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BONUS - Reverse Harem
They thought they were hiring a sweet, ordinary nanny.
Surprise – they hired a spy.
"Last chance to back out, beautiful. We're not the good guys."
"Good thing I like bad boys... all three of you."
I'm Aurora Blackwood, and lying is my specialty. Especially to the three irresistible men I can't stay away from.
Lucian, my boss, hides a secret so dark it makes me shiver. His tattooed muscles make my heart race, and our fifteen-year age gap only fuels the fire.
"You can't handle my secrets, Aurora."
"Try me, Lucian. I dare you."
Cassian, Lucian's rival, has icy blue eyes and a twisted past. One look at those animal tattoos and I'm melting.
"Stay away, Aurora. I’m dangerous."
"I love danger, Cassian. Show me."
Orion, the ex-con bodyguard, has a shadowed past and a protective streak a mile wide. It's impossible not to swoon when he pulls me close.
"You're playing with fire, Aurora."
"Then let me burn, Orion."
But here's the kicker: my cover's about to be blown.
These men will soon discover I'm a spy, a traitor. And the biggest shock of all? I'm carrying their baby.
"I'm going to be a father?"
This nanny gig is about to get dangerously messy.
--
Aurora
"You’re supposed to sprinkle the flour, not eat it!"
Selene’s adorable six-year-old face scrunches up in disgust as she quickly pulls her flour-covered fist out of her mouth, a little string of saliva connecting her lip to her knuckle.
“Yuck,” she groans, her cute button nose wrinkling.
Laughing, I grab the cloth from my belt and clean her hand.
“No, sweetheart, it’s definitely not good. It might look like sugar, but it’s not the same.”
Selene shakes her head so vigorously that her thick brown hair nearly escapes the two big pigtails I put it in this morning. She reaches for the flour bag again, but I gently catch her wrist.
"Let me show you how it’s done."
She nods, watching intently as I take a handful of flour and sprinkle it on the counter. The dough we made earlier sits nearby. Once the counter is ready, I tear off a small piece and place it in front of her.
"Remember, the flour keeps the dough from sticking. Do you remember how to knead?"
Selene nods with a big smile, then eagerly plunges her fists into the dough. It’s so funny that I can’t help but laugh. I guide her hands, showing her the kneading motion, and soon she’s doing it on her own.
"It's so squishy!"
"Yep. And it’s going to taste amazing. It might not look perfect, but pasta’s all about the flavor." Keeping an eye on her, I start rolling out the rest of the dough. This isn’t our first time making pasta together, but it’s the first time I’ve let her take the lead.
As much as a six-year-old can.
"Did you do this when you were my age?" Selene’s little fists pound the dough, leaning so far forward that her hair is almost in it.
"I was a little older," I explain. "My mother taught me. We used to cook all sorts of things together, but my favorite was strawberry tarts."
"Oh, can we make those?" Selene’s head pops up, and I chuckle at the flour on her cheeks.
Leaving my dough for a moment, I bend down to her level—around elbow height since she’s on her stool—and wipe the flour off her cheeks.
"Of course." Warmth fills my chest, matching the oven-warmed air around us, and for a moment, I forget.
I forget why I’m here.
