Page 9 of Trouble from Abroad
She wriggles harder, and my eyes roll to the ceiling, but my brain stutters and I can’t form a prayer to ask for help above.
“Just—stop moving,” I grind out, jaw tight. “Please.”
“Oh, I can’t move now?” she shouts, practically windmilling her arms, about to take flight. I barely dodge an elbow to the face.
“Why are you yelling at me?” I match her volume, because apparently, we’re doing this now. And that gives me something to do instead of focusing on how good the softness of her body feels against mine. “And where’s your towel?”
“You said the towel was in the bathroom. It wasn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” It’s a full-blown shouting match now, and I don’t even know why I’m getting angry. “I left a pile of fresh towelsanda robe in your bedroom.”
“No, you didn’t,” she screeches.
It’s going to be a quiet dinner, since we’ll both lose our voices before this is over.
“Want me to carry your naked ass there and show you?” We’re breathing hard, both of us flushed and furious, and she lowers her arms to reach between us and grab at her breasts in a last-ditch attempt at modesty.
I groan. “For the love of God, Mia. Just. Stop. Moving.”
My runner’s shorts? Paper-thin and absolutely useless right now. Blood has surged south, and my grip on her shoulders falters.
I can tell the exact moment she realizes, or better yet, feels it.
Her gaze flickers down. Breath halts mid-panic. Chin drops, her mouth forming a silent ‘Oh’.
She freezes. Dead still. And then she licks her lips before gulping audibly. “Oh.Ooooh.”
“Yeah,” I mutter darkly.
“Close your eyes,” she mutters, barely louder than a breath.
“Huh?”
“Close your eyes, Dr. Preston.” Her voice spikes—sharp now, part mortified, part pissed, and I can’t blame her. “So I can carry my naked ass to my room by myself.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as though that’ll somehow undo everything that transpired in the past few minutes.
As her footsteps fade down the hall, a realization I’d been too flustered to catch before slamsinto me: this is the first natural erection I’ve had in ages. Not morning wood, not a pill. This was all her.
I honestly thought my dick had died on me years ago. Half of my marriage depended on medical support to get it up. And things didn’t get better after my ex left.
Turns out my cock didn’t give up on me. It’d just been in a coma, and now it’s decided to make a miraculous recovery—courtesy of the new nanny.
My libido isn’t dead.
It’s just wildly inappropriate.
I glance down. The bastard’s tenting my shorts, practically winking at me.
There’s got to be something seriously wrong with me for feeling this way. About her. Right fucking now.
I’m about to suffocate from tension, strangled by guilt. I should’ve turned away the second I saw her. I shouldn’t have liked how she felt pressed against me. Now I’m stuck with those images playing on replay already, haunting me.
I can’t want her. Not like this. Not at all.
Not ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
