Page 62 of Nanny and the Beast

He sucks in a breath like I’ve just punched him in the chest. I catch a whiff of that perfume again. The sweet vanilla scent makes me feel bolder.

I wonder if it’s his perfume. It smells like a woman’s, but maybe his cologne has notes of vanilla and flowers. I move closer toward him.

He snaps out of his reverie and narrows his eyes at me.

“What are you doing, Emma?” he asks.

I only took a few steps, but my heart seems to think I’m putting it through a triathlon. I cross the remaining distance between us until I’m standing directly in front of him.

His warmth envelops me like a lover’s caress.

Standing before him feels like basking in the sun after a long snowstorm. His glow warms me up from the inside. It makes me feel like everything will be alright again.

His eyes flick down my body.

And just like that, I’m burning.

My nipples are painfully hard against my bra. Insatiable heat forms between my thighs.

He’s looking at me like he knows all about the effect he has on me.

I take a deep breath. I don’t smell vanilla or flowers on him. He smells like pure testosterone. He smells like a man in his prime.

“Is it okay if I ask you a question?” I say.

“If it’s about my sister, then no,” he says.

“It’s about the kids,” I say. “I wanted to talk to you about all the classes they’re taking.”

“What about the classes?” He crosses his arms.

He’s defensive already. Perhaps now isn’t the best time to bring this up, but this man is so elusive that I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

“It’s great that you’re keeping the kids busy and exposing them to a wide range of interests,” I say.

“Get to the fucking point, Emma,” he says.

I stare at him. Fine.

“I think it’s too much,” I say. “Having two or three classes is great, but filling their schedule from dawn to dusk is a bit much. I think you should talk to the kids about whether they’re even enjoying all the classes in the first place.”

“Did they say that it’s too much?” he asks.

“No, but?—”

“Then I don’t want to hear about it,” he says. “If the children have a problem with their classes, they’ll speak with me directly.”

“How? They barely ever get the chance to see you,” I say.

His eyes flash with anger. I went too far. I know it. But it’s not like I can take the words back.

He moves closer. His body emits heat like a furnace, making all of my muscles relax. My head swims with too many thoughts.

“How many times do I need to remind you of where you stand, Miss Turner?” he says.

His words are derogatory. Hurtful. But I see through them. I see all the way down to the man who’s hurting so badly. He doesn’t need to say a word for me to understand him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice softer now.

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