Page 19 of The Minotaur’s Nanny Bride (Minotaur Daddies #2)

19

MAYA

I return to Dex's house long after my shop is closed, my arms heavy with parcels—completed orders for tomorrow's delivery and fresh herbs I'll need for the morning. The familiar path up to his door feels different tonight, weighed down by Lyra's words that have been echoing in my head all day.

"If you want him, you have to make him see it. Before someone else does."

My practical mind rebels against the sentiment. I don't chase after people. I've spent my entire adult life being self-sufficient, building my reputation as a healer and herbalist after my family cast me out. Opening myself to rejection now feels like willingly walking into a trap I can clearly see.

Ellis is already asleep when I arrive—the household staff having managed his evening routine. I quietly check on him, my heart swelling at the sight of his tiny form curled beneath blankets, little horn buds barely visible against his pillow. His sleeping breaths come in soft puffs that stir something protective and fierce within me.

I gently close his door and pad downstairs, expecting to find the main rooms empty. Dex is usually in his study at this hour, poring over ledgers and trade contracts.

The house settles around me, creaking and sighing as old homes do. I've grown accustomed to its noises over these past months, learned its particular language of wooden beams and stone foundations. There's something comforting about its solidity—a stark contrast to the uncertainty swirling inside me.

I move to the main sitting room where embers still glow in the hearth. Without thinking, I add another log, poking at it until flames lick upward, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The warmth feels good against the evening chill that's settled into my bones.

Standing by the window, I look out at the blanket of stars covering the night sky. My reflection stares back—silver-blonde hair falling loose from its practical knot, gray eyes shadowed with exhaustion and indecision.

"It's okay to want him, Maya."

I press my scarred palm against the cool glass, tracing constellation patterns with my finger. How did I get here? When did this arrangement—this temporary solution to a crisis—become something I couldn't bear to lose?

The air shifts behind me.

I feel him before I hear him, his presence heavy and consuming. Something in the atmosphere changes when Dex enters a room—like the air itself makes space for him, acknowledges his power. Not just his physical size, though at seven and a half feet he commands attention, but something more elemental in his nature.

I don't turn immediately. Instead, I watch his reflection join mine in the window glass—those massive shoulders, the proud curve of his horns with their bronze rings catching firelight, the unmistakable tension in his stance.

The silence between us feels charged, thick with unspoken words.

When I finally turn, he's standing just inside the doorway, as if uncertain whether to advance or retreat. His copper-highlighted brown fur looks darker in the firelight, his green eyes watchful.

"I thought you'd be at your farm tonight," he says, his deep voice unusually hesitant. "You said you had early deliveries."

"I do." I take a step toward him, abandoning the safety of the window. "But Ellis might wake. He's been fussy with those new teeth."

It's partly true, but we both know I've stayed far more nights than Ellis's teething requires. The excuse hangs between us, flimsy and transparent.

"Maya—" he starts, then stops, running a hand over one of his horns in that frustrated gesture I've come to recognize.

Something Lyra said gives me courage. "Why haven't you hired someone else, Dex?"

He looks away, jaw working beneath his fur. I can see the muscles tensing, the way his massive frame seems to brace against an invisible force. For a terrible moment, I fear he's going to pull away again—retreat behind jokes or business concerns as he's done so many times before.

"Lyra mentioned you turned down three qualified nannies last week." I press forward, my practical nature demanding answers even as my heart races. "Ellis is thriving now. He's past the difficult stage. Any competent caretaker could?—"

"I don't want any competent caretaker," he interrupts, his voice low and rough.

My heart thunders in my chest. I take another step toward him, close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "What do you want, then?"

When he doesn't answer, something breaks loose inside me—all the carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of feelings I can no longer contain.

"I don't want you to hire someone else," I whisper, the words pushing past the tightness in my throat. "Can't you see that?"

I watch him struggle with the vulnerability of this moment, his massive chest rising and falling with each breath. The air between us feels electric, charged with whatever this is that we've been dancing around for months.

"What do you want, Maya?" he finally asks, his deep voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion.

I don't think. I don't analyze or weigh consequences as I normally would. For once, I surrender to impulse and cross the room to him in three quick strides. My heart hammers against my ribs as I reach for him, my scarred hand against his chest. He bends instinctively, intuitively, meeting me halfway.

Our lips meet, and the world falls away.

The kiss is nothing like I imagined—it's better, fiercer, like a storm breaking after months of threatening clouds. His mouth is warm and demanding against mine, and I pour everything I've been holding back into it. All my doubts, my fears, my growing attachment to both him and Ellis—everything I've carefully kept contained bursts forth in this kiss.

His massive hands find my waist, gentle despite their size, pulling me closer until I'm pressed against the solid warmth of him. I thread my fingers through his coarse fur, feeling the powerful muscles beneath, and deepen the kiss. He tastes faintly of kaffo and something distinctly him—earthy and wild and perfect.

I've never been one for sentiment, for romantic notions. I'm the practical one, the survivor, the woman who rebuilt her life from nothing after being cast out. But this—this feels inevitable, like two plants that have been growing toward each other despite all obstacles.

His low groan vibrates through me as I trace the line of his jaw. For these precious moments, all the uncertainty falls away, replaced by the raw, undeniable truth of us together, of what we could be.

But then something shifts.

His hands tighten slightly at my waist, and he pulls back, breaking the kiss. His breathing is ragged, eyes dark with desire—but there's something else there too. Hesitation. Doubt.

"Maya..." he starts, voice rough.

I don't let him finish, don't let him retreat behind excuses. My practical nature takes over, cutting straight to what matters.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell him, my voice thick with emotion I rarely allow myself to show. "Not...if you don't want me to."

The vulnerability of those words leaves me feeling exposed, stripped of my usual armor of self-sufficiency. The scar on my right hand—my permanent reminder of choosing compassion over family loyalty—throbs slightly, as it always does when my emotions run high.

But Dex doesn't answer. Instead, he steps back, putting distance between us. His green eyes, usually so full of mischief or warmth, are unreadable as he runs a hand through the thick fur between his horns. He looks almost lost—this massive, confident, jovial minotaur suddenly uncertain and withdrawn.

I watch him, feeling something heavy and cold settle in my chest. I've faced rejection before—my family made sure I knew exactly what that felt like—but this hurts in a different way. Deeper. More personal.

The practical healer in me catalogs the physical symptoms: quickened pulse, tightness in the throat, a hollow feeling spreading beneath my ribs. The rational part of my mind understands I've just changed everything between us, upset the delicate balance we've maintained.

But my heart? My heart is a different matter entirely.

I stand there, feeling the heat of the fire at my back, watching him wrestle with whatever demons keep pulling him away from connection. I don't know what just happened, but I know with absolute certainty that it changed something.

Even if he can't say it.