Undercover with the Nanny Page 9

  He held his breath, letting his words roll over her. But what he said was true. He could admit it, now that he’d accepted his attraction to her. He’d never met a woman like Kate before, and he’d be damned if he didn’t explore this fascination.

  It wouldn’t affect his job performance. He didn’t believe she was anything more than Cabrera’s nanny. Cabrera was too high up Ortiz’s ass to think about his son, let alone a lowly nanny. He just needed to prove her innocence to Sanchez.

  Kate’s uncharacteristic blush and lack of eye contact snapped him out of his contemplation. Her reaction told him she felt the same way he did, just that she was fighting it more. He raised his hand to touch her face, but a sleepy voice from the other room stopped him.

  “Kate? Coach? Is it over?”

  Not by a long shot, kiddo. Sawyer dropped his hand, surprised he’d forgotten the boy. Thank God, Bobby had been asleep in front of the TV during their grope session and Sawyer’s subsequent bare-all confession. He might have accepted his capitulation, but he didn’t need an audience for what others might consider his fall from grace.

  Kate jumped at the sound of her charge’s voice. Apparently, she’d failed to remember his presence, too. She turned to the sink as Bobby shuffled into the kitchen. After she shot Sawyer another considering look she answered him.

  “’Fraid so, Bobby. You and I both conked out. Coach Hayes watched it by himself, and ate all the popcorn, too.”

  “Darn it. It’s the second time I’ve missed it.”

  “It was good too, buddy. Maybe you can watch it with your dad.” Yeah, right. And Santa’s real, too. Bobby’s face lit up at the suggestion. Sawyer hated seeing that anticipation, knowing it would be quashed by the deadbeat father.

  “Why don’t you say goodnight to Coach Hayes and then start getting ready for bed?”

  Immediately, Bobby went to Sawyer and threw his arms around his waist. Startled, Sawyer looked down at the child, patting him on the back. He wanted to kneel and hug the little boy, and the inclination stunned him. Having figured he’d never be a father in his line of work, he was surprised at the feeling that washed over him, the desire to tell Bobby that everything would be all right.

  The thought was inappropriate, because Sawyer would probably be throwing the kid’s father in jail soon, as an accessory to Ortiz’s crimes. If Cabrera agreed to turn state’s evidence, he might get immunity, but Sawyer didn’t think that would happen. Bobby’s dad, and his boss, Ortiz, believed they were too smart for the law. So far, they had been. But it was just a matter of time.

  “Hey, kiddo, I’m not going on a safari.” Bobby giggled, looking up Sawyer’s body and into his face with a huge grin. Sawyer’s heartstrings twanged. He stepped back, unwinding the child’s arms gently. “I’ll see you in a couple days at the game. You’ll be in the lineup, so bring your best stuff, okay?” The boy’s face beamed like a full moon on steroids.

  “See ya, Coach,” he yelled, turning to run up the stairs at full tilt. Sawyer couldn’t help but grin. After Bobby disappeared, he looked at Kate, who’d used his moment of inattention to put some space between them. It was obvious she was still fighting their attraction.

  “Kate—”

  She shook her head. He sighed. He’d accepted the inevitable, so he wanted her on the same page, too. Why waste any more time? He gave one last argument.

  “You say you aren’t looking for a man. Hell, I wasn’t looking for a woman, not here in La La land, that’s for sure. But I’m smart enough to recognize that life doesn’t always go the way you want it. Bad things are thrown under your wheels every day. And, once in a while, good things come along. You need to be able to recognize and grab on to those good things when they do, because they don’t happen very often.

  “Me meeting you? That’s a good thing, Kate. And I’ll be damned if I’ll screw this chance up just because you weren’t on my flight plan. So, it’s all up to you. Are you going to take a stand? Or are you going to ride the fence?”

  Her eyes widened, and he held his breath. But then she shook her head and moved to the front door. He stifled the groan of defeat before it gushed from deep inside and followed her. Damn it! He was putting his investigation in jeopardy, had accepted that he wanted to get to know Kate Munroe as a woman more than as a suspect, and she outright refused?

  She pulled the door wide, and he stepped through, looking back at her from the front porch. Her hair was rumpled, and her lips swollen from their make-out session, but she wasn’t going to budge. That was too damn bad. If he was going down in flames, he might as well make it one hell of a descent.

  He shot out his arm, cupped the back of her head with one sure hand, and drew her close. He got one quick glimpse of her startled expression before he planted another hard, I-meant-what-I-said kiss on that sexy mouth. Then he drew back.

  “If you change your mind, you know where I live.” It was difficult, but he managed to about-face and stride out to his truck without one backward glance. He had no idea if she watched him leave or closed the door on his parting comment. As invitations went, it wasn’t his most suave, but damn it! He wanted her so bad he couldn’t keep from imagining them together, and that wasn’t helping his case at all.

  By the time he reached his apartment, he’d cooled down somewhat, though the visions of getting naked with Kate echoed in his subconscious. The fact that he’d only managed to plant bugs only in Cabrera’s office was proof of his absorption. He’d enjoyed his time with her and Bobby so much that completing the job had taken a back seat. Granted, a listening device in the pilot’s office was a major coup, but still, he should have tried for more.

  After checking the monitors in the spare room closet, which of course showed no activity, since Kate was still with Bobby, Sawyer closed the closet doors and decided to jump in the shower. It had been a long-ass day, starting in Tijuana and ending sexually frustrated, and he needed to wash it away.

  He stood under the hot stream of water long after he’d finished bathing, chastising himself over the way he’d behaved, as a man, and as a federal agent. He told himself that it was all right to see Kate romantically because he no longer viewed her as a suspect, but he knew better. He was blurring the lines of professionalism to suit his needs.

  It would be better all the way around if she ignored his come-on. As he turned off the spigot and began drying off, he hoped she would. One of them needed to be sensible, and he’d already passed that point.

  And then he heard a knock on the front door. It was faint, so faint that he thought he might have imagined it. He looked at his naked reflection in the mirror, could have sworn he saw his heart leap to life under his pecs. His pulse rate tripled within seconds, and the hand he lifted to swipe his wet hair off his forehead already shook.

  He stood, frozen, waiting to see if he’d imagined the sound. There it was again, a bit stronger, and now his whole body quivered. He picked up his towel from the counter, and fastened it around his waist, while his thoughts bounced around in his head like pinballs.

  He knew damn well who it was. He should ignore the summons; pretend he was asleep. He looked toward his darkened bedroom. That would be the smartest move, the move a head DEA agent would make. He looked toward the front door one more time, and made his decision.

  Chapter Eleven

  She shouldn’t be here. Oh God, she sure as hell shouldn’t be here. Kate stood on Sawyer’s front porch, staring up at the dim light fixture next to the door.

  Mr. Cabrera returned home about a half hour after Sawyer left. He’d been early. Had he been checking up on her, to see whether she’d sent the coach home or not? If so, he’d been disappointed, because he found her in the kitchen, cleaning up. Bobby had already gone to bed, and Sawyer was gone, after rocking her world with that kiss and his ultimatum.

  She asked herself again: what was she doing, knocking on Sawyer Hayes’s door near midnight, when she knew what would happen if he opened the door? The answer was crystal clear: she was taking up
his dare because she couldn’t help herself when she was around him.

  Case in point: look how she’d shoved her hands down his pants, grabbing his very fine ass, after they started kissing. First, she’d initiated the kiss, because she couldn’t resist his sparkly, green eyes and gilded facial hair framing kissable lips, and then she’d added insult to injury by diving into his drawers. The memory sent heat flooding through her.

  His Southern charm, his flirtatious banter delivered in an engaging accent, and that tall, muscular physique, had her forgetting her goals, making her think of tangled sheets and naked bodies glistening in the moonlight instead. She, who had only ever found sex to be “nice,” now wanted to explore every inch of his body, as well as give him full access to hers.

  That’s why she was knocking on his door at midnight, wishing for a battering ram when it remained stubbornly closed.

  Even though the night sea breeze had a nip to it, her body simmered. She reminded herself that she couldn’t manage a man along with the wreck that was her life right now. And, since Sawyer wasn’t answering her summons, she could still change her mind. She could turn around and head over to her place and lock herself inside. Maybe triple-lock. Kate stared at the closed door, clenching and unclenching her fists, worrying her bottom lip with her upper teeth.

  Just one more knock.

  She gave what she thought was one last, good rap. Silence.

  Fate—or God—had provided a reprieve for her common sense. She could go back home without having embarrassed herself with her momentary sexual weakness. She turned to go. Just as she did, she heard the rattle of the doorknob, along with the swish of the front door opening. Scrunching her eyes shut, she pivoted, and then opened them one at a time. She choked on a strangled gasp.

  Sawyer Hayes stood in the open doorway, gloriously naked, except for the towel slung low on his hips. Really low. Mouthwateringly low. She dragged her gaze away, up that corrugated abdomen, past that chiseled chest where stray water droplets dotted the wide expanse of male skin, up to those glittering emeralds that pinned her in her place.

  There was no Southern charm in his expression now. Only a palpable expectancy that snapped between them like an electrical current. Without losing eye contact, he leaned one brawny shoulder against the doorjamb. She fought the urge to check out how that towel remained around him in this new position. He had such narrow hips, after all—

  “I don’t imagine you’re here to borrow a cup of sugar, are you?”

  Her gaze popped up to his face, where humor had replaced that avid anticipation of a moment before. What could she say? That, now that the decision was left in her hands, all she could think of was being with him? Touching him, tasting him, doing unmentionable things more in keeping with a certain Mr. Christian Grey than with what she’d ever done in her rather beige sexual past.

  A questioning look crossed his face, and she realized she’d been silent too long. What should she say? Tell him she’d changed her mind? Excuse herself and run home? He wouldn’t follow her. But, she hadn’t changed her mind, that was the problem. Seeing him almost naked only underscored that realization.

  Her pulse sped up as she admitted to herself: she wanted to have sex with Sawyer Hayes. She needed to know if that instant spark that came to life whenever they were together would transfer to the bedroom. That maybe, just maybe, he would rock her world when others hadn’t. She wouldn’t question what that meant if he did.

  “I do have sugar, Munroe, though you don’t strike me as the type to use that manufactured—”

  “Can I come in?” Without waiting for his answer, she pushed past him, brushing against his body while half-hoping that tenacious towel would lose its battle and land on the floor. That would make her decision so much easier.

  “It depends on how long you plan on staying,” he drawled, stepping aside and shutting the front door with a decisive click. She moved closer, close enough she could smell the soap he’d washed with, could hear each measured inhale and exhale that he took. She studied his face, had to tilt her head only a little because he was barefoot.

  His expression was unreadable. The single lamp in the living area was across the room, so they were in shadows. He didn’t move. His hands hung at his sides, and that stubborn towel remained glued around him. Please, take me in your arms, make this your decision, not mine. You assume the blame for what has to be a bad idea.

  It was as if he were in a mannequin challenge, however. No muscle twitched, not a blink of an eye. He was going to force her to make the first move, even though he was the nearly naked one. She had come here, hoping to entice him to lose control, and instead she was the impatient one.

  On a frustrated growl, she closed the distance between them, craned her neck, and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. She pulled back a fraction. He looked down into her face, and she held her breath at what she saw.

  Raw hunger.

  His eyes glittered with it, and, at the same time, she saw his chest begin to rise and fall more quickly. Good. He wasn’t as unaffected by her presence as he acted. Maybe she could tip the scale just a little bit more…

  “Open-ended. I like that.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was referring to how long she planned to stay. A giggle escaped her mouth. Damn, he said the funniest things. The next moment, the sound died in her throat, for he’d lowered his head and covered her lips with his.

  She went from annoyed to turned-on with one touch of his lips. One second she was mildly aroused, the next she was overcome by a flash fire of passion. She gasped as heat engulfed her, opening her mouth in blatant invitation while winding her arms around his neck to hold him still.

  Instantly, his tongue filled her mouth, sweeping the inside before tangling with hers. Whimpers like that of a newborn puppy filled the room, until she realized in mortification that they came from her throat. She tried to draw back, but one of his large hands cupped the back of her head.

  “Don’t,” he breathed into her mouth. His voice was hoarse, guttural in its brief command, and her knees buckled. God, he tasted so damn good, so damn sexy, she forgot about being embarrassed. She sucked on his tongue, and it was his turn to moan. His arousal jumped against the vee of her legs. Had he finally lost that damn towel? She swooned at the thought.

  His free hand dropped to her butt and gave it a squeeze. His touch branded her. She wanted his caress everywhere, kneading, squeezing, smoothing. She leaned into him, bucking against his rock-hard erection, seeking the heat of his body. The dampness between her legs should have embarrassed her, but she was beyond caring. Her breasts swelled until they ached, and her nipples hardened. She was sure he could feel them through her shirt, her bra. Only his mouth would ease their throbbing.

  The next instant, he spun her around, pushing her against the wall. He crowded close, and she looked down. Her breath hitched. His towel had finally surrendered to gravity. She stared at the evidence of his desire, went hot, then cold as she looked at that part of him, but let out a yelp when his hands grasped the waistband of her shorts. She met his gaze and was surprised she didn’t melt right where she stood. Her insides began to thrum as if he’d already touched her intimately.

  “Kate. I want you. I’ve wanted you since we met. I can’t fight it any longer. So, if you don’t feel the same, tell me now, or else, by God, I’m going to start living my fantasy.” His voice sounded like he’d been yelling at a football game, but it was his words that liquefied her need.

  The idea that he needed to fight their attraction puzzled her, but his use of the word fantasy snared her attention. She’d never been someone’s fantasy. Guys liked her, wanted to go to bed with her, but she’d never been misled into thinking she was some bedroom bombshell. She was too straightforward for most men. One of her dates had told her she intimidated him, and had left her at her door by the end of the evening, so she was under no false assumptions about herself.

  Yet, Sawyer called her his fantasy. She searched his face, s
o close to hers, and saw the anticipation, the doubt, and especially, the lust for her that he’d alluded to. He didn’t find her unapproachable. He wanted her. A lot.

  To hell with getting her life in order. She wanted this, too. Needed to feel desired, sought after by a man so totally sexy he could jellify her woman parts with simple words. Having sex with him didn’t mean she couldn’t get her life in order. Scratching this major itch might help her concentrate.

  Decision made, she remained silent, prolonging the suspense, staring into those forest-green eyes that simmered with lambent passion. She waited until she saw the doubt in their depths increase, and then, in true Kate Munroe, no-holds-barred fashion, she covered his hands at her waistband and shoved her shorts and panties down to the floor.

  He hissed in a breath, and his gaze heated until she was singed. His hands moved to her waist, and she quaked at this first skin-on-skin connection. He didn’t give her time to adjust before lifting her. The thought that he was so romantic he’d carry her to the bedroom à la Rhett Butler was ripped away when he slid her down his body, the friction dragging her shirt the opposite direction. She realized what he was doing scant seconds before he impaled her. She cried out as he filled her. It had been a long time since she’d shared her body with a man.

  He grunted and leaned forward, until her back was against the wall. He was inside her. Hot, heavy, throbbing. She barely felt his hands drift over her hips as he shifted his stance. But when he gripped her butt and settled her more firmly onto him, she reared back at the tingling sensations already starting within.