Page 39 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar

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Because standing there, sunlight spilling over her like she ordered it from a movie set, is her.

My Pretty Girl.

Wearing clingy capri pants that hug her curvy hips like a second skin, and a flowy swing top dotted in little blue flowers.

Beautiful. Soft. Mine.

My Cougar roars, slamming against the inside of my chest like he wants to leap out and bite her. Or at least drop a claimed sign on her right here and now.

She smiles nervously.

And me? I forget every single thing I was about to say.

“Oh, um, hi,” she says, biting her lip.

I stare.

Because the universe didn’t just throw me a bone.

It delivered my fated mate to my doorstep.

Again.

This time?

I’m not letting her walk away.

“Uh, are you Dane Alistair?” she asks, voice unsure, one hand nervously gripping the strap of her bag.

My name on her lips?

Yeah, that does things.

I swallow hard, forcing my Cougar to settle.

“Yeah, Pretty Girl,” I say, smiling slowly. “I’m Dane Alistair.”

She blinks, like she wasn’t expecting me to recognize her.

“Oh. Um. I’m Tamare Wilson. Most people call me Tam.”

“Tamare. It’s really good to see you,” I whisper.

Tamare.

Not Tam. Because I’m not most people.

Sweet, precious, delicious Tamare. Mine.

I repeat her name in my head like a prayer. Like a claim.

I grin, I can’t help it.

She’s blushing. Her cheeks are pink. Those impossibly pretty hazel eyes of hers are darting everywhere, refusing to land on me—and it's wrecking me.

Soft. Sweet. Nervous as hell.

And still, she showed up.

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