Page 35 of Nanny for the SEAL

There’s a pause, and I make it upstairs into my bedroom before he replies. As I take off the monkey suit, which I have no reason to wear considering I work from home most of the time, I read the message.

Well, that’s nearly as good. And no problem. I was hanging in with the family tomorrow night anyway. Daisy is always welcome. But hey, how ARE things with the nanny?

There’s a peach emoji followed by a kiss mark, and I roll my eyes.

It’s complicated. And besides, I’m not looking for anything like that. I’m way too busy with Daisy and work.

You’re preaching to the choir, asshole. I’ve been right there. You make time. You deserve to be happy.

I have no response for that, so I distract myself by getting into a pair of pajama pants and a loose tee. Bed is calling, after all.

Just see what happens, man. And let me know immediately when you figure your shit out.

With a head shake and a grin, I send back one last message.

Once I have any clue about what’s going on, you’ll be the first to know.

I plug in my phone, making sure the “do not disturb” is on so that I can actually get a good night’s sleep. It’ll still buzz if Daisy wakes up, but it’s nice to know my girl sleeps like a champ.

As I lie there, trying to let the exhaustion win over and drag me down into unconsciousness, I find myself rolling over, and then back over, and then back again.

Nothing feels comfortable, and I can see two very clear images behind my closed lids. The fact that they’re the light in Ivy’s eyes is a damn problem.

Come on, Xade. Sleep.

It’s never worked before, so I don’t know why talking myself into sleeping seems like a good idea now. Ever since I met her—after she saw me firing Laura—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that woman.

Ivy.

Why does she consume my thoughts like this? I flip onto my back, sighing as I scrub my hands down my face.

There is no reason to be this obsessed with her.Okay, obsessed might be a stretch.

But then I actually take a moment to consider that, and I’m a little shocked by how apt that word truly feels.

I’ve never been a big romantic. I’ve never been the “he falls first” type, and yet here I am, wondering if I can stand another moment alone with Ivy and not kiss her.

Kissing her is so verynotthe thing to think about either. Now that the image is in my brain, I can’t shake it.

I can see her behind my eyelids, the image fighting against my body’s need to sleep. I can see her in my office, her slight frame parked in that chair with a glass in her hands.

Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I ball my hands into fists at my side. My fingertips itch to touch her, and I can practically feel the velvety softness of her lips as I claim them as my own.

Dammit.

I’m not sure if it’s the lack of action that I’ve gotten since Maeve’s passing or if it’s the fact that Ivy herself just does something to me that feels new and fiery.

But whatever it is, my mind is cooking up images of bending her over my desk, pulling up the skirt she wears to see that she’s blessed me with nothing underneath.

I drum up the phantom sounds of her breathless cries muffled by her hand as she fights to stay quiet, me driving my tongue deep into those slippery folds waiting for me.

Shooting up into a seat, my eyes flare open, and I stare down at the floor. “Fuuuck.”

I have a raging hard-on, and there’s no way I’m going to do anything about it. No, Ivy is the nanny, and I’m not about to make myself come thinking of taking her right on my desk.

Absolutely not.

The talk-down isn’t working, though, and I have to force myself up out of bed and into my bathroom.

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