The Nanny Rules

by Melynda Price

  The days are flying by, melting into weeks. I can’t believe I’ve already worked for him almost two months or how easily we’ve slipped into a routine. Every night after Lily goes to bed, we sit on the couch together with a bowl of popcorn between us and binge-watch Survivor.

  Perhaps if I didn’t live with them, it would be easier to keep my emotional distance. The sexual tension between us is palpable. An innocent touch here, a graze there, totally accidental—or are they? Does he look for excuses to touch me as often as I do him? It all seems to be building up to a combustible moment, and I lie awake at night imagining what it would be like.

  I’m hardcore crushing on my boss, and I am fully aware of what a terrible idea that is, but seeing him with Lily, becoming such an integral part of their lives, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to separate my emotions from this job.

  “Mia, I’m stuck.”

  I turn to find Lily standing next to me in her Hello Kitty pajamas. She’s holding onto a brush that’s caught in her ratted, pale-blonde hair. “Wow, look at you,” I laugh. “You do have a mess.” I slide the marsala to a back burner, cover it, and then pour a box of linguine noodles into the pot of boiling water.

  “Come here.” I hold out my hands and hoist her onto a stool at the kitchen island. After freeing the brush from her tangle, I separate the snarly locks into sections, and begin working my way through them. We chit-chat about ballet class. This is her first year, and she has a recital next month. She’s nervous about being on stage, but I assure her she is going to do wonderful. She tells me about the costumes I need to get her fitted for next week. I’ve just finished combing through the last of her tangles when the door opens, and we hear, “Where’s my Lily pad?”

  Lily lets out a squeal and hops off the stool, racing into the foyer. I linger in the doorway as Brody drops his bag and kneels to lift her into his arms. He stands and gives her a quick kiss. As she hugs him, his gaze searches over the top of her head.

  He’s looking for me.

  My heart quickens when our eyes connect, and he smiles. That dimple-flashing grin wakes the butterflies in my stomach—even they’re happy to see him. The difference between this homecoming and the first time we met is laughable.

  “Hey.”

  That simple word. His deep, throaty voice rumbles through me like a caress. I want to wrap my arms around his broad chest and bury my face in his neck, breathing in his spicy masculine scent, but I can do none of those things because this Adonis of a man is my boss. “Welcome home.”

  “Thanks. It smells great in here. What are you making?”

  Oh shit, my noodles… I rush to the stove to stir them before they stick together. The steam rolling out of the pot is nothing compared to the heat coming off me. “Chicken Marsala,” I call out. “I thought it’d be nice to celebrate your win. That’s five-and-one now, right?”

  “Yep. Only ten more games to go.”

  Wow, only ten? The season is flying by. The thought of leaving Lily makes my chest ache.

  “Do I have time for a quick shower before we eat?”

  “Ten minutes.” I push aside the unpleasant thought of all this ending. It was never meant to be long-term. “I’m just putting the garlic bread in the oven. Lily, do you want to help set the table?”

  “Sure.”

  She races into the kitchen and gets to work. I slide the bread into the oven and set the timer, then turn to find Brody leaning against the doorway, watching me with a mischievous grin.

  “Did you wait for me?”

  Laughter bubbles up from my chest. “I told you I would.”

  “Want to bet on who’s going to win?”

  This could be interesting. “What do you want to bet?” He’s doing that thing again, studying me in a way that feels like he’s touching me. Goose bumps erupt over my body every time he does it.

  “Hmm… I have so many ideas. I have to think about it.”

  I don’t know if he’s trying to tease me, but the man is walking a fine line of flirtation. It excites and frustrates me, because after he toes the line, he always steps back, leaving me to wonder if it’s just wishful thinking.

  “Eight minutes,” I tell him, turning away before he can glimpse my true feelings.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got eight minutes before supper is done.” I walk over to help Lily with the table. If I don’t put some space between us, I might do something to my boss that would be completely inappropriate, like rise on my tiptoes and lick that divot at the base of his throat, or maybe climb him like a tree. It’d be pretty tough to ignore that nonverbal cue.

  “You look nice tonight.”

  His compliment catches me off guard. Surprised, I turn around, but he’s already gone. See, that’s exactly what I mean—toe, then dash.

  Chapter Six

  Brody

  Man, it’s good to be home. As always, I missed Lily like crazy. But for some reason, this time it was harder to be gone. I was more excited than usual to get back. I thought of calling Amelia a hundred times, drumming up stupid reasons to text her. But in the end, I stayed strong—for what good it’s done me. One look at her and I’m back on the rack, pulled apart from the inside.

  I head to the bathroom and set the shower to temp while I strip off my clothes. Just from that brief interaction with her, I’m sporting some serious chub.

  Stepping into the hot spray, I make quick work of scrubbing down and am ready to get out, but then hesitate. I’m still hard, and the thought of contending with my aroused cock all night does not sound appealing. Making a split moment decision, I squirt some shower gel into my palm and grab my dick, wishing it was Amelia’s tight wet pussy gripping me. I brace one palm against the shower wall, close my eyes, and the image of her in those hot-as-fuck pajama shorts is right there. In my fantasy she’s wearing them…

  I step into my bedroom and find Amelia putting my laundry away. I stroll up behind her with no hesitation. I’m not her boss, she’s not my daughter’s nanny, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t fuck her senseless. Her top comes off first and those beautiful tits spill into my hands. I test their weight and pinch her nipples until she inhales a surprised gasp of pain and pleasure. Arching against me, she grinds that gorgeous ass into my cock.

  In reality, my balls are tightening, and if I don’t fast-forward to the good stuff, I’m going to be coming before I even get my imaginary dick inside her.

  I strip off those sexy shorts but leave them around her ankles. Turning her toward the bed, I bend her over the mattress and give her ass a good hard smack for all the times she’s made me hard thinking about those damn booty-shorts. Her startled yelp becomes a moan and I smack her ass again, then slowly rub away the sting. My fingers slip between the seam of her cheeks and she flinches in surprise. She’s not ready for that yet, but I’m aroused by the thought of discovering her backdoor territory.

  My cock is already weeping, and I won’t last through this mental foreplay. Fucking my fist harder, I bite my lip to hold back a groan of pleasure.

  I roughly grab Amelia’s wrists, trapping then behind her back. With my free hand, I slip a finger between her slick folds and bury it deep. She’s wet and ready for me. I remove my hand and her whimpered protest becomes an exhale of surrender when I bury my cock with one deep thrust.

  My dick jerks, the tension knotting at the base of my spine makes my knees buckle. I’m going to come, but I’m not ready for this fantasy to end. I squeeze my cock harder to stymie my release.

  I fuck her hard and fast. She’s milking my shaft as she comes, and I can’t take it any longer.

  A triumphant bark tears from my throat as my seed spills down the drain. It’s not nearly as satisfying as my fantasy, but if I let my mind go to where I’d take things with her next, I’ll be hard again and no better off than I was before.

  Shutting down the water, I step out of the shower and towel off before quickly dressing. I’m sure it’s been more than eight minutes and I don’t wa
nt to make Amelia wait on me any more than she already has.

  Supper is amazing, which isn’t surprising, because what about this woman isn’t? Lily fills the room with excited chatter, dominating my attention as she talks about preschool, dance class, and playdates with her best friend Maddie.

  “Can we watch a movie?”

  “Sure.” I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening, than tucking in with my girls—girl. My girl. “But we have to help clean up supper first.” I rise, and Amelia stops me with a hand on my arm. Tingling awareness sizzles through me. Again, I’m caught off guard by my body’s response to her innocent touch.

  “Why don’t you guys go watch your movie while I clean up? Lily has been so excited for you to come home.”

  “Hey, Lily pad, pick out the movie, and I’ll help Amelia in here.” She scoots off her chair and bolts from the kitchen, leaving us alone. Amelia hasn’t moved her hand, so I just stand there, hard pressed to be the one to break the contact. “You’re Lily’s nanny,” I tell her, “not my maid. Come on, let’s do this quick and you can watch the movie with us.”

  She stands, giving me a smile that does uncomfortable things in my chest. Her thumb sweeps the underside of my wrist before she lets go of my arm to grab her plate. Fuck me, that shiver rushes up my arm and straight into my cock.

  I’ve got a big kitchen, but with the two of us in here moving around, cleaning the table and doing the dishes, the room feels small. I brush up behind her as she stands at the sink, and maybe lean in a little too close. My chest presses against her shoulder as I reach into the hot water to wet a rag and wash off the table.

  Each accidental-on-purpose touch gets me hotter, and don’t think that I don’t notice she’s doing the same damn thing to me. Bumping that gorgeous ass against my thigh as she steps back and bends over—maybe a little extra far—putting the pots and pans away. It’s a sheer test of will that I don’t smack it. My hands tingle with the need to palm those sexy curves. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants that cling so tightly I envy them. I don’t see a single panty-line. Is she wearing any?

  “I’m ready,” Lily calls from the living room.

  “Be right there,” I call back.

  “Want to guess what movie she picks?” Amelia teases.

  “Hmm…” I think about it a moment. “This is a trick question. Two weeks ago, I’d have said The Little Mermaid, but since you told her that she looks like Elsa, I’ve watched Frozen five times.”

  She laughs, and the sound rolls through me like audible sex; my dick twitches. “Just don’t tell her she looks like Rapunzel, or I’ll never get her in for another haircut.”

  More laughter, and fuck me, I love the sound of it.

  “Her hair is getting a little out of control,” she agrees. “I was going to ask you if you cared if I took her in for a trim. She got her hairbrush stuck in it earlier tonight.”

  I chuckle. “You know she does that on purpose, right?”

  “What?”

  Guess not. “Yeah.” I laugh. “You haven’t figured that out? She does it so you’ll brush her hair for her. She hates doing it herself.”

  Now we’re both laughing.

  “Come on, guys.” Lily runs in and grabs our hands, tugging us toward the living room.

  “I’ll make some popcorn while you start it,” Amelia offers.

  I take Lily into the living room. She’s already got Frozen queued to play. Man, I love being right.

  “I want to be like Elsa when I grow up,” she declares, cuddling beside me.

  “You do?” Like any self-respecting father, I take full advantage of the opportunity and tell her, “You know what that means? You’re going to have to start eating vegetables, because Elsa eats her vegetables.”

  She gives me a look that says, nice try, Dad. Laughing, I throw my arm across the backrest and tuck her in nice and close. We start the movie. I’m not worried about Amelia missing anything. She’s probably seen it a hundred times already. A few minutes later, she comes in with a bowl of buttery popcorn and hands it to Lily, who greedily accepts it and pats the cushion beside her. Amelia sits, and Lily is sandwiched between us, grinning ear-to-ear. It’s all a bit too cozy with us snuggled in together, and I should probably be more unsettled by this.

  When Amelia leans back, her hair brushes my hand. Of their own accord, my fingers slip into it, testing satin curls. She doesn’t feel that I’m touching her and, although I have no right, I can’t seem to stop. My fingers grow bolder in their anonymity while I try to focus on a show that I’ve seen so many times I know the lines before the characters even speak them. I play with Amelia’s silky black waves until my thumb accidentally grazes the side of her neck, and I freeze.

  Shit. She had to have felt that. I hold my breath as I wait for her to react. But she doesn’t pull away, nor does she seem surprised that I’m touching her. Has she known all along my hand was in her hair?

  Any doubt is gone when she tips her head just enough that she leans into my touch. I slowly glide my thumb up and down the column of her neck. I want to follow the path of my thumb and kiss a trail along her jaw to the haven of her mouth, which I’ve been hungering for—starving for. I shouldn’t be touching her, but every day it gets harder to remember why this is a bad idea.

  As the movie plays on, I run down all those reasons—I’m her boss, she’s Lily’s nanny, she’s leaving soon. I’m an emotional wreck and would only hurt her.

  Amelia interrupts my laundry list when she whispers, “I think someone fell asleep.”

  I glance down, and sure enough, “someone” is out like a light. “That was fast.”

  “I’m not surprised. She hasn’t been sleeping well these last few days.”

  My heart cramps inside my chest because I’m pretty sure I know why. It’s the same reason I haven’t been sleeping for shit. But I don’t want to tell Amelia because I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve replayed that night so many times but putting voice to those memories is like blowing oxygen into a fire. If those flames get any hotter, they’re going to burn me alive, and I’ve come too far to be reduced to ash again. We’re less than a week from the anniversary of Stella’s death, and every day feels like I’m walking one step closer to the emotional gallows.

  “I’ll put her in bed.” I remove my hand from Amelia’s hair, and she stops the movie as I scoop Lily into my arms. She’s like a little ragdoll. After tucking her into bed, I return to find Amelia sitting in the same place I left her. Usually, we each take an end of the couch, but with her in the middle, either side I pick will put us close together. She’s getting our show started and doesn’t seem aware of my predicament. I want to sit next to her, but if I do, I’ll spend the entire time hard as a rock, and not only will my tented shorts be glaringly evident, but I’m starting to doubt my ability to keep my hands to myself.

  Amelia would be a great distraction, but she deserves better than I can offer her. She deserves a man who will make commitments, and the day I buried my wife I swore I’d never give my heart to another woman. Putting that kind of trust and faith in another person is giving them the power to destroy you.

  So, I guess this leaves us at a stalemate. Only, the game isn’t over, because I’m pretty sure that if I pushed this thing between us, I could get Amelia into my bed. But then where would we be? With her wanting more when I just wanted to screw around?

  I’m no relationship expert—clearly, since I had no idea my marriage was a sham—but even I can see what a disaster that would be. Lily would be devastated, I’d lose my nanny, and I’m only halfway into my season. Bottom line, I need Amelia in my life more than my bed.

  “Are you ready?”

  Maybe I’m getting too caught up in my head and making a big deal out of nothing. Our close seating arrangement obviously isn’t a problem for her. If she can handle it, I can handle it.

  “I need to stretch out my shoulder,” I explain, taking a seat and sliding my arm along the back of the couch behind her.
>
  “Are you all right? I saw you get sacked in the third quarter during the last game.”

  “I didn’t realize you watched me play.” This pleases me more than it probably should.

  “Of course, I watch. Your tight-end sucks. Williams just let that guy right in there.”

  If it’s that obvious to her, then it should be evident to everyone else watching the replays. I don’t want to sound like a little bitch with a grudge, but he’s going to eat my fist if he pulls that shit again. This is my career, and I’ll be damned if I lose it because of him. I need to trust my team, trust they’ve got my back when I’m out there putting my ass on the line, and when it comes to Williams, I just can’t do that—on or off the field, apparently.

  “I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “It’s just a little sore. Hey, thanks again for making supper. It was really nice.”

  “You’re welcome. I, umm…we…missed you.”

  Her confession catches me off guard. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I won’t tell her I felt the same, or how many times I wanted to call just to hear her voice. “So, any guesses on who will walk away with the million?”

  A flicker of disappointment flashes in her eyes, but she quickly recovers and gives me a smile.

  “I’m going with Kim. She dominated this game.”

  “I think you’re right, but I’m still hoping it will be Christina. She’s been the underdog this whole time.”

  Amelia bites her bottom lip as she contemplates that for a moment. “Hmm… I don’t know.”

  Now, I’m intrigued. Watching this show with Amelia has taught me a lot about the way she sees things. It’s made for some very interesting conversations these last few weeks, and I’m surprised she doesn’t agree with me. She strikes me as someone who always roots for the underdog. “Why wouldn’t you want her to win?”