Page 37 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
“Go take a shower,” I instructed. “The bathroom’s through there. There should be everything you need.” I knew there would be. I double-checked yesterday.
“You won’t join me?” she asked, looping a hand around my neck.Insatiable, this woman.
“Mmm, no,” I said, and she pouted cutely until I continued. “I was going to make us some breakfast. Then, after your shower, you can meet me right backhere.”
“Breakfast in bed?” she asked, perking up. “What did I do to deserve such treatment?”
My brow furrowed. Was that what she thought? That she needed to give in order to receive? But when I looked at her, she was grinning, so I just said, “I think you knowexactlywhat you did, Flora.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?” she said deviously. Her bare foot trailed up my calf.
It hadn’t beengood. It had beenincredible.Florawas incredible. Her little sounds, her voice when she begged for more, the confident way she asked for what she wanted and the way she felt as she fell apart so sweetly around me…
“Better than good, sweetheart,” I said, and rolled her over onto her back. Then I rolled her again, onto her face this time, the sheet tangling around her. She didn’t fall out of bed–it was a king, there was more than enough room–but I heard her surprised giggles muffled in the pillow. “But if you’re trying to fool me into lounging in bed with you all morning, you won’t be successful. Get going.”
“Fine, fine,” she said, and dragged the sheet off the bed with her. She’d done the same the first night, and I thought then, as I did now, that she looked like a goddess, the white sheet draped around her to preserve her modesty–not that she’d cared much for that last night, her gorgeous body on full display in the warm, soft light of my bedside lamp–her skin pink and flushed, and her copper hair mussed. The morning sunshine filtered in through the sheer curtains, making her seem to glow.God, she was beautiful. What had I done to deserveherin my bed?
* * *
A quarter of an hour later, Flora joined me in the kitchen.
“You really can wait in bed, if you want,” I said with a chuckle. “I can bring these up; it’ll only be a few more minutes.” I lifted the omelette with the corner of the spatula to peek underneath.
“No, that’s fine,” she said. Her hair was damp, the ends curling around her shoulders, and her face looked freshly scrubbed–she looked like she was ready for a day at the park with Maddie, I thought, guilt settling in my stomach, except that she was wearing that tight dress again, last night’s clothes. Was it too much to tell her to bring a change of clothes over to leave here? Probably. “I’m starving, I couldn’t wait even one extra second.” She plucked a strawberry off one of the pair of plates I’d gotten out. “Do you usually cook?” she asked, and slipped it between her lips, just as pink.
I shook my head. “No, Lara does it most days.” The housekeeper came over most mornings–during the time Flora and Maddie were out, usually, when it wasn’t so hot yet–and did dinner prep in addition to her other housework. “But I enjoy it. I just don’t have the time. It’s more important to me that Maddie and I eat together than for me to actually cook the food. Coffee?” I asked, and poured her a mug.
“Thanks. And my–” I already had her creamer in hand when I turned from the fridge. I wiggled it slightly, then passed it over to her. She poured some in before taking a grateful sip. I knew the feeling. I was on my second cup already. We’d been up late. “You always eat dinner together?” she asked, swiping another strawberry.
I nodded. “Sometimes it’s just pizza, but I try to. She doesn’t always get that at Tally’s.” I grimaced. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just meant when she’s here, we eat together. Maddie and her mom have their own thing going on. Tally likes to take her out.”
“Yeah, Maddie told me once that her mom was taking her to arestaurant.” She emphasized the word in just the way Maddie would, and I laughed.
“Tally will tell youwe live in Manhattan, we ought to take advantage of that.”
“I thought the same thing when I first moved here, and then I found myself going to the same five restaurants over and over again. The Thai place around the corner. The pizza place across the street. The coffee shop down the block. The Thai place again. I should thank you,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve been a great help getting me out of my five-block comfort zone.”
“Where is that five-block comfort zone?” I asked, curious. I’d never known where in the city she lived when I pictured her in her cozy apartment. A pre-war building with crown molding, maybe. Something charming. The omelettes were done and I flipped them onto our plates. Hers was almost empty: she’d eaten all her strawberries. She reallywashungry, I thought, satisfied.Quite a workout…
But she cringed. “Do you really want to know?” she asked, and I froze, loaded plates in hand.
“NowI do,” I said. “Please don’t tell me–”
“Brooklyn,” she said.
“Jesus, Flora,” I groaned.
“Just in Bushwick, though, it’s not as bad as that,” she protested.
“You’re here at seven!” I said. “What time do you have to get up?”
“Later than I have to get up to teach,” she countered.
I shook my head as we moved together from the kitchen to the breakfast table.
“You know,” I said, hesitating, “you can always stay here. In theguestroom,” I added, as she raised her eyebrows at me. “I only meant for convenience. Jesus, I can’t believe you trekked all the way back toBushwickthat night after my work dinner…” I trailed off.
That night I tried to kiss her.
