Page 46 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
Now he fixes things. Runs maintenance. Stays.
Cole returnswith two glasses of water, handing one to me. "You should sit down, relax," he says, his voice softer than before. "I don't want you to do anything you'll regret."
I roll my eyes at him as I accept the glass. "It looks more like you don't want to regret anything."
He laughs, the sound rich and warm. "I have nothing to regret about," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I'll be the luckiest guy on earth if you don't change your mind."
The sincerity in his tone surprises me. I take a seat on the couch, glass in hand, watching him over the rim as I drink. Despite his reputation, Cole isn't rushing things. There's no pressure, no expectation in his posture as he sits in the armchair across from me, just a patient warmth.
I set my empty glass on a coaster and look at the guitar again. "Will you play something for me?"
His eyebrows lift. "Really? Now?"
"Consider it part of the foreplay," I say with a smile.
Cole's laugh is genuine as he rises to retrieve the guitar. "I can work with that."
He settles back into the chair, positioning the instrument across his lap with familiar ease. His fingers move across the strings in a quick tune-up, and I'm struck by how naturally he holds it, like it's an extension of himself.
When he begins to play, the melody is something soft and familiar that I can't quite place. His fingers move deftly across the strings, and when he starts to sing, his voice is lower and rougher than I expected. The song is about wanting something you can't have, about stolen moments and hidden glances. His eyes meet mine over the guitar as he sings the chorus, and something electric passes between us.
As I watch him, I try to reconcile this version of Cole with the one my mother warned me about. The playboy. The heartbreaker. The man who leaves a trail of disappointed women in his wake. It doesn't match the person before me—this man who plays with such feeling, who made sure I had water, who offered to take me home if I'd changed my mind.
Maybe people change. Or maybe Cole Carter was never quite what everyone said he was.
He finishes the song with a final strum, the note hanging in the air between us.
"Want another one?" he asks, his fingers already moving into position for a new song.
I set my glass down and stand. "No. That's enough foreplay."
Cole laughs, a deep, throaty sound as he carefully places the guitar back against the wall. He crosses to me in three long strides, pulling me to him until our noses almost touch.
"You've really grown up, Ivy Walker," he murmurs, his breath warm against my lips.
"Yes, I have," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "And I haven't changed my mind."
He groans softly before capturing my mouth with his. The kiss is different from the ones in the Jeep—less urgent but somehow deeper, more deliberate. Without breaking contact, Cole pulls me up and walks me backward toward the hallway, his hands steady on my waist.
I know we're heading to his bedroom, and despite the brief uncertainty I felt earlier, I have no doubts now. I want this. I want him.
Tonight is about satisfying a need—about taking something for myself without worrying about right or wrong.
Cole's amber eyes gleam in the dim hallway light as he guides me through a doorway, his mouth still moving against mine, his intentions unmistakable.
As soon aswe cross the threshold into his bedroom, Cole's hands find my sash again. This time, his movements are deliberate and unhurried. He tugs it loose, letting it slide through his fingers—his knuckles grazing the small of my back as the fabric parts. The dress loosens around me, and he helps it slip from my shoulders, down my body, until it pools around my feet like water.
I stand before him in nothing but my black lace bra and matching underwear. Cole takes a step back, his eyes traveling slowly from my face down to my toes and back up again. The heat in his gaze makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"You're gorgeous," he says, his voice rough with want. "Even more beautiful than I imagined."
"You've imagined this?" I ask, surprised by the confession.
A half-smile curls his lips. "More times than I should admit."
Before I can respond, he's kissing me again, hands cupping my face with unexpected tenderness. I melt into him, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against my bare skin. His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, and I feel myself being guided backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
Cole eases me down onto the mattress, then straightens to look at me. I prop myself up on my elbows, watching as he begins to undress. He doesn't rush, doesn't try to make a show of it. There's a quiet confidence in the way he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen, the defined lines of his chest. His eyes never leave mine as he unfastens his belt, the soft clink of metal the only sound in the room besides our breathing.
