Page 16 of The Wolf's Plus-Size Nanny

I can’t unsee it—Jack, with water cascading down his shoulders, every line of his body outlined by the foggy glass. Muscles I didn’t even know existed are now burned into my brain. And his face—half-obscured by steam, eyes closed, completely oblivious to the fact that I just barged in like an idiot.

I slump against the wall, pressing my hands to my cheeks, trying to will away the embarrassment. But it’s not just that. There’s a lingering image of Jack, raw and real, that I know will haunt me for days. I’ve seen him half-dressed plenty of times—shirtless around the house, in casual shorts—but this is different. This is up close and personal, and the heat I’m feeling isn’t just from the shower steam.

That man is pure muscle.

“Get it together, Sonya,” I mutter to myself, forcing my legs to move away from the bathroom. I duck into the kitchen, hoping the distance will help cool my flushed skin. This is the last thing I need—to be rattled by Jack Thomas, of all people. It’s already awkward enough living here. I don’t need to complicate it by turning into a hormonal mess every time he’s around.

I focus on breathing, counting backward from ten like it’s going to magically erase the memory. But no matter what, it’s there. Jack, under the shower spray, relaxed and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen him. And worse, the part of me that’s still flustered isn’t just from the shock. It’s from how my mind lingers on the image, tracing the lines of his muscles and the way his skin glistened under the water.

God, what is wrong with me?

I grab a glass of water, gulping it down like it’s going to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head. I can’t let this affect me. I’ve got enough on my plate without throwing a crush—or whatever this is—into the mix. Jack is Fiona’s dad, my boss, and the last person I should be fantasizing about. But try as Imight to bury the thought, it keeps bubbling up, unbidden and persistent.

The bathroom door opens, and I freeze, half-expecting Jack to waltz out and make some snarky comment. But he doesn’t. I hear his footsteps padding softly down the hall, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. A few seconds later, Jack appears, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair still damp and tousled from the shower.

“Hey,” he says, his tone casual, like I didn’t just catch him naked.

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you were back,” I reply, my voice a little too high. I can’t meet his eyes.

Jack shrugs, his smile easy. “No big deal. Happens.”

Does it? Does it really? Because it sure feels like a big deal to me.

I nod, desperate to change the subject. “Fiona’s still asleep, but I was thinking about starting dinner soon. Anything you want?”

He leans against the counter, watching me with an amused look that makes me want to squirm. “I’ll handle dinner. You’ve been at it all day.”

“Oh, okay,” I mumble, turning away and pretending to go through one of the boxes piled against the wall. My cheeks still burn, and I can feel Jack’s eyes on me, like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head. It’s unsettling, the way he can get under my skin without even trying.

Jack picks up a stray toy from the floor, tossing it back into the basket with a practiced ease. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly—too quickly. I can’t let him see the way my thoughts are spinning. “Just tired. You know, moving in and all that.”

We fall into an uneasy silence, and I focus on busying myself with unpacking. Jack’s still hovering, and I can’t tell if it’s because he senses my discomfort or if he’s just waiting for me to crack a joke. Either way, the tension is palpable, and I hate how aware I am of his presence. How every move he makes seems to draw my attention.

As I sort through my things, my mind keeps drifting back to the shower, to the sight of Jack’s strong, solid frame under the water. I bite my lip, trying to push the image away, but it’s stubborn, refusing to be ignored. I’ve seen plenty of guys without their clothes on, but none of them ever made my heart race like this.

I glance over at Jack, who’s now scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The normalcy of it all is infuriating. Here I am, trying to keep my composure after accidentally walking in on him, and he’s acting like it’s just another Tuesday.

Maybe it is, to him. Maybe Jack’s used to women seeing him like that, to shrugging off those moments like they don’t matter. But to me, it does matter. Because for all our bickering and teasing, I never expected to be thrown into the deep end of whatever this is. And now I’m struggling to find the line between helping Jack with Fiona and getting caught up in feelings I can’t afford to have.

I pull one of my books out of a box, and I can’t help but steal another glance at Jack. He looks up, catching my eye, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that makes my breath hitch. It’s like he’s reading my mind, like he knows exactly why I’m flustered. And instead of calling me out, he just gives me a slow, knowing smile that sends my pulse racing all over again.

This is ridiculous. I’m Sonya Welsh—practical, no-nonsense, and definitely not the type to get weak-kneed oversome guy, especially not Jack Thomas. I can’t let this get to me. I’ve got a job to do, and Fiona needs me focused, not distracted by her dad’s stupid smile and perfect abs.

But as I stack the empty boxes and pretend not to notice Jack still watching me, I can’t help but wonder if I’m in over my head. Because if this is how it feels just living under the same roof, what’s going to happen when we’re both here, day in and day out, sharing space and trying not to drive each other crazy?

I don’t know. But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of looking forward to finding out.

Chapter 8 - Jack

I’m in the kitchen with a towel slung over my shoulder, standing over the stove, and I can hear Sonya moving around the house like she’s trying to burn off whatever awkwardness just hit us. I could have made a joke about her catching me in the shower, maybe something to break the tension, but I didn’t. It’s weird—with anyone else, I’d have played it up, tossed out a comment just to see them squirm. So why is it so different with her?

I keep busy by rummaging through the fridge, pulling out ingredients for dinner. Cooking might not be my strong suit, but it beats standing here with nothing to do except think about how Sonya’s eyes widened when she saw me. There’s a strange, buzzing energy between us, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the way she bolted from the bathroom or the way I can’t seem to stop picturing the stunned look on her face.

She eventually reappears in the kitchen, trying too hard to look casual, like the last thirty minutes didn’t just happen. She’s pretending to sort through a box of her stuff, focused on unpacking like it’s the most important task in the world. I glance over at her, and there’s this fleeting moment where our eyes meet, but she quickly looks away.

“Fiona’s still asleep,” she comments. Her voice is a little too bright, like she’s trying to fill the silence. “I thought I’d get some unpacking done.”

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