Page 42 of Nanny and the Beast

When our eyes lock, a muscle in his jaw jumps.

"Please have a seat, Miss Turner," he says, gesturing to an empty seat opposite the kids. It's also the one that's right next to his.

As I sit down, my skirt hikes higher up my thighs. I feel his eyes zeroing in on the space between my legs. His jaw is clenched so hard that it looks like it's going to shatter. I'm pretty sure I just flashed my panties at my billionaire boss.

I didnotthink this through.

My heart races as I serve myself some scrambled eggs and fruit. At this rate, I'm pretty sure my heart will explode from all the stress it's been under lately.

"I can't believe you're actually here," little James says, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Of course I'm here," I say, smiling at the kid. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I thought I would never see you again," he says.

Something about the way he says that is strange. He's looking at me like I'm the last person he expected to see this morning.

"Are you excited to finish your painting today?" I ask him.

"What painting?" His eyebrows furrow.

"The one we started yesterday?"

I glance at Rosalie for help, but she's busy dicing her cheese omelet into bite-sized pieces.

"You were here yesterday?" James asks.

His question catches me off guard. He doesn't remember that I was here yesterday.

I glance over at Mr. Sinclair to find that he's already looking at me.

"Emma, may I have a word with you in private?" he asks.

He stands abruptly and waits for me to follow him. I dab my lips with a napkin before standing.

I have zero clue what's going on right now. Judging by the storm in Mr. Sinclair's eyes, it's nothing good.

He guides me into a sunlit sitting room and halts by a towering window.

Right as I reach the window, my footcatches on the edge of a rug, making me lose my balance. Before I can fall, his big hands wrap around my waist.

Our eyes lock as every ounce of blood in my body rushes to my heart, where it gathers and gathers before exploding.

"Thank you," I say.

His gaze narrows on my lips, like their very existence pisses him off.He glances down at his hands, then letsgo of me like he's been electrocuted.

"If you can't walk in high heels, don't wear them," he snaps.

"I was doing just fine." I cross my arms in front of my chest.

"Clearly," he huffs.

This heated exchange feels like déjà vu. It feels like a conversation we've had before. It feels like hundreds of conversations we've yet to have.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask.

"You," he says. "I wanted to talk about you."

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