Page 59 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

My silence has him cocking his head. “Unless you’re not interested.”

“I am,” I snap so quickly it surprises even me.

His teeth flash, and the grooves along his cheeks form around his smile. “Good. I’d like that.”

The music changes, and Mariah Carey comes on singing her iconic Christmas song.

“Oh, man. Make it stop,” Lucky says.

“I love this song!”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. It’s about a woman in love, and all she wants is the man she loves.”

“Sure.”

“Plus, it’s catchy. How can you not want to start dancing when you hear it?” I jump up and do just that. “See?”

It gets a smile out of him, and I tug him to his feet.

“Come on. You want to dance. You know you do.”

“No, but I’ll dance with you.” He takes me in his arms, then spins me out and back. I slam into his chest and suddenly we’re both staring at each other. I break the spell, taking his hands. “Do you do the jitterbug?”

“Nobody does the jitterbug, Grace.”

I pull back and then forward. “It’s like this.”

He follows my lead until we both start laughing and the song changes toMy Grown-up Christmas List. The mood shifts to a slower, more subdued one, and Lucky pulls me into his arms.

“Now this is my kind of dancing,” he murmurs.

I rest my head on his shoulder, and we sway to the music.

A peace engulfs me like I’ve never known, at least, not since I was a little girl and my mother was still alive. I close my eyes, feeling safe and protected. My eyes sting and fill. How will I ever explain why I’m suddenly so overwhelmed with emotion?

I don’t want this moment to end, but when the music finally fades, I pull free and turn away. “I should go to bed. It’s late.”

“Grace…”

I run from the room and up the stairs, dashing the tears away.

He doesn’t follow, and I’m grateful.

I throw myself on the bed and cry, letting out all the pain in my soul. I have to let it go. I have to let the pain of my childhood go. Only then can I ever make room for the kind of love I deserve.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Grace—

It’s the first day of the girls’ winter break, and I’m sitting on the dock while Lucky’s parents pick them up for their long weekend visit. I didn’t want to intrude or insinuate myself, so I came out here.

It’s chilly, and I’ve got a small blanket wrapped around me, but the view of the sun sinking low over the water is fabulous. Pink and orange streaks paint the sky, and it's prettier than any watercolor painting I’ve ever seen. In my opinion, no artist could ever beat out Mother Nature.

Footsteps sound on the dock, and I turn. Lucky walks toward me with two glasses and hands me one.

“Here you go.”

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