Page 80 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
And right now? It’s glowing in my chest like wildfire.
Tamare looks exhausted and radiant, sweaty curls plastered to her forehead, cheeks flushed from effort and adrenaline.
Her eyes—those perfect hazel eyes I fell into the first time she glared at me over a pizza box—are brimming with tears and something else.
Pride. Wonder. Fierce, unrelenting love.
She glances up at me, lips trembling with a soft smile. “Come meet your daughter, Mr. Alistair.”
Fuck. My knees go weak.
I sit beside her carefully, not wanting to jostle either of them. My mate. My miracle.
And now? This tiny, pink, squirming little being with a shock of dark hair and a surprisingly loud set of lungs.
“She’s got your scowl,” my wife whispers, grinning.
“Still want to name her Dana?” I ask, because my wife already chose.
I laugh, low and awed, because she’s right.
Dana Melissa Alistair is already giving the world a look like she’ll claw it to pieces if she’s not fed immediately.
I am so in trouble.
“I think she’s hungry,” Tamare adds softly, adjusting her grip as the baby roots against her.
“I’ll get the nurse,” I offer, already halfway out of my seat, but my wife catches my arm.
“She’s fine. Look, I’ve got her.”
Of course she does.
Tamare is fierce.
Gentle. Smart. And somehow, impossibly, mine.
I slide an arm around her shoulders and rest my forehead against hers as our daughter quiets, snuggling close to the sound of her mother’s heartbeat.
“She’s perfect,” I murmur.
“So are you,” she whispers back.
A knock sounds at the door and then it creaks open.
Alex peeks in, eyes wide. His curls are a little longer now—he’s growing into his Cougar features more and more by the day—but he still looks like our sweet little boy.
“Mom? Dad? Can I come see her?” he asks, almost breathless.
Tamare nods, already tearing up again.
“Yep. Come meet your baby sister.”
He tiptoes inside like it’s holy ground and hovers near the bed until Tamare lifts the blanket just a bit so he can see her tiny face.
“She’s so small,” he whispers, then looks at me. “Was I that small?”
“Smaller,” I lie, just to see him roll his eyes.
