Page 66 of Nine Week Nanny
“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go.”
Release hits, ripping through me, pulling him over the edge. He pulses inside, body rigid, my name a guttural sound on his lips.
We collapse together, tangled and damp, the weight of him pressing me into the bed. His chest rises against my face as I listen to his heart race.
My mind is blank, but my body still hums. I’m both wrecked and alive.
Pope's heartbeat finally slows beneath my ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. We're tangled in his sheets, limbs intertwined, my head resting on his shoulder.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back, sending little raised bumps across my skin.
I nestle closer, breathing in the scent of his skin. I remember this scent, the clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.
"What are you thinking about?" His voice vibrates through his chest against my cheek.
"That this wasn't in my job description."
He chuckles. The sound of his laugh is warm and genuine. The hand on my back stills for a moment.
"Do you regret it?"
I lift my head to look at him. In the moonlight streaming through the windows, his face seems softer, the hard edges of control smoothed away.
"No. But it definitely complicates things."
"Everything about this situation is complicated." His eyes close briefly, a furrow appearing between his brows.
His voice drops low, rougher than usual, and a crease pulls between his brows. The man who never falters comes off as unsure, maybe even lost, for the first time.
"With Lennon, you mean?"
"With all of it." His arm tightens around me. "I never planned to be anyone's guardian. I don't know how to be what he needs."
I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "You're doing better than you think."
"Am I?" The question is quiet, earnest.
"Yeah, you are. You impress me. I realize this is all foreign to you, yet you’re showing up and you care. I thought you were his dad at first. But after you told me what you’re doing, every gesture you make with him is a gift to that little boy."
"I don't know. It's bigger than—" He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.
I place my palm against his cheek. "Than love?"
Pope turns his face into my touch. "I didn't expect to care this much. Not this fast."
"I know the feeling." The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyes find mine, questioning.
Pope pulls me down for a kiss that’s gentle and achingly sweet.
"When you came to interview, I thought I was hallucinating," he murmurs against my lips. "And then I had to sit there pretending we'd never met while watching you connect with Lennon in five minutes in ways I couldn't manage."
"I've spent the last week telling myself this was a terrible idea. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about that night, that every time you walk into a room, my stomach drops and I get all nervous, is a red flag I can’t get enough of.”
"It probably is." His fingers thread through my hair. "But here we are anyway."
We fall silent, the confession hanging between us. I settle back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
