Chapter Two

“I’ m so sorry, but unfortunately I won’t be able to take the au pair position, after all.”

Burgess was so busy trying to put a lid on his physical reaction to this woman those words almost didn’t reach his brain. That sentence had a lot of hurdles over which to leap, starting with the way her scent smacked him in the senses like a puck to the chin. A few years back, he’d been forced to attend the wedding of one of his teammates and they’d had a signature cocktail. He’d felt like an ogre holding the ridiculous crystal glass between his thumb and index finger for the toast, sort of how he’d used to feel having tea parties with Lissa, but the taste of the drink had been unusual enough to stick with him.

Blood orange and basil.

That’s what Tallulah smelled like. Fresh and sensual.

As they shook hands—and she apparently gave her notice to quit before she even started—he could taste the orange in the back of his throat. And speaking of throats, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off hers, because she seemed to be having a very difficult time swallowing, if the visible knot below her chin was any indication. Her palm was a little damp, too, which didn’t bother Burgess, a man who spent hours every week surrounded by sweaty athletes and their, oftentimes, putrid stenches. Hell, their goalie had a good luck jockstrap that he didn’t wash during winning streaks. Sweaty palms were a pleasure.

But why did she have them?

Their meeting in California had gone in three stages.

One: he’d been caught off guard by her beauty. The almond shape of her bottomless brown eyes, framed by sweeping black brows and brimming with intelligence, inquisitiveness, kindness. The tan glow of her complexion, the way she wrinkled her nose to acknowledge someone’s point. All of her. Later, he’d found out about her Turkish heritage and that she was born in Istanbul, where her family still resided... and he’d Googled whether or not they played hockey in Turkey, immediately feeling like a jackass.

Two: he’d been further blown away by her sense of humor and ability to connect so easily with his daughter, which was no easy feat. He was considering hiring a parenting coach at this point. These days, the kid was either outright ignoring him or crying hysterically.

Three: he’d realized Tallulah was eleven years his junior, a future grad student who had plans to get plugged into the Boston social scene—thus, his polar opposite—and promptly categorized her as someone who would be inappropriate for him to pursue romantically.

Labeling her off-limits, however, hadn’t stopped him from offering her a room and a job in his apartment, but yeah. His uncharacteristic impulsiveness that afternoon was a discussion for a different day. The topic on the table was the fact that she’d already decided to quit—and after spending a week debating whether an aspiring marine biologist would prefer her pillows firm or floppy, he wanted to know why.

Burgess set down his Protein Avalanche smoothie and took a seat at Tallulah’s table, waiting for her to sit down across from him, which she did after a moment. He considered the stiff set to her shoulders, the way she continued to grip the handle of her suitcase, and decided he didn’t like any of it.

With a quick clear of his throat, he leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “You packed and got all the way to my smoothie shop before deciding to quit. What happened?”

She slowly sat down, wet her lips, her eyes dropping briefly to her phone. “I’d prefer not to say.”

“Is it the neighborhood? You don’t like it?”

“The neighborhood is gorgeous,” she scoffed, looking out the window toward The Beacon, where he resided on the top floor. “The building is lovely, too. I’m starting to regret choosing marine biology over professional hockey.”

His grunt passed for a laugh. This was the person he remembered from lunch. Direct and clever. A little self-deprecating. Wildly unique. I should let her quit. It would be easier on my sanity to not have this beautiful girl sleeping under my roof.

Or would it be the opposite?

“Then what’s the problem?” Burgess asked. “You don’t want to be Lissa’s nanny?”

“Oh no, that’s not it at all. Lissa is a sweetheart and she’d barely need me, she’s such a little grown-up.” She waved a hand and his eyes caught on the simple silver bands that were such a contrast to the natural tan of her fingers. “You made me such a generous offer. And Wells and Josephine speak so highly of you. Really.”

Burgess took the lid off his smoothie, sipped and waited.

“I’d be happy to help you find someone else. I’m sure people would be trampling me to get this position. It’s kind of a dream come true,” she said, giving him a bright smile, a dimple appearing in the apple of her cheek. Damn, she was... a very disquieting combination of hot and cute. She had these long waves of black hair that almost reached her elbows where she propped them on the table, hugging them almost... nervously?

That hair acted as a shield for her body, which happened to be the hot part of the equation. So it was probably a good thing he couldn’t see a lot of it from across the table, because he was having a hard enough time concentrating with blood oranges juicing themselves on his brain and every downward sweep of her eyelashes making his thoughts fuzzy. This is how it had been in California. One measly lunch had led to months of staring off into space trying to remember the exact shade of her eyes.

Stay on track. “If a position as my nanny is such a coveted one, why don’t you want it?”

She took a breath, pulled her elbows in tighter. Watched him closely, as if weighing his reaction. “I’m nervous about living with a man I don’t know very well.”

While her answer caused an unpleasant shift in his stomach, he’d sensed a difficult explanation coming from the time he’d glimpsed her across the smoothie shop. Something in the way she’d braced as he approached had tipped him off. Was he insulted? No. Actually, he felt like kind of a moron for not considering before that she might be hesitant to live with a near stranger. Neither had Tallulah, apparently.

Until the very day her employment was set to begin.

Burgess started to ask Tallulah whether the sudden change of heart stemmed from a healthy fear of strangers or something else, but her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Murmuring an excuse me, she slid a finger across the screen.

Tapped an icon.

A video popped up that he recognized all too well.

Because his agent had sent it to him this morning.

Apparently his shot to O’Hanlon’s nose had gone viral.

Was... this the reason Tallulah had stalled out in the smoothie shop? Yes. The answer was obvious. She’d been watching it before he arrived. Did that mean... was she scared of him?

“Sorry,” she blurted, fumbling with the phone to get her text messages open instead. “Wrong app.”

“Tallulah, I saw it. The video.” He braced himself for the conversation ahead. She could be scared of him. That possibility settled on his chest like a thousand-pound weight. “Is that what’s going on here? You saw a clip from a preseason game and it... made you nervous? About me?”

It took her a moment to respond. “My instincts are telling me it will be safe to live with you, but I have a hard time relying on my instincts when it comes to men. In other words, I don’t. My gut feeling is not always accurate. And I thought it would be enough that Wells and Josephine trust you, which is how I made it all the way to this smoothie shop with the terrible chairs. But the video... I guess it reminded me that people aren’t always what they seem.”

“I see.” Her explanation filled him with a sense of dread, but he kept his hands loose on the table, despite the urge to curl them into fists. Had Tallulah had a bad experience with a man? It seemed so. And right then and there, looking into her honest eyes, Burgess knew if he ever found out who it was, a broken nose would be a pleasure compared to what he’d do to them. “The way I play hockey is not an indication of who I am in real life. I think the same could be said about any player. It’s the sport. Sometimes it’s brutal.”

“I realize that. I do,” she said quickly, wetting her lips. “The video isn’t the reason I’m declining the job. It was more of... of a prompt. For me to take a step back and examine my choices. Sometimes I make really impulsive decisions and regret them later. Like now.”

“What kinds of impulsive decisions do you make?”

“Ordering a peanut butter and espresso smoothie on an empty stomach, for instance.”

Burgess couldn’t hide his incredulity. “Jesus Christ, you ordered that? I thought it was on the menu as a joke.”

“It should be,” she breathed, feeling her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I feel like I’m leaning up against an electrified fence.”

He hummed. “Caffeine jitters.”

She looked around. “Is everything supposed to be glowing?”

A low laugh made its way free of his throat, a bit like an engine chug. The rusted sound caused her to look up, making eye contact. And they stayed that way for several seconds, hers curious, his rueful. Just this once, why couldn’t he have kept his fucking elbow to himself? “I wouldn’t have pegged someone who studied penguins in Antarctica for a year as impulsive,” Burgess said, knowing it was pathetic to try and prolong his time with her, but he couldn’t help it. “I’d call it adventurous.”

“You’d be surprised,” she responded.

“Would I? Try me.”

She tapped a finger to her lips, as if deciding whether or not she should cut their talk short and leave. Or stay and brighten his afternoon a little bit longer. “I do love an adventure. In theory, anyway. I used to love trying new things,” she started slowly. “But in the case of Antarctica, I was playing it safe. Living in an isolated research center in the cold, where I feel most at home. Seeing the same five faces every day. The familiar repetition of research. Documenting.” She paused, looking down at the table. “Before that, I lived on a boat for six months, interning on a coral reef conservation initiative in Mexico. Seychelles prior to that. If anything, I’ve been hiding.”

Knowing his voice would sound unnatural if he spoke right away, he swallowed hard twice before asking, “From what?”

“I think I should go.”

Burgess forced himself to accept her choice with a stiff nod. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind about taking the job, Tallulah?”

“No.” She pressed her mouth into a straight line. “Again, I’m sorry to do this on short notice. But like I said, I’ll help you find a replacement.”

Burgess chose to ignore that offer for now. He’d handle one problem at a time. “What is your plan from here?”

“Get a hotel room for the night. Go visit some apartment share listings tomorrow.”

Instantly, he was not a fan of the plan. Too much shit left to chance.

Burgess didn’t have any say in what Tallulah did. None whatsoever. She was a grown-up who obviously had no problem safeguarding herself. Unfortunately, there was a protective hum in his chest that grew louder the longer he looked at her. Tallulah was the best friend of his best friend’s future wife, right? An argument could be made that he was looking out for her safety.

As a favor.

Sure.

He’d lived in Boston for fifteen years and knew it better than anyone. And the idea of her settling for a place to live that was even one iota less safe than The Beacon wasn’t sitting well with him. At all. But he thought of his daughter. How he would want Lissa to be treated when she grew up and struck out on her own, vulnerable to the world. He definitely wouldn’t want some burned-out hockey player elbowing his way into her life as some kind of protector. Not unless she asked for it first.

Imagine this beautiful woman asking you to be her protector.

Burgess swallowed hard. “What is your ideal living situation?”

She seemed surprised by his question. “Um... well. In a perfect world, I’d be living with Josephine, but your grumpy golfer friend went and stole her out from under me.” His lips twitched at that. “Considering that’s not an option, I’ll look for another female student who is renting a room in a neighborhood that has good transit options. Being that it’s already late September, I might have some trouble locking down a decent place, but I usually have good luck with these sorts of things.”

“Do you have a budget?”

“It’s not exactly fat, because I’ve been interning for minimal cash. But I can float seven hundred a month for a room. For a while. Then I’ll need to find some lab assistant work in the near future to replenish my funds.”

When he wanted to wince, he nodded, instead.

Seven hundred dollars wouldn’t put her somewhere safe in Boston.

Even if she managed to find a room, it would likely be the size of a broom closet.

“What?” she prompted.

Burgess couldn’t quite stop himself from interfering, despite the fact that she clearly wanted to get the hell away from him. He shouldn’t question that. He should let her. But he couldn’t release her to the wilds of Boston real estate. Nor could he imagine a world where this was the last time he saw Tallulah. If there was a way to keep an eye on her without being in her face, shouldn’t he try? For her safety as well as his own peace of mind?

“I know someone who has a room for rent,” Burgess said before he could shame himself into letting her fly free. “In a building like mine, but in the North End. My teammate rents this place for his future stepsister.”

Tallulah sat up straighter. “Oh. How much is the rent?”

“It’s in your range.”

She squinted a skeptical eye. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he lied, fully prepared to pay the difference between seven hundred dollars and whatever astronomical amount the rent happened to be, out of his own pocket. “I’ll speak to my teammate and send you the information, but Tallulah...” Okay, this part wasn’t planned. The words just flowed out, urged by some intuition that he’d never have this chance again. “If you change your mind and want to come live with me, I’d do whatever it took for you to feel safe with me. All right? I’ll install locks on your bedroom door and give you the only key. Just... don’t compromise your safety. I don’t think I could sleep at night knowing you compromised it because of me.” Knowing he’d pushed enough, Burgess stood, reluctantly picking up his smoothie and trying not to be obvious about memorizing her face, just in case. “Good luck.”

She stared up at him looking kind of astonished. “Thank you.”

Burgess grunted and left, hoping like hell he’d said the right thing to a woman for once... and praying like a son of a bitch that it wasn’t the last time they crossed paths. As soon as he made it to the other side of the street, he tugged his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sig Gauthier, center for the Bearcats and one of the only teammates he could tolerate off the ice. Most of the time, anyway.

“Hey, man,” Sig said, yawning into the phone. “What.”

“Didn’t you rent Chloe a place in the North End?” Burgess asked, referring to Sig’s future stepsister.

The creak of bedsprings as Sig presumably sat up. “Yup. She’s used to the finer things, so I found a place she’d be comfortable.” He laughed under his breath, sounding almost fond. “Didn’t realize how much comfort costs when it comes to Chloe.”

“Meaning what?”

“We made a deal—she pays half the rent. And she did. Once. Meanwhile, I go over there and she’s got eighteen billion Sephora bags stuffed into the garbage can. Did you know girls put primer on their fucking faces? Foundation isn’t the foundation anymore. It’s out of control.”

“Jesus. Lissa has been asking to go to Sephora lately.”

Sig’s laugh almost burst his eardrum. “Welcome to the beginning of the end, man.”

Burgess grunted into a hard gulp of his smoothie. “Does Chloe have parties? What are her friends like?”

A long pause ensued. “Why are you asking?”

“Just answer.”

Sig let out a breath. “She’s not a partier. Guess you can’t afford happy hour when all of your money is being funneled into the beauty industry.”

“No sketchy boyfriends? No drugs?”

“You think I’d let some lowlife hang around with Chloe ?” the center shouted. “No. None of that. And no drugs. She’s in her final year of conservatory. You should hear her play the harp, man, she’s...” Without seeing Sig in real life, he knew the guy was gesticulating wildly, same way he did while disputing calls with the referee. Creep up on Sig while he’s telling a story and risk getting knocked the fuck out. “Never mind. What is this about?”

One of the perks of being team captain was that Burgess didn’t have to answer anyone’s questions. It was, perhaps, the best part of having the title. “Maybe Chloe would be able to afford half of her rent if she got a roommate.”

“So, I’ve told her.”

“What is the rent on the place?”

“Five K. You’d think it came with a goddamn butler.”

This was exactly what Burgess had been afraid of. Nothing that couldn’t be handled, though. Honestly, he would have paid ten times that amount to know Tallulah had a secure place to live. “So her roommate would be expected to pay twenty-five hundred?”

“Yup. It’s a nice room. Sunlight. Closet space.”

“Great.” Burgess tamped down on the urge to turn around and look back at the smoothie shop. Was this his last chance to see her? “I’ve got someone. But she’s only paying seven hundred.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Relax. I’m good for the rest. Send me the info.” He rubbed at the sharp object in his throat. “It’s my fault she has to find a rental in the first place. It’s the least I can do.”