his neck. I pull him against me, his strong, hard body aligned with mine. His erection presses against my belly, and the realization that he’s already hard thrills me. Sparks fly through me as I register how hard he is, and my God, I want him. I want to feel him slide into me, I want to take him deep into my body. I want him to know what he does to me, too—that I’m as turned on as he is, and I can’t stop kissing him.

  His big hands curl around my head, and I moan into his mouth. I love how much bigger he is than I am—taller, broader, stronger. He meets every primal desire I have to be taken. I want this man to consume me. I want to be under him, I want to be pinned by him—I want the full weight of him moving over me.

  His lips are demanding, coaxing out more and more kisses from me. More murmurs, more sighs. As I arch into him, he groans, rough and husky.

  Then, he breaks the kiss.

  “This is bad,” he says firmly, his breath coming heavily. But then, he’s not so certain at all. “Is this bad?”

  “Yes,” I answer quickly. “It’s bad. But it’s so good.”

  “God, it’s so good,” he rasps, then devours my lips again. I unlace my hands from his neck, traveling down his chest, exploring the outline of his pecs, then his abs. I gasp. They’re so firm, so strong, and I want to rip off his shirt and trace the grooves with my fingers.

  He bends his head to my neck and blazes a trail of kisses down to my collarbone, tugging at my shirt. My wandering hands make their way to his ass, and I grab his rear, yanking him closer. Letting him know where I want him. Between my legs. But I’m too short.

  He’s quick, though. In a second, he lifts me up onto the counter, and I open my legs for him and jerk him closer. A pulse beats between my thighs, a deep and intense desire to have him inside my body. I rub against him, lust overcoming me.

  He breathes out hard, panting. “You feel amazing.”

  “So do you.” Then, because I’m in a brazen mood, I add, “I’m so turned on.”

  “Yeah?” An eyebrow rises, like he wants more, like he’s inviting me to give him proof.

  I want him to do something about this exquisite ache between my legs. I want him to touch me intimately. I’m desperate. Letting go of his deliciously firm ass, I reach for his hand, untangling it from my hair. I bring his palm to my belly and place his hand against my shirt, then gently guide him lower.

  His eyes float closed, and he moans. “Abby,” he mutters as his fingers travel south, down to the waistband of my skirt.

  “Yes,” I say, letting him know to keep going.

  His shoulders rise and fall as his hand explores farther down my thigh, then he fingers the hem of my skirt. “Is this okay?”

  I love that he asks. I love that he’s worried. Most of all, I love that he’s going to touch me anyway. “Yes. It’s more than okay. I want it. I want you.”

  “God, I want you so much,” he says on a moan as his hand tiptoes up my bare thigh. He’s inches away from my center, and his breath seizes up as he nears my panties. “You’re so wet,” he says before he even touches me. His voice is full of a sexy kind of wonder.

  I manage a tiny grin. “It’s what you do to me.” Th
en I add, “You’re a good lubricant.”

  He laughs lightly. “Better than water.” Then his eyes darken as he stares at me. “My beautiful Abby. Let me take care of this for you,” he says, his eyes holding mine hostage as I nod several times, giving him my yes over and over and over.

  He grips my hip. With his free hand, his fingers glide across the cotton panel of my panties, already soaked through. “So damn wet,” he murmurs.

  I push against his fingers, seeking contact, seeking his touch. He answers my need, dipping his hand inside my underwear then sliding his fingers through all my wetness.

  I cry out.

  He groans.

  It’s perfect, our twin reactions. We are so in sync. I rock my hips into his hand as he strokes me.

  He rubs circles where I want him most, and I moan and sigh and murmur. My words become a series of oh God, and please, and more. He picks up the pace, gliding his fingers faster over me while his lips kiss my neck, my ear. “You feel so fucking good,” he says in a throaty rumble.

  “So do you,” I murmur and tug him closer, needing to feel the outline of his erection. He pushes his hard-on against my thigh with unhurried thrusts, as his hand works some kind of dirty magic between my legs. I rock into his touch, my breath coming faster. He thrusts a finger inside me, then one more, and I nearly scream in pleasure.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I murmur as he fucks me with his fingers, thrusting deep inside, rubbing against my clit, all while he kisses my neck and whispers sweet nothings in my ear.

  Thought about this so many times.

  Want you so much.

  Dreamed about making you come.

  Pleasure bursts through me and claws at my skin from his words. My belly tightens as I ride his hand, my hips going wild on him.

  “Yes,” he groans. “I want you to come so badly.”

  Moans and noises fall from my lips as my vision blurs, and the tension in me hits a new high. Then all at once, it bursts, shattering in a million tiny explosions as I come hard on his hand right there in his kitchen.