Chapter 12 JACE
JACE
For a second, I’m convinced I didn’t hear her right. She’s standing in the middle of my office, chest rising fast, eyes burning with something between panic and determination.
“I’ll be Daisy’s nanny,” she repeats, like she’s staking her claim.
My phone is still warm in my hand, the line dead, but I don’t even remember hanging up. My mind blanks, then scrambles to catch up. Tessa, my cyber security consultant, smartest damn woman I’ve had the misfortune of butting heads with, wants to be a nanny?
I should laugh. I should tell her no, remind her that she should be packed and halfway across Texas by now, but I hold it in.
She’s too sharp for this, too restless, hiding too many secrets.
Daisy doesn’t need another temporary fixture in her life, and Tessa sure as hell doesn’t look like someone built for playdates and bedtime routines.
But the word stay echoes in my head, low and insistent.
Because the truth is, the thought of her leaving has been eating at me from the moment she told me that her work is complete.
She’s been a storm since she landed here, turning my house, routines, and world inside out.
And damn if I don’t want to let her go even if I know she’s nothing but a pink haired ball of trouble.
Still, a nanny? Christ.
I lean back in my chair, studying her like she’s just dropped a live grenade on my desk.
“You really think you can handle Daisy?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, more test than question.
Her chin tips up. “I know I can. I like kids.”
“Liking kids and living with one as their nanny are two different things,” I shoot back. I picture Daisy’s sulks, her stubborn streak, the way she clings to routines like lifelines. “She’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not steady.”
Tessa crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “Then give me the chance to prove it.”
There’s steel in her tone, the same edge I’ve heard when she’s tearing into code like it owes her money. And hell if that doesn’t spark something in me.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, buying myself a second. Logic says no. Instinct says maybe. My gut—the part that hasn’t steered me wrong on the ranch in years—says yes.
What do I do? Daisy needs a nanny and in the two days since Mercy quit, it’s been hell juggling work and a boundless bundle of seven-year-old energy. I need to find a nanny quick, a qualified one, but until then, I need help and it seems she’s walked straight into my office.
“One month,” I say finally. “You get a one-month trial period. If Daisy hates it, or if you crack, we call it quits. No hard feelings.”
I’m considering this because I’m desperate and I’ll use that month to find someone more reliable because Tessa ain’t it.
Her shoulders drop with relief, “I’ll do my best.”
“I expect nothing less. Now, let’s go tell Daisy the good news,” I decree, wheeling myself from behind my desk.
“Now?” Tessa chokes following me out of the basement.
“No better time than the present, Miss Monroe,” I smirk, enjoying seeing how unsure she is.
I ask one of the maids to call Daisy into the living room.
As we wait, I find myself joining Tessa in the panic.
My throat is dry even though I’ve done harder things than this.
I’ve walked into actual warzones with less hesitation.
But telling my seven-year-old daughter she’s getting a new nanny?
That feels like stepping onto a landmine.
Before I get the chance to change my mind, Daisy pads in, her sketchbook clutched to her chest, pencil tucked behind one ear.
“Yes Daddy? You called for me,” she asks, eyes flicking from me to Tessa, who is sitting a little awkwardly on the sofa.
I clear my throat. “Bug, you know Tessa.”
She nods. “Yes, she’s the computer lady.”
“That she is, but she’s also going to be helping us out around here.”
Daisy narrows her eyes. “Helping with what?”
I reach out and take her hand in mine, tugging her closer. “With you as your new nanny. She’ll be taking over from Mercy,” I explain.
The word nanny lands like a curse. Daisy stiffens, her small mouth pressing into a thin line. “I don’t need a new nanny. I have you, grandpa, my uncles and aunties.”
Her tone slices through me. Daisy has never been keen on the idea of a nanny and I feel like she’s run off a few. I just can’t prove it. But in as much as we are all a big family, we have work, responsibilities and she needs constant care and attention that we cannot provide.
I try to hold steady, keep my voice calm. “I’ll still be here, Bug. But sometimes Daddy needs help. Tessa’s really smart, and she’ll be fun to have around—“
“She’s a stranger.” Daisy’s voice cracks, sharp. Her cheeks flush, and she hugs the sketchbook tighter. “I don’t want her here.”
The words punch harder than they should.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tessa’s smile falter, just for a beat.
She drops to a crouch, trying anyway. “Hey, Daisy. I know we don’t know each other very well right now but I’d be happy to get to know each other better if you give me a chance. What do you think?”
Daisy doesn’t answer. She spins on her heel and stomps up the stairs.
“Bug come back. We are not done talking,” I call out to her.
“Yes we are!” She yells back before disappearing on the first floor.
A moment later her bedroom door slams so hard the frames on the wall rattle.
Silence hangs heavy in the living room.
I groan in frustration, dragging a hand over my face.
My chest aches, torn between guilt and frustration.
Being a single parent really is hard, but I try my best. My family makes it easier but I can’t help but think this would be so much easier if Daisy had a mom.
But it’s the one thing I’ve never been able to give her, ever since her mother died giving birth to her. I lost one angel and gained another.
Then I glance at Tessa. She looks steadier than I feel, chin up, shoulders back, even though I can see the sting in her eyes.
“Don’t take it personal,” I mutter, breaking the silence. My voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “She’s stubborn as hell. Gets it from me.”
Tessa huffs a soft laugh, though it doesn’t have much weight behind it. “I figured.”
I study her for a long moment. She’s holding her ground, but I can see the cracks in her armor. And I hate that Daisy put them there. Hell, I hate that I put her in this position without thinking it through.
“Why don’t we discuss the rest of the details back in my office?” I suggest.
Her brows lift. “Details?”
“Yes, ground rules, pay, hours. All the boring stuff.”
“Oh.” She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure.”
With an acknowledging nod, we shift back to my office. I leave my wheelchair by the door and grab us a bottle of bourbon from my collection and two glasses. I set them down on the coffee table in the corner of the room and perch myself on the couch.
Tessa eyes the bottle warily. “So this is your version of paperwork?”
“Best way I know to negotiate.” I pour her a glass before she can argue.
She takes it, curling onto the couch next to me. The bourbon burns slow as I swallow, but not nearly as slow as the way her eyes study me over the rim of her glass.
We go through the motions at first, talking hours, bedtime routines, school schedules.
She’s sharp, firing questions like she’s trying to prove she’s up for it.
I answer, but my focus keeps drifting, to the way she licks a drop of whiskey off her lip, to the way she shifts in her seat, her knee brushing mine when she leans closer to point something out in the notebook I grabbed.
The air between us thickens, charged. I know I’m not the only one feeling it from the way she keeps shifting on the sofa, rubbing her thighs together. Fuck me! Or better yet, fuck her. Yeah, that sounds better.
I should call it. End this meeting. But instead, I top up her glass and my own, and the edges of formality start to blur.
She laughs at something I say, a low, easy laugh I haven’t heard from her before. It slides under my skin, loosening something I didn’t know I’d been holding.
By the time we’re halfway through the bottle, the talk of contracts and ground rules has dissolved into something else entirely. That simmering awareness that we’re not negotiating a job anymore, we’re circling something we both know is coming.
Her gaze drops to my mouth and lingers. My body answers before my brain can catch up.
Fuck. I’m already gone.
Her laugh lingers in the air, warm and heady.
She leans back on the couch, glass dangling from her fingers, eyes hazy but sharp all the same.
That look, half challenge, half dare, hits me harder than the bourbon ever could.
It’s the same look she gave me back in DC before she asked for my room number.
I set my glass down, lean forward. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re not gonna be talking about work anymore.”
Her lips part, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner. “Maybe I’m done talking.”
“Ah, Miss Monroe, you have no idea what you’re signing up for. Don’t tempt me,” I rasp out.
“What’s wrong cowboy? Are you scared?” She giggles, leaning in allowing me to see more of her cleavage.
I suck in a breath, and set down my glass. “Scared no, I just want to give you one last chance to run.”
She looks me directly in my eyes as she responds, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And that’s all the invitation I need.
I reach across the small space and pull her into me, our mouths crashing together. She tastes like whiskey and heat, sweet and dangerous. Her hand fists in my shirt, tugging me closer, until I’ve got her pressed against the cushions. Her legs spreading easily when I shove my knee between them.
I drag my mouth down her neck, biting just enough to make her gasp. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane since the second you walked into my ranch. Hell, since DC.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Good,” she breathes.
I groan, sliding my hands under her shirt, palming the soft swell of her breasts.
Her back arches, pushing into me, and I yank the fabric up over her head, tossing it aside.
She’s in a simple bra, but fuck if she isn’t the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
I pull a cup down, freeing one nipple, and suck it into my mouth, biting until she cries out.
Her hips roll against my thigh, needy, and desperate. I shove my hand between her legs, cupping her through her jeans. She’s already hot, and wet, even with the barrier of denim. I grind my palm harder, swallowing the sounds spilling out of her throat.
“Take them off,” she pants.
I pull back, grip the waistband, and drag her jeans down. She kicks them away, left in nothing but her panties and bra. I hook my fingers in the thin scrap of fabric and rip it aside, groaning when I see how wet she is for me.
“Fuck, Tessa…” I slide a finger through her slick folds, teasing her clit before plunging two deep inside her. She gasps, clutching at me, her thighs trembling as I curl my fingers just right.
Her head falls back against the cushions, lips parted, eyes glazed. I work her harder, faster, pumping in and out of her, until she’s writhing, her cries filling the room.
When she clenches tight around my hand, teetering on the edge, I pull free.
She whimpers at the loss, glaring up at me, but I’m already undoing my belt, shoving my jeans and briefs down.
Pain flares in my leg and shoulder from this position, but it’s nothing compared to the heat wreaking havoc in my body from the beauty under me.
My cock springs free, thick and aching, precum smearing across her thigh when I press against her.
Her eyes drop, widening slightly, then flick back up to mine. “Jesus, Jace, I don’t remember it being that big.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Say it,” I growl, lining up at her entrance.
“I want you,” she gasps. “Please Jace.”
I slam into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out, nails raking my back, and I set a punishing rhythm, driving into her over and over until her moans turn into broken sobs of pleasure.
Her walls clutch around me, tight and wet, and I lose myself in the sound of her begging, the feel of her body yielding to mine. I flip her onto her knees, yank her ass up, and bury myself again, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. This position is much easier on my fucked up body.
“Goddamn, you feel so good,” I groan, pounding into her. My palm cracks against her ass, making her jolt and cry out.
“Yes—fuck—harder—“
I oblige, slamming into her until the couch rocks beneath us, the air thick with sweat and the slap of skin. She clenches around me, her scream muffled in the cushion as she falls apart, trembling with release.
I’m right there with her, pulling out at the last second and spilling hot across her lower back, marking her with my cum, breath ragged, body shaking with the force of it.
For a moment, the only sound is our breathing, tangled and heavy. She collapses against the cushions, hair plastered to her damp skin, and I stare down at her, chest heaving.
Fuck. What the hell have I just done?