Page 53 of Nanny and the Beast

There's a desperation in her voice.

She needs this. She needs it almost as much as I need her.

But I don't trust myself to be gentle with her. I can tell just by the tinge of color in her cheeks that she's not experienced.

I haven't had a woman for over a decade. She'll be the first woman I touch after the war.

I'll end up devouring her whole.

I drop my hands. She gasps when I lean forward to reach for one of the cookies. Our bodies fit against each other like two pieces of a puzzle.

It takes every ounce of strength inside me to step away from her.

Her eyes track me as I walk around the island. I plop down on one of the stools.

"I apologize," I say. "I got carried away."

"Me too," she says, taking a deep breath.

I don't trust myself to look at her. Instead, I pop the cookie into my mouth.

Silence stretches between us like taffy.

"How is it?" she asks finally.

"It tastes like a fucking cookie," I reply.

"You don't have to be an asshole at every opportunity," she mutters, reaching for the piping bag and getting back to work with the frosting.

"Gingerbread?" I ask.

"Yes."

"My sister used to make these for Christmas," I say.

She pauses. "Oh?"

I don't know why I told her that.

"Do you want some more?" She slides the plate toward me.

I help myself to another. I usually avoid sugary food, but these cookies take me right back to when I was a little boy. The taste reminds me of my sister's laugh and the excitement of Christmas morning.

"I'm glad you like them," Emma says, finishing up the icing on another batch.

It's like watching a pianist play. Her hands are deft as she moves, like she's had hours of practice.

"You're good at this," I observe.

"It's always been my dream to have my own bakery," she says.

"What stopped you?" I ask.

She lifts a shoulder. "Some things are easier said than done."

"You should just do it anyway." I shrug.

"That's easy for someone like you to say," she replies, tucking some stray hair behind her ear.

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