The Biker's Nanny

She should have known something like this would happen.

The past was always out there for someone to find. She couldn’t even blame Hawk for finding out the truth.

Pushing fingers through her hair, she entered the kitchen and came to a stop. Hawk was there.

Only this was a Hawk she hadn’t seen.

He wore a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. The leather cut that he normally sported was nowhere in sight. His muscular, heavily inked body was on full display for her to look at. Even though she was pissed at him about last night, she couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked so incredible.

Her pussy tightened, and she tried to ignore the yearning that suddenly built up inside her.

“You’re awake early,” he said, putting the coffee machine on.

“I couldn’t sleep. I had a rough night.”

“I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You’re right. I’m taking care of your little girl, and you have a right to know about what happened in my past. It’s no less than what I would have done if I had a child. I didn’t lie to you. I don’t have any children. I just don’t think it would have worked me spilling out my past to you like that. Not even at an interview. I asked the agency about what I should and shouldn’t say. They were the ones to advise me that it was in the past. They are more than happy with my work.” She took a deep breath and stared at the counter.

The last thing she ever wanted was for him to think that she had gone out of her way to deceive him. That’s not what she wanted, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for prying into your life. I shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “At least, I shouldn’t have told you that shit last night. I blurted it out. I was worried.”

“You’ve got no reason to worry. I’ll protect your girl with my life.” She’d not been crazy when she entered that psych ward. In fact, some of the doctors had even said she didn’t need to do it because she’d proven to them she wasn’t going to end her life.

Jasmine hadn’t been willing to take that chance.

“You’re good for Bethany. Is the little angel sleeping?” Hawk asked.

“She is.”

“You’re a damn miracle worker, that’s for sure.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t get her to sleep. Her favorite thing to do was to keep me awake. I’m pushing forty-six years old, and believe me, I need my beauty sleep.”

“You’re looking okay to me.” Her cheeks heated when she realized what she was saying. “Do you want breakfast?”

“I’d love some. I made some coffee. Not that it’s any good.”

She walked toward the coffee pot and poured some out. Taking a sniff, she didn’t see a problem with it so proceeded to sip a small bit of the hot, dark liquid. It was incredibly bitter, and she couldn’t keep the disgusted look off her face.

“I rest my case.”

“I’ll make breakfast and coffee from now on.” She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, feeling the hard muscles beneath.

He was such a big man; a huge man.

She grabbed the necessary items out of the fridge, ignoring the way her pussy seemed to wake up whenever she was around him. Any kind of sexual relationship with this man would be bad. She adored Bethany, but it was also against the agency policy and they were known for stopping by for random visits. She could get fired from the company.

Being a well-respected nanny meant the world to her.

Pushing some hair off her shoulder, she chanced a glance back at him. He was looking at the newspaper that he had delivered every single day but never read. She’d collect them and put them in a neat pile next to his chair in the sitting room.

In the past month they’d become very domesticated together. He didn’t mind that she cooked and baked often.

The scent of homemade cookies always made her feel safe and warm. Especially after her mother died of cancer several years ago. Her father hadn’t lasted much longer after that. They had that kind of love that bound the two of them together.

With bacon and eggs ready, she got started on making a killer breakfast. Today she was starving.

She heard a whimper from upstairs and was about to go and get Bethany when Hawk held up his hand.

“I’ll get her. You carry on. I’ve got to eat.”

Chuckling, she continued with breakfast, content to be in the kitchen. Her mother always said that a woman’s place was in the kitchen. At first, she thought it was incredibly sexist, and in a way it was, but to her, it was her place. She cooked.

Her parents had that dynamic where the man went out to work and the woman stayed home, cooked, cleaned, and took care of the kids, or kid in her parents’ case.