Page 8 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

His hand reaches out and one finger traces a line along my jaw, my chin. “If you do, I can do many things to train that mouth to be quiet, Miss Rainville. Many things. And you do like learning new things, don’t you?” He sucks lightly on his bottom lip, as he rubs his thumb across my bottomone.

I can’t move. I can’t speak. Whatever magic he’s working on me, I’m totally under its influence. Completely and unabashedly.

“Yes,” I breathe quietly, closing my eyes, imagining myself being undressed at his hands, bared to him. Naked in front of the master. Bared to the billionaire’s touch.

“You took a late shower,” he murmurs. “Your hair is stilldamp.”

“Yes,” I say, touching my own hair self-consciously.”

“A shame I missed it. You in your towel, coming out of the shower. Nobody else in the house but the two of us, and you almost completely undressed. Imagine if the towel was to fall off in front of me by accident.”

“That would be…very inappropriate and embarrassing,” I breathe, finally.

His nostrils flare and he seems to inhale my fresh scent. “When I come home tomorrow,” he says softly but firmly, “I want to see you coming out of the shower. Wet hair. Wet towel. Breathless. Sexy. Are we clear?” His fingers trace the edge of my jaw to the collarbone, then the neck of my blouse, above my breasts, his fingertips grazing just above my nipples. I gasp, lungs in my throat, and nod. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I see that this is wrong? Very, very wrong.

“Yes,” I squeakout.

“Yes, what?” His face drops close to mine. I feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

I close my eyes and prepare to feel. His lips. His tongue in my mouth. Any part of his body, I don’t care. I’ve never been with a man before, and suddenly, my body is on FIRE to remind me of everything I’ve been missing. The immense insanity of this moment dizzies me. Part of me wonders if it’s all an exhaustion-induced dream. “Yes, sir,” Isay.

He nods. “Good.” He pulls away, leaving a cold spot where he stood just a moment before. I can’t believe he’s going to make me wait twenty-four hours with that vision in my head—of me wet in my towel waiting for him to come home like a good little sex slave. Does he mean every word, or is he messing with me? Is this what I signed up for, or have I somehow gotten myself into the thickest trouble of mylife?

Stopping at the door, he turns around. “Get rest. Tomorrow, the baby won’t be the only person you’ll have to take care of.” He gives me a powerful, dark look, and then, without another word, he’sgone.

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