Page 39 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
She heard the soft creak of the bathroom door before she saw him, bare feet on the floorboards, the faint scent of pine soap and heat rolling ahead of him like a wave.
Lola looked up just in time to see Dane round the corner into the living room, towel slung over one shoulder, joggers low on his hips, and a threadbare black top clinging to his chest like it had beenpersonally tailored to ruin her composure.
Her brain stalled.
Every exposed inch of him looked carved from marble, broad shoulders, arms inked from shoulder to forearm, the kind of bulky muscle you didn’t get from casual gym memberships.His long dark hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends. And the tattoos…she’d never seen all of them up close, not really. Most of the time, he wore a shirt or hoodie. But now, with his skin still flushed from the shower and the faint glow of lamplight catching the lines and sigils winding over his collarbone…
Her throat went dry.
Dane stopped when he saw her. His brow lifted slightly.
“Is this baby torture or academic brainwashing?” he asked, nodding at her laptop.
She blinked. “What?”
He gestured lazily, “Didn’t know your thesis was part of infant enrichment programs now.”
“Oh,” she said, heat rising in her cheeks, “I…I wasn’t trying to…I mean, it’s just… he…he likes the sound of my voice.”
“Does he?”
“Yes! Probably. I think. I mean, he didn’t cry…”
Dane smirked and crossed the room, muscles rippling with every lazy step. He peered at the screen. “Blood rites and ancient Roman judgment. Fascinating.”
“It’s actually very important,” she said, flustered.
“Sure it is.”
She narrowed her eyes, “You’re just jealous no one’s written a thesis aboutyouyet.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Dane said, flashing her that crooked smile, “no one could publishthatwithout at least three restraining orders.”
She snorted despite herself, then panicked, trying to recover her composure. Sam was still dozing, thank God, or he’d be startled by the way her pulse had tripled.
She tried to play it cool. She always did around him. It was easier to pretend she was above it all, detached and composed, far too clever to be distracted by a man with abs like sin and a voice that belonged in expensive whiskey commercials.
But tonight, she felt unsteady. Tired. Off-balance.
And Dane was beingnice. Teasing, yes, but soft around the edges. That was harder to deflect.
“You know,” she said, voice too high, “maybe if you read more books instead of getting punched in the face by teenage wolves, you’d understand what I’m talking about.”
She meant it to be light. Playful.
But the moment the words left her mouth, she knew.
Too sharp.
Too defensive.
And Dane blinked.
Lola winced, “That came out wrong.”
He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at her. Steady. Quiet.
She started to panic.
