Page 67 of Nine Week Nanny
Pope pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I nuzzle my cheek to his chest. His heart kicks fast against my ear, the rhythm unsteady, like every word costs him more than he wants me to see.
I slide my hand up to his shoulder, wrapping my hand around his neck. I don’t do it to silence him, but to tell him without words that I’m not going anywhere.
His breathing eventually evens out, and mine follows, our bodies syncing as we drift toward sleep. The peaceful weight of his arm around me feels like safety, like something I could get dangerously used to.
Just as consciousness begins to slip away, a faint, high-pitched beeping pierces the silence.
EIGHTEEN
Pope
A high-pitched beeping tears through my sleep. My eyes snap open, disoriented in the darkness of my bedroom.
For a moment, I forget where I am, what day it is, but then memories of Sloane beneath me flood back.
What the fuck is that noise?
I roll over, arm reaching for her warm body, but find only cooling sheets.
"Sloane?" My voice is rough with sleep.
My vision adjusts to the dim light. She's across the room, already half-dressed, slipping into her shorts with quiet efficiency. My chest tightens at the sight.
"Sorry," she whispers, grabbing her tank top from where I'd tossed it hours earlier. "It's Lennon's monitor. The battery's dying."
The beeping continues insistently. It's a mechanical intrusion into what had been perfect. I sit up, sheets pooling at my waist, watching her dress.
"You're leaving." It isn't a question, but a statement of fact that frustrates me just saying it.
"I need to put the monitor in its cradle. The battery is dying. Plus, I should be in my room when Lennon wakes up." She runs fingers through her tangled hair, trying to smooth it. "Go back to sleep."
"What time is it?"
"Three twenty-one."
"Lennon won't be up for at least three more hours. Let me hold you for a little longer.”
Something protective and possessive rises in me, something I didn't even know lived inside my chest until this moment. My jaw clenches as I watch her reach for the doorknob.
I stand, not bothering with clothes, my erection betraying my real intentions. I want to hold her. Her eyes drop, then quickly return to my face.
"Pope—"
I cross to her in three strides, pulling her against me. My hands pull her ass into me, her skin warm through the thin fabric of her shirt.
"Stay." The word comes out rougher than intended.
"I can't. If Lennon wakes up and I'm not there?—"
"He won't." I press my forehead to hers. "And I want to wake up with you."
The admission costs me something. I don't say things like this or admit to needs or wants that can't be satisfied with money or power.
She touches my face, her thumb tracing my jawline. "You're not playing fair."
"I never do." I kiss her slowly and deeply, feeling her soften into me.
