Page 38 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

She retreated to the opposite end of the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, I know what I was thinking, but obviously it’s not what you’re thinking even though I thought we were thinking the same thing.”

“Mallory.” If she’d thought her name sounded like sin on his lips before, now it was pure sex, fueled by the late hour, lack of sleep, and good scotch.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

“I can’t help it. When I get nervous or embarrassed I babble, and right now I think I’m more nervous and embarrassed than I’ve been in my entire…”

In one swift move, he was over her, his hands in her hair and his mouth on hers, swallowing her words in the most delicious way imaginable. She was too stunned to protest even if she wanted to—which she so did not. She was done fighting this thing, and it looked like—finally—he was, too.

She moaned into his mouth and rocked her hips, more turned on than she’d ever been. Her hands left her sides to explore his neck, his shoulders, the swell of his biceps as his arms wound around her back.

The lights flickered and went out, and she stiffened. In the pitch darkness, the wind and rain seemed to batter the house even harder.

“It’s okay,” Rhys whispered against her lips, his strong arms banding tighter, pinning her to him. “Give it a few seconds. The generator will kick in.”

“Oliver…”

“Is fine.” Rhys’s mouth moved to her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck, leaving kisses—and goose bumps—in its wake. “Fast asleep, I’m sure.”

The lights flickered back on. She threaded her hands in his hair as his mouth slid lower still. “Maybe that was a sign.”

“Of what?” He nipped the delicate skin at the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

She let her head fall back, loving the delicious incongruity of his full, soft lips and rough stubble on her fevered flesh. She was starving, desperate for him. “That we shouldn’t do this.”

“But we’re going to, aren’t we?” It sounded more like a statement than a question, as if their lovemaking was a done deal.

“I can’t stop myself,” she admitted, breathless. “I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

His lips returned to hers, and they gave in to the desire that had been swirling between them for weeks. Her skin sizzled. Her stomach flip-flopped. He heated her from the inside out, turning her into a molten mass of want.

Without warning, he broke off and stood, taking her with him.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and squeezed tight. “What are you doing?”

“Not here,” he growled, moving toward the one hall in the house she’d never gone down—the one that led to the master bedroom. “Our first time is not going to be on my goddamn living room couch.”

Our first time.Her heart leaped. She’d been trying to live in the moment and push aside all her worries about the morning after. Knowing he wasn’t thinking about this as one-and-done made that a lot easier.

“Oh.”

If Rhys was disappointed in her anemic response, he didn’t show it. He dropped kisses on her forehead, eyelids, even the sensitive shell of her ear as he shouldered his way through the bedroom door and hit the light switch, casting a warm yellow glow. He stopped next to the bed and let her slide down his body. She felt every hard edge and smooth curve of him, making her already racing heart pound faster.

His busy fingers grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and lifted it up. Not one to stand in the way of anything that would facilitate a little skin-on-skin action, she raised her arms over her head, allowing him to pull it off. His hungry gaze raked her too-small chest and slightly rounded belly.

She moved to cover herself, but he stopped her, his hands closing around her wrists. “Don’t. You’re perfect. Better.”

“Than what?” she asked, half afraid for the answer.

“Than I imagined.”

He released her hands, and they fluttered to her sides. “You imagined this?”

“So many times.” His voice was deep and gravelly, and his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. “You have no idea.”