Chapter 2
Henry
I've been lying here for staring at the ceiling, listening to the storm howl outside, and all I can think about is the look on Maren's face when I said goodnight.
Those wide hazel eyes. Those parted lips.
The way she was breathing like I'd just run my hands all over her body instead of just standing there like an idiot.
I should have kissed her.
No. I shouldn't have. That's the whole problem.
I roll over and punch my pillow, trying to get comfortable, but it's useless. My body's wound tight with want, and my brain won't shut up with all the reasons I can't have what I desperately need.
It started almost as soon as she started the job, when Maren began reading to Lilliana before bed.
I'd stood in the hallway listening to her do all the character voices, making my daughter giggle, and something in my chest just..
. broke open. I realized she wasn't just good at her job.
She loved Lilliana. Genuinely, completely loved my daughter.
And I fell. Hard and fast and completely.
Since then, it's been cold showers and iron self-control and finding excuses to check on them. It's been lying awake at night knowing she's just across the driveway in that apartment above the garage, wondering if she's thinking about me too.
Tonight was the closest I've come to breaking.
Standing in that kitchen, watching her at the sink with her hair falling out of that bun and her body soft and curved in those leggings.
.. I wanted to cross the room, spin her around, and kiss her until neither of us could breathe.
Wanted to lift her onto that marble counter and find out what sounds she makes when I get my mouth on her.
Instead, I said goodnight and walked away like a fucking coward.
Because she's my employee. Because she's fifteen years younger than me. Because of Lilliana.
Always Lilliana.
Lilliana, who was left by her birth mother before she could even lift her head. A woman whose name I can barely remember from a night seven and a half years ago that I'd had too much to drink.
I've raised Lilliana alone. Built my business from home so I could be there for every moment—every middle-of-the-night cry, every first word, every scraped knee.
And I've been so careful about who I let into our lives.
I haven't seriously dated anyone since she was born because no one was worth the risk of Lilliana getting attached and then losing them.
But Maren's already in our lives. Already so woven into the fabric of our daily existence that the thought of her leaving makes my chest tight with panic.
What happens when she moves on to the next job, the next chapter of her life?
What happens to Lilliana? What happens to me?
I scrub my hands over my face and stare at the ceiling some more. Outside, the wind rattles the windows I installed myself when I converted this barn five years ago, and snow hisses against the triple-pane glass.
The storm. Shit.
Maren's apartment has its own heating unit, and while it was serviced two months ago, it's old. What if it goes out in this weather? What if she's over there freezing and doesn't want to bother me?
It's a thin excuse and I know it. But I'm out of bed and pulling on jeans before I can talk myself out of it.
I need to check on her. That's all. Just making sure she's safe. Making sure my employee, because that's what she is, I remind myself firmly, is comfortable and warm.
That's what I tell myself as I shrug into a hoodie and head out into the storm.
The covered walkway protects me from the worst of it, but snow swirls through the open sides, and the wind is brutal. I climb the stairs to her apartment and raise my hand to knock, but then I see her through the window.
And I freeze.
She's sitting on her bed in an oversized t-shirt that's riding up her thighs, her legs tucked under her, hair down and wild around her shoulders. She's staring at her phone, and she looks... sad. Not crying, but lost. Lonely.
I should knock. That's why I came out here, after all, to check on the heat, to make sure she's okay.
But I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot, watching her like some kind of creep, and all I can think is how badly I want to climb into that bed with her.
Want to pull her into my arms and kiss away whatever's making her look so sad.
Want to make her laugh, make her gasp, make her scream my name until—
She looks up suddenly, straight at the window, and our eyes meet.
For a second, neither of us moves. Then she's scrambling off the bed, and I'm backing away from the window, and this is a disaster. I was literally standing outside her apartment watching her through the window like a stalker.
The door opens before I can flee. She's wrapped a blanket around herself, and she's looking at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Henry? What are you doing?"
"I—" Think, you idiot. "The storm. I wanted to check if your heat's working. That unit's old, and in this weather—"
It's not entirely a lie. It's just not the whole truth.
She blinks, clearly surprised. "Oh. Um. Yes? I think so? It feels warm."
"Can I check it anyway? I don't want it to go out overnight and you freeze."
She steps back, letting me in. The apartment is indeed warm, which means the heat is fine, which means I'm a liar and she probably knows it.
But she doesn't call me out. Instead, she hovers near the door, clutching that blanket around her shoulders, while I make a show of checking the heating unit in the corner. It's working perfectly.
"Everything looks good," I say, straightening.
"Okay. Thanks for checking."
I should leave. I should go back to the main house and my own bed and stop making a fool of myself. But then I make the mistake of really looking at her.
She's backlit by the soft lamp beside her bed, the blanket slipping off one shoulder, her hair tousled like she's been running her hands through it.
Her legs are bare beneath that t-shirt, thick thighs that would feel perfect wrapped around my waist, and her eyes are soft and uncertain and so goddamn beautiful I can't breathe.
Seven years of putting Lilliana first, of being careful, of not letting anyone close. Seven years of being alone.
And now Maren's standing here in front of me, looking like every fantasy I've ever had, and I'm so tired of being careful.
"Can I ask you something?" The words are out before I can stop them.
"Of course."
"Why do you look sad?"
She blinks, surprised by the question. "I wasn't—I mean, I was just—" She stops, sighs. "I was checking my bank account. Depressing stuff."
"Money trouble?"
"You could say that." She gives a humorless laugh. "My dad's business went under, and they're drowning. I've been sending money home, but it's not enough. It's never enough."
Something fierce and protective rises in my chest. "How much do they need?"
"Henry, I didn't tell you so you'd—"
"How much?"
She's quiet for a moment, then: "About thirty thousand for the down payment on something smaller. Something they can actually afford. But that's—it's a lot. It'll take me a couple years to save that much, and by then—"
"I'll give it to you."
Her eyes go wide. "What? No. Absolutely not."
"Maren."
"No." She steps forward, adamant. "You're already paying me more than any nanny makes. You're letting me live in this beautiful apartment rent-free. You feed me, for god's sake. I'm not taking more money from you."
"It's not about that."
"And it would change things between us," she continues, her voice softer now. "It would make me even more... dependent. More aware of the gap between us. I can't. I won't do that."
The gap between us. She means the money, the success, the fifteen years and everything that comes with them. She's aware of it. Of course she is. How could she not be?
And that gap is exactly why I should walk out of this apartment right now. Why I should maintain professional boundaries and keep my distance and not do what every cell in my body is screaming at me to do.
But then she lets the blanket drop, and she's standing there in just that oversized t-shirt, and I'm only human.
"There's already a gap between us," I say quietly, taking a step closer. "But it's not what you think."
"Henry—"
"The gap is that I'm your employer and I shouldn't want you the way I do.
The gap is that you're young and just starting your life and you deserve someone who can offer you more than a complicated single dad with a seven-year-old.
The gap is that if I cross this room right now and kiss you, everything changes, and I don't know if I have the right to ask that of you. "
She's staring at me with those wide hazel eyes, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"What if I want things to change?" she whispers. "What if I've been lying awake every night for months thinking about you? What if I can't stop wanting you even though I know I shouldn't? What if I—" She breaks off, seeming to gather her courage. "What if I'm falling for you?"
Something in my chest cracks wide open.
"Then we're both idiots," I manage, my voice rough. "Because I fell for you months ago."
I cross the distance between us before I can talk myself out of it, before logic and responsibility can reassert themselves. I cup her face in my hands and just look at her for a moment—at her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her eyes dark with want.
"Tell me now if you don't want this," I say quietly. "Because if I kiss you, I won't be able to stop. And I need to know you want this as much as I do."
"I want this," she breathes. "I want you. I've wanted you for so long—"
I don't let her finish. I claim her mouth with mine, and she melts against me with a soft sound that goes straight to my cock. She tastes like toothpaste and something sweet, and when her tongue slides against mine, I groan and pull her closer.
This. This is what I've been craving for months. Her soft body pressed against mine, her hands fisting in my hoodie, her little gasps and moans as I kiss her deeper, harder.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed, and we tumble down together. She sprawls beneath me, her hair fanning out on the pillow, and I take a moment to just look at her.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, brushing hair from her face.
"Henry."
"Let me say it. Let me tell you how fucking beautiful you are, how crazy you make me, how many cold showers I've taken thinking about you."
She laughs breathlessly. "That makes two of us."
"Good." I lower my mouth to her neck, finding that spot below her ear that makes her gasp. "Then you won't mind if I take my time with you."
I kiss my way down her neck, her collarbone, pushing her t-shirt up as I go. When I reveal her breasts, I have to stop and just appreciate them for a moment. "Perfect," I murmur, cupping one in my hand. "You're absolutely perfect."
Before she can protest, I lower my mouth to her breast and suck her nipple between my lips. She arches off the bed with a sharp cry, her hands flying to my hair.
"Oh god!"
"That's it," I murmur against her skin. "Let me hear you."
I lavish attention on her breasts, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan, until she's writhing beneath me and begging for more.
"Please," she whimpers. "Henry, please—"
"Please what? Tell me what you want."
"Touch me. Please touch me."
I slide my hand down her stomach, over her hip, to the edge of her panties. "Here?"
"Yes—"
I slip my hand inside and find her wet and ready, and I have to grit my teeth to keep control.
"Fuck, Maren. You're soaked."
"For you," she gasps.
I circle her clit slowly, watching her face, learning what she likes. When I slide two fingers inside her, she cries out and arches into my hand.
"That's my girl," I murmur. I work her with my fingers, my thumb on her clit, until she's trembling and close.
But then—
"Daddy?"
Lilliana's voice drifts through my bedroom window across the way.
We both freeze.
"Daddy, where are you?"
Fuck. Fuck.
I pull my hand away, and Maren makes a sound of protest that would be funny if I wasn't so frustrated.
"I have to—" I can barely form words.
"Go," she says quickly, sitting up. "Go. She needs you."
I'm off the bed in seconds, adjusting myself in my jeans and trying to look like I wasn't just fingering my daughter's nanny.
"This isn't over," I tell her.
Her smile is pure sin. "I hope not."
I kiss her one more time, hard and fast, then flee into the storm.
Lilliana's standing in the hallway in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. "I had a bad dream. Where were you?"
"Just checking on something outside." I scoop her up, and she tucks her face into my neck, and my heart squeezes. This. This is why I've been so careful. "Want to sleep in my room tonight?"
She nods, already half asleep again.
I carry her to my bed and tuck her in, then lie down beside her, staring at the ceiling while she snuggles against my side.
My lips still tingle. I can still taste Maren, still feel the softness of her skin, the way she gasped when I touched her.
And now we have three days snowed in together, knowing exactly how good it feels to give in.
I'm going to finish what we started. I'm going to make her mine in every way that matters.
But for now, I hold my daughter and remember why I've been so careful. Why every decision I make has to be the right one.
Because Lilliana deserves a father who puts her first. Always.
Even when it's killing me to wait.