I rummage around Callie’s bookshelf for a good bedtime story to read her, but by the time I turn around, she’s already out. Turning off her lamp, I kiss her forehead and tiptoe out of her room.
When I step into the hallway, the first thing I do is check for Eli’s sneakers at the front door. I feel a hollow pang when I realize they’re gone. What is wrong with me? The man is my boss. My grumpy, mean, peevish boss. Not my friend. Certainly not my lover. I need to get a grip.
I realize that I might need to blow off some steam as well. I’m frustrated. Sexually.
Time to dance it out!
I grab my phone and pop my headphones in. I cue up my Ariana Grande playlist and put Dangerous Woman on repeat. I’m so keyed up and it’s the only song I know that sums up exactly what I feel for this man.
I move mindlessly around my room, stuffing dirty clothes into a small hamper as I dance sensually, doing my best impersonation of a vixen. Laundry basket on my hip, I head for the basement steps, wiggling my shoulders, swinging my hips and muttering along to the lyrics. I stop on the stairs to shake my butt a little. The music is moving through me.
In the shadowy stairwell, I allow myself to be the kind of woman I wish to be. Bold. Daring. Fearless. The kind of woman who gets the guy. I wish I were brave enough to say those lyrics to him out loud.
But I’m not. I’m the furthest thing from a vixen. I’m just the nanny. In my oversized green sweatshirt and zebra leggings and lopsided ponytail.
I absorb every note of the song as I travel to the downstairs bathroom, where the washer and dryer live. Head in the clouds, I pull open the door…
And the sight that greets me causes me to freeze in my strawberry-patterned socks.
It’s Eli. Wet. Naked. Standing under the spray of the shower behind the transparent plastic curtain. Head down, back curved, hand between his thighs. Stroking up and down his shaft in rough, powerful movements.
Hol-ee crap.
My knees go weak. My arms give out. And the basket of dirty laundry hits the floor.
In an instant, the top half of the shower curtain tears open and a panting, disoriented Eli stares at me with rivulets of water streaming down his hard, muscled, perfect upper body.
When I spin for the door, my headphones fall out and I trip on his kicked-off sneakers and the overturned laundry basket. I manage to catch my footing and dart out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
Heart screaming an erratic soundtrack, I slam my back into the wall right outside the bathroom door and slide down to the floor. I shut my eyes and slap both hands over my face, struggling to get my adrenaline under control.
What am I doing? What am I doing? I don’t know what I’m doing. My brain is yelling, on full volume. Crouching down in the corner is a bullshit plan of action. I need to get out of here. Fast.
The bathroom door crashes open. I hold my breath. I don’t move.
My nerve endings can sense his presence but I don’t hear a sound. After a drawn-out beat, I spread my fingers a centimetre apart and dare to peel one eyelid open. With only the light spilling out of the bathroom, I see water pooling on the wooden floor around a pair of massive bare feet.
Crapsters!
“You know I can see you, right?” I hear my boss growl.
Tentatively, I drop my hands from my face and my gaze ventures upward. I find the still-wet giant standing in the doorway, wearing only a flimsy towel and a scowl.
Where’s my invisibility cloak when I need it? Maybe in the overturned laundry heap on the bathroom floor?
With a squeak, I push myself up to my feet. “I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t—well—”
“This is unprofessional. You are my employee.” His words come out harsh and irritated. “I expected that I’d be able to maintain a little bit of privacy around here.”
“I know. A-and I’m terribly sorry,” I say, my rushed words bumping and tumbling into each other. “It was a-an accident, and it won’t happen again.”
He tips his head to one side. Hikes up an eyebrow. “Well, which is it?”
“W-what?” I stutter, confused.
“Was it an accident, or was it something within your control? Since you’re promising it won’t happen again.”
“Both!” I blurt out. “No—the first one. I—I am sorry. Really, really sorry.”
My neck and cheeks are flaming. I’m mortified. I dart around him and quickly stuff my dirty clothes and headphones into the laundry basket. Then, I swerve again, clothes hamper on my hip, and make a beeline for the stairs.
I don’t get far before his large hand wraps around my wrist. The light force of the gesture causes my body to whirl back around so I’m facing him.
God—we’re so close.
And we’re so alone.
And he’s so almost-naked.
My eyes trace the defined lines of his torso. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and it takes everything in me to avoid reaching out. To avoid running my palm over his bare, wet chest—
“You can't, Jenny.”
My eyes snap up to his cruel, magnificent face.
“W-what?” I stammer.
His gaze darkens, his jaw ticks. He takes one deep, harsh inhale. He drops my arm like its corrosive.
“You think you can handle me. This body, this anger, this pain. But you fucking can't,” he spits out. “So just keep your distance. And I’ll keep mine. Because if I put my hands on you, I will destroy you. I will ruin you. Like I’ve ruined everything else in my life.”
I suck in a breath, anger bubbling beneath my skin. How dare he? How dare he talk to me like that? With that pitying, condescending look in his eyes.
My damaged pride refuses to
