Which means, I’ve entirely run out of things to do. Reading a book is out of the question, because I feel far too on edge. I’m thrumming with anxiety, and extremely unsettled. There is no way I’d be able to concentrate.
Fucking Baltazar. Such an asshole. My rational mind tells me that he is not the type to do anything to my family. But my traumatized ass is terrified of the children being used against me again. I can’t stand the thought of them being in danger. Of their well-being and safety being dependent on how pleased some crazy motherfucker is with my behavior. And I really, really don’t want to be enslaved again.
So, yeah. I guess I’m wandering around the house all night.
Therefore, I might as well bask in happy memories and recall the feel of Morgan right behind me. His strong arms bracketing me in by the window. His incredible scent washing over me and stirring my desire. What would have happened if I had moved back an inch and pressed myself against him?
My feet have taken me to Morgan’s bedroom door. Fuck. Suddenly, all of my focus is on this thin piece of wood. I swallow dryly.
It is ajar. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t creak. I’ve never heard it make a sound.
I’m standing here staring at the fancy chrome handle. I know I am. But it seems to have hypnotized me. I’m transfixed and I cannot look away.
I haven’t checked Morgan’s window. Or the window in his bathroom. It’s a pretty shitty security check if I leave them out.
He’ll never hear me. He’ll never know. He will remain none the wiser.
If I give him a quick glance as I pass his bed, what is the harm in that? And if he sleeps with his mouth wide open and drools, and wears ugly pajamas? Well, that mightjust cure me. Heaven knows I need a cure from this stupid crush. I’m so besotted it is ridiculous.
Silently, I step into Morgan’s room.
Oh my. Okay, no ugly pajamas. No open mouth. No drooling.
He looks like a statue made in worship of male perfection. He is sprawled artfully on his back. Tanned limbs in contrast to the white sheets. One lone sheet is covering him from the hip down. Morgan either sleeps naked or in a pair of boxers. The temptation to pull the sheet down to discover the truth, is the strongest I have ever experienced in my ninety-nine years of existence.
Heaven help me. Okay, If I feast on the sight of his naked chest, maybe I can distract myself. And my, oh my, what a chest that is. A perfect amount of definition. Enough chest hair to run one’s fingers through. Dark, broad nipples that are begging to be licked.
If I was capable of hot flushes. I’d definitely be having one right now. Oh lord, the real thing is a thousand times better than photos. I’ve died and gone to heaven. I could stay here forever. Definitely until morning.
Morgan stirs slightly and turns his head. Now I have a perfect view of his handsome profile. Along with his exposed neck.
His jugular is beating. The most enticing rhythm I have ever encountered. I bet he tastes incredible. He smells divine, and that is usually a good indicator.
I could creep up to him. Softly place my lips on his flesh. Pierce his skin gently. Let his warm blood fill my mouth.
He would never know.
But I would.
Hells, what is wrong with me? I’m stalking around in the middle of the night. Looming over an oblivious, innocent human. Thinking about drinking from them. Watching them sleep.
Just call me Edward Cullen. Teenage creepy vampire of Twilight fame. Though at least I don’t sparkle.
“Ned.”
I freeze. I swear I have not made a sound. I can’t have woken him? Surely? Frantically, I cast my gaze over him and replay the sound of my name on his lips.
His voice was a murmur. Soft and mumbled. Barely formed. His eyes are closed and his breaths are even.
Oh my lord. Is Morgan dreaming about me?
My heart thumps. My lungs move. Butterflies stir in my stomach.
Morgan shifts against the sheets. He is stirring. Perhaps some part of him can sense my presence. I should leave. If he wakes up and sees me, it would be a disaster. At best, it would give him a heart attack, and at the worst, he will fire me for being a perverted weirdo.
But my feet have taken root. I can’t move. Morgan is dreaming about me and it is the most wonderful thing ever.
I suck in a breath. I’m being absurd. I see the man every day. I’m his nanny, he is probably dreaming about me mopping the floor or something. Dreams do not equal romance.
