Mister Bossy (Bad Boys in Love Book 4)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “It is,” I insist, dropping Callie’s hand to take a step forward. “Sure, it looks a little beat up and it needs some work. But imagine it with a pretty garden. And a tree swing. Maybe even a big standalone trellis or a gazebo. Can’t you see it?”

  Eli pauses and stares up at the building. I can almost see my vision playing out in his expression.

  “So what if there’s a little grime on the outside?” I say softly. “That’s really no reason to judge. Because you never know what beauty is hiding beneath it all, y’know?” I don’t mean to be speaking with double-meanings but the metaphor fits the situation.

  His attention drifts over to me. Our gazes hook like the rodes of two anchors, tangling under sea. I’ve never felt a pull so powerful, so mighty toward another person. I can almost feel the glacier between us melting in real-time.

  Abruptly, Eli snaps out of it. The moment is gone. “I don’t have the time for all that.” His voice is brittle and bitter as he opens the front door.

  My shoulders fall. The hopeful feeling deflates.

  The three of us file in.

  I glance around the living room. It looks cozy. Kind of lived-in. Eli’s beat-up sneakers are on the front mat. A dark wood coffee table on a shabby rug anchors the room. There’s an old piano in the corner and a sofa running parallel to the large picture window. It has big fat overstuffed cushions I just want to bellyflop onto. The couch faces the fireplace and has a matching armchair flanking each side. My eyes flit over the knickknacks on the mantle, the pictures of Callie on the wood-panelled walls.

  Eli drops all the bags in the living room with a blunt thud and starts to walk away. Callie and I stand there, awkwardly, with no clue what to do next. I wasn’t exactly expecting him to roll out a red carpet for us, but is it too much for him to point out where we’ll eat and sleep?

  He’s halfway across the room before he looks back and sees us standing at the door, like unwanted guests.

  “Oh, right. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor,” he tells me. “Callie’s room is on the left, and you can take the other one. I’ll be taking the couch down in the basement.” He points to a wide doorway toward the back of the house. “The kitchen is through that way. I had some groceries delivered earlier. The basics.”

  “All right.” I offer a little smile.

  He doesn’t reciprocate.

  “Make me a list of the things Callie likes and I’ll order those for delivery, as well.” His eyes linger on mine. He hesitates. “Write down what you’d like, too.” He starts to turn for the stairs, but then glances at me over his back. “Just a heads up. The washer and dryer are in the downstairs bathroom,” he jerks his chin toward the basement. “So if you need to do laundry, make sure to call out or something before coming down.”

  I nod. “Got it.” Heaven forbid I accidentally walk in on Eli Kingston in his underwear.

  My lip twitches. I hold in my smile. Barely.

  As an act of karmic retribution, my stomach growls right then. Loud enough to fill the room. That’s what I get for silently mocking my new boss. Callie emits a little giggle where she’s pasted against my leg.

  Eli gives me another creased-browed stare. “Is pizza good? For dinner?”

  Thoughts of chicken curry float back into my head but I push them away. “Yes,” I answer quickly, but then look toward Callie. She deserves a say in this, too. “Pizza's good, right?”

  Callie nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

  I look to Eli, making sure he received her wordless comment. His eyes meet mine from across the room. His dark gaze pins me to the hardwood floors.

  “I-I guess I'll go get Callie settled in her room.” I need to get away from this guy before my knees start shaking.

  He nods his consent and turns away. I almost sigh out loud with relief as he goes. I could gladly stare at that man all day long, but when he’s staring back, it’s…well, exhausting. My whole body feels spent, just from that twelve-second incident.

  Gripping Callie’s hand and picking up one of her bags, I guide her toward the bedrooms. I’ll come back for the other stuff later. For now, I just want to get her comfortable.

  When we step into her room, her eyes light up. She climbs up onto her bed. “Princess Tiana!”

  “Your favorite,” I gush, skimming my hand over the brand new bedding. “Isn’t that cool?”

  Callie nods, but just when I conclude that Eli has earned himself a few bonus points with the child, she glances around nervously. “But I miss Nana and Papa. They won’t be sleeping here, will they?”

  “No, they’ll sleep at their house. You and I get to sleep here. With your daddy.” I stubbornly ignore the dirty images my mind produces about exactly what I want to do with her daddy after she goes to sleep.

  Her face scrunches up, like she’s struggling to understand all of this. Still, she remains strong. It pulls at my heart. “Will I still get to see them?”

  With a light touch, I brush her blonde ringlets from her forehead. Her hair smells sweet like her bubblegum shampoo. “Oh, baby girl. Nana and Papa love you very much. Of course you’ll still see them. Tomorrow, maybe we can talk to your daddy about taking a walk over there.”

  “Okay.” For a second, her eyes drop and she appears deep in thought. Then her gaze flickers back up. “Daddy’s beard looks like the big bad wolf.”

  A giggle bursts out of me. “It kind of does, doesn’t it.” She joins me in laughing.

  I sigh, wrapping my arms around this brave little girl. I keep telling myself this is just a job, just a stepping stone. But every time I look at Callie, I see how much this five-year-old needs me.

  And I can’t shush the hopeful voice in my foolish head that says maybe, just maybe, Eli needs me, too.

  8

  Eli

  I thought that after sleeping on a metal cot for more than two years, I’d be able to sleep anywhere. Well, I was wrong.

  I’m lying on this stiff, old couch, with my feet hanging over the opposite arm. I’ve got my bicep propped under my skull and I’m staring at the ductwork on the ceiling of my basement.

  The house has been silent for the past hour, so Jenny must have finally gone to sleep. Jenny? Or was it Jessie? Jenna, maybe?

  In any case, I tried telling Callie good night and tucking her into bed earlier, but after an awkward moment, she asked for her nanny.

  I know she’s just a kid, she’s the innocent in all this but it bugs the shit out of me how easily she’ll interact with everyone except me. I thought she was shy at first, but after watching her stuff her little face with pizza and talk the nanny’s ear off over dinner, I’m realizing that she’s only shy with me. To her, I’m practically a stranger. It’s frustrating, dammit.

  My mind wanders off to better times, back when my daughter was an infant. Her mom and I used to be the only recipients of those cheesy, gorgeous grins. I took those grins for granted. I see that now. I wish I could go back in time.

  Man—the way that girl smiles at Jenny like she’s her whole goddamned world. The nanny makes it look so easy. She’s so good with my baby girl. Half the time, she seems like a kid herself, getting lost in their playtime.

  I think back to the silly made-up song the two of them were singing together as they cleared the dinner table. I feel a smile start taking form on my mouth. Because even I can admit it was kind of…cute.

  Shaking my head, I fight the feeling off. I make a deliberate decision to shut it down.

  I don’t like ‘cute’.

  ‘Cute’ is manipulation’s most effective mask. The memory of my ex-wife sours my tongue. I already fell victim to ‘cute’ once. I won’t let it happen again.

  Still, I can’t get the thought of Jenny out of my head.

  The woman is a human exclamation point. Like if the punctuation mark ever came to life, it would be her. She’s got all this damn energy. Always skipping around, enthusiastic over nothing at all. And her smile is sickly-sweet. Like that apple-scented dish soap my mom
used to use when we were kids. The girl is annoying as fuck.

  But damn is she beautiful.

  The long, dark hair. The cartoonishly wide eyes. Her dainty little nose with the freckled bridge and the upturned tip. The face of an angel with a mouth that looks like it was designed for doing filthy things. Perfect legs. Perfect ass. Perfect tits.

  The second I start growing hard, I want to kick myself.

  I really do need to get laid because I shouldn’t be thinking about the nanny this way. I used to make fun of the cliché of those fresh-from-jail assholes who’d fall head-over-hangnails for the first woman they saw. Now, look at me. I’m no better than them.

  I know nothing about this Jenny-person. My parents boxed me into a corner. Having her move in with me was my only choice. But I still haven’t even decided if I trust her. In my house. With my kid.

  Yes, I need to get laid but the nanny definitely isn’t an option.

  In a desperate attempt to get the situation in my pants under control, I reach up and flip on the dim lamp near my head. I stretch under the old couch and pull out the thin cardboard box I brought home with me when I was released. I remove the lid and toss it aside.

  Underneath all the cash is the small box of letters. For some reason, my letters from Monica feel more private and forbidden than this secret money. Still, I need to come up with a better hiding spot for all of it, since I can’t use Callie’s bedroom vent anymore.

  Taking the envelope at the top, I unfold the creased paper. A few words into the letter and I’ve already pulled out my cock.

  Every time I close my eyes, I imagine us together. I imagine you, with your hands on me, with your dick inside me.

  As I slowly reread Monica’s sexy, teasing words, I squeeze my fingers into a tight fist, pulling up and down on my erection. Struggling with my breath. Resenting myself the whole time.

  I know you’d be rough. I know you wouldn’t be able to take your time. I can’t blame you, baby. After all, you’ve waited so long for me. But I don’t want you to take it slow. I don’t want you to be gentle.

  It’s strange picturing a woman I’ve never met. I wish I had a real face to go with her name. To go with all the naughty things she’s written to me. Each time I jerk off to her letters, I find myself trying out a different look for her.

  Maybe Monica is curvy and voluptuous, with soft, lush thighs and auburn hair.

  Maybe Monica is tall and thin with mahogany skin and tight black curls.

  Or…maybe Monica is a petite little thing with dark brown hair that flows down to her waist. Large brown doe eyes that would make a better fit on a cartoon princess. Soft, bouncy tits and creamy pale skin.

  I stroke myself harder.

  Bite me. Squeeze me. Own me like every inch of my body is your territory. Plant your cock inside me like a flag and take complete possession.

  My mind replicates a perfect image of the nanny’s sweet face and banging body seconds before I ejaculate all over the top of my sweatpants.

  The letter flutters to the floor and my head falls back against the hard couch arm. I emit a loud groan.

  This is getting ridiculous. What kind of pathetic loser fantasizes about his kid’s caretaker?

  I go into the bathroom and clean myself up with a towel I pull off of the rickety linen shelf.

  Dammit—I still have so much hammering and ‘screw-driving’ and repairs ahead of me. And here I am, lusting over the nanny, like I don’t have a care in the world. I have way too much responsibility on my plate to allow myself distractions.

  I change into a fresh pair of sweats and exit the bathroom. But as I’m heading back toward the couch, I hear the creak of the upstairs floorboards.

  Fuck—did I wake Callie? Did I make too much noise?

  I need to go check out the disturbance. Just in case it’s my daughter wandering around alone in the dark on her first night in unfamiliar surroundings.

  With a hand on the railing, I quietly climb the stairs. The squeaky sounds lead me all the way into the kitchen.

  A flood of light pours into the room where the nanny is bent over with her head inside the fridge, wearing nothing but bright yellow sleep shorts that peek out at the hem of her stretchy white tank top. Her thighs are toned and pale. Her feet are pretty and small. I get a quick mental image of those dainty ankles wrapped around my neck. Dammit, I want to fuck her right on the kitchen table.

  Arousal slams me so hard, the soles of my feet go numb. And in an instant, all that tiptoeing around was for nothing because the mere sight of that woman’s body unleashes an almost-comical chain of events. I trip on the metal threshold strip between the living room and the kitchen. When I reach for the wall to catch my balance, I end up knocking over a bunch of decorative shit sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. I curse at the candleholders and flower pots and other useless crap as they all go crashing to the floor.

  Again—fuuuckk!!

  The woman spins around, startled. The movement is so fast, it causes her tits to bounce. The open tub of yogurt in her hand bounces, too. A glob of clumpy dairy lands in her cleavage before the rest of the container slips from her fingers and hits the floor with a creamy splash.

  Her eyes go round and her mouth puckers into the perfect circle. “Oh! Oh, my gosh! I’m so so so sorry…” Apologies fly out as she stands there, her soft, perky, barely-covered tits looking like they’re glazed in cum. My cum. “Please don’t be mad,” she begs softly. “I know I shouldn’t be eating Callie’s snacks. I’m sorry. It’s just that I get a bit of a sweet tooth this time of night. I always need some sugar before I go to bed. My dad says that no evening meal is complete without a little dessert.” Still rambling, she grabs a roll of paper towel, squats down and starts vigorously wiping up the mess. “Plus, my metabolism goes into a tailspin when I’m anxious and I’m definitely anxious about suddenly moving in here. Not that there’s anything wrong with this house. It’s just that…”

  And that’s when it happens…

  Her yogurt-covered tits pop out the neckline of her tank top and I get a clear, unobstructed view.

  She gasps and both hands fly to her chest. Momentarily, we stare at each other, shocked stiff and silent.

  Yes—the nanny is down on her knees. In front of me. In the dark. Cupping her naked breasts.

  My poor, sex-deprived cock weeps. What did I do to deserve this?

  Hastily, she tugs the shirt up to cover herself and words start tumbling from her pretty mouth again. I can’t hear shit, though.

  My brain is shutting down. One brain cell at a time. My lungs stop pumping oxygen and my body’s entire blood supply is now concentrated at my crotch. I’m pretty sure I’m in full-blown organ failure.

  Arms still banded protectively over her breasts, the girl scrambles up to her feet. She nervously licks her lips and squeaks out again, “I-I’m sorry.”

  “Keep it down,” I hiss. “You’re going to wake Callie.”

  And right on cue, I hear my little girl call out. “J-Jessa…?” Her tiny voice cracks with fear.

  The nanny’s eyes go wider.

  “Go!” I shoo her off in the direction of my daughter’s bedroom. “Go take care of Callie!”

  She flinches. “S-sorry.”

  “You already said that,” I snap.

  Shit—I’m being an asshole. Not because I’m mad that she was eating a goddamned yogurt cup or because I’m mad that it splattered all over the floor. Not because she deserves my wrath. I’m mad that the only thing I want to do is fuck her.

  Jittery and intimidated, she grabs a fistful of paper towel and skitters down the hallway toward my little girl’s frightened voice. She leaves me behind with the image of her perfect nipples burned into my memory.

  Pink.

  Her nipples are pink and small and pebbled and I just want to get them in my mouth. Yeah, I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth this time of night, too.

  Fuming, I grab the paper towel roll and some cleaning spray. My pulse is rioting. M
y blood is charged. This girl is no good for my health.

  Early grave, here I come.

  9

  Jessa

  Callie drops her pencil to the table and at the soft clink, I nearly fall out of my seat. The little girl glances up from her coloring book and gives me a quizzical look. Clearly, she can sense my agitation.

  I smooth her hair back from her forehead and force a smile. “That’s a really pretty butterfly,” I say chipperly, amping up my efforts to act like everything is a-okay.

  But everything is not a-okay.

  Because I flashed my tits at my boss. Not just one of them. Two of them. Both tits. One. Two. Both of them.

  And then I spent the whole night replaying the incident over and over in all its mortifying glory.

  It was the most embarrassing moment of my twenty-five years. Every time I managed to drift off for a few minutes of sleep, my subconscious would morph the scene into something downright lewd. In my dreams, Eli would march right up to me in the dark kitchen, cradle my heaving breasts and start licking the yogurt from my tingling nipples. On three separate occasions, I woke up with a start, sweaty, panting and aroused to the point of insanity.

  My brain is exhausted from battling those inappropriate thoughts all night. Now, I’m drinking my third cup of coffee, trying in vain to cut through my mental fog.

  Callie smiles at me. Then, her eyes flick back to her drawing. “It’s green. Green is Nana’s favorite color.”

  “She’s going to love it, sweetheart. So much.” I pick up my coffee mug with shaky hands and take another sip.

  The glue stick rolls over the side of the table and hits the floor. I jump out of my skin again.

  Jeez—I am so on edge today.

  I. Flashed. My. Tits. At. My. Boss. And knowing that I’m going to have to face him, sooner than later, makes my stomach simmer with apprehension.

  Throughout my life, I’ve been called lots of things. Naive. Smiley. Overly-trusting. Too optimistic. But I’m not awkward. I’ve never been awkward. Until Eli Kingston stepped out of that picture frame, and into my real life. But I work for the man so I have to figure out a way to get this clumsiness under control.