Nanny for the Neighbors: Chapter 31

I lick my lips, forcing myself to focus. “Uh. Hey. Can we talk? Do you have time?”

He shrugs, resigned. “Intermission is fifteen minutes,” he mutters, wrapping his hand around my wrist. “Come in.”

He tugs me into the dressing room. I squeak, covering my eyes—but not before I get an eyeful of abs, biceps, and bare, muscly thighs. I’m pretty sure I saw a penis.

“Hey!” someone calls. “What the Hell? You didn’t let me bring my girl in here!”

“Sorry!” I call, keeping my eyes squeezed shut as Cyrus drags me through the room. “I’m not looking!”

A chorus of low laughs echoes through the room.

“She’s cute, man,” a deep voice says. “Nice one. Y’all need protection, or…?”

“Shut up,” Cyrus snaps. “She’s my neighbor. I just need to talk to her.” A chorus of wolf-whistles go up. Cyrus tightens his fingers on me. “Guys. Don’t. Seriously.”

I wave at them as he yanks open an unassuming-looking door and pulls me inside, slamming it shut behind us. I look around. We’re in a storage cupboard filled with shelves of plastic bins. I examine the label on one. Sexy firefighter, XL. Includes jockstrap.

Nice.

“What a pretty broom cupboard,” I say, looking up at Cyrus. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

He doesn’t smile, leaning against the wall. His mouth is pressed in an angry line. “Did you follow me here?” He demands. “Did one of the guys tell you where I worked?”

My eyes widen. “What? No! No, I swear, my friend bought me a ticket. I had no idea you even had a job.”

“Right. Great.” He runs a hand through his hair. It has some sort of styling product in it, so when he messes it up, it sticks straight up in a ruffled, tousled mess. My fingers itch to fix it.

“Go on, then,” he sighs deeply. “Give it to me.”

“Give what to you? I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“This is my job,” he says, deadpan. “Of course I’m okay. Just really fuckin’ embarrassed.”

I wince. “I figured. But you shouldn’t be. You were incredible up there.”

He tenses. “What?” He asks, incredulous.

“You were great. I really liked it.” I twist my fingers together. “And I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or whatever, watching. I should have thought that it might embarrass you. I can leave, if you wa—”

He takes a step closer to me. My breath stops in my chest.

“You liked the show?” He asks. His voice seems deeper than a second ago, rumbling through him.

I nod jerkily. “I really liked it,” I whisper.

He studies me silently for a few seconds, his brown eyes almost black in the low light. “And you don’t mind?” He says eventually.

“Mind what?”

“That I take all my clothes off in public?” I just stare at him. He takes another step closer. “That I strip off and oil myself up for money? That there are hundreds of videos of me body-rolling in a G-string online? That I give strange women lap dances and grind them halfway to climax five nights a week?”

Oh, Jesus. “You do? When?”

“Second act.”

I bite my lip. “Why would I mind?”

“Because most people mind, Beth,” he snaps, anger infusing his tone.

“Really? Who?”

“My parents. Most of my ex-girlfriends. Pretty much every woman I’ve ever liked.” He gestures at the waistband on his pants. “I just shook the same dick you sucked last night in front of a crowd of other women. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

“I don’t remember signing an exclusive rights agreement before putting it in my mouth. Pretty sure your dick is still yours to do what you want with.” I swallow thickly. “I think your show was really hot, Cy.”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes burning into mine like he’s searching for the lie. I can barely breathe. It feels like this tiny cupboard is getting smaller, closing in around us like an Indiana Jones booby trap.

A sudden, heavy knock on the door breaks the building tension, and I jump out of my skin.

“Five minutes, man,” someone calls through the wood. “Get a move on.”

“Piss off,” Cyrus calls back, not taking his eyes off me. I can feel my blush seeping over my skin.

“Um.” I reach for the door handle. “I guess I should, uh, get going. Um. I’ll see you tomo—”

He takes another step closer, pinning me up against the wall. His spicy scent floods my senses. A strangled moan falls out of my throat, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“You think it’s hot?” He demands.

“W-well yeah? That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I—” I stutter into silence as he takes my hand, running his finger over the lines of my palm.

“And you don’t mind?” He asks, his voice softening.

“I think we have established that I don’t give a fuck if you shake your dick around in public, yes. It would be pretty hypocritical, considering how much I enjoyed watching.”

“But what about Cami?” He protests.

I blink. “Um. What about her?”

“When you first came to our flat, you wanted to take her away,” he reminds me. “Obviously, you can’t do that, since she’s not mine, but… will you still let me, like, play with her?” His thumb strokes over the inside of my wrist.

I stare at him like he’s an idiot. “I can’t stop you playing with Cami, Cy. And there’s no way I ever would.” He looks uncertain, like he doesn’t believe me. My throat hurts. Does he really think his job makes him so morally deviant that he shouldn’t be allowed around children? “Tons of parents strip, usually to support their kids. That doesn’t make them bad parents. As long as you’re not bringing her here for ‘take your daughter to work day’, I don’t see how your job has anything to do with Cami.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, still running his fingers over my palm. Then his grip closes around my wrist. With his dark eyes still locked on my face, he dips his head and presses his lips to mine.

It’s a hard, hot, sudden kiss, and it short-circuits something in my brain. My mind goes blank. I sag against his front as he pulls me closer, crushing us together. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest. I lean into him, wanting more, but he pulls away before I fully register what’s happening. “You liked the dance,” he mumbles against my open mouth.

I nod, gasping, and he bends so his lips are brushing my cheek. “You want the full package?” He asks quietly, his breath warming my hair.

“Yes,” I whisper. Heat is thudding between my legs. I don’t even know what the full package is, but this man could do pretty much anything to me at this point, and I’d probably beg for more. My skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m trembling against him.

He smiles slightly, then reaches out and unlocks the door, pushing it open. Taking my hand, he tugs me back into the dressing room. Thankfully, everyone is fully clothed now, all in identical grey suits. We get a few catcalls as Cyrus leads me to the corridor, but we both ignore them. Maybe I’m just being a total sap, but the fact that he’s holding my hand in front of all his colleagues is making my heart flutter.

We step out into the hallway, and he grabs my hips, pulling me to a stop. “One last question,” he says, his eyes sparkling. I nod stupidly. It’s hard to believe this is the same man I was talking to ten minutes ago. It’s like a cloud has been lifted from over his head—all of the hardness and defensiveness has been blown away, and he’s his flirty, charming self again.

He leans closer. “What kind of underwear are you wearing?”

“I… um, what?”

His hand slides up the curve of my hip, squeezing my waist. “I plan on chucking you around a bit. Don’t want you flashing any of the audience. That’s my job.” Through the fabric of my tight dress, he finds the wispy lace of my thong, running his fingers over it like he’s checking that it’s really there. He tuts. “These feel pretty flimsy. I guess I’ll have to improvise.”

My mouth falls open. He grins, bending to press a kiss to my slack jaw. “See you soon,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”