Page 63 of Bad Wolf's Nanny

“Good. Go breathe something other than your own self-loathing for five minutes.”

Dane walked out into the cool night without replying, his fists jammed into his coat pockets, the familiar streets blurring as he made the walk toward Lola’s apartment.

He hadn’t meant to screw it up.

He’d just panicked. That morning, after they’d slept together, she’d looked at him with something like hope. Trust. And he hadn’t known how to hold it.

So he’d shoved her away.

Now, she was colder than a winter wind. Polite. Professional. Everything between them was swept clean like it had never happened.

And somehow, that made him feel even more pathetic. Because he still wanted her.

Not just her body.

He missed her thoughts. Her snippy little remarks. Her stupid thesis babble that made no sense to him but lit up her eyes. He missed how flustered she got when he leaned too close. He missedher.

He reached the apartment building and climbed the stairs two at a time.

Stopped at her door.

Took a breath.

Straightened his spine.

And knocked once.

The door swung open after a moment, and there she was, backlit by the golden glow of the living room, hair scraped into a haphazard bun, dark blue glasses perched halfway down her nose.

She looked tired, regal, and vaguely furious.

Not that she was glaring. Oh, no.

This was a much more refined fury. The kind you had to be raised on.

Lola Devereaux wasn’t angry. She wasdisappointed. And wasn’t that always so much worse?

“You’re late,” she said.

“By four minutes.”

“Which you consistently underestimate every time you say it.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. No use arguing with her when she was in this mood, all sharp lines and unshakable precision, like a queen holding court.

She stepped back, allowing him in with the air of someone tolerating a tax auditor.

The apartment smelled faintly of lemon balm and old books. Sam’s bag was packed and resting by the door, as always, labeled, zipped, and organized with military precision.

“I just need to get his bear from the crib,” Lola said crisply, “he’s gotten absurdly attached. If I forget it, he’ll wail all night, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Dane watched her disappear into the nursery, all business and no warmth, and fought the ache blooming under his ribs.

She was still mad.

No, not mad. That would’ve been easier.

She was hurt.