Hungry for More (2012) (10 page)

Just one more,
she told herself. Paul was going to be home soon, and they had to talk.

Her gulps became deeper as her anxiety grew, but her inhibitions were blunted. She didn’t even argue with herself before topping off again.

What was she going to tell Paul?
She wondered. She started to lose track of her thoughts.

She spilled a little bit of amber liquid on the counter as she filled her glass for a fourth time. The wine was
really
very nice. She wondered where Paul had bought it. She looked at the label. It was French, of course
.
She wondered if his cooking technique was French. She had never liked France. Her ex-fiancé Richard, had loved it. He wanted to take her on honeymoon to Paris, but she told him that was so cliché…

“Hello?”

Bridget gasped as the lights in the kitchen were snapped on.

She blinked in the sudden light, surprised to find Paul standing in the doorway, looking at her with a puzzled frown.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted when he didn’t speak.

“I
live
here!” he retorted, his voice still cool and distant. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she told him, worried that she had slurred the words just a little. Surely not? She hadn’t drunk
that
much.

“Having a nightcap?” Paul asked, inclining his chin toward the bottle.

She nodded, “Would you like a glass?”

“Sure,” he answered.

“Tough night?” Bridget asked as she reached for another wineglass. She cringed when she realized that the bottle that she’d been drinking from was completely empty.

“I’ve had better,” Paul responded, putting his head down onto the table. Bridget was glad that he couldn’t see her scrambling to open another bottle of wine. It was hard to do when the corkscrew was so slippery! The bottle seemed to wobble in her hands.”And…I guess I’ve had worse,” he admitted with a shrug.

Bridget filled the wineglass and pushed it toward him.

“Here you go,” she told him- and then surreptitiously poured a teensy bit more into her own glass.

“Thanks,” Paul muttered, and the
n
lifted the goblet. “Cheers,” he said glumly.

Bridget copied his motion- and his mood. “Cheers.” She answered, and then stared at her hands as things between them fell silent.

This was ridiculous
.

A wild burst of courage seized her. “I’m sorry about this morning!” she blurted.

Paul’s brow furrowed. “This morning?”

“Lunch.”

“Ah…” So many other things had gone wrong since that morning that Paul had forgotten the fact that it was Bridget who set the whole day off. He was tired of being peevish about her snub. He didn’t want to go there again. “It doesn’t matter!”

“It
does
! Mr. Devoe, I-!” she started to explain- but then stopped abruptly when he laid a finger against her lips.

It was as though he had pressed a pause button. She froze completely, riveted on the feel of his skin.

Why did he make her feel like this? Of course, some of the heat was bound to be attributable to the wine, but not the shiver, not the throb that settled down in her womb. Why was it happening? Why was she trying to resist? She couldn’t remember.

“Paul…” She had never dared to use his given name before. Now it fled her lips in an unsteady whisper as she met his eyes. They were dark and brooding like nighttime and a stormy sky.

He removed his finger. She forgot to breathe as he angled his lips toward her skin. She felt as if she were standing somewhere outside her body as he moved toward her. She was watching the whole thing in slow motion.

He was going to
kiss
her!

She thought she would expire of excitement, and then she felt his lips against her…cheek?

“No!” she gasped when he began to pull away. Some wild impulse seized her. She threw her arms around his neck, dragging him back to her mouth. Then she was kissing him for real.

It was the craziest, the stupidest, the most daring thing that she had ever done, and when she felt Paul start to kiss her back she added the most wonderful to her list.

He kissed just like he cooked.  The wine made Bridget want to giggle at the comparison, but she couldn’t deny that it was true.  He was so intent about everything that he did.  She remembered how he hadn’t even seemed to hear her speaking to him while he was standing over the stove.  Now she had all of that fierce concentration focused solely on her!  The thought alone made the butterflies in her stomach multipl
y
exponentially.

Thoughts were nothing compared to the tangible pressure of Paul’s lips pressing down on her mouth.  He dabbed his tongue against her full bottom lip and sparks simmered under her skin.  Bridget gasped and allowed him more intimate access to her mouth.  He claimed her with the expert skill of a connoisseur. 

All the while Bridget couldn’t quite believe that she wasn’t dreaming.  Paul Devoe was kissing her!  A handsome, attractive man was kissing
her
! 
Really
kissing her!

He tasted of the alcohol that he’d just had to drink, but there was also a hint of rich dark chocolate on his breath.  Bridget whimpered slightly and moved against him, brushing her hips against his.

The undeniable evidence that Paul’s body could
honestly
want hers was a shock that penetrated Bridget’s slightly hazy mind.  She gasped in surprise and bumped back into the counter that Paul had pressed her up against.

What Paul interpreted as shock in Bridget was just enough to break the spell that she had cast over him.  He steeled himself not to join their lips again.  It took a mammoth act of will.  She looked so beautiful and so enticing. She was flushed from his kisses.
And
from the wine
, Paul reminded himself. He groaned and wondered if that was the only reason that she had been so receptive?

“Paul…?” Bridget whispered uncertainly.

Paul felt his resistance start to crumble.  “Bed,” he said gruffly, trying not to notice the way her intake of breath lifted her breasts- breasts that had been crushed against his chest mere seconds earlier.

He took Bridget by the hand (although even that small contact was a test of his resolve) and guided her down the hallway.  He opened the door of her bedroom and nudged her inside.  She turned and looked up at him, her eyes unfocused and confused.

“Sleep tight,” he murmured and then bent down to kiss her forehead in a chaste fashion. 

She looked so disappointed that Paul almost lost his control.  He wanted to follow her into her room and tumble her down onto her bed, but she was drunk- or tipsy at the very least-and he hadn’t sunk so low that he would take advantage of a woman in her state.

He wanted to though.

Chapter 8

Bridget had the most wonderful dream.  She couldn’t
quite
remember what it had been about, but it left her with a sleepy, happy smile on her lips as she slowly came awake.  She continued to smile dreamily for about ten seconds. That was how long it took for her brain to remember what had happened the night before.

“Oh. My. God.”

She thought that she might actually be sick.  Her stomach gave a violent heave.  What had she done?  She had made a fool out of herself, but far,
far
worse than that she had jeopardized her job and everything that she had worked for with Tad. That’s what she had done!

She started to cry.  What had ever induced her to
kiss
Paul Devoe?  Well, the
inducement
was clear, but why, WHY, had she acted on it?  What must he think of her?  He thought that she was some kind of fat, drunk slut, probably! 

Bridget wanted to curl up and die.  Even if Paul could find it in his heart to pity her stupidity rather than condemn her for it, he would
be
furious that she had been drinking when she should have been looking after Tad.  She was furious with herself.  What if something had happened?  She couldn’t bear the thought.

She was going to lose her job.  Bridget sobbed into her pillow.  After all the worry she had gone through when Phoebe died, and then the relief she had felt when Paul let her stay on as Tad’s nanny,  she had messed everything up in a matter of days.  She had blown her chance, and it was all because she was so freakishly abnormal that she couldn’t manage to eat a delicious meal in front of her employer.

Ex-employer.

Bridget wailed into her pillow.  What was Tad going to do without her?  What was
s
h
e
going to do without Tad?  How in the world could Paul possibly cope alone?  He would have to let her stay until he found someone new.  She would grovel and beg if need be.  Why had she been so stupid?

She wasn’t going to accomplish anything hiding under the bedcovers.  Bridget conceded that point with reluctance.  Paul was hardly going to burst into her room and physically throw her out onto the street.

If only because he wouldn’t be able to lift her,
she thought miserably.

She would have to get up and face whatever the day had in store for her.  At least she would probably be spared the humiliation of seeing Paul first thing.  She fully expected him to have left for work already, although she anticipated that a terse note, outlining her dismissal, would be waiting for her on the kitchen counter.

To make matters even worse, Bridget’s head was
pounding
.  She didn’t understand how she had drunk so much! 

She trudged into the bathroom and took a shower, feeling marginally more human when she was finished.  At least she had stopped bursting into tears.  Tad would still be fast sleep, or else he would have
come
around to wake her up, and so she took a moment selecting some clean, casual, comfy clothes, and dab
bed
on a spot of makeup in an attempt to conceal her puffy red eyes, before venturing out into the hall.

Her knees went weak when she heard voices coming from the kitchen.

“Oh God,” Bridget whispered, wringing her hands hopelessly. 

Paul must have sta
yed home from work just so
he could fire her in person.  She had seen him lose his temper numerous times over the few short days that she had known him.  She fully anticipated being on the end of a real tirade in just a matter of moments.  She was really very close to dashing back into her bedroom, but as luck would have it, Tad emerged from the kitchen and spotted her.

“Nanny!  You’re awake.”

“Yes,” Bridget said lamely.  “Have you, uhm- been making breakfast with your daddy?”

Tad nodded.  “I’m going to show him my shark!  But he’s not allowed to cook this one,” he announced, and then hurried off into his room to fetch his new plush toy.

Bridget thought about waiting for him to return so that she wouldn’t have to enter the kitchen alone, but Paul ruined that clever idea when he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“How’s the head?”

Bridget went as white as a sheet.  “I- I’m so sorry, Mr. Devoe.  I didn’t- I
don’t
normally drink.  I honestly can’t apologize enough and I know that’s no excuse for what I did but I-”

“
Whoa
,
whoa
,” Paul held up his hands in mock surrender.  Th
at was when Bridget noticed he
wasn’t yelling.  “It’s okay.  We all have our off days.”

“But I feel dreadful,” Bridget whispered.  She still wanted to crawl under a rock and die when she thought about brazen she had been.

“It’s just the hangover,” Paul winked.  “It will wear off.  Can I fix you some breakfast?  You’d probably feel better with something in your stomach.”  Bridget went
green
at the thought of food.  Paul evidently noticed.  “No?  Well, have something to drink.  You need to keep hydrated.”

Bridget nodded meekly, convinced that she must have stepped into a parallel universe, and followed Paul into the kitchen.

Eventually, the shoe was going to drop.
Bridget kept reminding herself of that fact all morning. It was
torture
waiting for it to fall, but Paul honestly didn’t give any hint that he thought of the night before except for the tender concern he showed about her hangover.

“A little quieter, Tad,” Paul said, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately before making a shushing sign. “Nanny’s head doesn’t feel too good.”

“Did she fall?” Tad asked, artlessly. “I was good and put Sir Spikespike away!”

Bridget managed a tiny smile. “Not exactly,” she replied, and then met Paul’s eye.

He actually
smiled.

She didn’t know what to think! She certainly didn’t trust the most obvious answer: that he honestly wasn’t mad. Even if he was going to give her a pass about the drinking, wasn’t he going to say something about the kiss?