Page 80 of Nanny for the Bikers

Soon, orange flames crackle merrily in the stone fireplace, casting the room in a warm, flickering glow. The men’s faces are gilded in the firelight, making them look even more ruggedly handsome than usual. I curl up on the couch and hug my knees to my chest, breathing in the comforting scent of woodsmoke.

As the cabin grows toasty, Teller sinks down next to me, Piper dozing in the crook of his arm. His thigh brushes against mine and I feel the contact zing through me like an electric current.

“She’s out like a light,” he murmurs, gazing down at Piper with a tender expression that makes my heart squeeze. Seeing this hardened man be so gentle with a baby does something to me. Makes me ache for things I shouldn’t…

I clear my throat. “The rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. What should we do to pass the time?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

Teller’s green eyes darken as they meet mine, heating with unmistakable intent. “Oh, I’m sure we can think of a few ways to stay...occupied,” he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave.

My breath hitches and I lick my suddenly dry lips. Oh my. Stuck inside with three viral men, a cozy fire, and hours to kill? My mind spins with all the delicious possibilities...

A few hours later once the boys have had their way with me, I’m sucking on a spoon of ice cream when my stomach growls, desperate for something more than a quick, cold sweet treat.

An idea strikes me. “How about a little cooking challenge?” I propose, grinning at Clay and Kip who are seated nearby. “Since we’re stuck inside, might as well make the most of it and whip up a nice dinner from scratch.”

Their eyes light up at the prospect. “I’m game,” Clay says, his deep voice sending pleasant shivers through me.

“Sounds like fun,” Kip agrees, his boyish smile making an appearance.

We all head to the kitchen, Piper now snoozing in her portable crib. I start rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, taking stock of our ingredients. The guys hover nearby, awaiting instructions.

Clay peers over my shoulder, his solid presence both comforting and distracting. “Find anything good?” His warm breath tickles my ear.

“I think we’ve got plenty to work with,” I reply, holding up some vibrant veggies. “Peppers, zucchini, onions, garlic... Oh, and pasta! We could make a tasty primavera.”

“Perfect.” Clay grabs the vegetables and starts washing them in the sink. I try not to stare at how his forearms flex with the motion…

Meanwhile, Kip pokes his head into the pantry. “Ooh, jackpot! I spy some herbs and spices in here. Basil, oregano, red pepper flakes...” He emerges, clutching them victoriously. “What’s our game plan, boss?”

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, I was thinking we could...” I launch into a rundown of the recipe, handing out tasks. The guys listen intently, nodding along.

Soon the kitchen is a flurry of activity - water boiling, knives chopping, pans sizzling. The air fills with delectable aromas of garlic and onions.

Cooking with three gorgeous men is proving to be quite the exercise in restraint. But I’m not complaining. There are certainly worse ways to while away a rainy afternoon…

Clay slides up beside me, holding out an onion. “So, Chef Ayla, care to show me your knife skills?” His voice is low and playful, eyes glinting mischievously.

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Watch and learn, Clay.” Grabbing the knife, I demonstrate, explaining each step. “See, it’s all in the wrist. Quick, even slices.”

He watches intently, then takes the knife. “Okay, let me try.” His brow furrows adorably in concentration as he attempts to mimic my technique. His slices are a bit crooked but passable.

“Not bad for a beginner,” I tease, bumping his hip with mine. He grins, undeterred. In a flash, he’s posing dramatically, knife aloft like a trophy.

“I am the Onion King! Bow before my culinary prowess!” he declares in an exaggerated accent. I burst out laughing and he looks immensely pleased with himself.

Shaking my head in amusement, I turn back to the stovetop, stirring the veggies. Suddenly I feel a light sprinkling on my hair. “Ack!” Whirling around, I see Kip, hand still poised over the flour jar, a very guilty expression on his face. “Kip! You did not just...”

“Oops?” He grins sheepishly. “I swear that was an accident!”

Narrowing my eyes, I dip my fingers into the flour and flick some back at him. It splatters across his cheek. “Oh, it’s on now, Kip!”

And just like that, the flour is flying, white clouds billowing everywhere. We’re all laughing and shrieking, darting around trying to dodge and retaliate. I manage to smear a floury handprint across Clay’s chest. He catches my wrist and tugs me closer, eyes dancing…

From the corner of my eye, I spot Teller perched on a barstool, an amused Piper, who’d woken up from her nap, in his arms. “Having fun?” he calls out dryly. But I can see him fighting a smile.

My cheeks flush, suddenly realizing how ridiculous we must look, covered head to toe in flour like mischievous kids. But I can’t remember the last time I felt this carefree, this uninhibited.

Something about these men makes me want to let loose and just play, without a care in the world. And that both terrifies and thrills me…

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