Page 43 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
“Almost, buddy,” Dane says, then looks at me.
“Think you’re up for your first official task?”
I raise a brow. “Throwing myself to the wolves on day one? Bring it.”
He laughs—God, it’s low and sexy and does terrible things to my insides.
“Swim lessons. Downtown. His bag’s by the door. I’ve hired a driver for you during the day, just until you get settled. Then you can use the car whenever you like. I’m texting you the app link.”
“Oh. Okay.” I blink, trying to reboot my brain. “So, hired? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says, pausing at the door.
And then he does it—looks at me.
Not professionally. Not like a boss.
But like him.
The man I met that night at the park.
The man who kissed me like I was magic.
“Thanks for being here, Tamare,” he says softly.
It’s just five words.
But somehow, in his voice, they feel like a seismic event.
Anyone else feel that Earthquake?
They shiver down my spine and settle somewhere behind my ribs where my heart forgets how to beat properly.
Before I can respond—before I can combust—he’s gone.
Just like that. Out the door with all his smooth, broody boss energy, leaving me alone in the prettiest room I’ve had to myself in, well, longer than I can honestly remember.
The bed is big and freshly made, there’s a bay window with seat cushions, and—are those fairy lights around the mirror? Who does that for a nanny’s room?
I drop my suitcase gently and stare around, suddenly overwhelmed.
How the hell am I supposed to survive this trial period without falling harder for a man I shouldn’t want?
Especially not when he can just turn it off like flipping a switch.
One second, he’s looking at me like I’m made of dreams and cinnamon sugar, like he could devour me whole, and the next?
Bam. All business. Blank face activated.
Zero evidence of the man who made me forget my name and loved on me for an entire night.
And is it wrong that I kind of want him to feel a little wrecked too?
That I like it when he calls me Pretty Girl more than when he says my actual name?
Ugh. I need to get a grip.
A strong, two-handed, industrial-grade grip on my emotions.
