Page 51 of Nanny and the Beast

"I like this side of you," Helena says, patting my chest before leaving the kitchen.

Emma and I remain silent as we look at each other. Helena's footsteps fade away, but we remain frozen where we are.

"Hi," she says. Her blush deepens.

"Hey," I say.

I can't help it. For a moment, I feel like a teenager having a crush on a girl for the very first time.

I discard that thought from my mind and walk toward the espresso machine. I make myself the usual afternoon pick-me-up.

"Would you like some?" I ask without turning around.

"Oh. No, thank you," she says, sounding out of breath. "I can't drink coffee too late in the day. It'll just keep me up all night."

"I can't sleep regardless," I say, leaning against the counter.

The kitchen is an explosion of color. The cookies are in different shapes—white ghosts, orange pumpkins, and purple bats.

"So," I say. "Cookies?"

"Don't tell me you have a problem with cookies," she replies.

"I don't, but the kids have a nutritionist who'll want to have a word with you," I say, taking my cup of coffee and moving closer toward her.

I should probably keep my distance, but it's hard to.

It feels like my whole life has been a long winter, and this girl holds all the warmth and sunshine in the world. It's impossible to stay away from her.

She points at a batch of plain cookies.

"I saved this one for the kids," she says. "I thought it would be a fun activity to let them decorate them however they like. Plus, Rosalie has a class party tomorrow, so she can take some of these cookies to school."

Her teeth graze against her bottom lip as she waits for my reply.

I'm entranced by the movement.My cock turns hard as steel. My entire body is primed to fuck.

I never wanted anyone like this.

The kitchen island separates the two of us. It's both a relief and a nuisance.

My feet begin to move on their own.

She grips the stone edge of the island so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Her cheeks turn a prettier shade of pink. It makes me want to tug down her blouse just to follow the path of that blush.

"You don't have to pretend to be so fucking sweet, Emma," I say, stopping behind her. I lean down and breathe in the scent of her hair. It reminds me of lazy Sunday mornings and simpler times.

"Sorry?"

"What am I supposed to do with you?" I ask, caging her between my arms. She looks so delicate beneath me.

I can see the vein pulsing at her neck. Her heart is beating faster, and it's not from fear.

Our bodies seem to have an understanding. I can smell it on her skin. If I were to put my hands on her and take her right here against this counter, she'd let me. She'd probably beg for more.

"I don't follow," she whispers.

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," I say, dragging my hands closer toward her body, caging her completely. My face is mere inches away from her neck now.

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