Chapter 6

"I'm pretty sure Jude hates me," I mutter under my breath, my shoulders slumping.

Why else would he have sent me here, to the wolf's den that is Tyberius Nolan Brynes' home? I'm no Little Red Riding Hood, but while we were having pancakes, I couldn't help feeling like Tyberius might try to eat me for breakfast. Just push me over the counter, pull my jeans down and run his tongue along my pussy before devouring me with his big mouth.

The thought of him doing that makes my entire body quiver. I wouldn't mind letting him use his tongue on me as long as I can ride his cock a few times.

Damn it, Indie, stop that. His child is right here and your number one rule is not to get tangled up with older guys, even more so if they are hockey players.

No, my number one rule when it comes to men: keep things strictly on my terms, use them once, no emotions involved. If there's something I learned from Frederick is to use them and never let anyone in.

This isn't good.

Not good at all.

"Thank you for doing this," Tyberius says, his voice deep and rough, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

I muster a casual smile, masking the mayhem inside. "Of course, Tyberius, it's the least we could do for the captain of the team," I reply, striving for a tone of nonchalance.

"Call me Ty," he says, waving his phone. "Text if you need anything. I wish I could tell you where the emergency numbers are, but you know this area better than me."

I smile at him, he seems flustered, nervous or . . . who knows. "She'll be fine, Ty," I assure him.

"Be good to Indigo, pumpkin," he instructs, his hand gently tousling her hair tenderly.

Myra nods vigorously, bouncing on her tiptoes. "I will, Daddy." She then turns and scampers up the stairs as he strides toward the garage, the door clicking shut behind him.

Their departure leaves me alone with the big, bad wolf himself—or at least, the memory of him that I can't seem to shake. Tyberius Nolan Brynes. Even his name seems darkly thrilling as it rolls off my tongue. He had stood over me—all six-foot-three of solid muscle. I'm a tiny five-foot-two in comparison. He could easily pick me up and toss me over his shoulder . . . maybe push me against the wall and . . . I mentally chastise myself, trying to control these vivid daydreams.

But it's almost impossible not to want him. There's something about the rugged, masculine outline of his figure that commands attention—the well-defined jawline, those prominent cheekbones, and a nose that's straight and perfectly proportioned beneath a strong brow.

His hair, tousled yet styled with effortless care, carries streaks of light brown softened by sun-kissed blond highlights. It makes me want to run a hand through his hair. The short, full beard and mustache framing his lips add to his carefree, yet deliberately rugged appearance.

The thought of feeling the rough texture of his beard against my skin when he goes down on me sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?

Nothing, mind you, I wouldn't mind the razor burn, especially if he makes me come hard.

What I wouldn't give to see him naked?

"Focus," I scold myself, the stern inner voice attempting to break the spell.

This is exactly why you shouldn't have agreed to take this job when Jude offered it—by which I mean being his right-hand woman while he started the team. I shouldn't be around hockey players. They're obviously my kryptonite. The last time I let one in, he broke me. Now . . . I can't afford to be close to Tyberius, who seems to be my type.

Tall, mysterious, and dangerous.

Yep. Tyberius Brynes is most definitely dangerous in far too many ways. I need to find a new nanny now and get as far away from him as possible.

Before I do something very stupid, like fall for him because he seems like a good father or . . . I find myself biting my lip, anxiety beginning to spiral within me.

My heart races uncontrollably, heralding the onset of panic. Breathing becomes difficult, each breath more strained than the last. My hands start to shake, and reality seems to slip away from me. Tyberius shouldn't have this effect on me, his complex life and burdens shouldn't make my heart race this way.

Just when the panic threatens to overwhelm me, a gentle voice pierces through the haze. "Umm, Indie?" It's Myra. "Over here."

Right, I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I have a responsibility. My attraction for her father and everything that it entails doesn't matter. What happened in the past was after all my fault and if this time I'm careful enough nothing will happen to me. Nothing.

"Why don't you come upstairs? We didn't pick out my shoes for today yet," she prompts me.

I snap back to reality, meeting her wide green eyes that remind me so much of her father's. Shoes. Right, we forgot about that.

"Of course, sweetie," I say, plastering a smile on my face when I find her in front of me.

How did I miss this? I need to be more careful with my thoughts and what I'm doing around her. I can't lose my shit in front of her. I simply can't.

"Let's go find you some fabulous shoes, and after that . . ." I tap my chin, racking my brain for how I'll possibly occupy Myra for the next hour while I try to calm down.

"We can watch TV or play video games after. Gemma and I always do that before school," Myra says brightly, though I suspect she's not being entirely honest.

I also wonder who this Gemma is—her dad's girlfriend? The nanny? I really should have gotten a crash course on Myra before Tyberius rushed out the door.

"Well, since you and I are still getting to know each other, I think it's best if we spend some time bonding," I suggest, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Plus, we should wash the dishes and tidy up your room before I drive you to school."

Myra's face falls into a pout. "But that's not how Gemma does things with me."

I give her a patient smile. "I understand, sweetie. Usually, my niece Cora would be asking me to braid her hair before school. I certainly don't expect you to request the same. I know you two are very different people."

"Yeah, we're not the same at all," Myra says in agreement.

"Exactly." I give her an encouraging nod. "So, it's best if you and I get to know each other and come up with a routine that works for us."

She lets out a resigned sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Okay, but I probably won't like any of this," she grumbles. "We should go back to Florida with my friends."

I bite back a laugh at her dramatics, but then stop and realize that the nanny quitting has just unraveled her feelings about the move.

Maybe this is something we should look into more closely. When I drop her at school, I plan on reminding her teacher that she's not only new to the school but also to the city.

Right now, it's my job to ensure that she feels welcomed. Maybe I can try to set up a few dates with Cora who's around her age. This won't be easy, but I'll make it work.

"Come on, I'm pretty sure we can make this fun," I cajole as we head to the kitchen, Myra dragging her feet on the stairs behind me.

We stand side by side at the sink, where I show Myra how to rinse the dishes before carefully handing them to her to put in the dishwasher. She seems unsure at first, but eventually gets the hang of where things go. As we work, we chat about everything under the sun—her favorite animals (she wants a cat and maybe a dog someday), what she's learning in school, and her friends.

Lucky for her, I come equipped with a cat and a dog who'll be great at helping me with Myra's transition.

After the kitchen is tidy again, we move on to her room. Together, we pick up scattered toys, organize books, and smooth out the crumpled sheets to make her bed. It's not just about getting the cleaning done but also spending quality time together and teaching her responsibility. By the time we finish, the room looks like a brand-new space, and the pride shining in Myra's eyes makes every bit of effort worthwhile.

We even pick up a pair of shoes that match her outfit—and I convince her to switch her mismatched socks too.

"All ready for school?" I ask.

She self-consciously touches her hair and the messy ponytail she didn't want me to touch earlier, a hint of uncertainty in her bright green eyes. "Would you mind making it pretty?"

"Of course, sweetie." I pick up a brush from her dresser and gently work through the tangles, then sweep her wavy hair up into a cute, updo, adding a bow I find in a drawer.

With her hair done, it's time to get in the car. The drive to school is brief, and even though the streets are bustling with the morning rush and the school parking lot is teeming with cars, luck is on our side. I find the perfect parking spot at Dad's recording company, conveniently located across the street from Myra's school. Spotting his car already there, I make a mental note to drop by for a visit.

Hand in hand, we make our way into the school, navigating through the lively corridors to her kindergarten classroom. Letting go of her hand at the door feels unexpectedly hard, a pang of separation anxiety pulling at my heartstrings. Yet, she dashes into the colorful, inviting room with enthusiasm, her pink unicorn backpack bobbing with each step. Turning around, she sends me a joyful wave goodbye. Her smile is so bright and infectious, it lifts the weight off my shoulders.

"Have an amazing day, Myra," I call after her. "I'll see you this afternoon." For now, at least, the previous anxiety seems to dissipate.

Before I leave, I give a quick heads up to her teacher about Myra's current situation. Once the school drop-off is complete, I have to start the most important task: finding a new nanny.

I don't think I have the strength to handle a sweet little girl who needs a lot of emotional support, while still finding a way to avoid her father. Even though I came to their rescue today, I'm not exactly a superhero.