Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(44)

But holy shit, that is so goddamn stupid! What the f*ck am I thinking?

I come hard, my body sheathed inside of Brooke, fingers grasping tight enough to bruise. The wash of relief afterward comes with a weird sort of panic as I pull back and finally allow my aching arms to release her weight.

Brooke can't stand up, her back to the wall, sliding to the floor with her right leg still propped up on the step. It leaves her in this wildly sexy position with her thighs spread, her own liquid heat glistening from either leg, breath panting and lips open, head back.

I stumble a few steps away, overwhelmed with a thousand strange emotions I don't understand, my heart pounding frantically as Brooke wraps her arms around herself and closes her eyes, fighting for each breath.

I can't stop staring, my brain a strange tumbled mess as I snap the condom off and jerk my pants back into place. I've had … well, let's just say a lot of sex. But this is … this is … and there's nothing all that special about it, not really. No special positions or toys or weird shit, but—

I'm not doing this right now, letting myself get into my own head.

I move back over to Brooke and kneel down next to her, fighting that violent urge to get the f*ck out of there. I'm not like some of my friends, freaking the f*ck out because some chick spends the night and wants to stay for breakfast. So what? Big deal. Be an adult. Take her to dinner or something and don't be an ass.

This … I've never been so scared in all my life and I've known this girl for a matter of days. She's as much a stranger as any of those women that come into my shop and yet … she feels like somebody I should know.

“Hey.” I sweep some of that crazy long hair of hers back from her face with inked up fingers. “You alright there, Smarty-Pants?”

She makes a sort of strangled half-sob/half-laugh sound that makes me smile.

“That's what I've been missing out on all these years? I'm a goddamn idiot.”

I chuckle as I sit down cross legged in front of her and take her hands in my lap, rubbing her knuckles with my thumbs.

“Naw. Nobody's as good as old Zay is.” I wink at her when she glances up at me from beneath a fall of chocolate hair, her mascara running in two dark lines like it did that first day. I lift a hand up and scrub one of the lines away with my thumb.

“Don't call yourself old,” she sniffles and then laughs. “It's creepy.”

My smile gets a little warmer and that panic flares again, but I push it down. What's the big deal? So I like this girl slightly more than usual. Oh well. Come hell or high water, when my brother gets back into town, I am done. Outtie. Back to Vegas and bye-bye Brooke.

“Come on. I'll take you upstairs.” I stand up and help her to her feet. When she stumbles in her heels and falls into my arms, I feel this warmth ride over me, this contentment, like this girl is supposed to be something more than usual. More than a mistake or a quick f*ck or a friend.

But that's dumb. And I don't believe in fate and feelings and bullshit.

Eight days and this is done. Permanently.





I'm so exhausted from work and from … Zayden, that I forget that the kids have school. Around noon, I wake up in a panic and flip over in search of my phone.

Only to find Zayden's bare back instead.

He's laying next to me with no shirt, no pants, just a pair of black briefs, his legs tangled around a pillow, one arm above his head and the other thrown out across the rumpled surface of the bed. Like this, he looks innocent and peaceful.

Last night, he was anything but.

I wrap my arms around my body and suck in several deep breaths, realizing as I do that I'm wearing his shirt, the one that says I'd Pierce the Fuck Outta You. There's a questionable stain on the front of it that I pick at with my nail, my cheeks flushing with red heat. When I'd walked into that door a few short hours ago, I'd been determined I was going to tell the bastard no. But then he walked towards me in that dark living room, and I just wanted somebody to be on my side, to stand with me, look at me, hold me.

Ugh.

That was so stupid, but … kind of wonderful, too.

I blink away the sudden influx of memories. The kids. Shit.

School.

School!

I shake Zayden's shoulder and he groans.

“The kids have class,” I tell him as I climb out of bed and grab two handfuls of sheet, jerking them away from him. The motion's enough to jar him out of sleep for a second. He looks up at me and blinks slowly a couple of times before his mouth curves into a smile that makes me go weak in the knees.

Oh.

Or maybe I'm already weak in the knees. I feel sore and sated between my thighs, but the muscles feel stretched, tight, unused to that particular sort of stretch. I clutch the rumpled white sheets to my chest and squeeze my legs together tight.

“Zayden.”

He sits up and rubs at the shaved side of his head.

“What's up?” he mumbles as he looks up at me in the early morning sunshine, blinking away the fog in his brain. As soon as his eyes clear, I catch this weird glimpse flickering across his pale green irises. It looks a little something like fear, but he blinks once more and it's gone. “What's the emergency?”

“The kids have school,” I say as I search around for my phone. “I have school.”