Page 14 of The Nanny Goal

As I search my coat for phone, I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper, then a sexy string of Russian words. My phone’s not there, so I turn back to see if it’s in my jeans, when I feel the vibration again next to my foot.

Notmyphone.

His.

I hold up his coat. “Your phone, Alexei.”

“Don’t care,” he says, his eyelids hooding his gaze, his attention locked on my face. “I want you. Need your mouth.”

I set the coat down again, and his phone tumbles out of the pocket, screen up.

Tatyana calling

It’s none of my business, of course. We’re just… Whatever we’re doing.

But then the call ends, and on the Lock Screen there’s a notification that he’s missed three calls and a bunch of messages, too.

“Who’s Tatyana?” I ask lightly. Picking up the phone, I lob it in his direction. “She keeps calling. It might be important.”

He swears under his breath in Russian. I mean, I don’t know that it’s a swear word, but it sounds like one. “I turn it off. Come here.”

Against my better judgment, I crawl onto the bed as he fiddles with his phone, and wind my arms around his neck.

But as I kiss his jaw, his body goes from hot and needy to rigid and cold.

Definitely don’t fall in love with this one, Emery Granger.

Hockey players are all the same.

“Is it, umm…?”

He peels me off his body with a heavy sigh. Closes his eyes for a beat, then opens them again, and the expression there…it’s not the man who was just between my legs.

Without saying a word, he disappears into the bathroom. There’s running water, and I use that as cover to race to my suitcase to find something that’s easier to pull on than a turtleneck and jeans.

When he returns, holding a glass of water, I’m in an oversized t-shirt and underwear. The flimsiest of armour, but it’ll have to do.

“Drink,” he says, pressing the glass into my hand. “I have to go.”

I stare as he heads for the hotel room door.

Then I find my voice. “No goodbye?”

He turns around and shoves his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “I am trouble for you.”

“Why, was that your drug dealer?” It’s a joke, and a bad one. I hope it’s a joke, anyway.

“It is my ex-girlfriend.” His mouth pinches. “She is having a baby.”

Is that worse than a drug dealer? It feels like it is. I barely hear my voice over the ringing in my ears. “What do you mean?”

“In labour, yes? You know the thing? She is having a baby.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Now.”

I huff a shocked breath. “How ex are we talking here?”

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