Page 22 of Bully Wolf's Nanny
Huge panes of glass overlooked the woodland beyond, the soft amber lights in the garden glowing through and bathing the space with hazy warmth. Plants of every color, every variety, exploded in a riot of vibrancy, their flowers thickening the air with sweet smells. And in the center, nestled amongst the blooming life, was a grand piano.
“Oh,” Daisy whispered softly, taking a few cautious steps forward over the cobbles, “is this…did you…”
“It occurred to me earlier that it’s rather bizarre that I don’t actually have a piano from the company that I manage,” Nicolas said, walking with confidence towards the polished spruce piano, “and since you are now living here, it only made sense to have one brought in.”
She blinked at him, her lips parted in surprise at his nonchalance, as if it were a completely normal thing to have a grand piano delivered to one’s house on a whim. He looked at her, his sharp features pale and imposing even in the warmglow of the lights, and raised an expectant eyebrow. “Would you prefer I have it moved to somewhere else in the house?”
“No!” Daisy replied, perhaps a touch too fast. “No, that’s not it at all! Nicolas, this is…this is far too much!”
“Try it out,” he said, utterly ignoring her as he pulled out the stool. “You’ll have to let me know if it needs any tuning. I don't have the ear for that sort of thing.”
“Nicolas, I don’t—"
“Daisy,” he said, his voice at last betraying some hint of emotion, some small ounce of strain, “please. Just play.”
She paused, and then nodded, walking slowly past him to sit at the stool, nervously arranging her skirt as she sat.
But as soon as her fingers touched the ivory keys, all her anxiety was forgotten.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had played. Perhaps it had been a snatched moment in the local church a few months ago, or a few quick notes on a clunky old upright in a bar. It didn’t matter. The music flowed through her as if it had never left.
Her fingers danced over the keys, the song taking shape before her even without any sheet music. It was an old lullaby she’d learned when she was a girl. She remembered how much she had loved the sweet yet solemn melody. She still loved it. Her breath hitched as the tempo increased, as the chords resonated deep within her. Tears pricked behind her eyes, so she screwed them closed, chasing the rapture of musical release.
Oh, how she had missed this. It was as if some part of her soul had been missing, and finally,finallyhad returned to her. She couldn’t have wished for a more perfect gift. And that shehadn’t even needed to ask…Nicolas had justdoneit. He had seen her desire at the shop and acted on it just…justbecause.
Only when she played the final few notes did she dare open her eyes again. Instantly, her gaze locked with Nicolas’s. He was leaning against the piano, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. His hair had relaxed from its neat styling, one lock falling over his brow. She had never seen him look so vulnerable and yet at the same time…sohungry.
Everything went still. The soft sway of the plants, the glowing flicker of the lights, the last distant echo of her final notes. It all went away. Until it was just them. Him and her.
It was too much.
She stood abruptly, the stool clattering against the stone.
“I have to…I need to…I’m going to bed,” she said, her chest heaving. “Thank you. For the piano. It’s…it’s…”
“Daisy,” he said, taking one step forward, the immensity of him threatening to overwhelm her.
“Goodnight.” She turned from him and fled, never once looking back, her heart racing in her chest.
***
Only later, much later, when she had removed her makeup and changed into her comfiest pajamas, did she let herself think about the look on his face.
She had never seen anything like it.
Well no, that wasn’t quite true. She had seen him look like that once before. Only once.
She swallowed, the thick duvet suddenly feeling overwhelmingly stifling. She kicked it off, sucking in the cool air, fingers twisting in the sheets beneath her.
His eyes had been like some sort of tempest. A wild storm she would get lost in. And his expression, so open, so raw in its blatant desire.
But a desire for what?
She didn’t dare think about it.
Her skin prickled into goosebumps, her nipples hardening. She told herself it was because of the cold. The throb growing between her thighs told a different story.
She swallowed again, her hands drifting to her stomach, to a small stretch of skin between her pajama shirt and pants. Her fingers lightly caressed the bare skin, inching ever so slightly higher, lifting her shirt slowly up her torso.
