Page 108 of Nanny and the Beast

“Okay,” I say, my eyes flicking down to the wounds on his torso. “Can I help you get cleaned up?”

“I don’t like being touched,” he says.

I glance down at where he’s still holding me. This man goes out of his way to avoid physical contact. But when he does touch me, he doesn’t let go.

Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe he’s starved of physical touch.

“You need help right now,” I repeat.

“I’ll manage just fine on my own.”

“You don’t have to do it on your own.”

He sighs. “Whydo you have to be so damn difficult?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

A figure approaches us, but we don’t take our eyes off each other until she clears her throat.

It’s Helena. She’s holding a tray of medical supplies. She doesn’t look shocked by Mr. Sinclair’s current state. It makes me wonder if this is a regular occurrence in this family.

I wonder what exactly it is that Mr. Sinclair does outside of work.

“Thank you, Helena,” Mr. Sinclair says. “I’ll take it from here.”

He takes the tray from her. She hesitates for a moment, but leaves without saying another word. He’s still losing blood. It falls in silent droplets, pooling near his feet.

I’m seized by a wave of concern for this stubborn, infuriating man.

I reach for the tray. “Let me.”

“Go back inside your room, Emma,” he says. There’s a note of warning in his voice.

I glance down at his bloodied torso. My throat tightens as moisture rushes to my eyes.

“God save me,” he hisses under his breath.

Without a word, he steps into his room. Lights flicker on one by one as he sets the tray on the bedside table. Then he vanishes into the bathroom without looking back.

I wait at the threshold, unsure whether to follow him inside.

His shower turns on.

I step inside his room. I’m not afraid of his wrath even though I know I should be. I sit on the edge of his bed and question all my life choices.

I don’t know why I’m here. He clearly doesn’t want my help. All I really know in this moment is that I can’t leave him on his own.

A few minutes later, he emerges with a white towel slung low around his waist.

“Great, you’re still here,” he mutters.

I’m momentarily distracted by the sight of his body. He’s all thick veins and sinew. It makes my mouth go dry. I don’t think I’ve ever felt desire like this before in my life.

“If you’re done gawking, I have to go to bed,” he says.

A blush hits my cheeks.

“Do you need stitches?” I ask, taking in all the cuts on his body.The bleeding has stopped for the most part, so I can see the wounds better now.

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