The Nanny Rules

by Melynda Price

“Because she doesn’t want it bad enough.”

  “She doesn’t?” I thought she wanted it pretty damn bad.

  She shakes her head thoughtfully, sending those silken curls on a gentle glide back and forth across my hand. My fingers itch to tangle in them again—and give them a tug. “She isn’t fighting for it. If you want something bad enough, you’ve got to be willing to put everything on the line, even when it seems hopeless.”

  The way she’s looking at me makes me wonder if we’re still talking about the show. Or is she trying to tell me something I’m not ready to hear? Studying her a moment longer, I nod. “Fair enough.”

  She presses play, and I kick up the footrest getting comfortable—at least, as comfortable as one can be with a raging hard-on.

  An hour into the season finale, my exhaustion is bearing down on me. My lids are getting heavier by the minute. I should probably call it a night, but I don’t want to leave, and I really want to see how this damn show ends.

  I startle awake to the sound of a soft feminine moan. An arm slips around my waist, pulling me close, and my body instantly comes online as my mind scrambles to reorient. Where am I? But then the fog clears as the scent of lavender teases my senses. Amelia is in my arms, snuggled against me, and it feels amazing. She feels amazing.

  I take inventory of the tangle we’re in. My arm has left the back of the couch and is wrapped around her back, tucking her little body tight against my chest, her head resting on my shoulder. Each exhale is a warm kiss of breath against my neck. Her arm is draped over my stomach, a leg pulled up over my hips—a dangerous place to be, because the more conscious I become, the more my cock takes notice as well.

  She fits against me better than I imagined. Dipping my head, I bury my nose in her hair, taking a moment to breathe her in before letting her go. Lavender pervades my senses, and I’m lost. Lost in the sensation of her, in wanting her. Fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve held a woman. And I’ve never wanted one with the hunger I have for Amelia.

  With no other way off the couch, I roll Amelia beneath me and gently slip my arm out from under her. She stirs, and I freeze, praying she doesn’t wake up to find me straddling her hips.

  I need off this couch, but when I shift to pull away, her arms wrap around my sides, dragging me closer. She isn’t consciously doing this, and that gives me the strength to resist. Still, when she snuggles in beneath me, her soft breasts crushed against my chest as she rocks her hips against my cock, I might just explode.

  No man should have to endure this kind of torture. It takes everything I’ve got to reach back and gently untangle her arms from my waist and carefully climb off her. She stirs but, thankfully, doesn’t wake. I turn off the TV, grab a blanket from the back of the couch, and pull it over her. Before I make my retreat, my rebellious hand caresses the side of her face, my thumb tracing the delicate arch of her cheek, and something cramps inside my chest. Instinctively, I push it away. Amelia is not for me. I can’t give her what she needs. It will only end in heartbreak for everyone if I try.

  Chapter Seven

  Brody

  “How does this feel?”

  Sore as shit. “It’s fine.”

  “Liar. You’re tight,” Mel counters. “Your range of motion is down by thirty-percent.”

  This isn’t good. She steps in front of me and bends down just enough to give me a cleavage shot while looking me in the eye. Melanie is a beautiful woman; no one can deny that. I’m one of the only guys on the team who isn’t trying to get into her pants, but I’m pretty sure she wants into mine.

  “Lie down.”

  She holds my arm as I lie back and then moves it through different stretching exercises. I grit my teeth through the pain and let her do her thing.

  “Fucking Williams,” she mutters under her breath.

  I say nothing. Better to keep my mouth shut, but I’m concerned about an injury this early in the season. As the starting quarterback, I need my arm to get me through a lot more games. “You think I’ll be good by Sunday?”

  “I’ll do my best. We’ll work on it every day and then make a decision on Saturday.”

  She squirts some warm gel onto my shoulder and begins to massage it. Her clinical touch softens, and her fingers wander to my neck then down over my pec. This is starting to feel a bit…personal.

  “The trick will be keeping it from tightening up as it heals. It should be massaged and stretched a least twice a day. If you want, I could come over in the evenings and we could work it out.”

  Yeah, I don’t think my arm is the only thing she wants to be working out. Until recently, Mel’s always been professional, but this is getting awkward because I’m pretty damn sure she had to sign the same no fraternization contract I did. Regardless, I’m not tempted. The only person I want touching me is Amelia. That my mind goes to her when I’ve got another woman with her hands all over me is a problem.

  “Mel, I don’t think—”

  “How’s the arm?” Coach bursts into her office, and Mel’s hands fly off me so fast I almost laugh. Then again, he is her dad, so I can see how this could be uncomfortable. It’s a damn good thing I didn’t pick up what she was throwing down, or we’d have some serious explaining to do.

  “It’s fine.” I give him the same response I give anyone who asks.

  “It’s not fine,” she cuts in. “He’s lost thirty-percent of his ROM. I’m worried about his rotator cuff.”

  “Shit.” Coach growls. “Fucking Williams.”

  That pretty much seems to be the consensus.

  “Can you fix him by Sunday?”

  “I’m trying. I’d like to see him twice a day all this week.”

  “That’s good,” he tells Mel, then pins me with a steely-eyed glare. “Do it, Evans. Whatever she wants, you do it. Get that arm better for Sunday.”

  I have zero opportunity to say shit about shit before he’s out the door and storming off, no doubt to bust someone else’s balls.

  “Does eight o’clock work for you? I’ll come to your place tonight.”

  As much as I want to tell her no, if Coach thinks I’m not giving my recovery one-hundred-and-ten-percent, there’s going to be hell to pay. I’ve got to do everything I can to make sure my arm is ready for the game this weekend. And if it isn’t, well then, that won’t be on me. Fucking Williams.

  “Sure. Eight is fine.” Mel is going to be in for a surprise when she gets to my place and discovers the only thing she’s touching is my arm.

  …

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s fine.”

  Amelia gives me a sharp look as she pulls plates from the cupboard. That came out harsher than I’d intended, but fuck, I’m tired of talking about my goddamn shoulder. The last thing I want to deal with is Mel coming here tonight, but I also don’t want to drive halfway across town after being gone all day. Contending with traffic on the way to Mel’s office, I’d lose what little time I have to spend with Lily.

  “Lily get fitted for her costumes yet?” I pull the pot roast from the oven and carry it to the table.

  “That’s tomorrow.” Amelia’s tone is cool—reserved. Shit, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings. “I’m going to need your credit card.”

  Amelia brushes past me, and I catch her arm. She stops and looks up at me, her delicate brow arching expectantly, silently asking, what do you want? And fuck me, that’s a loaded question. Isn’t it obvious? I want her.

  “I’m sorry if I was short. It’s been a really rough day.”

  And that’s all it takes to melt her frost. Concern fills her gold-flecked eyes, and her hand rests on top of mine. “It is your shoulder, isn’t it?”

  I nod. “The physical therapist thinks it’s my rotator cuff. They’re not sure I’ll be good enough to play Sunday. I’m supposed to have PT twice a day this week.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so. Mel, my PT, is coming by at eight.”<
br />
  She gives me a surprised look. “Really? Your physical therapist does house calls? Swanky,” she teases. “He must be dedicated to come over so late at night.”

  “She.”

  “Excuse me?” That brow arches again, and I’m in trouble.

  “My PT is a woman,” I explain with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

  Amelia tenses and tries to cover her expression, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen that little furrow between her brows. “I see.” She tries to pull her hand away, but my grip on her arm tightens and I tug her back to face me.

  “Hey… It’s not like that.” Honestly, I’m a little offended she thinks it is. I don’t fuck around with the people I work with. Actually, I don’t fuck around at all. I’m too busy raising a four-year-old to have any kind of a social life. “She’s just my therapist.” And why am I explaining myself to my daughter’s nanny? It’s none of Amelia’s business, but for some reason I don’t want to consider, I’ve made it her business.

  Amelia sighs like she’s grappling for patience while dealing with a petulant child.

  It pisses me off.

  “Brody, a woman is coming here at night to work on your shoulder and rub you down. Are you honestly that naive?”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before she steps away, this time with a little more determination, and I have no choice but to let her go.

  “Lily, come eat,” Amelia calls up the stairs, effectively ending our discussion.

  This feels wrong. I don’t like the sudden tension between us, but what the hell am I supposed to do? I need PT on my shoulder, and yes, Mel is absolutely taking advantage of the situation, but that doesn’t mean my shoulder isn’t a mess right now. I don’t need this shit.

  Lily skips into the kitchen, and I scoop her up, planting a big kiss on her cheek. “Hey, Lily pad, how was your day?” And just like that, I block out everything else, one-hundred percent of my focus on my daughter. She’s the only uncomplicated thing in my life and my number one priority.

  Lily chatters through supper then heads upstairs while I help clean up the kitchen. Amelia is quiet, but then, so am I. I’m thinking about last night, about how I fell asleep on the couch and I woke up with her in my arms. I’m thinking about how good it felt to hold her, and I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t be thinking about this.

  “Daddy, will you come brush my hair?” Lily calls down the stairs.

  “Go ahead. I’ve got this.” Amelia takes the plate from my hands and turns away to load the last of the dishes into the washer.

  With a sigh, I dry my hands on a towel and leave the kitchen. I wish I knew what to say to her, but I don’t. When I step into Lily’s room, she’s already dressed in her unicorn pajamas. She’s adorable with her pale blonde hair a mess of matted curls. She grabs her hairbrush off her nightstand and waves it impatiently. Most kids her age hate having their hair brushed, but Lily loves it. Although she’s like me in many ways, she gets this from her mom.

  As I work through the snarls, I take advantage of the quiet moment to bring up something that’s been bothering me. “Amelia said you haven’t been sleeping well when I’m gone. How come?”

  She grabs the stuffed bunny I bought her for her birthday last year and plays with its floppy ears. “I’m scared,” she softly confesses after a few moments of waiting her out.

  I take my time gently brushing through her hair. “What are you scared of, sweetheart?” Her words gut me. As her father, I want nothing more than to protect her and keep her safe.

  “Of you going away like mommy did and never coming back.”

  Fuck me. If someone reached inside my chest and ripped my heart out that would probably hurt less than this conversation. “That’s not ever going to happen, Lily. I’m never going to leave you.”

  She turns her head and studies me a moment. “Promise?”

  I shouldn’t promise things that are ultimately out of my control, but the vow leaves my lips anyway. “Promise.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat and nod. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I wish…I wish Mia was my mommy.”

  …

  Amelia

  I might have overreacted. Okay, I definitely overreacted. Just because Brody’s PT is a woman who’s willing to make house calls at eight p.m. doesn’t mean she’s interested in him, although my gut disagrees. Either way, I was out of line. I have no claim on Brody. I owe him an apology for my unprofessional behavior.

  Decided, I finish drying my hands on the towel. I’m headed for the stairs when the doorbell rings. Guess my apology is going to have to wait. I reroute and cross the foyer, prepared to put my insecurities aside, but when I open the door, my jaw drops.

  This is Brody’s physical therapist? The spark of jealousy I’ve tried to extinguish ignites into a flame that licks through my veins. She has reams of chestnut hair spilling down her back in elegant waves, and her makeup is flawlessly applied for a night on the town. She’s wearing an orange polo with the team’s brown lettering over the breast. Her shirt is so tight, I don’t think she could fasten a single button if she tried, which she hasn’t. The V is open and exposing some impressive cleavage. Her fitted brown slacks accentuate her long, toned legs. She’s beautiful. An image of her hands all over Brody flashes through my mind, and I think I’m going to be sick.

  The woman’s smile morphs into something else when I open the door, and her eyes make a mirroring head-to-toe assessment of me. I feel frumpy and inadequate under her scrutiny. My hair is out of control—as usual—and I’ve got it piled on top of my head in a messy bun. I’m not wearing a lick of makeup, and today was laundry day, which means I’m wearing a thread-bare maroon and mustard yellow U of M T-shirt and three-quarter-length sweatpants. Put a pumpkin spice latte in my hand and I’ve got the basic white-girl look down to a T.

  “I thought this was Brody’s house.” Her gaze takes another unimpressed sweep over me.

  “It is. Come in.” I force a smile and step aside to let her through when what I really want to do is slam the door in her face. “You must be Brody’s physical therapist,” I prompt when she doesn’t bother to introduce herself.

  “Among other things.” She lets the innuendo hang between us, and I can’t help but pick up what she’s putting down. Have they been involved? Are they still? Brody told me it wasn’t like that but what else could he say?

  “And you are?” she asks, arching her perfectly manicured brow.

  “I’m just the nanny.”

  Her pinched expression dissolves into relief. Apparently deciding I’m no threat, she says, “Great, then you can see to it that we’re not interrupted.”

  Her condescending, dismissive attitude tap-dances on my last nerve. I’ve got to get away from this woman before I say or do something to embarrass myself or Brody. I’m not going to play these games. “He’s all yours,” I tell her, stepping back and lifting my hands in surrender.

  She smiles triumphantly, as if that was exactly what she’s waiting to hear. I’m positively livid as I turn and march up the steps to go tell Mr. NFL-Hotshot-Superstar that his physical therapist is here.

  …

  Brody

  “I wish Mia was my mommy.”

  Wow. Okay. I wasn’t expecting that. I take a moment to digest the bomb Lily just dropped on me.

  “Lily, honey, look at me.” She scoots around, and her big blue eyes slay me. Fuck, it’s like I’m looking in the mirror, only in her eyes, I see innocence and hope. I don’t want to be the person who snuffs out her light, but what she’s saying scares the shit out of me. I’m concerned she’s getting too attached to Amelia. I don’t want her holding out hope for something that isn’t going to happen. I don’t want her to get hurt.

  “Lily pad, Amelia isn’t going to be your mom. For that to happen, I’d have to get married again, and baby, I’m not going to do that. Amelia is staying with us and taking care of you be
cause I pay her to be here, and when my season ends in January she won’t need to live here anymore. Maybe she’ll want to stay on and be your nanny. I hope she does, but she might want to take a job doing what she went to school for.”

  Lily’s eyes begin to glisten, and I feel like the world’s shittiest father. What should I do? What do I say? I don’t want to hurt her, but I won’t give her false hope, either. I can see how this arrangement could be confusing for her. Hell, it’s fucking with my head, too. Amelia has quickly become an important part of our lives. In some ways it’s made things great, and in others, extremely difficult.

  I no longer see her as my employee, although that’s exactly what she is. I feel answerable to her, like I owe her my fidelity for some reason, which is crazy because logically I don’t owe her anything. The only person I’m accountable to is Lily. She’s my whole world, and yet somehow, without my realizing it, Amelia has entered my orbit, and it’s throwing off my gravitational pull.

  I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t seem to resist, yet I’ve been careful not to cross any lines—last night notwithstanding. Still, I care that she’s upset about Mel coming here, and find myself wanting to go to her and make it right.

  “You’re wrong, Daddy. Mia loves me.”

  “I’m sure she does, honey. It’s impossible not to love you. But you know who loves you the very most in the whole world?”

  She smiles a big dimply grin that melts my heart. “You do.”

  “That’s right. I do. It’s you and me, Lily pad. I was thinking when my season ends, we should celebrate by going somewhere special. What do you think about Disneyland?”

  Her eyes light up, and she throws her arms around my neck and cheers. “Then I can meet Elsa.”

  “Yep, then you can meet Elsa.”

  A soft knock sounds on Lily’s door, and I glance up to see Amelia standing there. My heart stutters then quickens at the sight of her. God, she’s beautiful, even in her messy bun and worn-out college clothes. She doesn’t even have to try. I love that she lets me see the real her and doesn’t try to impress me.

  “Your therapist is here.”