My legs barely held me upright. But I managed, watching as Beau paced the living room like a caged animal.
He was battling. Even now.
There was no more battling. Not for me. I couldn’t go back to whatever had passed for normal. Not now.
“You’re not going to fire me.” I hoped I was right, my voice husky. “What if I quit?”
Even saying the words tasted bad, my muscles rebelling at the prospect. Not just
at the thought of not seeing Beau every day, of not waking up in his home. But Clara. I’d fallen so deeply for that unique, happy little girl. She’d healed the broken child I had inside of me without me truly realizing it.
He stopped to stare at me. To glare. “No way infuck,” he barked.
I nodded blandly, even though watching him essentially unravel into a caveman was irresistible. Even though my panties were probably ruined.
“If you don’t fire me and I don’t quit, then I’m staying here.” I stated the obvious.
Beau nodded curtly, the movement violent, powerful.
The cogs turned in my head until I found the bravery to state my terms. “If I stay, I’m doing it in your bed.” My heart raced as the brazen words entered the air, and I watched Beau go still as he registered them.
“If I stay, I’m not doing some dance where we pretend we don’t want each other. Ignore this.” I waved my hands between us. “I’m done denying myself. I’m done watching you deny yourself. Torture yourself.”
I swallowed down my nerves, not taking my eyes off Beau, whose expression was unreadable.
“And this isn’t going to be just sex for me,” I added. “It won’t work that way. I understand that there are a million and one ways for this to fail, turn messy. But it’s already plenty messy. And I’m prepared to deal with the fallout if it doesn’t work out. But I’m not going to be just the nanny you fuck. I want to be yours.”
I sucked in a huge, painful breath as I hadn’t so much as inhaled during that entire spiel.
Where I’d gotten the courage to lay out exactly what I wanted, what I needed, was anyone’s guess. But I was proud.
And equally terrified.
Beau could say no.
It was the sanest, most realistic answer to my proposition.
He wanted me, yes, sexually. But wanting to fuck me and pursue a very tangled, most likely doomed relationship was an entirely different kettle of fish. Beau was a man who took no risks, who made sensible, measured decisions.
I was not a measured decision.
He didn’t know all my secrets, not yet, but what he did know likely told him this was going to be complicated.
I prepared. For the rejection that I was half expecting. For the disappointment. For the validation that I wasn’t worthy.
Instead, Beau was across the room in two strides, tagging the back of my neck and yanking me to him. Our lips crashed together in a soul-destroying kiss. It was hunger, it was dedication. Devotion. Worship. Ruin.
All in one kiss.
You would think that given all the buildup, the indescribable energy between us, the kiss would be frantic. If I had been leading the charge, I knew it would’ve been. A desperate mix of lips, tongue, teeth.
But I was not in charge. Beau was. And I instantly surrendered to him.
I expected him to kiss me with the hunger that was painted in his marrow.
But his lips gently met mine, coaxing them open. His fingertips caressed the underside of my jaw, moving against my lips like we had all the time in the world. Like he was savoring every second, every tiny area of my mouth.
It was romance. It was reverence.
