Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

15. Lana

Chapter 15

Lana

T hat night, after closing the door to Nova’s room for what I hope is the last time, I perk my ears. Downstairs I hear the thud and clink of Raphael, down in the laundry room.

My stomach does a little baby rattle. This is better. I was going to go up to his door to talk to him, but having this talk on my turf is better.

Things have been weird with us all week, ever since the date incident last Friday. And it’s my fault.

I haven’t set the right kind of boundaries. He’s been the perfect nanny. Beyond perfect. My kids are falling into bed each night happy and exhausted. Aurora was so cute tonight talking about how amazing the day was, even though she barfed at the end. “Please don’t get Raph in trouble,” she mumbled before she fell asleep. “He’s my friend.”

My heart just about cracked wide open at that.

If he were anyone else, I’d be singing his praises. Even with the too-many-donuts incident. I was upset about that earlier, sure. But it’s happened to the best of us. Nova threw up after overdoing it with Mac’s birthday cake earlier this year.

But he didn’t start out as the nanny. He started out as a guy who was…checking me out. He flirts with me shamelessly.

He stands up for me on bad dates.

It doesn’t matter how all of that makes me feel; it’s just not appropriate behavior from my nanny.

I need to set some boundaries. At a couple weeks into this venture, they’re long overdue, and now’s the perfect time to do it. I’ll do it while he’s doing his laundry so we won’t have to look directly at each other. Because I lose myself when I look directly at Raphael. I steel myself with a couple of bracing breaths, then head down the stairs.

Except when I round the corner to the laundry room, I freeze.

Raphael’s got his arms crossed in front of him, his face tilted down. I watch, in silent horror, as he lifts his shirt up, face obscured in white cotton, bare chest exposed in front of me.

Instead of jumping back out of the doorway and waiting for him in the kitchen like a normal person, I become completely paralyzed, like my body’s stuck in cement.

Except for my eyes.

My eyes trail down his tanned upper body, catching on every plane and ridge of his chest. I travel past the pendant, past a little scar on his sternum. Down over each one of his abs, one by one by one, all the way down to the waistband of his jeans.

The open waistband of his jeans, the elastic band of his shorts clearly visible, dark hair disappearing behind it like?—

“Jesus!” Raph shouts, jumping backward.

I blink. Raph stares at me with alarm.

“Shit!” I exclaim. I flip around the corner, leaning back against the wall for support, mortification washing through me in deep waves.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

I’m supposed to be having a conversation with this man about boundaries!

Raphael appears in the hallway, his hair tousled and flopping over his shoulder. He’s pulled a new shirt on.

He’s lit up on one side by the glow of the laundry room light, but the rest of him is in shadow.

He looks so fucking beautiful. And his scent…there’s laundry detergent, but also he must have showered since he got home. I recognize the cedary smell of his?—

Fuck.

“I saw your underwear!” I groan, like an absolute lunatic.

Raphael could do many things at this point. He could smirk. He could laugh at me, give me one of his totally inappropriately flirty lines. Christ, he could close the couple of feet between us and hook his finger through my belt loop and pull me to him, and I might be too stunned to do anything but go so very willingly.

And this time it would be absolutely my fault .

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he does up the button on his pants, which only draws my eyes down, my mouth dry with the intimacy of what I’m seeing.

I pinch my eyes shut.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was—you were—I heard you upstairs, and these clothes, I went too long between washes.”

“No,” I say. “It’s—I’m sorry. I barged in. I wanted to talk to you and…” I sigh. “I should have waited until you were done.” If only I could look at you without feeling like I’m naked.

Without liking it.

Raphael pauses. “Am I fired?”

The genuine concern in his eyes and tone take me aback. “What?”

“After today, and the shit I pulled with your date the other night. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to let me go.”

There’s something in his expression that reminds me of the little boy he probably was. Earnest. Thoughtful. Observant.

Except his words—and the way his expression shifts the longer we go without speaking—he looks very much a grown man.

“No,” I say.

Raphael leans back against the wall next to me. He lets out a breath, visibly relieved. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He looks over at me. “Are you just saying that because you saw my underwear? ”

And there it is. His lips have lifted up in this sexy little smirk. It’s so easy for him.

I press my lips into a hard line. “Yes. I’m sure. But this is exactly why I need to talk to you. Put your laundry on. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, I head for the kitchen. I sit on one of the stools at the island and press my palms onto the cool quartz.

I love this island, I think absently. I love this kitchen. I designed it with Mike. Or rather, when I was with Mike. He didn’t do jack shit.

I hear the sound of the washer lid closing, the machine starting up.

Raphael comes in a moment later, looking like he’s awaiting the executioner.

“Please sit down,” I say, extending my hand to a stool on the opposite side of the island. For a moment I panic, thinking he’s going to ignore me and take the seat next to me, but he dutifully slips into the stool I indicated.

Because for all his many flaws, Raphael does do one thing right. He pays attention.

Raphael clasps his hands on the countertop, his eyes on mine.

Something in my chest feels a little melty, the way it always does when he looks directly at me.

I clench my jaw.

“It has to stop.”

Raphael blinks. He wasn’t expecting that. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

And I wasn’t expecting that. “Okay? ”

“Yes. What, exactly has to stop?” He frowns, but his lips turn up again.

“That,” I say, pointing. “That…twinkle in your eye. That smirk you give me whenever you talk to me, like there’s some kind of inside joke happening.”

He has the decency not to smirk. “Oh.”

“The…” I hesitate. “The flirting, Raphael.”

Now he looks embarrassed.

I take a bracing breath. “I was angry about the donuts today. But I don’t doubt Nova had something to do with you bending the sugar rules.”

“It wasn’t her. I mean, it could have been. I’m an easy mark where your kids are concerned.” He smiles, but this one isn’t anything but genuine, I can tell. He really truly cares about my kids. I try not to let that make my heart fluff up.

Raphael goes serious again. “I gave them the extra donuts because I was—” He cuts himself off, a look of chagrin on his face. He drags a hand over his jaw, looking briefly at me, then away. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve never felt worse knowing I made Aurora sick.”

I want very badly to know why he gave them the extra donuts. There was a look in his eyes that made me feel like somehow, it had to do with me. But that’s exactly why I can’t ask him, and why we’re talking now.

“You’re right,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I know you won’t do it again.” I hesitate, gathering my strength. “But what you did the other night, with Daniel—Raphael, that was unacceptable. I have a life. You have a life. You’re working for me, minding my kids. That’s all I signed up for. We need rules. Or just…one rule, I guess. We have to keep things professional.”

A long moment passes between us. I don’t dare look up. I didn’t meet his eye during any of that. I’m staring at my hands. I notice, suddenly, that my hands have warmed the countertop. That my pulse flutters at my throat. Why is this so hard? Why does it feel…wrong making it very clear that no line-crossing can happen?

I lift my chin, forcing myself to look at him. Because this next part—this is the part where I’m sure I’m right. Where I’m telling the truth about how I feel. I ignore the feeling his eyes give me, the same way I used to ignore all those eyes on me in the courtroom so I could do what was right.

“You’re a brief presence in our lives, Raphael, and I want the kids to have good memories of this summer. I don’t want anyone getting confused or hurt.”

Does he notice the emphasis on anyone ?

“Not them. Not me. Not you.” That was hard. But I did it. “So I’m Lana, okay? Not Sunshine. Lana.”

I regret that one the moment I say it. It feels like a tiny death, because for once in my life, I loved being Sunshine. But it can’t continue.

Raphael’s eyes are on mine in that way he gets whenever I speak—that is, when he’s listening and not teasing me. Searching. This time though, he’s working his jaw, like there are words trapped there he desperately wants to say.

“You can talk,” I say tightly. “If you have something to say?”

Raphael considers me for a moment, his hands still clasped on the counter in front of him. Then he straightens out his arms, lays them flat on the surface of the island, splaying his fingers. “I don’t, really.”

I blink, a feeling of disappointment surprising me. Did I want him to argue? To say he couldn’t do what I was asking? “Really?” I ask.

“Nope. Just…I agree. It’s hard for me to keep my mouth shut at the best of times, but when I’m around you, I don’t know, it’s like fucking Niagara Falls. But I can control myself.” He runs a hand over his chest, scratching at his shoulder. “I have exceptional self-control.”

“Oh really? I haven’t exactly seen that.”

“Yes you have, Lana.”

My chest thuds.

But he pulls back, as promised, his expression without a trace of teasing.

“But…” he hesitates.

I swallow. I’m still reeling at that comment. At how he said my name. And now I’m hanging on that But. I realize only now that all along I didn’t want him to give up so easily. As completely wrong as it was, I wanted him to fight me on this.

“But?” I finally ask, unable to stand it.

“About Daniel,” Raphael says.

I raise my eyebrows, trying to appear cool. “What about him?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Raphael says. “I really am. But I didn’t like what he said to you. He was disrespectful. And besides that…” Raphael shrugs .

“What?”

“I can’t say it. It’s not the nanny’s business.”

Heart skip. I should leave it at this. Say okay. But my mouth moves on its own. “It’s fine. This can be a…stay in proceedings.”

His eyes twinkle, but he resists smiling. Instead he wraps his arms around himself in this very deeply sexy way and looks up as if trying to find the words.

“He was just so… milquetoast .”

“Milquetoast!” I almost laugh.

He looks back down at me. “Yeah. Like about as exciting as stale white bread. Or cardboard. That Styrofoam casing electronics come packed in.”

This time I do laugh. “That’s awfully specific.”

“He has a role to fill in society. He’s that guy. You know? But you deserve someone with a helluva lot more depth, Lana. Someone who can keep you on your toes. Someone who”—Raph eyes me, sees I’m receptive, and says—“who makes you feel beautiful, because you are. Who makes you laugh, because you have the most beautiful laugh, and the world needs to hear it. You deserve someone who appreciates the way you have this razor-sharp comeback for every comment. A person who wants to make your life easier, not add to your load.” He smiles, and this one is soft. Sweet. Knowing. “Someone who can handle the dark days as well as the sunny ones. Someone who’s not going to slip on a little ice but maybe knows how to melt it.”

My stomach flips at that. For a moment, I search his face for any sign of him hinting this could be him. But Raphael’s expression is only sincere, his eyes deep and rich and so multi-faceted in this low light.

“You weren’t kidding, were you?” I ask softly.

“About what?”

“About having self-control.”

The barest hint of something flickers in his eyes. “Restraint is my specialty.”

Heat prickles across my sternum. He’s not flirting. He’s not, right? So why do those words send a shiver through me? Why do I think about how that restraint would play out in other ways? Ways that create a tingling pressure between my thighs?

“Anyway,” Raphael shrugs, lowering his hands onto his legs like he’s preparing to get up. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stick around this summer.”

He’s serious. Too serious.

“You really need the job, huh?” I say, trying and failing to keep my voice light.

“No.” His eyes lock onto mine. “I just really like you.”

My heart smacks against my ribs at that. But before I can say anything, Raphael gives his head the briefest shake. “I mean that genuinely, Lana. It’s not just a line. Just remember that, okay? You’re a really likable person.”

I scoff out loud. No one’s ever called me that before. A bitch, maybe. An ice queen. A killer in the courtroom. But likable?

Raphael’s face remains serious, his eyes on me.

Something in my chest seems to crack.

How does he do that? Convey information in total silence? Read me like a book when I so carefully bury things deep, deep inside where no one’s supposed to be able to see? It’s like he knows I want to be likable. I just think I don’t know how.

I nod, unsure why suddenly I feel like I wasn’t the one who started this conversation. “Okay,” I say.

Raphael smiles broadly, clapping his hand on the counter, his expression suddenly light. “Well, this is a load off, honestly. Clear boundaries. I like it.” He stands up, stretching. His shirt lifts, revealing a healthy span of that tanned skin at his waist, the dark hair just above the elastic of his briefs again.

I snap my eyes away before he can catch me.

Still, when I look back at him, I look for the smirk. But it’s not there. Just a plain, kind smile.

“Goodnight, Lana.”

I want to tell him to wait, that we’re not through yet.

But there’s nothing more to say. I did what I came here to do, and he’s right, clear boundaries are good. Perfect. Just what I need.

“Goodnight, Raphael.”

There’s absolutely no reason for me to feel so bereft when the door clicks behind him. No reason at all.