Page 21 of Devil Seeks Nanny

I hear Diana scoff behind me, though she tries to be quiet about it. I press the tip of my tongue to my cheek, feeling her gaze burn my back as I walk to the table. “It’s actually my family’s business that burned down,” Diana retorts. When I turn around, I see Diana’s brows pulled together, though she seems like she’s trying not to glare at me. Except, there’s no hiding the hurt that swims in those baby blues. Her throat works, she’s practically hugging the bowl to her chest now. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“And you will, once there’s something for you to know,” I respond, my voice tight and leaving no room for arguments. I straighten my shoulders at the down-turning of her lips, lifting my chin. She’s obviously disappointed—hurt—at my refusal. “My men are still conducting searches, trying to find out if anybody got into the bakery and how.”

I sure as fuck am not about to tell her that they’re digging into her father as well. She won’t react to that well, believing that we’re going to be looking at him as someone at fault instead of a victim. And the fact of the matter is, we don’t know for sure how or if Benny Elliott was involved in something shady that led to his vicious death. I’m certainly not about to hint at it to his daughter before I know myself for sure.

“And finding out why,” Diana emphasizes, walking to the sink and putting the bowl in it. She does it more forcefully than necessary, the ceramic of the bowl clanging with the metal of the sink. I see the way her shoulders hunch up, cursing slightly. “Sorry,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to be able to hear with us on opposite ends of the kitchen.

My jaw tightens again, taking in a deep breath. Guilt prickles my skin, the sensation unknown, and it has me inhaling deeply through my nose. Diana doesn’t turn around to look at me. She keeps her back to me as she washes the bowls she used while baking, instead of popping them into the dishwasher. The scent of the chocolate chip cookies slowly begins filling the air as Diana washes the dishes.

Rubbing a hand over my jaw, I gaze out of the window. The sun has set, and the bright lights of the kitchen have my reflection staring right back at me. I see the conflicted look in my gaze, and it rattles something inside of me. Turning my gaze toward Diana once more, I take in the tension in her shoulders, my hand sliding from my jaw to the back of my neck before I drop it to my side.

“Thank you,” I say suddenly. The words taste. . . strange in my mouth, but they’re enough to get Diana to shut off the water before she turns around.

She looks at me, the wariness evident in her eyes as her eyebrows pull together slightly. “For what?”

I jerk my chin toward the entryway of the kitchen. Distantly, I can hear the sounds of my children giggling. “For keeping them happy,” I tell her truthfully. I see the slight widening of her eyes as if my words are truly a shock to her. For some reason, her incredulity at this small show of gratitude from me grates at me. “I’d been. . . worried the transition from Gloria to you was going to be difficult but you’ve made everything effortless for them.”

Diana blinks out of her stupor, pink lips quirking up in a close-mouthed smile. Her hands are behind her back, likely clutching the counter she leans against, as she nods. “It’s my job,” she says, brushing it off. “I’m just glad things are, uh, working out.”

As am I. It’s why I have to remind myself not to listen too closely to the way my heart does a ridiculous skip in its rhythm every time her eyes meet mine.

Chapter 14

DIANA

“Oh, uh—” I stop, blinking in surprise when I enter the kitchen. The sun has risen, bathing the room in a bright light thanks to the large windows looking out to the backyard. The light shines on the stainless-steel appliances and bounces off the marble countertops. But I don’t pay attention to any of it except for the man in the kitchen. I take in the clothes Bruno is wearing. “Are you, uh, staying home today?”

By now, Bruno is always in one of his custom-made, designer suits. Armani, Brioni, Prada, Hugo Boss—always in dark shades, mostly black. They always go with designer shoes on his feet and the luxury watch on his wrist, and not a dark hair out of place. But right now, Bruno wears black sweatpants and a simple white shirt with short sleeves that hug his biceps. The material of the white shirt is so thin, I can make out the dark ink of a tattoo on his left pec. My heart launches itself to my throat at the sight of his arms, strong forearms that show off his veins, and the shirt hugs his chiseled torso, and I just know if I touched it, I’d be feeling hardened muscles.

He’s all sharp edges, hardened features—even now in his leisure clothes and dark hair tousled from sleep.

I’ve never seen him like this, never seen him like anything other than put together. I’ve been here for a while now, and this is the first time Bruno is allowing me to see him this way. It feels strangely intimate, even though I am fully aware he’s not dressed like this for me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view.

Bruno arches an eyebrow as he sips his coffee. With a glance at the coffee pot, I see that there’s enough left for me. “I am,” Bruno answers after lowering the mug. With his dark eyes locked on me, he says, “You have the day off today.”

“I do?”

This, I hadn’t expected.

Bruno nods once more. He looks so casual, leaning against the glass wall, one ankle crossed over the other with his free hand in the pocket of his sweatpants. The sunlight creates a halo around his figure, a hilarious contradiction to the devil everyone knows him as. I forget, sometimes, who he is. What he is. Dangerous, murderous, a criminal. And yet, I take care of his kids, see him every day, and sleep under his roof. The funniest part—I’m comfortable with it all.

I don’t think I was ever uncomfortable.

“I want to spend the day with the kids,” Bruno tells me. “So, you’re free to do whatever you want today.” And then the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk that’s equal parts sexy and dangerous. It sends heat rushing to my core, a reaction that threatens to knock the air out of my lungs. “Use it wisely.”

I give a slow nod, walking toward the coffee pot because I notice my mug that has a sunflower on it, given to me by one of my previous kids that I nannied, is already waiting next to the pot. “Alright, then,” I say quietly, pouring myself some coffee. I’m not going to question this surprise day off—I’ll use it to my advantage to run some errands and relax. I glance at Bruno, my grip on the pot’s handle tightening when I see his gaze is already on me. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “That’s nice of you.”

I internally cringe at that because really? When I sip my coffee, I catch the slight widening of Bruno’s smirk. He pushes himself off the glass wall, making his way toward the entryway, and my eyes can’t seem to move off of him and the way he confidently moves that tall, powerful body.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” he says coolly as he continues his way. His eyes flash to mine briefly, and the flutter in my chest intensifies at the sudden eye contact. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

It’s all he says before he walks out, his footsteps growing fainter the farther down the hall he goes. The day off is unprecedented, but I find myself smiling into my next sip of coffee, tapping my nails against the mug.

About two hours later, the wheels of the shopping cart I’m pushing down the aisle rattle as I fill up the cart with what I want. The cart is almost full of my favorite foods, snacks, and drinks—and I make sure to get some extra ingredients for other treats I can bake with Monica and Matteo since they seemed to enjoy baking so much. I hadn’t baked since the bakery burned down, and doing it again for the first time with the twins had been a lot easier than I thought it would be—it had been fun, and I’d been distracted enough to not think about my dad.

Of course, I think of dad every day, every freaking moment when he lingers in the back of my head. But with those kids, the time I spend with them—the heaviness in my heart lightens, and for that I’m grateful.

I think of Bruno, of how he had thanked me the other day for taking care of his kids. His sudden appreciation had taken me by surprise—only because it was from him. And despite the usual coldness in his hard-edged eyes, I saw the sincerity of his words reflect in his gaze. It had robbed me of my breath, even though moments before, he had told me to mind my business when it came to the bakery fire.

---