Nanny for the Don (Silver Fox Daddies #21)

Chapter 1

Willow

I ’m naked in my billionaire boss’s tub, about five seconds away from losing my job.

Not exactly how I pictured my first day ending.

I sink deeper into the warm water, letting lavender-scented bubbles rise to my chin, trying to convince myself that I’m not out of my goddamn mind.

Honestly, it's like I completely forgot who owns this place. Mr. Conti’s twins wore me down to the bone, and somewhere between bath time and bedtime, logic made a run for it, leaving me here in his absurdly luxurious bathroom like I have a right to it.

A soft smile tugs at my lips as I remember the girls’ antics from earlier. They’re trouble, but the cute kind, with wide eyes and endless energy. It’s only day one, and they’ve already wormed their way into my heart. I already feel like I’d do just about anything for them.

That is, of course, assuming I don’t get fired for turning my boss’s sacred tub into my own personal spa day.

I close my eyes, letting exhaustion wrap around me like a warm blanket.

Just a few minutes, I think.

Just to pretend I belong here, soaking in marble-covered, bubbly bliss like a pampered rich kid. Just me, and the glorious silence.

But then… I hear it.

Footsteps. Heavy, unmistakable, and—oh, hell—coming closer.

My eyes fly open, and panic bolts through me like a shot of espresso.

No, no, no.

He’s supposed to be gone.

Out of town.

Off doing whatever intimidating billionaires do. But those footsteps are real, closing in, echoing through his private sanctuary, and I’m naked as the day I was born.

Move, Willow. Move!

But my body’s frozen, clinging to the last shred of hope that maybe he’s just walking by, maybe he won’t actually come in here.

Please, universe, help me out here.

And then, miraculously, he doesn’t storm in to throw me out or fire me on the spot. No, Mr. Conti—the man whose pristine bathroom I’m currently defiling—heads straight for the shower instead.

I release a shaky breath, clinging to the tiny scrap of sanity I have left.

I know I should get out now, quietly sneak back to the guest room, and act like none of this ever happened. But then I hear the water start, and just like that, curiosity kicks in, silencing the voice of reason in my head.

Just one little peek…

After all, I’ve already seriously crossed the line—what’s one more tiny step?

I slide my gaze through the smallest crack in the curtain—and nearly forget how to breathe.

Holy shit.

Nico Conti stands under the spray, water cascading down his sculpted back, tracing every ridge and dip of muscle. His shoulders are broad, his stance powerful. The man looks like he was crafted out of stone, every inch of him honed to perfection. Like something out of my deepest, most shameful fantasies—a walking, dripping masterpiece of a man who probably doesn’t even realize he’s this unfairly hot.

The way the water runs down his sculpted back, tracing every hard line of muscle, all the way down to that perfect, firm ass.

Damn.

Seriously, the man could be a walking advertisement for whatever workout routine he’s punishing himself with. Water streams down his skin, gleaming over each sculpted muscle. His hair, flecked with the perfect amount of distinguished gray, screams ‘silver fox alert,’ adding an air of seasoned charisma that makes him even more irresistible.

I’m not even into older men… well, I wasn’t. But now? One look at Nico, and something inside me is switching on that I didn’t even know was there.

I watch him soap up, his hands gliding over every contour of those rock-hard muscles. I’m practically drooling as I trace the path his fingers take, lathering up every inch of his body. And just when I think I might be able to tear myself away, he reaches for the soap, running his hands over his chest, down his torso, and—oh God—right over his cock.

His glorious cock.

I clap a hand over my mouth to hold back a gasp. My pulse quickens, my breath catching in my throat as I watch him, totally mesmerized. His hand moves over his cock. And it’s not just any cock—it’s thick, and it’s hard.

Oh, sweet hell.

It’s far more stunning than I ever could’ve imagined, and suddenly my mind goes straight to the gutter, every single thought sinful. I’ve never actually seen one in person before, let alone one that… looks like that. All I can think about is him, the feel of his body, his hands running down my skin, his hips pressing against mine, stretching me in ways I’ve only dared to dream.

I shake my head, trying to push those thoughts away.

Focus, Willow! You’ve got to get out of here without getting caught.

Here I am at 23, a virgin, standing stupidly behind a curtain, spying on my older, undeniably hot boss.

This is fine. Everything’s fine.

My heart races, and I’m torn between running away and watching just a moment longer. Just when I think it couldn’t get any worse, he lets out a low, guttural moan that makes my stomach flip. Then he says something that nearly knocks me out of the tub.

“Take it all, Willow,” he groans, voice dark and rough.

Wait, what?! I’m stunned, heart racing so fast I feel dizzy. Take it all? My brain barely processes that he’s… he’s thinking of me. I’m the reason he’s touching himself in the shower. That’s the only way he’d know my name… he’s been watching my yoga videos on YouTube, watching me in my leggings, all those poses, and…

Holy shit.

Flattered doesn’t even begin to cover it. The idea of this insanely hot older man getting off to me is enough to make my head spin. I can’t look away, my gaze glued to the way his muscles ripple with every movement, the way his hand works up and down his cock in an unhurried, steady rhythm. He’s completely lost in his pleasure, and part of me aches to be the one making him feel that way. The thought sends a thrill through me, a spark that leaves me warm and breathless.

I catch sight of the detachable shower head, and before I can second-guess it, I reach for it, my hand trembling as I bring the water down between my legs. The first pulse of water against my clit makes me gasp, a wave of pleasure crashing over me. I close my eyes, drowning in the fantasy.

In my mind, I’m there with him, pressed against his hard, wet body, my hands exploring every inch, every ripple of muscle. I imagine him turning, that smoldering, intense gaze locking onto mine, the heat between us flaring as his hands slide down my back, pulling me against him. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he presses me against the wall, his cock filling me with every rough thrust.

The fantasy is so real I can barely think straight, my body heating up with every pulsing sensation. His voice echoes in my mind, low and commanding. “You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “You like the way I’m fucking you, don’t you, Willow?”

“Yes… yes,” I gasp, clinging to him in my mind, my body writhing under the pulse of the water. God, yes. Every imagined thrust sends a shiver down my spine, and I’m teetering on the edge, feeling every pulse, every beat of desire echo through me.

And then, in the real world, I hear it—he moans my name, rough and desperate—and that’s it. My entire body clenches, pleasure crashing over me in waves as I come, hard, biting my lip to keep from crying out. I imagine him there with me, filling me, the heat between us leaving us both breathless and spent.

As the intensity fades, I take a steadying breath, my body still tingling from the aftershocks. I peek through the curtain again, just to be sure. Nico’s braced against the wall, his chest heaving as he takes in deep, steady breaths.

It’s my cue. Time to get out before I do something even more insane. I grab the towel, wrap it around myself, and slip out of the tub as quietly as possible, my heart racing the entire time. Each step feels like a high-stakes escape, but finally, I’m out of the bathroom, and relief washes over me.

Back in the bedroom, I let out a shaky laugh, my entire body still buzzing from the close call. But as I turn to leave, something catches my eye—and it stops me dead in my tracks.

His suit. Laid out neatly on the bed, like it’s waiting for him. That faint, warm, spicy scent wraps around me, and my knees threaten to give out.

I can’t help myself; I lean in, inhaling the scent that’s unmistakably him, feeling a fresh thrill race down my spine.

Focus, Willow , I tell myself, forcing my feet to keep moving. I’m halfway to the door, ready to make a clean escape when it hits me.

I left the baby monitor in the bathroom.

My eyes widen, dread flooding my veins.

Shit .

Ms. M warned me that the girls sometimes wake up and wander around at night. And if they do, they’ll be on their own—completely unsupervised.

A shiver runs through me as the realization sinks in: there’s no choice.

I have to go back. I have to slip past him, through the steam-filled bathroom where he’s still in the shower, and retrieve that damn monitor.