The Beast's Nanny (The Nannies)

With them busy, she grabbed the pecans and all the ingredients she’d need.

“So, where did you learn how to cook?” Caleb asked, coming into the pantry, taking the basket from her that she was loading up with spices and cans of food. When James joined him, he kept handing him cans to take back to the kitchen.

“My mom. She was one hell of a baker and believed good food could handle all ills. She was never wrong.”

“I bet.”

“She was … everything. You know? She could bake and cook. Nothing was ever too much for her. At Thanksgiving, we didn’t have a whole lot of family, but my parents would invite people around, and it would be this big event.”

“Didn’t that suck?” he asked. “Having all of that family around?”

“It wasn’t family. It was friends, and I don’t know. Mom always seemed to have a handle on everything. I guess it was second nature to her, which was awesome. Nothing ever fazed her. She always told me to wear your smile and to laugh at people who think they’re giving you a hard time. They’re not. Nothing in life can be all that difficult, and I guess, I believe her. It’s why I’m here now, you know, still working my way through.”

She looked at the shelves.

“Grace, I want you to be happy here,” he said.

She returned her attention to him. “Why…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Talk to me.”

“I told you that I was going to agree to what you wanted. Why haven’t you …you know?”

He chuckled. “Do you think I’m a beast enough to take advantage?”

“I know what you want and—” Again, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. It was so wrong.

“And what do I want?”

“Don’t, Caleb.”

“Grace, there’s no shame in what you want.” He reached out, stroking her cheek. “You can have whatever you want, whenever you want it. All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“I don’t know what it is that I want.” She shook her head.

Caleb put the basket down and placed a finger beneath her chin. “Don’t lie to me. You know what you want and I know what you want. There’s no room for lies here.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m fine with you avoiding everything, but don’t lie.”

James came toward the door but rather than linger, he took another jar and left.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with James wandering around. He shouldn’t be … here for that.”

“Then tonight, you come to my room,” he said.

This made her pause. “I don’t think—”

He slammed his lips down on hers. “I don’t need you to think, Grace. All I need you to do is let go. Let go for me and I will give you the fucking world. I promise.” He brushed his lips against hers. “You have no idea how much I’d be willing to give for you.”

Caleb let her go and grabbed the basket as James came back. Her lips tingled as she watched him leave.

Her entire body was on fire and she wanted him to come back. Could she do it? Could she really go to his room tonight? The very thought made her nervous and excited at the same time.

She glanced at her shoulder. She wasn’t healed, nowhere near close, but that didn’t stop people, did it? Maybe Caleb was used to people with gunshot wounds. The thought alone was a little too disturbing for her, and she tried not to think of it.

Pushing all those thoughts to the back of her mind, she left the safety of the pantry and made her way out to find her boys waiting.

Caleb was nowhere near a boy and with the way his arms were displayed, he was all man. As she looked at him, she wondered what it would be like to be held by him. He was so … all over.

Tonight, she might lose her virginity, but rather than be scared, she looked ahead with anticipation.

****

Baking should be put on the list of exercises. After rolling out balls and balls of dough for pie crusts, his arms had ached far more than from pumping iron or fighting. James was already in bed, fast asleep. The little guy had kept up with them all day as they made preparations. It was good to hear him laugh again, and he knew he had Grace to thank for that.

They’d been able to take his mind completely away from the pain of losing his mother.

Caleb stepped in the doorway of his en-suite bathroom into his bedroom and stopped. He clenched his hand into a fist as he rested it against the doorframe. Sickness swirled in his gut, but rage rushed to every single part of his body, ready to pour out. He needed to find the man responsible for taking her, for hurting Grace. He wasn’t an idiot. Whoever had killed his sister was the culprit behind his home being attacked.