Under His Skin
Author
Vivienne Wren
Reads
693K
Chapters
41
“He held the cupcake over the trash like it was a threat.” Hailey should hate Heath Cavanaugh for that. She does hate him. Which makes the way her pulse jumps when he looks at her… deeply inconvenient. Before romance gets anywhere near her life, Hailey’s just trying to be a good nanny to sweet, sand-covered Elsie and survive her boss’s mood swings. Then Heath starts hovering at bedtime, showing up at the splash pad in dress clothes, and acting personally offended that Hailey gave her number to a gorgeous, golden-retriever man named Wes. 🙃 Heath is bossy, blunt, and allergic to fun. He also catches Elsie when she launches herself at him, tells ridiculous stories that make her howl with laughter, and watches Hailey like he’s memorizing her. You know that look. Hailey flirts with Wes at the park because she’s allowed to date like a normal woman, thanks. Heath responds by policing her cupcakes, her plans, and her boundaries… until Elsie literally forces them to hug goodnight. And right when Hailey thinks she’s finally getting space, she rushes upstairs after her date and finds Elsie’s bed empty.
Chapter 1: Sandbox Stranger
HAILEY
“Watch out, Boss!” I call out, dumping a bucket full of sand down the slide.
Elsie giggles, hopping back as the sand cascades down and spills onto the growing mound at the bottom.
“One more!” she squeals, high-pitched and giddy.
“You’re on your own, Queen Bean. My arms are actual Jell-O. I’m getting some water before I collapse and become part of the sandbox.”
She whines for maybe a second before darting off to play with another kid, clearly already over it.
I slog through the loose sand and drop onto the bench in the only patch of shade in the entire park. My hair sticks to my face as I dig through my bag for my water bottle and take a few long, glorious sips.
I barely register someone standing beside me until a voice pipes up, friendly and casual. “Mind if I sit? I need to get out of the sun.”
I shake my head, still watching Elsie as she runs in circles. “By all means.”
The guy sits down and holds out a hand. “I’m Wes, by the way.”
I barely glance over at first. “Nice to meet y—”
Oh. Hello, plot twist.
The guy is tall, all lean muscle and golden skin, with a smile that could sell toothpaste. His face is sunshine and dimples and messy, sun-bleached curls that make him look like he wandered out of a beach photoshoot and into suburbia.
“Nice to meet you, Wes. I’m Hailey,” I say, finally shaking his hand like a functioning human.
He nods toward the playground. “Which one’s yours?”
I vaguely gesture to the chaos. “That one, those two, the one over there…and I think there’s another one around here somewhere.” I do a slow, exaggerated look around like I’ve misplaced a child.
His eyes widen. “Damn, five?!”
I nod solemnly, biting back a grin. “You know what they say—once you have one, you might as well have five.”
Wes chuckles. “Pretty sure no one says that.”
“I say it,” I reply, lifting my water bottle in a mock toast.
He nods toward my bare hand. “You scared to lose your ring at the playground?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to lose my four-carat diamond in the sandbox. Then I’d have to ask my very rich husband for a new one, and I’m not due for a replacement for another three months.”
He laughs, full and easy. “Well, good thing you’ve got that rich husband to fund your lifestyle of chaos and juice boxes.”
We sit in companionable silence for a bit, watching the kids run wild in the sunshine.
“So,” he says eventually, “do you have a husband?”
I shake my head.
“Boyfriend?”
Another shake.
“Is the kids’ dad in the picture at all?”
I smile, letting the lie unravel. “It’s just her,” I say, nodding toward Elsie. “And she’s not mine. I’m her nanny.”
I look him over. “How about you? Any kids, or are you just here to hit on moms?”
“Neither,” Wes says easily. “Babysitting my sister’s kid.” He points to the little boy Elsie’s playing with. “That’s Milo.”
Right on cue, Elsie trips over her own feet and goes down face-first into the sand. I’m up before she lifts her head, scooping her into my arms.
“You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” I murmur, brushing sand from her eyes.
“I wanna go home,” she cries, spitting grit from her mouth.
I carry her to the bench and grab her water bottle from my bag. “Rinse out your mouth, sweetheart,” I say, putting the bottle to her sandy lips.
Once she’s mostly sand-free and done sobbing, she goes soft in my arms like a deflated balloon.
“I wanna go to Uncle Heath,” she murmurs, sniffling against my shoulder.
I resist the urge to sigh. Or groan. Or both.
I don’t get the Heath obsession. In the eight months I’ve worked for him, I’ve seen the guy maybe fifteen times. He’s never said more than a few clipped words to me. And yet, in Elsie’s mind, he’s some kind of superhero in cufflinks.
She worships him. Leaves crayon drawings on his desk like offerings to a very cold, very well-dressed, very handsome god. Picks him wildflowers every time we go out.
Heath Cavanaugh didn’t ask for this life, I know that. He was too young and too successful to be handed his sister’s child and told to figure it out.
Elsie’s mom died giving birth to her, and her dad never recovered—he spiraled into addiction and lost custody when she was three. Heath stepped up, but only logistically. Emotionally? He outsourced that part. Hired a stranger to raise his niece under his roof, and when that stranger left, another took over—me.
I toss our bottles back into my bag and adjust Elsie on my hip. “All right, time to say bye to Milo and Wes.”
Elsie waves weakly, still clutching my shirt.
“Bye,” I mumble, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
“Wait—do you come here a lot?” Wes calls after us.
“Pretty much daily,” I toss over my shoulder, already heading for the car.
***
I pull into the driveway and hit the button to close the gate behind us before parking by the back entrance.
Elsie’s wilted bouquet of wildflowers is clenched tightly in her little fist as I unbuckle her car seat. “I want to give Uncle Heath my flowers,” she says sweetly.
“Uncle Heath is working,” I remind her, gently steering her inside. “Let’s put them in some water, and you can leave them on the counter for him. He’ll see them later, okay?”
Elsie pouts. “He’s always working.”
I find a small vase in the cabinet, fill it with water, and plunk her wilted little bouquet right in the center of the counter where he can’t possibly miss it.
I smooth my hand over her sandy curls. “I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and do something fun. How about a little movie night in our pajamas?”
Her eyes light up like I just gifted her a pony. “But it’s not even the weekend!”
I raise my brows dramatically. “Then I guess we better not tell your uncle, huh?”
“Better not tell me what?”
His voice drops like a thunderclap behind me, and I freeze midstep.
I turn to find him, his phone pressed to his ear, back turned to me.
Heath Cavanaugh. All sharp edges and sharper energy. Ice in his voice, fire in his stare, the kind of man who commands a room without even looking up.
I swallow and attempt a casual laugh. “We were just going to watch a movie and—”
“Spare me the details.” His tone cuts clean through mine. “You’re the nanny. You make the choices. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to paint me as the bad guy in front of my niece.”
And just like that, he disappears into his office, taking all the oxygen with him.
I stand there for a beat, stunned. Then I look down at Elsie and raise a brow.
“Hear that? I make the choices. Guess that means we’re having popcorn too.”
Elsie squeals and claps her hands. “Can we have cupcakes too?”
I ruffle her hair. “Don’t push your luck, squirt. Now go take a bath before I change my mind.”
