Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(116)

“Stay at my place?” I echo as I try to figure out what's happening. He plays with his lip rings, using his tongue to slide them in and out of the holes. Aaaaand that was imagery I so did not need. “Why would you need to stay at my place?”

Zayden sucks in a deep breath.

“Airbnb,” he says, and then I'm even more confused than I was before.

“Huh?” I reach up and start gathering the massive fall of my hair together, just to give my hands something to do. “Are you drunk or something?”

Zayden claps his hands over his face and makes a small sound of frustration, not at me though, at himself for sure.

“Okay, what I'm trying to say is, I'll rent my condo out on Airbnb.”

“And … why would you do that?”

“Brooke,” he says, dropping his hands into his lap and looking up at me with an eager, open gaze. “At least for a little while, I'm staying here. In Eureka.”

I blink at him.

“Did something happen with your brother?”

“No, silly Smarty-Pants, fuck.” Zayden gets up on his knees and crawls toward me, pushing my own knees apart and getting in between them, grabbing onto the swing to keep me from swaying back. I should tell him not to touch me again, to leave me alone, but I just … it feels really good to have him here. “I want to try this thing out between us. I got about two hours down the road before I realized what was wrong with me, why I was sweating and why my stomach hurt and why I had a god-fucking-awful headache.”

“And why's that?” I have a hard time choking the words out as Zayden gives me one of his signature smirk-smiles.

“Because I'm suffering from a seriously nasty case of I.L.”

“Um.” I lean away from him and blink several times, some of my smarmy romantic swoon fading away. I was hoping maybe he was here to confess; instead he came to tell me he has an STD? “Is it contagious?”

Zayden tosses his head back and laughs, dropping his chin down and leaning in to press his face against the side of my neck. My body shivers without my permission as his hands curl around mine.

“I.L. stands for insta-love, you dope. I have no idea why because this has literally never happened to me before, but I'm, like, creepily obsessed with you.”

I close my eyes and try to get a grip on my swirling thoughts.

“I don't understand,” I whisper as Zayden leans back and lifts his hands up, cupping my face in that way of his that makes me crazy. I open my eyes and find him invading my personal space again, his own gaze way too close for comfort.

“What I'm trying to say, Brooke Overland, is that I want to be your nanny.”

That's seriously the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life.

“One second, 'kay,” he says, standing up and jogging over to his car. I sit there in stunned silence as he opens the door and starts up some music.

It's Van Morrison's “Brown Eyed Girl” again.

I purse my lips together tight as Zayden appears in front of me.

“Please don't sing and dance,” I whisper, but it's too late. He's snapping his fingers and doing this sexy groove to the music. It should look really stupid—and it kind of does—but with his tight abs and his tattoos and piercings, it's really just … precious.

When he starts singing the words to me, I stand up suddenly and let the chains from the swing jangle behind me.

“You're … in insta-love with me?” I repeat as Zayden pauses and nods, grinning nice and big as Hubert's yowls blend harmoniously into the music.

“Yep.”

“And you're … staying in Eureka … for me?”

“Check and check, baby cakes,” he says as he reaches out to touch me. I reach up to take his wrists, but all he does is twist my arms and grab me anyway, tugging me close. His grin turns a little softer, a little more tender as he rubs a thumb along the line of my jaw, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

It's all so sexy and cute and romantic … until the music changes to “In Da Club” by 50 Cent. Um. Yuck. God, I hate this song.

“Brooke, I'm … sorry for the way I acted yesterday. It's not an excuse or nothin', but …” Zayden pauses and looks into my eyes, his gaze searching deep. “I didn't expect to fall in love with you, and I sure as hell didn't expect it to scare me so much.”

“You were awful yesterday,” I tell him, and I mean that. “A mega dick.”

“Godzilla sized dick,” he agrees as he traces warm circles on my upper arms with his thumbs. He needs to hear how hurtful he was, how stupid he made me feel, what an ass he was. But later. Later because this is my romantic confession … and I refuse to listen to rap or pop while it's happening.