Page 34 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
The shower has been running all this time, filling the bathroom with a thick fog that softens the edges of my reflection. I step into the tub, letting the hot water cascade over me. It feels good, washing away the day—but not the memory of Grant's kiss. That lingers, burning brighter than before.
I close my eyes again, tilting my face up to the spray. Water streams down my body, and in my mind, it's Grant's hands following those same paths. I lean against the cool tile wall, one hand bracing myself as the other traces down my stomach.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" I whisper to the empty bathroom, to the phantom Grant who exists only in my head. But it feels so real—the way I imagine him pressed against me, his chest to my back, his growing hardness evident against me.
My fingers drift lower, finding the slick heat between my legs that has nothing to do with the shower. I'm wet for him, for this man I barely know but who has already taken up residence in my thoughts. I circle my clit slowly, teasing myself the way I imagine he would—taking his time, learning what makes me gasp.
In my fantasy, Grant's lips are at my ear again. "Is this what you want, Ivy?" His voice is gravel and honey, and even though it's just my imagination, I nod frantically.
"Yes," I breathe to the empty shower. "Please."
My fingers move faster now, more insistent. In my mind, it's Grant touching me, Grant's finger that slips inside me, testing, exploring. I arch my back, pushing against my own hand, wanting more.
The shower beats down on me, hot and steady, but it's nothing compared to the heat building inside me. I add another finger,curling them the way I like, the way I imagine Grant would if he were here, if he knew my body as intimately as I want him to.
"Make me come," I whisper, not caring that the name echoes slightly off the bathroom tiles. In my mind, he smiles against my skin, pleased that I'm saying his name like a prayer.
I'm close now, so close. My legs tremble, and I have to brace myself more firmly against the wall. In my fantasy, Grant knows—he can feel how close I am, and he's relentless, determined to push me over the edge.
"Let go," fantasy-Grant tells me. "I've got you."
And I do. The orgasm washes over me in waves, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, conscious of my parents downstairs. My body pulses around my fingers, and I whisper Grant's name again and again as I ride out the pleasure.
Slowly, reality reasserts itself. The water begins to cool, and I quickly finish washing my hair and body before shutting off the shower. I step out, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around me, feeling a mix of satisfaction and embarrassment. What would Grant think if he knew what I'd just done? How I'd used the memory of our brief kiss to fuel an elaborate fantasy?
I'm still drying off, rubbing the towel through my damp hair, when my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. I pick it up, expecting a text from a friend, but the name that appears makes my heart skip: Grant.
I tap the notification with a slightly trembling finger.
“Ivy, I want to apologize for what happened today. It was completely inappropriate of me, and I promise it will never happen again. We need to keep our relationship professionalfor Emily's sake and yours. See you tomorrow morning, 8 am sharp.”
The warm, languid feeling from moments ago evaporates. I read the message again, trying to decode any hidden meaning, any hint that maybe he's just saying what he thinks he should say. But the words are clear, direct—he regrets the kiss. He wants to draw a line.
And he's right. Of course he's right. He's my employer. And a great dad who cares about his daughter deeply. What kind of person would I be if I complicated their lives because of some attraction I can't seem to control? And why do I even consider it? Haven’t I learned my lessons from my last relationship?
I wrap the towel more tightly around me, suddenly feeling exposed despite being alone. The fantasy version of Grant fades, replaced by the real one—a single father, my boss, someone who needs a reliable nanny for his daughter, not a complication.
I type out several responses before settling on the simplest one:
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
I hit send before I can overthink it, before I can tell him that I just came with his name on my lips, before I can admit that I ran not because I didn't want him but because I wanted him too much.
It's for the best, I tell myself as I set the phone down and continue drying off. Professional boundaries exist for a reason. I came back to Silvercreek to reset, to figure out my next move after Portland, not to fall for the first complicated man I meet.
But as I pull on my pajamas and crawl into my childhood bed, I can't help but replay that kitchen kiss one more time, wonderingwhat might have happened if I hadn't run, if I'd stayed and let whatever was building between us catch fire.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape. "It's done."
I close my eyes, determined to sleep, to put Grant Carter and his soft lips and strong hands out of my mind. I need to remember that I'm Emily's nanny first and foremost, and nothing—not even the way her father looks at me, not even the heat that rises between us when we're close—can change that.
But as sleep finally claims me, it's Grant's face I see, Grant's touch I feel, and I know that keeping things professional is going to be harder than either of us wants to admit.
12
GRANT
Icheck my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. 7:56 AM. Four minutes until Ivy is scheduled to arrive. The coffee in my mug has gone cold, forgotten while I rehearsed what to say, how to act. Professional. Distant. The opposite of yesterday when I crossed a line I had no business crossing. My phone sits on the counter, the text I sent her last night still visible when I tap the screen: “Ivy, I want to apologize for what happened today. It was completely inappropriate of me, and I promise it will never happen again. We need to keep our relationship professional for Emily's sake and yours. See you tomorrow morning, 8 am sharp.”
